Something was wrong.
No—
not wrong.
Too much.
Everything was too much.
The blood.
The heat.
The sound of my own breathing—too loud, too sharp in my ears.
And behind it—
his scent.
Intoxicatingly close.
His breath warming the back of my neck.
His arm locked around me, solid and unyielding, holding me in place like I might shatter if he let go—or worse—
like I might not stop.
The thread snapped tight between us.
A constant.
Overwhelming.
Feeling.
I felt him.
Not pieces.
Not fragments.
Everything.
The storm inside him—restless, controlled only by force.
The darkness woven through it, quieter than mine, but deeper. Older.
Watching.
Waiting.
And beneath it—
something else.
Something that hit me harder than the rest.
Restraint.
Tension.
Something dangerously close to—
concern.
My breath hitched.
Just once.
My claws flexed.
Still extended.
Still ready.
Still—
hungry.
The man in front of me gasped, choking against the wall where I'd left him, barely alive, barely breathing.
My focus snapped back to him instantly.
Finish it.
End it.
He deserves it.
My body leaned forward—
His grip tightened.
Not painfully.
Not harsh.
Just—
firm.
Grounding.
His voice was still in my ear.
"This isn't my little thief."
The words didn't hit all at once.
They sank in slowly.
Through the rage.
Through the noise.
Through the part of me that had wanted—needed—to finish it.
I felt his arm around me.
Solid.
Unmoving.
Not restraining.
Anchoring.
The darkness inside me clawed upward, pushing, fighting—
but something else pushed back harder.
Him.
The thread wasn't a pulse anymore.
It was—
constant.
Alive.
And for a second—
just a second—
I chose to listen.
My claws retracted.
Slow.
Reluctant.
Like they didn't want to leave.
His grip loosened just slightly.
Not trust.
Not yet.
Just—
permission.
The man collapsed against the wall, gasping, clawing at his throat as he sucked in air like he'd never had it before.
Then—
he screamed.
"HELP!—SOMEONE—!"
The sound shattered everything.
Footsteps thundered behind the door.
Fast.
Heavy.
Multiple.
I didn't think.
Didn't hesitate.
This time—
I wanted the fight.
The door exploded open.
Men rushed in.
Weapons drawn.
Eyes wide—
then narrowing as they took in the scene.
Bodies.
Blood.
Us.
Wrong move.
They charged.
And this time—
I wasn't alone.
The first one came at me from the left.
I stepped in—
but something moved faster.
A shadow snapped forward—
Raiden.
He was already inside the man's guard, movement fluid, effortless, his hand closing around the man's throat as lightning flickered once—
just once—
and the man dropped.
Dead before he hit the ground.
A smirk tugged faintly at Raiden's lips.
Not amused.
Not playful.
Something sharper.
Something that said—
finally.
My pulse kicked.
I moved.
We didn't speak.
Didn't need to.
The thread carried everything.
He shifted—
I adjusted.
I drove one man back—
Raiden cut through another before it could reach me.
It wasn't coordination.
It was—
instinct.
Like our bodies already knew what the other would do before they did it.
We moved through each other.
Two halves—
finally aligning.
A blade swung toward Raiden's side—
too fast.
Too close.
I didn't think.
My hand snapped up—
ice forming instantly, shaping into a dagger before I even registered the movement—
and I threw it.
Clean.
Precise.
It buried itself in the man's throat before he could land the strike.
He dropped.
Raiden stilled for half a second.
His gaze flicked to me.
Sharp.
Aware.
Then—
that smirk again.
Faint.
Approving.
And gods—
that did something to my chest I didn't have time to understand.
Another attacker lunged.
I met him head-on.
Steel rang.
We moved.
Faster now.
Closer.
More fluid.
I ducked under a swing—
Raiden stepped in behind me, finishing the man before I even turned.
Seamless.
Like breathing.
Like—
we were built for this.
Another came from the right—
I twisted—
too slow.
The blade caught my cheek.
Sharp.
Hot.
Pain flared instantly.
I didn't react.
Didn't stop.
But—
Raiden did.
Everything stilled for half a second.
