Cruel and Insatiable walked in silence. They rarely had words for each other in normal times, so in moments like this, they had even less. Silence was probably for the best.

  They entered the camp, but before they could take more than a few steps, Pessimist stepped in their path, announcing:

  "Bird."

  Cruel cursed and quickly strode toward his tent. Insatiable watched him go before turning her gaze to Pessimist.

  "Lovely day, isn't it?"

  "No day is lovely when I know you drag your fucking ass around with us."

  "That wasn’t very nice."

  "You know what’s not nice? That we always have to clean up after you."

  She shrugged, smiling innocently. Pessimist shook his head, muttering a string of curses in his native tongue.

  "You know the Company’s rules. If you all truly hated me that much, I’d have had my throat slit by now," she said, clearly pleased with herself.

  The soldier rolled his eyes and walked away without a word. Some arguments simply weren’t worth the time. They both knew it, just as everyone in their squad and nearly everyone in the Company knew—the bitch fought better than most men. She was a problem, but even more than that—she was useful. That was the only thing keeping her alive. For now.

  Cruel looked at the bird sitting on a small, folding table and saluted it silently. He walked up, untied the strap of a small backpack, and pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. Carefully, he unfolded it, read the orders from the Commander, and then sat down heavily on a nearby stool.

  "That’s a long way from here," he finally said.

  The bird tilted its head but made no sound.

  "An order is an order," Cruel sighed. "We should leave immediately, but there's one thing to take care of first. The same thing as always."

  The bird flapped its wings as if to say it couldn’t care less. Well. He cared plenty.

  "I need one day," he finally stated.

  The animal gave the piece of paper in the man's hand a meaningful look. Cruel didn’t react. He was clearly deep in thought, but the messenger had no patience to wait. It flapped its wings again, this time in visible irritation. Cruel glanced at the orders once more, then grinned widely.

  "They say you're not an ordinary bird, and I'm inclined to believe it. I once heard someone say that another pair of eyes watches us through yours. I won’t pry into who you really are—that’s your business—but I know all too well that you understand every word spoken to you. So, listen carefully. We’ll finish our business here and set off immediately. But I won’t be giving you a reply. My answer will be delivered to the Commander by Insatiable herself, and she’ll bring back the package meant for me."

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  The bird seemed to consider his words for a moment before nodding its head energetically. It almost looked amused. Cruel didn’t like that, but he said nothing. Instead, he saluted again and led his guest out of the tent.

  "New orders?" asked Insatiable, who had been standing nearby, watching the bird take off.

  "A few," he replied reluctantly.

  "Much work?"

  For the first time in a long while, he grinned widely—and absolutely no one who saw that grin liked it.

  "For you," he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

  "For me?" Insatiable repeated warily. "Just me?"

  "So much? Yes. Just you."

  "But—"

  "An order is an order," Cruel snapped, his good mood vanishing in an instant.

  She saluted. He was right. An order was an order.

  "Into the tent."

  She stepped inside without protest, not even daring to sit without permission. She had pissed him off enough today. If she wanted to see another sunrise, showing a little submissiveness was the smart move.

  "I have a task for you that I think you’ll enjoy."

  "That’s sarcasm, isn’t it?" she asked, faster than she could think.

  He looked at her with an indifferent gaze—one that never meant anything good.

  "I need a message delivered to another squad—"

  "Don’t we have those stupid birds for that?"

  Cruel sighed heavily, then stepped up to her and punched her in the stomach with all his strength. Her legs buckled, and the fact that she didn’t vomit was a miracle.

  "Interrupt me again, and the next thing you’ll have in your fucking cunt will be my knife," he growled.

  She didn’t respond. Even if she wanted to, it would have been difficult, considering she was currently struggling to breathe.

  "You’ll take the message and deliver it. Was I clear this time?"

  She nodded, finally managing to gasp in a lungful of air.

  "Excellent. You leave immediately."

  Slowly, she pushed herself up from the ground and saluted. She didn’t dare say a word. But her thoughts were plain on her face—a silent threat Cruel had no intention of ignoring. His hand went straight to the short sword at his belt. For a moment, they locked eyes. Then Insatiable visibly relaxed, making it clear she’d attack when he least expected it.

  "My own mother brought you here," he muttered, lowering his hand.

  "I don’t even know who your mother was."

  "You don’t need to."

  "Then how the hell did she bring me to you?"

  Cruel shook his head, irritated.

  "When I enlisted, she said she’d never forgive me. When the Company marched away, she stood at the edge of the road and spoke a curse that haunts me to this day."

  "And what does that have to do with me?"

  He laughed, but there wasn’t an ounce of humor in it.

  "You’re the embodiment of that curse. You’re the worst thing that ever happened to me."

  The soldier grinned and playfully winked at him.

  "I didn’t know you had such strong feelings for me. I’m flattered, but don’t take it the wrong way, you're still a little lacking in bed to—"

  She knew it would end with another hit. She tried to dodge, but he was faster. At least he had the decency not to strike her face.

  "If I were you, I wouldn’t waste time. You’ve got a long road ahead."

  She cursed silently, still struggling to catch her breath. One day, the bastard would kill her just like that—one hit too many, and something inside would finally break. Ah, to hell with it, she thought, smirking. If that was how she’d go, so be it. At least she’d die doing something she quite enjoyed. Pissing him off was, after all, her second favorite pastime—right after sex, of course.

  "Who am I delivering the message to?" she rasped.

  "Directly into the Commander’s hands," he said, reaching for a blank sheet of paper and sitting down at his small table.

  "They’re on the other fucking side of the continent," she grumbled, sinking onto the ground and clutching her aching stomach.

  "Not quite. But that’s your problem, not mine."

  She didn’t reply. After all, an order was an order.