Every time your eyes accidentally met his, he’d give you that look of disappointed, like he expected better and you’d somehow managed to fuck it up. Sometimes he’d even shake his head slightly, like you weren’t worth the argument anymore.

Which was bullshit. Because if anyone had a right to be pissed, it should’ve been you. Not him…Right?

The thought didn’t land the same way it usually did. For once, you didn’t immediately jump to defend yourself in your head. Didn’t twist things around until you came out justified.

You knew what you said. You knew Adrian heard it and you knew it wasn’t something you could just brush off like it didn’t matter.

Your jaw tightened slightly as you stared down at your hands, fingers loosely clasped together. You’d never really had the urge to fix things with someone before. Not like this. Usually, if something got all fucked up, you left it fucked up. It was always easier that way.

But this? This sat heavy in your chest, uncomfortable like it wasn’t going anywhere until you did something about it.

And the worst part was for once… you agreed with Chris. Adrian didn’t deserve someone as confused as you were.

Your gaze flicked up again, landing on him across the clearing. He was standing off to the side, shoulders slightly slouched, listening to the others but not really in it. Quieter than usual.

And it hit you all over again. You really fucked it all up.

It was dark out by now, you sat a little off from everyone else on a log, elbows on your knees, watching Economos complain like his life depended on it.

Honestly, you didn’t blame him.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Economos snapped as Chris tossed a police uniform at him. He barely caught it, immediately looking down at it like it offended him on a personal level.

“The only way to get the helmet inside the barn,” Harcourt said flatly, arms crossed, “is for one of us to go in undercover.”

Economos just stared at the uniform, already knowing exactly where this was going. He let out a tight, miserable sigh. He was the tech perosn. Not… whatever that was.

“They’re going to recognize me and Adebayo immediately with these injuries,” Harcourt cut in. “So that’s not happening.”

“Cool. I’ll do it,” Adrian said, way too fast.

“No,” you shot back instantly.

Every head turned toward you.

You pushed yourself up off the log, brushing your hands off on your pants as you walked over, ignoring the way Chris’s eyes were already on you.

“Goff knows what me, you, and Chris look like,” you said, nodding between the three of you as you stepped into the circle. “Which means John is literally our only option.”

Economos blinked. “Wow. Love that for me.”

“No one asked for your opinion,” Chris cut in, not even looking away from him at first, then his eyes snapped to you.

“Shut the fuck up,” you snapped, sharp and immediate. Your tone wasn’t just annoyed, it was harsh. Like really harsh.

Everything went quiet. Like, really quiet. To the point where all the insects in the background went silent too.

Chris just stared at you for a second, jaw tightening, like he was about to fire something back but didn’t. For once.

You didn’t look at him again. Instead, you exhaled through your nose and turned back to Economos. “Look, John. You’re the only one who can do this.”

“I don’t even want to be here,” he quickly said. Then he frowned, rubbing the fabric of the cop shirt between his fingers.

“And why are these wet?” He looked up at Chris on the last word. “I washed them in the creek,” Chris said calmly.

Economos stared. “Why?”

Chris answered by tossing him the pants. “One of the things us warriors seldom don’t talk about,” Chris said, “is how often people shit themselves when they die. It’s a touch of gray in the cloud of kicking ass."

You pressed your lips together immediately, biting the inside of your cheek. Your eyes blinked slowly, annoyance flickering across your face as you tried really hard not to comment.

You shifted your weight slightly and that’s when you felt it. That heavy, unmistakable feeling of someone staring at you. You didn’t react right away. Just let your eyes drift, casual as possible, until you glanced over at Adrian.

He was already looking at you. Not just looking, he was full on watching you. The second your eyes met, his entire expression shifted. He straightened a little, blinking like he’d just been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

Then he looked away. Fast.

His attention snapped toward a random tall tree off to the side, like it had suddenly become the most interesting thing in the world. His posture went stiff.

You stared at him for half a second longer than necessary. Your brows pulled together just slightly.

Chris was still talking, Economos still looked mildly traumatized, and you were doing your best to pretend like you were in a good mood.

“Y’know you didn’t mean any of that, right?”

