22
LYSSA
Ireturn from gathering water at the stream to find Kaerith and Elira standing over two corpses arranged with artistic precision near the cave entrance. The male and female I don't recognize—strangers who came to kill us and died for their trouble—lie in spreading pools of blood that speak of systematic dismantlement rather than simple execution.
But it's not the bodies that make my stomach clench. It's the conversation happening above them.
"The throat opening was textbook," Kaerith says, crouching beside the male's corpse to examine the wound pattern. "Clean, efficient, no wasted motion. But I think we could refine the positioning to allow for better information extraction before termination."
Elira nods thoughtfully, her attention focused on the female's mutilated form. "The abdominal approach worked well for maintaining consciousness during the demonstration phase. Though next time I might start with the extremities—build the psychological pressure more gradually."
They're discussing torture-murder like culinary techniques. Analyzing methods, suggesting improvements, treating thesystematic destruction of sentient beings as an art form to be perfected through practice and refinement.
"The fear response was particularly interesting," Elira continues. "You could see the exact moment when she realized this wasn't combat anymore. When she understood that her death was going to be educational rather than functional."
"Educational for who?"
The question slips out. Both of them turn toward me with expressions of pleased surprise, as if a favorite student has finally asked the right question.
"For us," Kaerith says simply. "For understanding how different bonds work under extreme stress. These two represented traditional waira partnership—mutual support and shared strength. We wanted to see how that approach responds to systematic pressure."
"By studying their responses while we dismantled them, we learn which methods produce the most... enlightening results," Elira adds. "Which approaches to breaking bonds create the most useful information about relationship dynamics."
I stare at them, trying to reconcile this clinical analysis with the people I thought I knew. They're not discussing enemies anymore—they're talking about research subjects. Specimens whose deaths provided valuable data for refining their own understanding of how love can be weaponized.
"You tortured them for science?"
"We optimized their deaths for maximum educational value," Kaerith corrects. "The suffering was a tool, not an objective. Though..." He glances at Elira with something that might be affection. "I admit there were unexpected benefits to the process."
Elira's smile carries the memory of sexual satisfaction. "It was remarkably... clarifying. Understanding that pain can bea gift rather than simply a weapon. That breaking someone completely reveals truths about both victim and predator."
"Lyssa," Elira says, her voice taking on the patient tone of someone explaining simple concepts to a slow child. "We need to discuss your place in what we're building."
The phrasing sends ice through my veins. My place. Not my role in our family or my importance to our survival—my utility to their evolving partnership.
"Things are changing," Kaerith explains. "Malakor knows we exist now. He'll be coming for us soon, and when he does, we can't afford to have... complications."
Complications. Not family members or cherished friends—resources that might interfere with optimal performance when killing becomes necessary.
"What does that mean?"
"It means you're either with us completely," Elira says gently, "or you represent a problem that needs to be solved before we face Malakor."
The threat is delivered with the same tender concern she might use to explain why medicine tastes bad but needs to be swallowed. No malice, no anger, just practical necessity explained with loving patience.
"A problem?"
"A weakness he could exploit," Kaerith clarifies. "Someone who might hesitate at the wrong moment, show mercy when efficiency is required, choose sentiment over survival when the choice becomes inevitable."
They're discussing my potential execution with the same clinical detachment they used to analyze their torture techniques. Not because they hate me or want to hurt me, but because my continued existence might interfere with their ability to kill effectively.
"I'm not going to betray you," I say desperately. "I would never?—"
"Intent isn't what matters," Kaerith interrupts. "Capability is. Your knowledge of how we think, how we plan, what we care about—that's valuable information to someone like Malakor. Unless you're actively helping us win, that knowledge becomes a liability."
"What kind of help?"
Elira steps closer, her hand reaching out to cup my cheek with gentle affection. "Participation, Lyssa. Real participation. Not just supporting us emotionally, but becoming part of what we're doing. Part of what we're becoming."
