Vasquez’s expression slipped, revealing the festering hatred underneath.
“Locks can be broken.”
Slade just stepped forward into the general’s face. “Not mine.”
The two exchanged glares for what felt like eternity, before Vasquez took a step back.
“You are all on thin ice, Shades.” He spat.
Leo’s grin was manic, almost feral, and he stepped forward, just enough to close the gap between us. “You’d be wise to remember your place, Vasquez,” he said, his voice low but dripping with dangerous amusement. “We’re not afraid of you.”
Vasquez, clearly seething, clenched his jaw and turned on his heel, striding toward the door with one last glance over his shoulder. The door slammed behind him with an echoing finality, leaving the room suddenly too quiet.
I exhaled a shaky breath, my heart still pounding in my chest. Leo’s hand, still on my back, was a solid, grounding presence.
“That was... intense,” I said quietly, the words barely escaping my lips.
Leo’s smirk softened slightly as he looked down at me, his touch gentle but steady. “He’s all talk,” he said, voice calm now, though a hard edge still simmered beneath the surface. “You don’t have to worry about him. We’ll keep you safe.”
And so far, that was true. Vasquez hadn’t returned. But I knew better than to think he’d forgotten. Every night, I lay awake in that stupid bed, watching the door, my heart thudding at every creak of the old stone keep.
The locks Slade had created and installed were supposed to answer only to me and those I trusted — coded with warded steel and reinforced by magic. Or so they said.
But trust didn’t come easy anymore. And the loneliness was worse.
So instead of sleeping, I trained.
Hours on the track, pounding my frustration into the floorboards. Hours in the training hall, driving dagger after dagger into the battered dummies while the others slept behind heavy iron doors.
Slade followed me sometimes, silent as a shadow, leaning against the wall, arms folded as he watched. When I called him out, he only shrugged.
“Don’t need much sleep anyway.”
Today, though, even I could feel the wear. The exhaustion pulling at my limbs, the ache deep in my bones.
I slammed my fist into the punching bag again, knuckles splitting, pain blooming sharp and hot. It kept me grounded. It kept me from thinking.
Slade moved in then — quick and sure — catching my wrist mid-swing.
“Enough,” he said, low and firm.
“No,” I snapped, trying to yank free. I might as well have tried to move a mountain.
He didn’t budge. Just stared at me with those steady, unreadable eyes, his hand still wrapped around my wrist, unyielding.
“Time to eat.”
I glared up at him, breathing hard, my body screaming to keep moving, to keep fighting. But he didn’t release me. Didn’t even flinch.
Slade didn’t need to say anything else. His patience — and his quiet, immovable strength — said it for him.
I was running myself into the ground. And he wasn’t going to let me.
“Elira,” he said, his voice low and unyielding.
“No! I don’t want to!” The words came out before I could stop them, sharp and desperate, as if I could push back theoverwhelming weight of everything that had been pressing down on me.
Slade didn’t argue. He didn’t need to. Instead, he just shrugged, as if he were used to this by now. Before I could protest further, he moved. Fast. Too fast.
