The smell of burning trees clawed at Thomas's senses, twisting his stomach with a mix of nausea and guilt. Every breath was thick with ash and smoke, every step a reminder that they'd left Mason behind.
They had no choice, he tried to tell himself; they would've been swallowed up by the inferno if they'd stayed a moment longer. Still, the image of Mason alone, surrounded by enemies, was seared into his mind, far worse than any physical wound.
Thomas: What the hell… What the hell… What the hell…
The words escaped him in a low murmur, an almost involuntary release as he stumbled out of the blazing forest, Claire close behind.
When they finally broke free of the thick wilderness, they both collapsed, gasping for air, the taste of smoke and bitter regret still sharp on his tongue. The Moon was breaking over the horizon, casting a cold light over the devastation behind them, and for a second, Thomas thought it was almost cruel—as if nothing had happened.
Claire straightened beside him, her voice steady and unshaken.
Claire: We can't stop. They'll send more soldiers to the manor to finish us off. We need to keep moving.
Thomas clenched his fists, a familiar sense of helplessness pooling in his chest. He looked to her, searching for answers, for direction, but all he could manage was a desperate question.
Thomas: But where? And who the hell are they? What's going on, Claire?
Claire's expression didn't change. Her eyes flickered just slightly, but her tone was as even as ever.
Claire: I'm sorry. If I knew, I would tell you.
Thomas could sense her evasion, the slight edge in her tone that made him want to press further. But they were in no position to argue. He knew well enough that any second now, more armed soldiers could come barreling through the woods, and all his questions would mean nothing if they were caught.
So, he kept silent, following Claire's lead as they broke into a run once more, leaving the Heartson manor behind them.
Minutes stretched on as they sprinted across the estate, the once-familiar landscape of manicured lawns and grand pathways now distorted by the haze of smoke. Eventually, they stumbled onto the busy streets of Los Angeles.
The noise, the bustle, the darkness of the late night—all of it felt foreign, jarring against the chaos they had just escaped. Claire slowed to a brisk walk, glancing back now and then, as if expecting an ambush at any moment. Thomas opened his mouth to speak, to ask her about the plan, but she quickly raised a hand to silence him, her eyes scanning their surroundings.
It was strange, walking through the city in their disheveled, armed state without so much as a curious glance from the passersby. Thomas could only guess the people here were far too desensitized, far too absorbed in their own lives to notice the two of them, still covered in dirt and soot.
But the world seemed unreal now, like he was moving through a half-dream where reality barely brushed against him. He wanted to scream, to shout, to ask a million questions, but the words caught in his throat.
As they walked in silence, the conditions of the city seemed to grow worse with every step. Thomas's eyes drifted to an old man hunched against a crumbling wall, his clothing torn and stained, his eyes hollow as he stared into nothingness. Further down, small children peeked out from the shadows of an alleyway, their gazes sharp and desperate, hungry looks etched into their faces.
Thomas's heart twisted painfully at the sight, his hands twitching at his sides with the instinct to reach out, to offer something—anything—to help. But he clenched his fists instead, forcing himself to keep walking.
Not now.
For now, he had to keep moving.
Finally, Claire led them to a bench tucked away from the main flow of people, near an old park shadowed by tall trees. She gestured for him to sit, her face unreadable as she took her own seat, her gaze fixed on the street in front of them.
Claire: Sit.
Thomas sat beside her, bewildered and wary, his mind racing. The silence around them felt suffocating, thick with words left unsaid. And then, Claire broke it, her voice low, her gaze never straying from the scene in front of them.
Claire: I'm sorry for all the trouble Mason and I have put you through by bringing you here. I've been observing our surroundings, and it appears our attackers are no longer in pursuit. You should be safe to return home.
Thomas stared at her, dumbfounded.
Safe? Home? After everything they'd just been through?
The words didn't make sense, felt wrong in his mind.
Thomas: What—what are you talking about?
