Evening came fast.

I must have slept eventually, because when I opened my eyes the room was darker than it had been earlier.

Noah was still curled against me.

At some point he had shifted closer, his face tucked into my chest, one hand gripping the front of my shirt like he’d been afraid I might disappear if he let go.

My arm was still wrapped around him.

I didn’t move.

For a few seconds I just listened to him breathe.

Slow.

Steady.

Alive.

The bruise on his cheek had darkened in such a short amount of time.

Anger flickered through me again, sharp and immediate.

I forced it down.

Last night wasn’t about revenge.

It was about survival.

Noah stirred slightly.

His fingers tightened against my shirt before his eyes opened halfway.

“Lucas…?” he murmured.

“I’m here.”

His eyes focused slowly.

“You didn’t go to training.”

“No.”

He studied my face for a second.

“You stayed.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah.”

Silence settled between us.

Not awkward.

Just heavy with everything that had happened.

Noah shifted carefully, pushing himself up slightly so he could look at me better.

“Are you going tomorrow?” he asked.

“Tonight.”

Another pause.

“But you don’t want to.”

I didn’t answer.

Noah watched me a little longer before sighing softly and sliding out of bed.

“Lucas…”

“Yeah?”

“This… what we have… it’s made me happier than I’ve ever been. I don’t want to lose it. I don’t want this to end. I don’t want to reach these heights with anyone else.”

God, that sounded like an almost “I love you,” but I’m not that gullible.

I don’t expect that from him anytime soon.

What we have is healing.

And I can wait forever if I have to.

I brushed my hand against his cheek.

“Yeah, I understand. You don’t have to worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

Noah looked at me, then looked down in his thoughts.

“I’m going to make coffee,” he said.

I nodded.

“Okay.”

He grabbed one of my shirts from the floor and pulled it on before walking out of the bedroom.

I stayed in bed another minute.

Then my phone buzzed on the nightstand.

One message.

Dylan.

Training is not optional.

Of course.

I knew that.

I stared at the message a second longer than I should have.

Like ignoring it might change something.

It wouldn’t.

I sat up slowly, rubbing a hand over my face.

The punishment was coming.

I deserved it.

I just hoped it wouldn’t affect Noah.

I didn’t want him to see me come back like that again.

We had coffee, and the silence between us lingered.

“I… I have to go, Noah.”

“I know…” he said softly, avoiding my gaze.

I hate it.

I hate this.

Leaving him alone.

When I walked into the warehouse, Dylan was smiling.

Bad sign.

“Hello, Lucas. Let’s start training and do punishment after,” Dylan said.

I nodded and did as he said.

Dylan didn’t elaborate.

He just watched me for a second longer than necessary, like he was measuring something I couldn’t see, then turned and gestured toward the far end of the room.

“Follow.”

I did.

The training space shifted as we moved deeper in—less open floor, more enclosed areas. The air felt different back here. Cooler. Cleaner. That kind of sterile that didn’t actually mean clean.

There was a metal table.

Not like the ones in hospitals.

Heavier. Bolted down.

Someone was already there.

Strapped.

For a second, I thought he was unconscious.

His head lolled slightly to the side, mouth parted, chest rising slow and shallow. Too slow.

Too controlled.

There were straps across his wrists. His chest. His legs. Tight enough that his skin pressed up around them.

No struggling.

No movement.

But not dead.

Nico stood beside the table, sleeves already rolled up, a pair of gloves snapped tight around his wrists.

He glanced up when we approached, like we’d just walked into a meeting already in progress.

“You’re late,” he said casually.

Dylan didn’t react.

“Lucas needed a reminder,” he replied.

Nico’s eyes flicked to me.

Not curious.

Not judgmental.

Just… noting.

“Good,” he said. “Then this is useful timing.”

My gaze drifted back to the man on the table.

There was a faint sheen of sweat on his skin. His lips were dry. His eyes—

Open.

Not wide.

Not panicked.

Just… open.

And unfocused.

