We didn’t speak at first.

  The silence dragged behind us like a second shadow, heavier than the blood still drying on my clothes. My boots crunched through loose gravel as we crossed back into the ruins of the industrial strip, a winding trail of shattered asphalt, rusted fences, and hollow buildings half-eaten by time.

  The others walked a few paces behind me.

  At first.

  Then Mark’s voice broke the quiet.

  “What the hell was that?”

  I didn’t stop walking.

  “What was what.”

  “You know what.”

  Still, I didn’t stop.

  But I answered.

  “The one we caught,” I said flatly. “I got information out of him. Then I killed him.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about, Rex,” Mark said, voice rising. “You—” He broke off, then stepped in front of me, forcing me to stop.

  “You tortured a kid.”

  I looked past him, down the road that would eventually lead to Eden’s west gate. Then I looked at him. “And?”

  He stared at me like he didn’t recognize who he was talking to.

  “You cut off his hand.”

  “Yes.”

  “He was just a scared seventeen-year-old.”

  “He was armed. He would’ve killed any of us if he had the chance.”

  “That doesn’t mean—”

  “It means he was a soldier. And soldiers die.”

  Ferris grunted behind us. “He got results.”

  Mark turned. “So that justifies it?”

  Ferris didn’t flinch. “I’m not saying I liked it. But I understand it. He got us information. That’s more than what we usually get.”

  “That doesn’t make it right.”

  “It doesn’t make it wrong, either,” Ferris said, his voice heavier now.

  Wren, quiet since we started walking, finally spoke. “He talked. That’s what matters.”

  Her tone was measured. Not approval. Not condemnation. Just fact.

  Mark looked around like he couldn’t believe he was the only one seeing it.

  Then his eyes locked on mine. “You enjoyed it.”

  I stopped.

  Turned slowly.

  “You think I enjoyed it?”

  “You smiled.”

  I stared back, voice low. “I’ve done worse things and smiled less. That was mercy.”

  Wren muttered, “That wasn’t mercy.”

  No one argued with that.

  Not even me.

  We kept moving.

  The city thinned into skeletal outskirts, empty shells of parking lots and forgotten warehouses. The sky above was turning a deep, bruised red—the last light bleeding out behind layers of smog and cloud.

  We were maybe a mile out from Eden when I noticed it.

  The stillness.

  Too still.

  No wind. No echo. Not even the distant caws of carrion birds.

  I raised a hand. Everyone froze.

  Then I heard it.

  Not breathing. Not talking.

  Scratching.

  From the ruins ahead.

  Dozens of claws dragging across stone, metal, bone.

  Mark whispered, “Shit.”

  Wren had her knives out before the words left his mouth. The scouts dropped to crouches. Ferris grinned without humor and reached for his sledgehammer.

  They came out of the dark in waves.

  Demons.

  Not the small, dumb ones. These were bigger. Bone-plated shoulders, hunched backs, hooked limbs that moved like spiders. Dozens of them.

  “Hold position!” I shouted. “Circle formation!”

  We backed into a wide junction—half collapsed, cars overturned and strewn like toys. Good ground. Open enough to move. Enough space to fight.

  We could work with this.

  Ferris and I took the front. Mark and the scouts flanked. Wren and Luna stayed back, covering angles.

  They didn’t need to say anything. I could see it in their eyes.

  They were giving me the space.

  They’d seen what I could do in the siege.

  Now they were banking on it.

  Fine.

  I stepped forward.

  Blade in hand.

  And let the world fall away.

  The first demon lunged. I side-stepped, slashing upward from hip to throat. Blood sprayed. The second came in faster—I ducked low and carved its knee out, then buried the katana in its chest before it hit the ground.

  Another shrieked—I turned, parried a strike with the flat of the blade, spun, and drove the hilt into its skull.

  One. Two. Three. Dead.

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  I lost count after five.

  Time blurred. I stopped thinking. Stopped planning.

  Just moved.

  Strike. Step. Cut. Parry. Kill.

  I wasn’t fighting like a man anymore.

  I was a storm.

  A machine.

  A demon.

  I didn’t notice the others falling back to give me more room.

  I didn’t notice that I’d pushed too far forward.

  Didn’t notice—

  Until I heard the scream.

  “Rex!”

  Mark’s voice, distant. Panicked.

  I spun too late.

  The last demon had broken through. A runner. Fast. Smart. It slipped around the flank and hit Wren hard—tackled her sideways into the dirt, claws raking her side. Her scream cracked the air, then stopped cold as her head hit the ground.

  I ran.

  Faster than thought.

  The demon raised a claw for the kill.

  My katana split it in half mid-swing.

  I dropped to my knees beside her. “Wren—Wren!”

  She was breathing. Barely. Her side was bleeding badly.

  Her eyes were closed.

  I scooped her up, ignored the pain in my own arms, and started walking—fast, focused, every step measured.

  “Clear a path!” I barked.

  No one hesitated.

  Ferris took point, smashing through the last demon that tried to crawl from the shadows. The scouts took up the rear. Luna kept her eyes on Wren the whole time.

  We sprinted.

  Eden’s lights rose ahead like a dying lighthouse. Pale, flickering, imperfect.

  But it was there.

  The guards recognized us this time.

  They didn’t ask questions.

  The gate creaked open as we approached, and I didn’t slow.

  “She’s hit,” I said, steady. “Where’s Marisol?”

  One of them pointed toward the med quarter. “North wing—second room!”

  I didn’t wait.

  Didn’t thank him.

  I moved through Eden like a bullet.

  Inside the med bay, two nurses froze.

  Then Marisol stepped into the hall, wiping her hands on a bloodstained cloth. She stopped when she saw Wren.

  “Help her,” I said.

  She didn’t hesitate. “What happened?”