You flinched at the sudden voice. Your head snapped slightly to the side, and there was Adebayo standing way too close, like she’d just materialized out of thin air.

“…Jesus,” you muttered under your breath, narrowing your eyes at her. “Don’t do that.”

Adebayo gave you a quick, apologetic smile, mouthing a silent sorry.

Your brows pulled together immediately. “What do you mean by I didn’t mean it? what are you even talking about?”

She tilted her head slightly, studying you for a second like she was deciding how much to say

“y'know about Adrian,” she said with a shrug.

That made you pause.

“…What about Adrian?” you asked, slower now.

Adebayo’s expression softened just a little. “I know you didn’t mean what you said,” she added quietly, again.

“I heard him,” she said. “Earlier. Talking to Peacemaker.”

Your stomach tightened. Adebayo hesitated for half a second, like she didn’t want to repeat it but did anyway. “He said you called him an idiot,” she continued quietly.

“That he got in your way… when you were trying to—” she made a small, awkward gesture, like she didn’t even want to fully say it, “—kill Peacemaker.”

You looked at her, your expression shifting and that’s when you noticed it. That look on her face. Not exactly judgment but worry. Real, uncomfortable worry.

Like she didn’t know what you were capable of or worse, like she thought she did.

Your brows pulled together slightly and she noticed that you noticed. Adebayo straightened just a little, her shoulders tensing as she quickly tried to soften it, like she hadn’t meant for that to show.

“I’m not—” she started, then stopped, shaking her head. “I’m not saying that’s what you meant. I just… heard how he said it.”

You didn’t respond right away. Instead, your eyes drifted past her, back to the rest of the team.

Economos and Harcourt were still going back and forth, clearly arguing over some part of the plan. A few feet away, Chris and Adrian stood side by side, well, not side by side. More like… near each other, bickering about something, which was you.

They looked all looked normal and distracted. Your gaze lingered there for a second longer than it should have before you looked back at Adebayo.

You and her didn’t really talk. Not like she wanted to. You knew that. You’d seen the way she tried sometimes, small conversations and you’d shut most of them down before they could go anywhere.

But you also knew she talked to Harcourt. To Economos. And from the way they spoke about you to Adebayo, she knew you were a good person.

“I did try to kill him,” you admitted. The words came out flat. Adebayo blinked, clearly not expecting you to admitt to it.

“I know it was wrong,” you went on, your voice quieter now. “But that’s the only reason I agreed to work for your mom in the first place.” You exhaled lightly, your gaze dropping for a second. “So I could kill Chris.”

Adebayo didn’t interrupt this time. She just listened.

“And Adrian did get in my way,” you added, glancing back up at her. “That part’s true.”

A small pause.

“But it’s not a bad thing that he did, Adebayo,” you continued, your tone shifting, softer, more thoughtful, like you were figuring it out as you said it.

Your eyes flicked back toward him again, just for a second. “I don’t usually take the guys I’m with seriously,” you admitted, a little more honest than you probably meant to be.

“It’s… easy that way, but that’s the thing about Adrian,” you added. “He doesn’t just want what every other guy wants.”

Adebayo stayed quiet, letting you keep going. You swallowed, your gaze drifting over at her now.

“He actually listens,” you said. “He pays attention. He—” you paused, like you didn’t even have the right words for it, “—he's so annoying and random, but i like that..”

That alone seemed to throw you off. You let out a small, almost awkward breath, like admitting that out loud felt bigger than it should’ve.

“I think that’s why I’m having such a hard time not being a bitch about it,” you muttered, a little self-aware, a little frustrated. “I don’t know what to do with someone like that.”

Adebayo didn’t answer right. She looked at you, like she was piecing something together instead of jumping in with advice.

“…Yeah,” she said after a second, soft but sure. “That makes sense.”

You glanced at her, a little surprised she didn’t immediately turn it into a whole thing. She shrugged lightly, keeping her voice low. “I mean… you’re used to things being easy to walk away from,” she added.

“And now there’s this guy who’s not making it easy, and you don’t know what to do with that.”

You huffed faintly, looking away again. “…I know what to do. I just—don’t want to deal with it.”

Adebayo nodded like that tracked. “Avoidance,” she said simply. “Big fan of that myself.”