I felt something tighten in my chest.

“He’s awake,” I said before I could stop myself.

Nico smiled slightly.

“Very.”

I didn’t like the way he said that.

Dylan stepped closer to the table, resting a hand lightly against the edge.

“He’s been given something,” Dylan said, his tone calm, almost conversational. “It prevents motor function.”

I looked at him.

“What?”

“He can’t move,” Nico clarified, adjusting something on the tray beside him. Metal instruments. Neatly arranged. “Can’t speak. Can’t even flinch, if we do this right.”

My stomach turned, but I didn’t let it show.

“And before you ask,” Nico added, glancing at me again, “yes—he feels everything.”

Silence.

The man’s eyes shifted.

Just barely.

Like he’d heard that.

Like he understood.

My fingers curled slightly at my sides.

Dylan watched me, not the man.

“Pay attention,” he said quietly. “This is part of your training.”

Nico picked up a scalpel.

He held it between his fingers like it weighed nothing.

“Most people think this part is about cutting,” he said, almost lazily. “It’s not. It’s about control.”

He stepped closer to the table.

“Too shallow, you waste time. Too deep, you ruin what you’re trying to take.”

His hand hovered over the man’s abdomen.

The man’s breathing hitched.

Just slightly.

The only thing he could still do.

“You see that?” Nico nodded toward his chest. “That’s the body trying to react. Doesn’t matter. It won’t help him.”

I couldn’t look away.

“Organs are delicate,” Nico continued. “They bruise. Tear. Contaminate easily. Buyers don’t like damaged goods.”

The scalpel lowered.

Paused.

“Watch closely, Lucas.”

And then—

He made the first cut.

Clean.

Measured.

The man’s body didn’t move.

But his breathing broke.

A sharp, uneven pull of air that didn’t turn into a sound.

Couldn’t turn into a sound.

My jaw tightened.

Nico didn’t rush.

He worked like he’d done this a hundred times.

Maybe more.

“Angle matters,” he said, like he was explaining something simple. “You follow the natural lines. Less resistance.”

Blood welled up—not explosive, not chaotic. Controlled. Contained.

Nico adjusted his grip slightly.

“Come closer.”

I didn’t move.

Dylan’s voice came from beside me, quiet but absolute.

“Lucas.”

I stepped forward.

One step.

Then another.

Until I was standing right beside the table.

Close enough to see everything.

Close enough to smell it.

Metal.

Warm.

Wrong.

Nico glanced at me briefly.

“Good,” he said. “You don’t learn from a distance.”

The man’s eyes shifted again.

This time toward me.

And for a second—

It felt like he was looking directly at me.

Not past me.

At me.

Nico continued, unbothered.

“You’ll do this eventually,” he said.

Not if.

Eventually.

My throat felt tight, but I didn’t speak.

Dylan’s presence beside me didn’t move.

Didn’t intervene.

Just watched.

Waited.

Like this was the point.

Like this was the punishment.

“Hands.”

For a second, I didn’t process it.

Nico didn’t look at me when he said it. He was still focused on the incision, precise, steady, like nothing in the room existed outside of what he was doing.

“Gloves,” he clarified, flicking his gaze toward the tray.

Dylan didn’t say anything.

Didn’t need to.

I reached for the gloves.

They were folded neatly, like everything else here. Clean. Ordered. Prepared.

I pulled them on slower than I should have.

The material snapped lightly against my skin, tight around my fingers, sealing in the warmth.

“Good,” Nico said. “Now stand here.”

He shifted slightly, making space beside him.

Not behind.

Not observing.

Beside.

I stepped into it.

Close enough that my shoulder almost brushed his.

Close enough that the man’s breath—uneven, shallow—was right there, hitting the air between us.

Nico angled his head toward the open incision.

“See the layering?” he said. “Skin, fat, fascia. You don’t tear through it. You separate it.”

He reached for another instrument, thinner this time.

“Use your fingers if you have to. Tools are just extensions. You should know what you’re feeling.”

