The report could wait. Tomorrow she would have to deliver it, word by word, line by line. She had the files here in her room, and Nine’s answers were already etched into her mind. She wouldn’t forget them.
What she needed now wasn’t paper or ink. It was space. Space to process the unease she had shoved down during the session, the heaviness pressing in now that the robe was no longer on her shoulders.
Caedern’s voice lingered too, like smoke curling around the edges of her thoughts. His ominous 'greasing the wheel' offer still scraped against her bones. A warning, a sign that something was shifting.
But she couldn’t unravel that now. Not yet. One thing at a time. She had learned to survive by queuing her burdens. Take one, process it, push it aside before letting the next in. Otherwise, everything would collapse at once.
She turned onto her side, fingers digging lightly into the fabric of her blanket.
Interrogation didn’t just extract truth. It rewrote who was allowed to ask for it. It scared her, how easily she had stepped into the role. How natural it felt to judge another shadow, to compare, to measure, to press until truth or fracture revealed itself. It was as if the Judge’s robe had slipped over her and worn her instead of the other way around.
And worse, how easily she’d forgotten.
The other side of the table.
Her past self. A trembling Zero, voice breaking, unable to meet questions without stutter or shame. That memory had been buried so deep she almost believed it gone. Almost. She had been glad to leave it behind.
Tiran himself had told her she could. That forgetting was survival. Ground zero, he’d said. Pretend nothing existed before him. Not her previous handler, not the first mission, not the Thorn Marching. Let it all rot in silence.
She had clung to that promise. It worked.
Until today, when the test clawed it back out.
Her jaw tightened, her chest rising sharp with the betrayal of it. As if Tiran had taken back his words, stripped her of the shelter he’d built. And Tiran... Tiran was not kind, but he was steady. He kept his word. That was why she trusted him not to drop her into the pit. He was a platform, harsh and cold, but stable.
Maybe that was why, when he’d locked the collar around her neck, he’d bothered to speak of her previous handler at all, only to tell her the man would never be seen again. Because Tiran knew this day would come. Knew the next test would dig him back out of her memory.
Which meant this trap hadn’t been his idea. She knew his cruelty, but not this flavor of cruelty.
Caedern, though... he had enjoyed himself too much. His eyes, his cadence, it had been a game for him. Maybe the Veiled as well. But Writ had never been close enough to know her mind. The veil made sure of that. A nameless silhouette, kept deliberately untouchable.
It didn’t matter, she told herself. But some part of her still wanted to pin it, to blame someone, to mark an enemy instead of floating in the vague weight of it.
Because now everything felt unbound again. Every bruise she had sealed shut was raw. Every scar she had dulled was sharp again.
And the questions started.
What if Zero had once been given warmth? What if someone had treated her as a daughter, given her shelter instead of sharpened edges? Would she have killed them when the order came? Would she have warned them to flee?
She didn’t know. She had no such figure to test against.
Tiran and those under him had been the closest. But Tiran himself... he had been a shelter in his own way. Cruel, but consistent. Could she raise her blade to him if commanded?
No. Probably not. But then, he was the one who gave her orders. The contradiction canceled itself. She shoved it aside.
But another face surfaced anyway.
Kion.
She squeezed her eyes shut, but it didn’t scatter. His name pressed heavier than the rest. It had already breached her thoughts once in the session. She had shoved it down, but here it was again, undeniable.
She rolled onto her back, one hand covering her eyes. The ceiling blurred behind her palm. Could she do it, if the order came? Could she cut through the warmth he carried, the presence that had seeped into her like breath?
Her mind tried to reason it through. Perhaps she should test it. Tonight. Just one strike. Kion could defend himself, she knew that. His barrier had caught the book she’d hurled with full force. He wouldn’t be hurt, not really. She would see, and he would still be there.
But then the thought twisted.
Would he stay if she did it? If she turned her theory into steel and tested it on him?
He already believed his efforts were one-sided. He had already threatened to leave. What would he think if she greeted him with a blade?
The idea of him walking away hollowed her chest in a way she hadn’t braced for. Not after she had grown used to his warmth, his presence filling the silence she carried.
“…I finally felt warmth again. It’s worth it.”
Nine’s words resurfaced, unbidden, clinging to her ribs. They had sounded then like the raw plea of a broken shadow beneath the robe’s weight. But now, lying in her own silence, they struck differently. They weren’t weakness, they were recognition. And she felt them echo far too deeply, truer than she wanted to admit.
