The camp was quieter at night, but it was never truly silent. The distant crack of gunfire still echoed beyond the walls, and the low murmur of voices drifted from the guard posts. Somewhere, a woman laughed—high-pitched and forced. A cover for something darker.
I lay on the cot, staring at the canvas above me, every muscle in my body tight with exhaustion—but sleep wouldn't come. It never really did. Not here. Not when I was being watched from every angle—by men who saw me as something to use, by Lucian with his silver eyes, and by Cain… who was harder to read.
I shifted, wincing as my wrist throbbed from the mutant's grip earlier. The bruise was blooming, ugly and purple, and the ache snuck up my arm like a slow-burning fuse.
I heard the soft scrape of boots outside.
Cain.
His silhouette filled the doorway, backlit by the firelight from the main camp. He didn't speak—he rarely did unless it mattered—but I felt his eyes on me.
"You guarding me, or the camp?" I muttered.
Cain stepped inside, his gaze flicking briefly to my wrist. He knelt beside me—close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him—before I could even think to protest.
"Let me see," he said, voice low and rough.
I hesitated—my instincts screaming not to let anyone get close—but his eyes were steady. Not demanding. Not cruel. Just… firm.
I held out my wrist.
His fingers brushed against my skin, calloused and warm, but gentle. Too gentle for a man who had probably killed more people than I'd ever know.
"You should've told me it was this bad," Cain murmured, turning my hand carefully.
"It's not that bad."
He gave me a look that said I was full of shit.
My heart was doing that stupid flutter thing again. I blamed exhaustion.
"I've had worse," I added, trying to keep it light. "This is practically a love tap."
Cain didn't laugh, but the corner of his mouth twitched. Progress.
He let go of my wrist but didn't move back right away. His eyes lingered on mine, something unreadable in them.
"You handled yourself well today," he said.
There it was.
A rare compliment from the stone-faced protector.
I smirked. "Careful, Cain. I might start thinking you actually like me."
He stood, the moment gone as quickly as it came.
"Get some rest," he said, his tone slipping back into that businesslike calm. "You'll need it."
Then he was gone, leaving me alone with the lingering warmth of his touch and a knot of emotions I didn't have time to untangle.
I didn't get rest.
Because an hour later, one of Lucian's men appeared outside my tent.
"The boss wants you."
Of course he does.
I followed the guard across the camp, weaving through the shadows. Eyes followed me—curious, envious, and a few filled with thinly veiled hate. Women who had been summoned before me. Women who never came back the same.
I stiffened my spine. I wouldn't break like that.
Lucian could try, but I'd burn this whole place down before I let him own me.
The tent was larger than I expected, with a table set with a half-bottle of whiskey and two glasses—like we were about to discuss business over drinks instead of my life.
Lucian was waiting, reclining in a chair, his jacket unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms and a knife strapped to his wrist. Casual power.
"Kira," he greeted, his smile lazy but his eyes sharp. "Glad you came."
I stepped inside but didn't sit. Didn't relax.
"You summoned. Thought it might be rude to ignore you."
His grin widened. "You're learning fast."
Lucian poured the whiskey, pushing a glass toward me. I didn't touch it.
He watched me for a moment, his gaze dipping lower, assessing, like he was peeling back my layers to see what I'd look like broken.
But he wasn't leering. Not quite.
Lucian's attention was more dangerous than desire. It was possession.
He was weighing me—calculating my value.
"You proved yourself today," he said smoothly. "Brought back supplies. Held your own. Impressive."
I shrugged. "Just doing my part."
Lucian leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "See, that's what I like about you. You're not like the others. You've got teeth."
I didn't like where this was going.
"I take care of my people, Kira," Lucian continued, his voice soft but firm. "You play smart, you stay in line… and you'll thrive here. Maybe more than just survive."
He gestured vaguely to the tent.
An offer.
Protection. Privilege. But it came with a collar.
I forced a smirk. "That what this is? A promotion?"
Lucian's eyes glittered. "Consider it an opportunity."
I leaned in slightly, matching his intensity, but keeping my tone cool. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm not looking for favors. I earn my keep."
Silence stretched between us—tense, electric.
Then Lucian laughed, low and amused. "You are a stubborn little thing."
He stood, stepping close. Too close. The whiskey on his breath mixed with the scent of leather and gunpowder.
"But I like that," he murmured, his voice just for me. "Just remember… I don't offer twice.
He didn't touch me.
But he didn't have to.
The message was clear.
I left the tent with my pulse racing—not from attraction, but from the realization that I was walking a knife's edge.
Lucian didn't like being denied.
And Cain wouldn't always be there to shield me.
I needed to be smarter. Faster. Stronger.
Which was why, later that night, I found myself sneaking toward the supply crates. Looking for something—anything—that might give me an advantage.
That's when I met him.
He was crouched behind a stack of crates, rummaging through a stash of food like he owned the place. Wild dark hair, lean but muscled, with eyes that gleamed like he was always on the verge of laughter—or violence.
He noticed me and grinned, sharp and wide.
"Shit," he whispered. "You caught me. Guess I'll have to kill you now."
I raised a brow. "Really? Over a can of beans?"
He leaned in conspiratorially. "They're good beans."
I crossed my arms. "And you are?"
"Ash." He winked. "Welcome to the shitshow."
Something about him was reckless and dangerous…
But for the first time in days, I didn't feel like prey.
I felt like I'd met someone who might just burn this place down with me.
And damn it… I liked him already.