Just enough.
His gaze snapped to me.
To the blood.
To the cut.
And something in him—
shifted.
The shadows exploded.
Not slow.
Not controlled.
Not measured.
They surged outward from him like something unleashed, spearing through the remaining men in a single, violent motion.
No hesitation.
No mercy.
Just—
end.
Bodies hit the ground almost at once.
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Sudden.
Complete.
My breathing was sharp now.
Adrenaline still flooding my system.
My pulse pounding.
The room smelled like blood.
Looked like it too.
And we stood in the center of it.
Both of us.
Covered.
My gaze lifted slowly.
Met his.
He was watching me.
Not the room.
Not the bodies.
Me.
That same unreadable look in his eyes.
But closer now.
Closer than before.
The thread tightened.
Not painful.
Just—
intense.
Too much.
Too close.
I took a step forward.
Didn't think.
Didn't plan.
Just—
moved.
His hand came up.
My fingers caught his wrist.
And then—
I kissed him.
It wasn't soft.
Wasn't hesitant.
Wasn't careful.
It was sharp.
Desperate.
Fueled by adrenaline and something far too close to the edge.
His body tensed for half a second—
then responded.
His hand shifted, gripping my waist, pulling me closer—like he wasn't going to let me pull away this time.
The thread snapped tighter.
Everything collided.
His storm.
My fire.
The darkness.
The control.
The tension that had been building since the beginning—
breaking all at once.
And then—
I stopped.
Pulled back.
Too fast.
Too sudden.
Reality slammed back in.
The blood.
The children.
What I was doing—
My breath hitched.
I stepped back.
Putting space between us.
My hand dropped from his wrist.
No.
Not now.
Not here.
Not like this.
I turned away first.
Forced myself to breathe.
To think.
To focus.
The children.
My gaze snapped to them.
They hadn't moved.
Still watching with those terrified faces.
Still waiting.
Orenda stood at the front.
Of course she did.
Tough as ever.
I stepped toward her, my voice steadier now.
"We're getting them out," I said.
No hesitation.
No softness.
Just truth.
Her eyes held mine.
Then she nodded.
Once.
Certain.
Good.
I turned away again.
Scanning.
Thinking.
"We're not done here," I muttered.
Raiden shifted behind me.
"We never are," he said dryly.
I ignored him.
Barely.
My focus moved to the room.
The crates.
The tables.
The drawers.
They had records.
They had something.
They had to.
I moved.
Fast.
Opening anything I could find.
Drawers.
Boxes.
Searching pockets from the fallen men without hesitation.
Papers.
Coins.
Useless.
"Messy," Raiden commented lightly from behind me.
I shot him a look over my shoulder.
"You're welcome to leave."
"And miss all the fun? I think I'll stay."
Of course he would.
I turned back.
Continued searching.
One chest.
Empty.
Another—
locked.
I didn't slow.
Water slipped into the lock.
Froze.
Turned.
Click.
Still my favorite trick.
I opened it—
Nothing.
Useless.
I exhaled sharply.
Think.
Where would they keep it—
Not out.
Not obvious.
Hidden.
Controlled.
My gaze shifted to the desk.
The one further back.
Slightly cleaner.
Less used.
I moved toward it.
Opened the top drawer—
Nothing.
Second—
Nothing.
Third—
locked.
Of course.
I smirked faintly.
"Predictable."
Water.
Freeze.
Turn.
Click.
The drawer slid open.
And there—
something thicker.
Bound.
Organized.
Important.
My fingers closed around it instantly.
My pulse kicked.
Yes.
This—
this was something.
I flipped it open briefly.
Names.
Shipments.
Routes.
My jaw tightened.
This was bigger than we thought.
Much bigger.
"What do you have there?" Raiden's voice came from just behind me.
Closer now.
I didn't turn.
Didn't need to.
I felt him.
The heat of him.
The presence.
His chin rested lightly against my shoulder.
Casual.
Too casual.
Too close.
The thread pulsed.
I held the book tighter.
Then smiled slightly.
Cold.
Certain.
"The king's fate," I said quietly.