The warmth had become addictive. A drug she didn’t want to wean off. Someone to return to, to sit with, to share quiet without transaction.
If the order ever came, she thought, perhaps she would do what Nine had done. Warn him. Urge him to flee. Keep him safe, and accept whatever punishment followed.
But... wait.
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He had offered her escape.
What if that had been his task all along? What if Kion had been sent to end her, and instead chose warning?
She swallowed hard, the thought sour and cutting.
No. That didn’t fit. If she were marked for disposal, the Accord wouldn’t bother dragging her this far, forcing her through test after test.
Besides... she hadn’t given him the same warmth back. Not like he gave her. That theory cracked under its own weight.
The truth was simpler, harder. She already owed him her life. She wouldn’t be here without him. That much was unshakable.
And if one day he decided to call that debt, if he raised his hand to take back what he had preserved... well. She wouldn’t fight it. Not anymore. She had already taken too much.
The thought came with startling clarity. If the choice was life without him, or death by his hand, she would choose the latter. Freely.
Her hand slipped away from her eyes, her breath unsteady, chest tight with something almost like release. She could almost see it. Him above her, his hand steady, her neck offered without flinch. It didn’t terrify her. It almost... calmed.
“Please stop.”
The voice tore through her haze, raw and immediate, snapping her back into the room. The air was the same. Still humming faintly, still cool against her skin. The ceiling hadn’t moved. Nothing had changed. And yet everything inside her chest lurched.
Kion had landed on the bed beside her, small wings fanning like he’d flown too hard, too fast. His voice came quick, almost tripping over itself, “are you okay? What happened? Did they give you something else?”
She turned her head toward him, then toward the window instead. A thin line of light leaked past the closed curtain. Still daylight. Barely past midday. Still work hour.
“Kion?”
“Yes,” he said, without hesitation.
She pushed herself upright, sitting straighter on the bed, needing to look at him properly, “you’re not at work?”
“No. I’m here. Answer me, please.”
There was a strain in his tone that made her pause. He wasn’t asking idly. It was pulled out of him like something vital.
“I’m okay,” she said carefully, “nothing happened. They didn’t give me anything. Other than a task to submit tomorrow’s report.”
His shoulders dipped with a rush of breath, as if he’d been holding it the entire time.
She frowned, “why are you here?”
“A hunch,” he circled around her, hovering, scanning her as though he could measure truth from the angle of her posture, “something felt wrong. So I came.”
“Wrong like what?”
“It’s... hard to explain,” his voice faltered, but he pressed on, “I suddenly felt my heart beating too fast, and I couldn’t think of anything else. I just- had to come.”
She studied him, unsettled, “how is that possible?”
“I don’t know. I really, really don’t. I wish I could explain it, but I can’t. Sorry.”
When it seemed clear she wasn’t physically harmed, his vigilance faltered into hesitation. He hung there in silence for a breath before asking, quieter this time, “what were you thinking about?”
“Just today’s task,” her reply came too quickly, even to her own ears, “why?”
He didn’t answer. His eyes kept sliding toward her, darting away again, caught in some storm she couldn’t map. Worry? No, something sharper than that. She’d seen that look before, though she couldn’t place when.
“Talk to me about it? Please?”
She blinked at him. Why did he sound like this mattered more than anything? She wasn’t in danger. The spiral had passed. The storm inside her mind was still there, queued and waiting, but physically... she was fine. She had no threat to fend off, nothing tangible to fear.
She forced a smile, “I’ll talk about it tonight. You probably slipped out again, didn’t you? Another long bathroom break?”
A noncommittal hum. Hesitant.
“You were already late today,” she pressed, voice steady, “they won’t appreciate you missing even longer.”
“I can deal with that.”
“No,” she rose and crossed to the window, flicking open the latch with a deliberate click, “go back to work. The talk can wait.”
The curtain fluttered as she pushed the window wide, letting in a thin wash of afternoon light. She glanced back, softened the words with a small smile, “go. I’ll see you tonight.”
But Kion didn’t move. He hovered there, stubborn, worry etched into every flick of his wings.
The sight tugged at something buried deep beneath her panic. She remembered that same expression, sharp with dread, the night he’d first come to her. When she’d swallowed the blissbane said to be laced with a mind-breaking additive. He’d felt something then too. He had come, despite the risk, despite the scolding it would earn him. .