That got a small look out of you. She smiled a little, but it didn’t last long. “But you can’t really do that with him,” she added. “He’s not built like that.”

Your eyes flicked back to Adrian again without meaning to.He was still over there with Chris, talking with his hands, a little too invested in whatever dumb argument they were having now.

“…Yeah,” you muttered. “I noticed.”

Adebayo followed your gaze, then looked back at you.

Adebayo shifted her weight, her tone staying gentle but honest. “You don’t have to have it all figured out,” she said. “But you probably shouldn’t keep pushing him away and expecting him to just… not feel anything about it.

“I’m not trying to hurt him,” you said.

“I know,” she replied immediately. “But you still can.”

You went quiet again, your gaze dropping to the ground. Adebayo hesitated for a second before adding, a little softer, “He really likes you. Like… a lot.”

You huffed under your breath, but there wasn’t much denial behind it this time. “…Yeah. I got that.”

“And you like him,” she said.

You didn’t respond, but you didn't deny it either. Adebayo smiled just a little at that, not smug, just understanding.

“Then maybe don’t treat it like it’s something you have to run from,” she said.

You let out a slow breath, your shoulders dropping just slightly. “…I’ll talk to him,” you muttered after a second.

“Yeah,” she said. “You probably should.

And that was the thing about Adebayo—

She knew how to talk to people.

Not in a pushy way. Not like she was trying to corner you into admitting something you weren’t ready to say out loud. She just… said things. And somehow they landed exactly where they were supposed to.

It was annoying because you could usually dodge conversations like this. But with her? It didn’t feel like something you could win.

You glanced at her again, a little more deliberate this time.

“…You’re not so bad after all, Adebayo,” you said.

The words came out casual but they weren’t nothing. Adebayo straightened slightly, like she hadn’t expected that at all. Her expression softened almost immediately, surprise flickering across her face before it settled into something warmer.

“Oh—” she let out a small, awkward breath, her shoulders lifting just a bit. “Uh… thanks?”

She awkwardly stood there, clearly not used to compliments landing like that, especially from you. For a second, she looked like she didn’t know what to do with it, her body going a little stiff before she relaxed again.

“Yeah, I mean… you’re not so bad either,” she added, a little unsure, but genuine. You huffed quietly, not fully looking at her. Before either of you could say anything else—

“Hey!”

The sharp voice cut through the air. You both looked straight ahead. Harcourt stood a few yards away, one hand on her side, the other gesturing impatiently toward the others.

“Are you two done over there?” she called out. “Because John’s about to head to the barn.”

Adebayo straightened a little more at that, glancing back at you before stepping away. “Guess that’s our cue,” she muttered, as she began walking over to them.

You gave a small hum, your attention already shifting on Economos and you paused. He’d somehow already changed into the cop outfit Chris had given him.

It wasn’t bad. The uniform fit well enough, but the stiffness in his shoulders gave him away. He clipped the earpiece into place with shaking fingers, then adjusted it like he’d done a thousand times for other people.

“Comms check,” he muttered.

“Loud and clear,” harcourt said softly.

He nodded, more to himself than anyone else, and tightened his grip on the bag. Inside it, carefull zipped away was Peacemaker’s helmet.

“Alright… good luck, Economos,” Chris added, his tone a little more genuine than usual.

Economos glanced back once, just a quick look at all of you, then took a breath and squared his shoulders.

And then he started toward the barn.

The rest of you stayed back, instinctively pulling into the tree line, letting the shadows swallow you up as he crossed the open stretch of land alone.

You stood with your arms crossed, your weight shifted onto one leg, your eyes locked on Economos, Out there in the open, he looked smaller.

And clearly nervous, he kept glancing back over his shoulder, like he was expecting to convince him to turn back.

“Don’t look back,” Harcourt’s voice cut through the comms.

“Fuck—sorry, I’m nervous,” Economos whispered back, his voice tight.

You squinted slightly, tracking him as he kept moving toward the barn, forcing his pace to stay even.

No one else spoke. The whole team had gone quiet, watching him like if you looked hard enough, you could keep him steady. Then—

A voice broke through behind you.

“…Uh, I’m gonna go take a piss.”