My hands didn’t move.

Nico glanced at me.

Not annoyed.

Just… waiting.

Dylan shifted slightly behind me.

“Lucas,” he said quietly.

That was it.

No threat.

No raised voice.

Worse than both.

I moved.

Slow.

Controlled.

Like if I did it right, maybe it wouldn’t mean anything.

Nico guided my wrist—not forceful, just enough to redirect.

“Here,” he said. “Not there. You’ll damage it.”

His fingers adjusted mine with casual familiarity, like correcting posture.

“Press.”

I did.

The resistance was—

Different than I expected.

Not hard.

Not soft.

Something in between.

Alive.

The man’s breathing stuttered again.

A sharp inhale that caught halfway.

His eyes—

They were on me again.

Clearer this time.

Focused.

I felt something cold settle under my ribs.

“Don’t hesitate,” Nico said. “Hesitation makes it worse.”

Worse for who?

I didn’t ask.

My hand pressed a little deeper.

Nico nodded slightly.

“Better.”

He let go of my wrist.

I didn’t pull back.

Didn’t stop.

Couldn’t, not with Dylan standing right there, not with Nico watching like this was nothing, not with the man’s eyes locked onto mine like I was the only thing in the room that still existed for him.

“Good,” Nico murmured. “Now—hold that.”

He reached past me, selecting another instrument.

“Stabilize here,” he said, tapping lightly just above where my hand was. “You let it shift, you tear something you can’t fix.”

I adjusted.

Careful.

Measured.

Like I’d been taught.

The man’s chest rose sharply again.

Fell.

Rose—

Struggled.

His throat worked, trying to form something that couldn’t come out.

A sound that didn’t exist.

Nico continued working around my hand.

Efficient.

Focused.

Unbothered.

“You get used to it,” he said casually. “The first few times are the worst. After that, it’s just process.”

I didn’t respond.

Didn’t trust my voice to come out steady.

Dylan stepped closer.

I could feel him now, just behind my shoulder.

“You chose not to be here this morning,” he said.

Quiet.

Even.

I kept my eyes forward.

“Yes.”

“And yet here you are.”

My grip tightened slightly without meaning to.

The man’s breathing hitched again in response.

Nico didn’t look up.

“Careful,” he said lightly. “You’re not the only one feeling that.”

I forced my hand to steady.

Forced everything to steady.

Dylan’s voice lowered just enough that it felt like it was meant only for me.

“This is what absence costs.”

My jaw tightened.

I didn’t look at him.

“Look at him,” Dylan added.

I already was.

But now I couldn’t look away.

“Understand it.”

The man’s eyes were still on mine.

Wide now.

Not from movement.

From knowing.

From feeling.

From being trapped inside something that wouldn’t respond.

My chest felt tight.

Too tight.

But I didn’t move.

Didn’t stop.

Didn’t pull my hand away.

Nico exhaled softly, almost satisfied.

“See?” he said. “He’s learning.”

Dylan didn’t answer.

But I felt it.

That slight shift in the air.

Approval.

Not of me.

Of the direction.

And somehow—

That was worse.

“Alright,” Nico said quietly. “Hold that.”

His movements slowed.

More deliberate now.

Like he was reaching the part that actually mattered.

I could feel the shift in the man’s body before I saw it.

His breathing—

It wasn’t just uneven anymore.

It was failing.

Each inhale shallower than the last.

Each exhale slower.

Dragging.

Like his body was forgetting how to keep going.

Nico didn’t react.

Didn’t rush.

If anything, he became more precise.

“Stay steady,” he said.

I did.

My hand didn’t move.

Didn’t shake.

Didn’t pull away.

The man’s eyes were still locked on mine.

But something was changing.

The focus—

It flickered.

Just for a second.

Like a light stuttering.

His chest rose again.

Stopped halfway.

Then forced the rest of the breath through.

A broken rhythm.

I felt it in my own chest.

That tightness.

That pressure.