What had pulled him here now? What stray thread of thought had slipped past her defenses, sharp enough to draw him in? She combed backward through the fractured stream of her mind, searching for the one idea that had burned bright enough to reach him.
And then she found it.
The betrayal. The addiction. Or the choice, dark, deliberate? The thought of surrendering her end to him. Of letting her last breath be taken by his hands.
Was that it? The guess settled cold and certain inside her. Was that what summoned him?
Her pulse quickened. She needed to be sure. She sharpened the thought, twisted it, replayed it with deliberate cruelty. In her mind’s eye: his barrier closing, the air constricting, her lungs burning as her final breath was stolen by his hand. She held it steady, clearer, harder, daring him to feel it.
Kion’s gaze snapped to her, wings trembling midair. His voice cut low, raw.
“Stop.”
The word cracked across the room.
She startled, blinking up at him.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking,” he said, voice unsteady, “but don’t. Don’t do that.”
Was that a confirmation? How could he know, instantly, exactly, what thought had crossed her mind?
“You really can’t read minds?” she asked.
“I can’t!” The answer burst out, sharp with frustration.
“However much I wish I could, I can’t.” He darted closer, hovering just before her knees. His wings beat hard, uneven, “but whenever you think about that, whatever it is, I’m filled with dread. I won’t force you to tell me. Just... please, please, promise me you won’t let that thought linger too long inside you.”
“Why?”
His voice cracked, “because it feels like you’re about to disappear! Don't you understand? Of course it fills me with dread. Of course I’ll come. I’m not going anywhere until you promise me.”
She stared. He couldn’t read minds. Yet somehow he could feel when she brushed against the edge of death, even if only in thought. How was that possible?
“Please...?” His voice faltered, eyes glassing over. A tear caught in the corner, trembling on the edge.
He said he didn’t know how it worked. Another truth she couldn’t verify. Another thing she couldn’t decide to believe.
But watching someone cry just because she’d imagined her own death, because he’d felt it, was... strange. Her own eyes burned in response, and she forced herself to blink the weakness away.
“I’ll try not to think about it,” she said at last.
The shift in him was instant. Relief lit across his face as he circled her in a blur of color, joy spilling out of him in hurried words, “thank you. Thank you, really, really thank you. I really wish I can hug you right now.”
Even in motion, she could see the effort he made to hold the rest back, to keep the tears from spilling further.
Her throat tightened, “do you want... a hug?”
He stopped mid-flight, wings stuttering, “can I?”
“I’m not sure how to do that with our... size,” she admitted, awkward.
“That’s not something to worry about,” his voice softened, almost trembling, “can I?”
She nodded, hesitant.
“Thank you.”
He came closer. And then- blink- she was no longer facing a blur of wings but the weight of human arms wrapping around her.
Hands pressed firm against her back, a chin resting against her crown. Warm breath touched her hair. She couldn’t see his face from there, only feel the steady anchor of him pressed close.
Her body stiffened, “Kion...?”
“Yes,” came the low reply above her, steady and sure. A familiar voice she’d listened to every night, “I’m so, so, so happy. Thank you, Lunlun.”
The contact felt unnatural. She had never liked being held. Nine’s hug had confirmed that. But this... this didn’t sit the same.
It wasn’t discomfort. More a strange awkwardness, her body unsure of the language being spoken. She didn’t know what to do, how to respond.
So she copied him. Her arms lifted with hesitation, tapping his back more than embracing. And then, just for a breath, she left them there. A beat longer than she meant to.
Sensing her unease, he loosened his grip and stepped back, form shimmering before shrinking again, small wings beating in hurried rhythm.
“I should go back to work,” he said, circling her once, lighter now, “see you tonight.”
She nodded, “see you.”
And then he was gone, darting through the open window, vanishing into daylight, leaving her alone with silence and the long queue of thoughts waiting to be faced.
One more thing to add to the pile.
She sank back onto the bed, eyes fixed on the window he’d flown through. The warmth of his embrace still clung to her skin. Too warm, too steady. A thread of comfort she shouldn’t have let herself touch.
If he could feel her death even when it was only imagined... what else could he sense? What else might he know?
And why did it matter less and less, that she’d let herself be trapped, if only it meant he wouldn’t leave?