"Storik? What are you doing here?" I asked, opening the door.
"I've got a bad feeling."
"And you came to me?"
"Who else?" he shot back. "You're the only one here with any real authority."
"Authority?" I let out a quiet, humorless laugh. If I had any, Alan wouldn't still be in that trial.
"You're an aristocrat," he said, exhaling sharply. "You can find out things I can't."
"Coffee? Tea?"
"Got anything stronger?"
"Whiskey. Rum. Tequila."
"Whiskey."
I poured him a glass.
"So what's eating you?" I asked. "Alan, obviously. Your little fledgling flew the nest and now you can't sit still."
"Like you're calm?" Andrew snapped. "You're tense as hell, freezing the damn air—and don't even try to deny it. I don't know what that thing is, but it's not normal. Shut it off."
"You're right," I said quietly. "It's not normal."
A pause.
"It disgusts me."
I grabbed the tablet.
"What is this?"
"A break," Andrew shrugged. "Everyone gets one."
"No," I snapped. "You don't understand. You can't leave him alone with that man."
"What the hell got into you? Out of all the trials, this one's the safest. And Blocking already—"
"You don't know him," I cut him off. "He's worse than Marcus Holivan."
I was already moving.
"Come on. I need their location."
"What's going on?" Andrew frowned—but followed.
We headed straight for the observation center.
If I had to—
I'd rip the information out of them.
I tried talking first.
Calm.
Measured.
Controlled.
Behind me, Storik watched the feed as it resumed.
"Lord Silius," one of the observers said, "I cannot provide that information. It violates the rules—"
"He's my bodyguard."
"Officially, for this period—"
"Clyde," Storik said sharply.
Something in his voice—
wrong.
I turned.
Just in time to see Alan shove Blocking behind an SUV.
Gunfire.
Real.
Not training rounds.
"Gilbert! Emergency!" someone shouted. "Deploy observer units! Participant two is in danger!"
My vision sharpened instantly.
Twenty minutes.
Wasted.
Talking—
when I could've been there.
Anger surged, hot and sharp.
"Location. Now," I said, stepping forward, pushing past them into the control room.
A red sign on the door flashed: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
I ignored it.
"We can't lock camera two's geolocation—there's interference!" someone said, hands shaking over the controls.
"Restart it! The director must not be harmed!"
"Participant two has moved away—we can't confirm—"
Useless.
All of it.
I didn't know where he was.
No landmarks.
No markers.
Nothing.
And on the screen—
that idiot was running into gunfire with his eyes closed.
"Find it!" Storik snapped.
I didn't need clarification.
A gun pressed to Holivan's head.
Hammer pulled back.
"If he dies," I said quietly, "I'll kill every one of you."
Empty threat.
Didn't help.
Didn't fix anything.
Still—
I meant it.
I didn't blink.
Didn't look away.
He dodged.
Barely.
Another shot.
Another.
I exhaled slowly.
"Signal lock!" someone shouted. "Weak—but if he holds for ten seconds—"
Ten seconds.
Too long.
I watched the windshield explode.
Glass tore into his skin—face, throat, arms.
Blood everywhere.
The first bullet—
his side.
Same place.
Months ago—
a knife had almost killed him there.
And now—
again.
For who?
Did he even understand who he was protecting?
"Got it! Coordinates confirmed!"
"Deploy!"
"We're going," I said immediately.
"I'm sorry, Storik can go, but you—"
"I'm going."
"I'll go as temporary bodyguard," Andrew cut in, trying to smooth it over—but I could see it.
He wasn't staying behind either.
"No time," the dispatcher barked. "Units five, eight, sixteen—move! High threat, civilians present!"
He looked at me.
"Unit five—you've got two extra. Move."
We were rushed to the underground garage.
A tunnel.
Straight into the city.
Faster.
Not fast enough.
I didn't take my eyes off the tablet.
Another shot.
Alan's thigh.
His leg gave out.
"Break," Blocking's voice cut in—
and the feed died.
I threw the tablet.
It shattered against the wall.
"We'll make it," Storik said.
His eyes—
wild.
"If he dies—"
"He won't!" he snapped. "It's Alan. He always gets into trouble—and he always gets out."
He sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
The car felt slow.
Painfully slow.
I could already see the high-rises.
He was there.
With that thing.
We had to get there.
Now.
"I'm sorry, ladies and gentlemen…" Blocking's voice came through Storik's phone as the feed resumed.
We were almost there.
On the screen—
Alan was barely standing.
Leaning against him.
Blocking's hand at his waist.
Smiling.
Something inside me snapped.
Cold—
sharp—
out of control.
"Hey—kill the AC, it's freezing!" one of the operatives muttered.
Pain.
I looked down.
Storik's fingers were digging into my arm hard enough to bruise.
The sting grounded me.
Control snapped back.
The cold receded.
He let go—but didn't stop watching me.
"…Thanks," I muttered.
If they realized the temperature drop wasn't the AC—
but me—
that would be a problem.
These weren't amateurs.
They'd understand immediately.
And everything—
everything—
would fall apart.
So why—
why was I losing control because of him?
Why did his life matter this much?
Why was I ready to throw away years—
years of planning—
just to make sure he was still breathing?