Claire: I know you must have a thousand questions about what happened tonight, but believe me when I say, you're better off not knowing. If I were you, I'd refrain from mentioning this to anyone, for your own safety. It's a blessing our attackers didn't identify you. You're lucky to be walking away from this.
She paused, glancing at him, her expression as cold and detached as ever.
Claire: If you'd like, I'll arrange safe transport to wherever you need to go.
Thomas: Transport?… Are you just telling me to leave?
Her gaze remained forward, her tone measured, as though her words were a statement of fact, not a suggestion.
Claire: It would be unwise for you to stay in this city any longer. If our attackers are still out there, you'd be safer returning to your home country as soon as possible.
A chill settled over Thomas, the frustration boiling up inside him like a physical ache. She was talking like this was his fight to leave, like he could just walk away. He clenched his fists, barely keeping the tremble out of his voice.
Thomas: And what about you? What are you planning?
For a moment, her expression hardened, a faint spark of something colder and sharper flashing in her eyes.
Claire: I'm going to find and rescue my young master.
The simplicity, the finality of her answer stung. Her tone was solid, and it was clear she'd already accepted this as her reality. But Thomas wasn't about to let it slide that easily.
Thomas: Alone? Did you even see how many of them there were? If you go back there by yourself, you're throwing your life away!
Claire's gaze flickered, just barely, before she responded, her voice calm but tinged with an edge he hadn't heard before.
Claire: In case you've forgotten, I can take care of myself. Protecting Mason is my duty. This is something I have to do.
Thomas: Then let me help you. You saw earlier that I can—
Claire: Absolutely not.
The sharpness of her tone stopped him cold, the glint in her eyes almost enough to make him step back. But something within him refused to back down.
Claire: The enemies we faced tonight were hardly skilled—novices. We had luck, a good amount of it, and several advantages on our side. If we face them again, it won't end the same way. You can't begin to imagine the kind of strength and resolve it would take to survive that.
Thomas took a shaky breath, the frustration bubbling up into something close to anger. He could see it now—her desperate, steadfast resolve. It was the same kind of drive he felt himself, that single-minded purpose that overrode everything else. But that didn't mean she had to do it alone.
He stood suddenly, moving into her line of sight, forcing her to look at him directly. His voice came out sharper than he'd intended, laced with a fierce determination.
Thomas: Enough of this already. You're stubborn, I get it, but you're not fooling me.
Claire's brow creased in surprise, the hint of emotion finally breaking through her mask. Emboldened, he continued, his words spilling out in a rush.
Thomas: I know you're rattled by everything that's happened tonight. Anyone would be. You've lost Mason, your home's in ruins, and you're stuck without a plan or a single lead. But despite all that, despite everything… you're not alone. You still have me.
His voice wavered, his own insecurities bubbling up, but he pushed them aside, leaning into the fierce certainty that had taken root inside him.
Thomas: I may not be the strongest or the smartest, but I'll give everything I've got to help you save him. That's my resolve.
Claire's eyes narrowed, her tone dropping to a cold, almost biting edge.
Claire: Words of bravado mean little without the strength to back them up. Do you honestly think you have what it takes to stand against them? Against what's coming?
Thomas: Yes! I told you once, and I'll tell you as many times as it takes for you to believe it—I'm going to help you save Mason. Whatever it takes.
She held his gaze, studying him with a guarded, searching look.
Claire: But why? You just met him. You owe him nothing. Why would you risk everything for a stranger?
Thomas's heart pounded as he answered, the truth ringing clear and unshakable in his mind.
Thomas: Because I want to. Isn't that reason enough? I may not know Mason well, but I won't walk away and leave him to die. I'll risk whatever I have to, because if I don't…
There was silence as Claire looked at him, really looked at him. Her eyes searched his face, and for the first time, he thought he saw a glimmer of understanding, a softening in her expression. No that wasn't it.
Slowly, she rose from the bench, turning away from him, her voice barely above a whisper.