It was Adrian.

You heard him but you didn’t turn around. You just kept your eyes forward on economos like he hadn’t said anything at all.

There was a brief pause, like he’d been waiting to see if you’d respond. When you didn’t, you heard him shift, footsteps crunching lightly against the dirt as he headed off toward the deeper part of the woods. Alone.

You were gonna talk to him.You told Adebayo you would. And you meant it.Just… not right now.

This was a mission. You weren’t about to drop everything and chase after him because things were weird between you. You could deal with it later. When things weren’t so tense.

It should’ve been easy to push aside but it wasn’t. And it definitely wasn’t with Chris right there.

Chris noticed. Of course he did. He caught the way you didn’t react, didn’t turn, didn’t say anything, didn’t even acknowledge Adrian when he spoke.

His eyes flicked toward where Adrian had walked off, then back to you, his expression shifting slightly. You didn’t think anything of it.

To you, it just looked like Chris being… Chris. Observant and annoying.

Meanwhile, you stayed focused on the mission or at least, you tried to. Your gaze was still on Economos, who was somehow still not close to the barn.

Chris tunred over at you, and leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “…This is the part where you go after him and apologize, you dick,” he muttered under his breath.

Your brows furrowed, finally breaking your focus as you shot him a look. “What?”

Chris gave you a tight, impatient look. “Don’t ‘what’ me. You heard him.”

You hesitated, your eyes flicking in the direction Adrian had gone.

“I’m not—” you started.

“Yes, you are,” Chris cut in immediately. “Go. Before he comes back and pretends he doesn’t care, and you pretend you don’t care, and then we’re all stuck watching this dumb shit again.”

You frowned, still unsure, your arms tightening across your chest.

“…Now?” you asked, glancing back toward the barn.

Chris nodded once, firm. “Now.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose, annoyed but not really at him.

“…Fine,” you muttered.

“Good,” Chris said, way too satisfied with himself.

You shot him a look. “…Dick,” you added under your breath.

You pushed off your spot, uncrossing your arms as you turned, heading in the direction Adrian had gone. Your steps were quiet, careful, not just because of the mission.But because now?

You actually had to figure out what the hell you were going to say.

The woods were darker than you expected.

Not pitch black but dim enough that everything blurred together if you looked too fast. The moonlight filtered through the trees in thin strips, just enough to guide your steps without really helping you see much ahead.

Your boots crunched against dry leaves with every step, the sound louder than you liked. Great. He definitely heard you coming.

You slowed a little, your eyes scanning the trees, trying to spot any movement, anything that gave him away, but nothing. Just shadows and branches, and the occasional shift of leaves in the wind.

You squinted, stepping a little deeper in, your gaze darting left, then right. “…Adrian?” you called, not too loud.

Your jaw tightened slightly when there was no answer.

You took another step forward, then another, more cautious now, your head turning as you tried to pick him out from the dark.

For a second, you thought you’d gone too far.That maybe he’d looped back around or stopped somewhere else. Then—

A faint rustle to your right and you turned quickly. There, leaning against a tree a few feet away, half-hidden in the shadows was Adrian.

He wasn’t doing anything. Just standing there, arms loosely crossed, one shoulder pressed against the trunk like he’d been there for a minute.

Like he’d been waiting.

Your steps slowed as you approached, stopping a few feet in front of him. For a second, neither of you said anything. The quiet between you felt… different out here.

He glanced at you briefly, then away, like he didn’t want to make it a whole thing.

“…You followed me,” he said.

“…Yeah,” you replied. “Chris told me to.”

The second it left your mouth, you knew that was the worst possible way to say it. Adrian let out a small scoff, pushing himself off the tree just enough to stand straighter.

“So Chris forced you and you had no intention of coming yourself,” he said, lifting a hand in a loose, dismissive gesture.

Your brows furrowed, but in the dark, he couldn’t really see it, couldn’t see the way your expression tightened, the way you immediately regretted how that sounded.

“No—” you started, then stopped, your words getting stuck somewhere between your chest and your throat.

God.

You exhaled, shaking your head slightly. “That’s not— that’s not what I meant, Adrian.”

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t look at you either. Which somehow made it worse.