Like something was building and had nowhere to go.

“Good,” Nico murmured. “You’re not panicking. That’s important.”

I barely heard him.

The man’s eyes—

They shifted again.

Not away.

Not exactly.

Just… slipping.

Like he was trying to hold onto something and couldn’t quite keep it.

His pupils didn’t track the same way anymore.

Didn’t fix.

Didn’t lock.

Another breath.

Smaller.

Shallow.

Then—

A pause.

Too long.

Something in my grip tightened instinctively.

“Don’t,” Nico said calmly. “You’ll damage it.”

I forced my hand to stay where it was.

The man’s chest jerked again.

A reflex more than a breath.

His throat worked—

One last attempt to force something out.

Nothing came.

His eyes—

They found mine again.

For a second—

Clear.

Focused.

There.

And then—

They weren’t.

It wasn’t dramatic.

No sudden drop.

No visible moment you could point to and say there.

It was quieter than that.

The tension in them—

Gone.

The effort—

Gone.

Whatever had been looking back at me—

Stopped.

Just… stopped.

My stomach dropped.

Cold.

Heavy.

Like something had been pulled straight down through me.

He’s—

No.

I didn’t finish the thought.

Didn’t let it form.

Didn’t let it exist.

“Alright,” Nico said, like nothing had changed. “We’re done with this section.”

Done.

I didn’t move.

Didn’t react.

Couldn’t.

“Lucas.”

Dylan’s voice.

Right beside me.

I blinked once.

Slow.

“Step back.”

I did.

Careful.

Controlled.

I pulled my hand free like it didn’t belong to me.

Like it was just something I was moving because I’d been told to.

Nico was already continuing, focused on something else now.

Closing.

Adjusting.

Finishing.

Like the part that had just happened didn’t matter.

Like the man on the table was already—

Not a person.

I took another step back.

Then another.

My gloves felt tight.

Too tight.

My skin felt wrong under them.

“Dispose of those,” Nico said, not looking at me.

I pulled them off.

One finger at a time.

Slow.

Dropped them where he indicated.

Dylan watched me.

Not closely.

Not intensely.

Just enough.

“You held,” he said.

I nodded once.

Didn’t trust myself to speak.

“That’s progress.”

Progress.

The word echoed in my head, hollow.

“Go get some air,” Dylan added.

Permission.

Or dismissal.

Didn’t matter.

I turned.

Walked.

Not fast.

Not slow.

Just… steady.

Out of the room.

Down the hallway.

The air shifted as I moved away from it.

Less sterile.

Less—

I pushed through the door at the end.

Outside.

The air hit me immediately.

Cool.

Sharp.

Real.

I took one breath.

It didn’t help.

Another.

Worse.

My chest tightened hard, like something was trying to force its way out.

I bent forward slightly, hands bracing against my knees.

No.

Hold it.

Hold it together.

You’re fine.

You’re—

The image hit.

His eyes.

That moment.

That exact second where they—

I turned sharply to the side and—

It came up fast.

Violent.

I barely had time to react before I was on the edge of the pavement, body folding in on itself as everything in my stomach came up at once.

Again.

And again.

My hands pressed hard against the ground to keep myself steady.

My breathing broke between it.

Short.

Sharp.

Uncontrolled.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

But it didn’t matter.

I could still see it.

Still feel it.

That moment—

When he stopped.

When I knew.

I sucked in a breath that didn’t feel like enough.

Wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

My fingers were still steady.

That was the worst part.

My hands—

They hadn’t shaken.

Not once.

I stared at them for a second longer than I should have.

Then looked away.

My stomach twisted again, but nothing came up this time.

Just that hollow, burning feeling left behind.

I straightened slowly.

The air still felt too sharp.

Too clean.

Like it didn’t match what I’d just walked out of.

This is for Noah.

The thought came back.

Quieter this time.

But heavier.

I swallowed hard.

Forced my breathing to even out.

Forced everything back into place.

Because I already knew—

This wasn’t over.