Claire: Fine. If you insist on coming I cannot change that. But you'll do exactly as I say. Not a step out of line, understood?
Thomas nodded, relief flooding through him, a determined grin spreading across his face.
Thomas: Yes, ma'am. Whatever you say ma'am. So, what's our first move?
She glanced over her shoulder, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth.
Claire: First, we're finding food. I can hear your stomach from here.
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Claire watched Thomas eat with a mix of disbelief and curiosity. His movements were quick and eager, tearing through the waffles and hash browns as though they were fuel for some critical mission. She couldn't quite wrap her head around how he'd managed to work up such an appetite, but it seemed to fit him somehow—this boy who could be so at ease in one moment and reckless in the next.
Claire: There's no way you're still hungry after everything you ate back at the manor.
Thomas barely paused, his gaze flicking to her with a small, almost defiant glint, his fork still midway to his mouth.
Thomas: Why do Americans insist on eating so much sugar? Isn't this a meal for the early morning?
Claire: Try not to get sidetracked.
She said, arching an eyebrow, though she couldn't hide the faint amusement in her tone. He had a way of making even simple observations feel... lively. But she wasn't here to marvel at his ability to put down waffles. She leaned back, giving him a measured look.
Claire: I'm more interested in hearing about you. I know I was... skeptical of your combat abilities back at the manor. But truthfully, you held your own better than most would have in that situation. You were facing down multiple opponents, each more ruthless than the last. So, tell me, Thomas. Where did you learn to fight like that?
He took his time with his next bite, chewing thoughtfully, his expression serious. It was one of the rare times she'd seen him not trying to force a grin or a joke. He wiped his mouth and then met her gaze, his eyes unexpectedly solemn.
Thomas: Combat's… been part of my life since I was a kid. My father beat it into my head. Guess you could say he's a bit extreme in his methods.
She raised an eyebrow, her skepticism evident. His answer was vague, almost as if he were hiding something, or perhaps protecting someone.
Claire: I don't know any boys whose fathers train them in advanced sword combat. 'Extreme' doesn't begin to cover it.
Thomas: Like I said, my father's a little… intense. He was determined that I'd be able to defend myself. But even with all that training, last night was the first time I've ever fought people who were actually trying to kill me.
Claire's gaze sharpened, a subtle shift that he didn't seem to notice as he took another bite. His nonchalance bordered on arrogance, and it irked her.
Claire: If you're planning on following me to rescue Mason, it'll be the first of many. And believe me, we're bound to face people more skilled than those soldiers from last night. You may have come out unscathed, but that's a rare mercy. And I'll ask you this now, Thomas—what exactly happened on that roof when you stopped me from finishing the fight?
His expression shifted, and she could see the weight of the question in his eyes. He took a deliberate bite of hashbrown, his gaze falling to his plate.
Thomas: I just… I don't believe in throwing lives away, even if they're lives that don't exactly have the best intentions toward us.
Her eyebrows shot up, her incredulity plain as she processed his words. It wasn't just a preference—there was a conviction behind it, a fierce resolve that she found, frankly, naive.
Claire: So you think the men who would gladly kill you and me—kill Mason—deserve to live?
Thomas: It's not about deserving. I don't get to decide who lives or dies. I'm not some divine executioner, and neither are you. And besides, if we kill everyone we come across, we'd lose any chance of getting information out of them.
She took a slow sip of her coffee, letting his words hang in the air as she watched him, trying to discern if he truly believed it. There was a certain conviction, a fire, in his tone that she recognized—though where her resolve was tempered by realism, his seemed bound to an idealism she couldn't comprehend.
Claire: That sounds noble, but it's a dangerous way to think. It may be easy now, but the people we're up against are ruthless. If you hesitate, if you hold back because of that sentiment, it'll only endanger you—and anyone you're trying to protect. Do you really think sparing people who'd gladly see you dead makes you… what, a better person?