  “Demon. Flank breach. Side wound. She hit her head.”

  Marisol pulled on gloves. “Put her on the table. Now.”

  I did.

  She leaned over Wren. “Go wash up. I’ve got this.”

  I didn’t move.

  “Rex,” she said again. Quieter. “Go. I have this.”

  I backed up a step.

  Then another.

  And then left the room..

  I stayed in the hall. Just… watched.

  Rex had taken off the second Wren collapsed, and I followed. Quiet. Distant. Eyes locked on his back like I was trying to read the truth in his spine.

  At first, I thought it was the usual. Cold efficiency. The kind of sharp, merciless precision he always carried like a second skin.

  But then I heard it—his voice.

  It cracked when he said her name. Just once. But enough to punch a hole through the armor he wore like religion.

  And when he reached her?

  He didn’t grab her like she was a burden or toss her over his shoulder like a sack of supplies. He dropped to his knees and scooped her into his arms like she was something fragile. Something… irreplaceable.

  He held her close. Tight. The way someone would carry a lover, not a comrade.

  Princess-style.

  It looked wrong on him.

  No. It felt wrong.

  This was the same man who had tortured a teenage Zionite like it was sport. The same man who sliced throats and never blinked. Who could justify anything with a shrug and that dead, glassy stare.

  But now?

  Now he looked like he couldn’t breathe unless she did too.

  And I hated that it made me feel something.

  I stood there, invisible in the doorway, watching him move through the gates like the world behind him had ceased to exist. He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t flinch.

  But I saw the lie in his shoulders.

  Rex screamed, just once, back there. A sound cut short. A moment of something raw before he locked it all away.

  And yet… I saw it. I felt it.

  Whatever he was trying to bury, whatever he was trying to pretend wasn’t there—

  It was written in the way he held her.

  It made no damn sense.

  And I hated him for it.

  Not because he felt something.

  But because I did.

  _______

  I didn’t sleep.

  Didn’t blink much either.

  I sat in the hallway, spine pressed to the wall, sword laid across my lap. The silence stretched so long it stopped feeling like silence and started feeling like pressure.

  I kept my hands busy. Stripped the katana from its sheath, checked the edge under the flickering overhead bulb, and set to work. Cloth, oil, whetstone—each movement methodical. Familiar. Something I could control.

  You take care of the weapon. The weapon takes care of you. That’s the rule.

  So I cleaned it. Oiled the blade. Let the ritual pass the hours like sand slipping through cracked fingers.

  The others had gone to sleep. Eden was quiet now. But I stayed.

  Because she was still in that room. And so was Marisol.

  I didn’t need a reason. I just… stayed.

  Footsteps echoed down the hall in the early morning. I didn’t look up.

  "You're up early," I muttered.

  Mark slumped beside me with a tired groan, rubbing his face.

  “Couldn’t sleep,” he said. “Kept thinking about… everything. Figured I’d find you here.”

  I didn’t answer.

  He let the quiet stretch before speaking again, voice softer. “Any word?”

  I shook my head. “Marisol hasn’t come out.”

  Mark exhaled through his nose and leaned back against the wall beside me. “How long you been sitting here?”

  “Since we got back.”

  He blinked. “Shit, man. You serious?”

  I nodded.

  A beat passed.

  He glanced at the door, then back at me, eyes narrowing. “Okay, look. I gotta ask. What the hell was that back there?”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “You, carrying Wren. The way you ran. That shout—you looked desperate. I mean, I’ve seen you pissed. I’ve seen you hurt. But I’ve never seen you… scared.”

  He waited.

  I stared at the floor, the weight of the blade in my hands grounding me.

  “I—”

  The door creaked.

  Marisol stepped out, pulling off her gloves. Her face was pale and drawn. She looked like she’d aged ten years in a night.

  “She’s stable,” she said.

  Mark let out a shaky breath.

  I stayed quiet.

  “But,” she added, “some of the demon blood got into the wound. Not enough to kill her outright, but it’s going to rot if we don’t act fast. She needs antibiotics.”

  Mark straightened. “We don’t have any?”

  “Used the last of them when Luna was injured,” Marisol said. “I’ve got bandages and fever meds, but that won’t be enough.”

  “I know a place,” I said, standing. “Old pharmacy near the edge of the city. I stayed there for a while. Hid a good stash—strong stuff. I knew I’d need it eventually.”

  Mark frowned. “You’re sure it’s still there?”

  I nodded once. “It’s guarded.”

  “By who?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. “Wait—what?”

  “Someone I trust.”

  Mark blinked at me like I’d spoken a foreign language. “You trust someone?”

  I didn’t respond. Just re-sheathed the katana with a quiet snick.

  Mark scoffed. “That’s new.”

  I grunted.

  Marisol stepped forward. “How far is it?”

  “A day and a half there,” I said. “Three days, round trip.”

  She tapped her fingers against her thigh, calculating. “That’s pushing it. But three days should be fine—if you leave now.”

  I nodded.

  “But you’re not going alone,” she said firmly. “You’re still healing. You’re taking someone with you.”

  Mark opened his mouth. “I can go—”

  “I’ll go.”

  The voice came from the hallway.

  We all turned.

  Luna stood there, steady on her feet. Her eyes locked on Marisol’s, not mine.

  “I’m coming with him.”

  Mark shifted. “Luna, that’s not—”

  “I’m fine.”

  She wasn’t. Not fully. But she said it like a fact, and no one argued.

  Marisol gave her a long look. Then nodded.

  “Fine. But you leave now. No delays.”

  I said nothing. Just turned toward the exit.

  Behind me, Luna’s footsteps followed without hesitation.

  Mark’s voice trailed after us, muttering under his breath.

  “She’s gonna kill him…”