Jack leaned against the jagged wall of the dungeon, the faint crimson glow from crystalline veins running through the stone casting fractured shadows across his face. The light made him look almost regal, though the sharp lines of his jaw and the stoic set of his mouth added an unmistakable edge of danger. His arms were crossed, his posture deceptively casual, but his eyes told a different story. They moved across the group like a hawk surveying prey -cold, calculating, and impossibly sharp.

  “You’re lucky I showed up when I did,” Jack said, his voice low and deliberate, carrying a quiet authority that demanded attention. “Otherwise, you’d all be just another stain on this dungeon floor. But don’t let that get to your heads. You’re not out of the woods yet -or, in this case, the stone labyrinth of horrors.”

  Little Red squared her shoulders, the weight of the moment pressing against her like the oppressive hum of the dungeon itself. Her machete hung loosely in her hand, its blade pitted and scratched from the earlier battle with the elementals. The memory of their stone-hard hides flashed through her mind -a reminder of just how close they had come to losing someone. Her fingers tightened briefly on the hilt before she forced herself to relax. Sheathing the weapon with slow, deliberate care, she let the scrape of steel against leather ground her, a small act of control in a situation spiraling far beyond her comfort zone.

  Her fiery hair, dulled by the dim red glow of the crystalline veins lining the walls, clung to her damp skin in messy strands. She could feel her face flush -not just from the heat of the dungeon, but from the mix of frustration and defiance boiling under her skin. Jack’s smug expression wasn’t helping. That smirk, so confident and calm, set her teeth on edge. Who does this guy think he is, waltzing in here like he owns the place? Like we couldn’t handle ourselves without him?

  Her hands came to rest on her hips, near the twin pistols holstered at her sides. She could feel the familiar weight of the grips, the reassuring solidity of steel under her fingers. A part of her, the part still rattled from the fight, wanted to draw them just to remind everyone -herself included- that she wasn’t some damsel waiting to be rescued. But no, that would give Jack exactly what he wanted: proof she wasn’t in control.

  Her voice came out steady, but not as calm as she’d have liked. “We appreciate the assist,” she said, keeping her tone even, though the tension bleeding into her words betrayed the anger simmering just beneath the surface. She could feel the eyes of her team on her, waiting for her lead, and she hated the moment of hesitation she knew they’d noticed. “But don’t get the wrong idea,” she added, her chin lifting slightly, her gaze locking with Jack’s. “This is my team, my dungeon run. You don’t just walk in here and take over.”

  Her words hung in the air like a challenge, but as soon as they left her lips, doubt crept in. She replayed the last few minutes in her mind -Jack’s sudden appearance, saving their asses from the trap, while she struggled to keep the team alive. Did she really have the right to call this her dungeon run when they’d been one misstep away from disaster?

  No. She pushed the thought aside, burying it under layers of stubborn pride. Whatever his skills, whatever his experience, Jack didn’t know her team like she did. He hadn’t fought beside them, hadn’t seen their strength, their resilience. They weren’t perfect, but they were hers. She wasn’t about to let some cocky outsider -no matter how capable- undermine that.

  Her eyes narrowed as she watched Jack, waiting for his response, knowing he was the kind of man who’d have one ready. He always seemed to have the last word.

  And damn it, that smirk of his was already curling back into place.

  Jack’s lips quirked into that infuriating smirk again, though any trace of humor was glaringly absent. Jessica’s stomach twisted, not with fear, but with irritation. That damn smirk. It wasn’t just the arrogance of it; it was how he wielded it, like a scalpel cutting through her team’s already fragile confidence. His gaze flicked briefly to Brick and Rando, who stood a few paces away, muttering like schoolboys caught doing something they shouldn’t. The weight of his stare seemed to silence them instantly, though Brick’s scowl deepened as he leaned heavier on his axe.

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  “Funny,” Jack said, tilting his head slightly, his voice light but sharp enough to leave a mark. “Because just a moment ago, it looked like you were more than happy to let me do exactly that.” He shrugged, the gesture so casual it bordered on dismissive. “But sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night, Red.”

