The first crack of gunfire echoed somewhere beyond the camp. Distant, but close enough to remind everyone that death was always a breath away.
No one flinched.
Not the guards.
Not Cain.
And sure as hell, not me.
But I clocked it anyway—three rapid shots, followed by silence.
Execution style.
Someone had screwed up. Or maybe they'd just run out of use.
I shifted on the thin cot, every muscle in my body protesting. Sleep had been a joke. Every rustle outside my tent had sounded like a knife being sharpened just for me.
Cain stood by the entrance, arms crossed, his rifle slung over his back. His eyes scanned the camp like he was reading every face, every movement—calculating who would be a problem before they even knew it themselves.
I dragged a hand through my tangled hair. "You know, you watching me sleep is a little creepy."
He didn't react. Of course he didn't. Cain was all stone and silence, but I was starting to understand him. He wasn't cruel like the others. He wasn't one of those men who stared too long, who stripped you bare with their eyes just because they could.
Cain watched because it was his job.
Because keeping me breathing was his duty.
And he took duty seriously.
"Up," he said simply.
I groaned but pushed off the cot, forcing my aching body to comply. My ribs still throbbed from my rough welcome yesterday, but I didn't let it show.
Weakness was an open invitation.
He tossed me a canteen. Warm, stale water, but it was better than nothing. I drank.
"You're with me today," Cain said.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "Lucky me."
Cain's jaw flexed. Was that amusement? Frustration? Hard to tell with him.
"And if I say no?" I pushed, just to see if he'd bite.
Cain's eyes finally met mine. Steady. Unyielding.
"You don't."
Fair.
I shrugged. "Lead the way, Boss."
We stepped into the camp, and I felt the weight of eyes immediately. Some curious. Some hungry. Some dead inside.
The camp was a machine.
Every part moving, grinding forward.
Men carrying crates of ammunition. Women scrubbing knives clean—some with blood still fresh on their hands. Children darting through gaps like shadows, avoiding notice because notice was dangerous.
Those kids knew the same lesson I'd learned in the slums:
Stay small. Stay quiet. Stay breathing.
Cain led me toward the center of it all—toward the largest tent, the heart of the camp. And I knew what that meant.
Lucian.
My stomach coiled tight. I hadn't seen him since yesterday, but his presence still lingered like the taste of metal on my tongue.
Men like him didn't fade from your memory.
They planted roots in it.
Cain's steps slowed as we approached the tent. His shoulders squared, his back straightened—a soldier walking into his commander's line of sight.
I took that in.
Cain might be feared here, but Lucian ruled him, same as everyone else.
The canvas parted, and there he was.
Lucian leaned back in his chair like he owned the world—or at least this broken corner of it. He wore the same sharp black jacket, his boots polished to a shine that mocked the filth around us. His hair was slicked back, not a strand out of place, and his silver eyes—too cold, too knowing—locked onto mine the second I entered.
He smiled, slow and easy, like he already knew what I tasted like.
"Ah, Kira. You're still breathing. Good. I was worried you wouldn't last the night."
I gave him my bloodied grin, the one that said 'fuck you' without needing the words. "Sorry to disappoint."
Lucian's smirk twitched wider. He liked this game.
But he also liked knowing he could end it whenever he wanted.
Cain stood beside me, stiff. Guarded. Like he was bracing for something.
Lucian's gaze slid to him, assessing. "You keeping our little stray in line, Cain?"
Cain gave a small nod. "She's adjusting."
Lucian chuckled. "Adjusting. That what we're calling it now?"
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes glinting. "You don't strike me as the obedient type, Kira."
I shrugged. "I'm adaptable."
Lucian's grin was all teeth. "That's what I like to hear."
But there was something sharper under that smile—something dangerous.
Like he was testing me, weighing my worth.
"Cain," Lucian said smoothly. "I want her on the supply run today."
Cain's head turned, just slightly. Barely a hesitation. But I caught it.
"She's not ready," Cain said, voice measured.
Lucian's gaze flicked up, sharp as a blade. The air tightened.
Cain didn't back down, but he didn't push either. He was careful. Controlled.
He knew exactly how far he could question before it became defiance.
"She'll learn," Lucian said, his voice like silk over steel. "Or she won't come back."
He leaned back again, dismissive, but his eyes never really left me.
"And if she gets herself killed?" Cain pressed.
Lucian's smile returned—lazy, cruel. "Then she wasn't worth keeping."
There it was.
The truth under all the smiles.
I was entertainment to Lucian.
A new piece in his game.
Expendable.
Cain's fists tightened at his sides. But he nodded. "Understood."
Lucian's attention turned fully to me now. "What do you say, Kira? Think you'll survive your first run?"
I met his gaze, matching his smirk. "I tend to outlast my problems."
Lucian laughed, but there was nothing warm in it. "Good. Let's hope you're not the problem."
His smile lingered, like he was already imagining what I'd look like broken.
Cain's hand brushed my back—subtle, but there. A silent nudge. Time to leave.
We stepped out into the sun, the heat pressing down like a second punishment.
Cain exhaled slowly. "You need to be careful."
I glanced up at him. "What's wrong? Jealous he likes me more than you?"
Cain didn't smile. "If Lucian likes you, you're in more danger than you realize."
I swallowed the knot forming in my throat, but I didn't let it show.
Because he was right.
Lucian's attention was not a gift.
It was a loaded gun, aimed squarely at my head.
And the worst part?
I could feel it.
That pull—his power, his charm—it was like standing too close to a fire. Dangerous. Alluring.
But Cain?
Cain was the shield keeping me from getting burned.
For now.