You shifted your weight, your arms crossing again out of habit before you forced them to drop back to your sides, frustrated with yourself. “I was going to talk to you,” you tried again, slower this time. “I just… didn’t know when.”

That sounded stupid. You could hear it the second you said it. Adrian huffed quietly, glancing off to the side. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Too bad I’m an idiot who just gets in the way, right?”

Your face softened immediately. Hearing him repeat it, your words, thrown back at you like that, it didn’t hit the same way it had when you said it. It sounded worse. God, you really were a bitch.

Your jaw tightened as you swallowed, a lump forming in your throat that you didn’t know what to do with.

“I know—I sounded like a bitch,” you said, the words coming out quieter this time, less defensive.

You exhaled, shaking your head slightly. “But I’m not good at this,” you added quickly, like you needed to get it out before he shut down completely. “Talking. Or… whatever.”

He didn’t respond.

That silence made your chest tighten. You swallowed, your hands flexing at your sides, trying to push past it.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you said. “When I called you an idiot or said you got in my way.”

“Then why’d you say it?” Adrian’s voice was quiet, but it carried that edge that made you stop in your tracks. “Look… if you have no intention”—he gestured vaguely between the two of you—“to be with me, then don’t waste my time. Please.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how calm he sounded. He wasn’t angry about you being… well, you. which was something you weren’t used to in a guy.

Normally, they’d get frustrated, raise their voice, make a big scene. But Adrian… he was calm. Even in the middle of all the confusing, messy stuff between you, he didn’t snap. And that made your chest tighten in a way you weren’t expecting.

You swallowed, your hands fisting at your sides before you let them fall. “Adrian…” you started, your voice soft at first, like you were testing it out. “…You don’t get it."

Adrian glanced at you, his expression unreadable for a moment. “Don’t get what?” he muttered. You exhaled, shaking your head slightly, already frustrated with yourself.

“I’m not good with… communication,” you admitted, your words stumbling over each other. “And this whole feelings thing. It’s… weird for me.”

You hesitated, then forced yourself to keep going. “That’s why, at first, I hated you getting in the way of my plan with Chris,” you said, your voice tightening. “Because I started liking you way too fast. And I didn’t know what to do with that.”

You let out a breath, your gaze dropping for a second before you looked back at him. “And then I couldn’t—” you paused, jaw clenching. “I couldn’t kill the best friend of the guy I liked.”

A small, bitter huff left you. “I’m a bitch,” you added, a little quieter now. “…but I’m not that much of a bitch. Okay?”

You hesitated, swallowing hard as your fingers curled slightly at your sides. “But…” you continued, voice softer now, “since I like you so much… and I’d hate myself for letting something good slip away, I’m saying it.”

You took a shaky breath, forcing yourself through it even though it felt unfamiliar on your tongue. “You’re… the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Adrian straightened, standing a little taller as he looked at you, his face softening in shock. He reached up, pushing the edge of his glasses back, stunned that someone genuinely thought of him that way.

You bit your lip, words tumbling out before you could stop them. “And I’m sorry, okay? For… for confusing you. For calling you an idiot, for saying you got in my way and Chris… Chris was right. You don’t deserve someone as messy, as confused… as me. You need someone better. Someone who isn’t a complete—"

“Bitch?” Adrian interrupted, his voice low, but with that faint teasing edge that made your stomach twist.

You froze for a second, blinking at him, and then your words tumbled even faster. “…Yeah! You deserve someone better than this—than me.”

He didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he stepped closer, his presence quiet but undeniable. One hand came up, resting lightly on your arm, and the other hovered near your shoulder, giving you space but keeping you close.

“You talk too much when you’re nervous,” he said softly, his lips twitching into a hint of a smile. “Please stop.”

Before you could protest or even think, you felt his hand pull you toward him. His eyes searched yours and then his lips met yours.

Your hands tensed at first, then relaxed as you felt him hold you in place, letting you breathe in the moment. The chaos of your confession, all of it blurred into the background. There was only him.

He pulled back just slightly, his voice low, quiet, but carrying that intensity that always made you listen. “You don’t have to apologize anymore,” he murmured. Then, with a faint smirk creeping into his expression, he added, “Honestly? I kind of like a… bitchy person. That’s what I love about you. I never know what I’m gonna get out of you, so it’s like… a little mystery game.”