  Jessica’s jaw tightened so hard she thought she heard her teeth creak. Her mind raced with biting comebacks, each one sharper than the last, but none of them made it past her lips. Not because she didn’t want to put him in his place - oh, how she wanted to - but because something about the way he held himself, so calm and infuriatingly in control, made her hesitate. Her silence wasn’t weakness; it was strategy. That’s what she told herself, anyway. Let him feel like he’s won this round, she thought bitterly. He can gloat later.

  But Jack didn’t wait for her to respond. Instead, he turned his attention to the rest of the group, his smirk melting away like a mask he’d discarded. In its place was something harder, colder - a steel-edged authority that hit like a slap in the face. His voice carried that same weight as he continued, “Now, about this dungeon.” The grumbling from her team, the shifting of boots and murmured complaints, all fell away under the force of those four words.

  Jessica’s frustration simmered hotter as she watched him command their attention without even trying. Her team - her team - stood stock-still, their focus snapping to him like he’d flipped a switch. Brick, all brawn and bluster, shifted his weight uncomfortably, his massive frame somehow looking smaller under Jack’s gaze. The glint of his axe caught the red glow from the dungeon walls, its blade resting against his shoulder like it might break the tension.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Brick growled, his voice a deep rumble that carried more frustration than curiosity.

  Jack pushed off the wall in one smooth motion, his boots scraping against the stone with a deliberate finality. Jessica caught herself studying the way he moved, every step calculated, each motion purposeful. His pacing wasn’t nervous - it was measured, like he was a predator circling his prey, taking stock of their weaknesses. The sound of his boots echoed faintly in the oppressive space, only to be swallowed by the ever-present hum of the dungeon’s energy.

  “Resurrection nodes,” he said, his tone so casual it grated against the tension in the air. It was like he was discussing the weather, as if they weren’t trapped in a place that could kill them at any moment. Jessica’s fingers twitched toward her machete, the itch to do something - anything - to take back control gnawing at her. “Every dungeon worth its salt has at least one,” Jack continued, his voice carrying easily through the silence. “A failsafe for adventurers brave - or dumb - enough to step into its depths. Did you even bother looking for it?”

  Jessica’s breath hitched, but she masked it with a quick inhale. His words stung more than she wanted to admit, not because they were condescending - though they certainly were - but because they had a ring of truth she couldn’t ignore. They hadn’t looked for a resurrection node. Not really. They’d been too focused on staying alive, pushing forward, bypassing danger wherever they could. Her gaze flicked to Brick, who shifted again, his grip tightening on his axe. The big guy might’ve been their muscle, but he wasn’t immune to doubt. None of them were.

  She caught Madi’s expression out of the corner of her eye, her medic’s normally calm demeanor cracking as she frowned in thought. The younger woman’s hand moved instinctively to the strap of her medkit, as if seeking comfort in its familiar weight. Madi’s lips parted slightly, but she didn’t speak, not yet. The hesitation was there, though, mirrored in the slight furrow of her brow. Jessica felt a pang of guilt twist in her chest. Madi was their glue, the one who patched them up when things went south, the one who kept them alive. And now Jack had her second-guessing everything they’d done.

  Damn him. Damn that smirk, that authority, that frustrating way he made them all feel like amateurs. Jessica swallowed hard, forcing her frustration into a tight knot and shoving it deep. He might’ve had a point, but this was still her team, her responsibility. If they’d missed something critical, that failure was on her shoulders - and she wasn’t about to let Jack use it as an excuse to take over.

  Her eyes flicked back to him, studying his face as he continued pacing. That same calm, unshakable confidence. That unspoken air of someone who’d seen it all before, who had survived horrors she could only imagine. There was something about him that grated on her nerves and drew her in at the same time, an infuriating mix of arrogance and competence. She hated it. And, begrudgingly, she respected it.

  Jack stopped pacing, his hand trailing along one of the glowing veins in the wall, the light pulsing faintly under his fingertips. He turned back to them, his gaze sweeping over the group again, lingering just long enough on each of them to make them squirm. Jessica clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms as she fought to hold his stare. If he thought he was going to break her, he was dead wrong.

  “Did you even bother looking for it?” Jack repeated, his voice colder now, cutting through her thoughts like a blade. And damn it, he was still smirking.