His fork stilled, and he lowered it, his gaze piercing as he regarded her, meeting her skepticism head-on.
Thomas: I think it makes me the kind of person I want to be. And that matters more than what those soldiers think or what you think. I don't want to be the kind of person who throws lives away just because it's convenient. Life has… too much value to waste it that way.
She could feel her patience thinning, though her expression remained as calm as ever.
Claire: You make it sound like taking a life is some impulsive choice. What I did on that roof was necessary. If you're going to accompany me, you'll need to understand that some things are beyond ideals. I won't risk my life or Mason's for a sentimental belief in sparing lives that have no regard for ours.
He hesitated, a flicker of doubt in his eyes, but it was brief. His jaw set with determination, and he leaned forward, his hand clenching into a fist on the table.
Thomas: But what if I could do it? What if I could find Mason and get him back without… sacrificing anyone? What would you say to that?
The question caught her off-guard, though her face betrayed nothing. She watched him closely, her eyes narrowing as she sensed the weight behind his words.
Claire: Then I'd say you're fooling yourself. But entertain me—what exactly are you proposing?
He straightened, the fire in his eyes reigniting, and raised a single finger between them.
Thomas: A wager.
His tone was challenging, confident.
Thomas: We're both set on saving Mason, right? And we both have our ways of doing things. So here's what I'm saying: I'll find him without taking a single life. I'll do it my way—without sacrificing anyone. If I can pull it off, you do things my way from then on.
Claire's lips twitched, an almost mocking smile threatening to break her otherwise neutral expression.
Claire: And what happens when your idealism fails? Because it will, and when it does, I won't sit by and watch you endanger yourself or others.
Thomas: When it becomes… 'utmost necessary,' then, and only then, you can do it your way. But until that moment, you let me try it mine.
She studied him, her gaze unreadable, though a faint, almost reluctant admiration sparked within her. For all his naivety, there was a strength to his conviction, a purity of belief that was difficult to ignore. But it was also dangerous—potentially deadly if left unchecked.
Claire: Fine. I'll go along with this wager of yours. But mark my words, Thomas. When your idealism breaks—and it will break—I'll do what needs to be done. Understand?
Thomas: Perfectly.
His tone was firm, and for a moment, the tension between them faded as they both acknowledged the terms of their uneasy alliance.
He leaned back, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips as he picked up his fork again, resuming his meal with renewed gusto. Claire watched him, a strange mix of doubt and intrigue settling over her. She knew better than to believe in his wager, but perhaps—just perhaps—he'd surprise her.
Thomas: Anyways, you talk about my performance on the roof, but what was all of that stuff you were doing back there. That was some... terrifying skill back there on the roof. You moved like a bloody demon. Where'd you learn to fight like that?
She lowered her coffee, her expression unchanged, her tone measured as she responded.
Claire: As I told you, my duty is to serve and protect Mason Heartson, as well as the rest of the Heartson family. Securing that position required a certain... aptitude, which I've trained to maintain over the years.
Thomas leaned forward, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips.
Thomas: So what, you had to prove yourself by piercing hearts and lopping off heads?
Claire: The Heartson family required only the best protection. The process for choosing the manor's maids was... rigorous, to say the least. Naturally, I came out on top.
Thomas: Oh, quite the humble maiden, aren't you?
Claire: One of my many virtues.
Despite himself, Thomas chuckled. There was something almost reassuring about her unshakable confidence, as though she'd faced down a hundred battles before this one and come out unscathed each time. As he polished off the last bite on his plate, Claire's expression shifted, growing serious once more.
Claire: Alright, now that we know a bit more about each other, let's discuss our next move. We need to find Mason, and that won't be a simple task.
Thomas let out a small sigh, his fingers tapping restlessly against the table.
Thomas: That's putting it mildly. We're up against an organization with an army at its disposal, all while somehow staying completely invisible to the public eye.
Claire: Meaning?
Thomas: Meaning we're going to need all the help we can get.