I step into the cramped, two-bedroom apartment, my so-called "home" these days, and take in the scene. Kirelle, Korin, and Tristan are all here, crammed into the small living space—and, to my annoyance, so is an unwelcome guest. Ben. He's leaning back against the wall, arms crossed, looking around like he's walked into a place fit for roaches rather than actual people. His clothes have improved these days, decked out in finer fabrics, and he wears them with an air that somehow makes him even more insufferable than usual.
"If you're here just to judge my living situation, get out," I snap, narrowing my eyes at him.
He looks over, smirking in that smug way that makes me want to punch him square in the face. "It's such a letdown, Daelan—multiple levels below Ambrose." He sighs like he's personally offended by my apartment's existence.
"Just drop off whatever it is you're here for and leave," I tell him.
Ben laughs, amused, and glances at the others like they should join in. "Look at this guy—already expecting gifts, huh?"
"Well, it has been pretty consistent every week," I say. It's true; each week, without fail, some expensive item or another shows up, courtesy of this mysterious "mistress" of his. Part of me had been convinced that the attention would fizzle out after a month or so. But here I am, proven wrong again.
Ben shakes his head, muttering something under his breath.
"Fucking bastard. I still don't get what she sees in you." Then he straightens up a bit, his tone shifting slightly as he goes on. "Anyway, my employer was so 'distressed' last time you dragged yourself back from the dungeon, half-dead with broken bones, that she's decided she never wants to experience that kind of… heartbreak again."
I feel something stir in my chest—a warmth I don't understand, something I haven't felt in so long that I don't know what to call it. Sure, the twins and Tristan care, in their way, but this… this feels different. Foreign. The last time I dragged myself back here half-dead, I swear I saw someone—some shadowed, feminine figure—tending to my wounds. Ben says it was just a hallucination, the result of blood loss and exhaustion, but I can't shake the memory of it.
Then, to my surprise, Ben's attention shifts to Tristan. "Come here, kid."
Tristan looks uncertain, glancing at me for a moment before stepping forward. Ben produces a necklace from his coat—a green, glowing amulet—and fastens it around Tristan's neck, slipping it under a tarnished copper chain and shoving it into his baggy clothes, carefully hiding it from sight.
"My mistress says if you bring Daelan back alive and unharmed, you can ask for anything within her power. So you'd better work hard, okay?" Ben grins, ruffling Tristan's hair. The kid's green eyes go wide, sparkling with excitement, and he nods vigorously, looking like someone who just got a golden ticket out of here. And maybe, in a way, he has.
Ben steps back, his gaze returning to me. "My work here is done. Remember, Daelan—come back alive," he says, a grin playing at his lips. And then, just like that, he vanishes into the shadows as if he was never here at all.
After he's gone, I'm left standing in the quiet, the weight of everything pressing down on me. This strange, unfamiliar care. It stirs something deep, something I've buried under years of scraping by, of surviving one day at a time. I don't know what it means, or if it even matters. But for the first time, I think I want to believe that maybe, just maybe, I matter to someone.
Yeah right. I shove down that emotion deep down further.