Before you could even process that, Harcourt’s sharp voice cut through the earpiece.

“Seriously, you two, stop eating each other’s faces and get back!” she loudly said,

Adrian let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head, but he finally stepped back, his hand dropping from your arm. You both straightened, and then started walking back toward the group, side by side. Close. So close that your arms brushed against each other with every step.

He glanced at you, that familiar, calm intensity in his eyes, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “So… does this mean we’re… together?” he asked, his tone teasing but with that underlying seriousness.

You couldn’t resist. “No,” you said quickly, trying to keep a straight face.

Adrian stopped mid-step, eyebrows raising, staring at you like you’d just dropped a bomb. “Wait—what?”

You spun on your heel, laughing softly now. “Relax, it’s a joke,” you admitted. Then, your voice softened, almost breathless, “Yes. It’s a yes.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, letting your words sink in. Then, slowly, a small, satisfied smile spread across his face. “Good,” he said quietly, taking your hand for the briefest second before letting it fall naturally as you both continued walking.

As you and Adrian made your way back toward the team, you noticed Adebayo crouched low, looking for something on the ground.

“Hey… dude, you’re not gonna believe this,” Adrian called, letting go of your hand and walking toward Chris.

“Not now, Adrian. Tell me later,” Chris snapped, already distracted by something else.

“How do you even drop it?” Chris muttered to Adebayo, gesturing toward the the ground.

“My hands were slippery,” she said quickly, adjusting her grip as she continued scanning the ground.

You edged closer to Harcourt and noticed a growing crowd around something near the barn. Squinting, your stomach jumped. “Wait… is that John?” you asked.

“Found it!” Adebayo shouted triumphantly, holding up the object. which was a radio.

“Activate the sonic boom,” she added into the radio.

You watched as the barn’s perimeter shimmered for a brief second, then a massive explosion erupted, sending a shockwave that forced the butterflies to scatter away from Economos and turn toward the barn.

Chaos erupted as everyone started running toward the barn. Economos regained his footing and sprinted toward you all, breathing heavy, eyes wide.

“Wait,” Harcourt called, holding up a hand, her voice tense over the comms. You all froze as the butterflies drew closer towards the barn.

“Now,” she added sharply.

“Activate sonic boom!” Adebayo shouted into the radio again.

A second explosion ripped through the area, sending more butterflies flying back and taking out several in the process. The blast dust settled around the barn.

By now, Economos had made it back to the group. Harcourt turned to Adebayo and gave her a quick nod.

“Activate the sonic boom,” Adebayo said again, and another blast shook the ground, flattening the rest of the barn.

“Get what you need,” Harcourt called out, voice sharp and urgent. “We’re gonna take care of the ones that are left.”

You nodded, moving quickly toward the rifle case resting near a rock. Kneeling down, you swung it open, checked the bullets carefully, and clicked everything into place.

“Look, I can help,” Adebayo said suddenly. You glanced up at her, shoving your handgun inside your jacket.

“We need you to stay here, Ads,” Harcourt said firmly. “If something happens to us, you’re the only hope.”

“The fuck am I?” Economos said from the rock where he’d been sitting, a small huff escaping him. You rolled your eyes, barely suppressing a sigh.

“Okay… what’s the plan, man?” Adrian asked, stepping closer. You noticed the two guns in his hands, and his mask now hiding his face.

Chris squared his shoulders, voice low and deadly serious. “Let’s kill that cow.”

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t nervous. Which was weird, because on other missions you’d never felt this on edge. But here you were, walking next to Adrian, Chris, and Harcourt, rifle in your arms, about to face a swarm of butterflies, with this nagging, unignorable feeling that something bad was going to happen.

“Psst… whoever kills the most wins, mmh?” Adrian’s voice whispered from beside you, breaking through the tension.

You blinked, startled, your grip tightening slightly on your rifle. “Yeah… yeah, sure,” you muttered quickly, even though you weren’t entirely sure you’d heard him right.

Then you were close enough. All four of you raised your guns at the same time.

The first shots shattered the quiet. Gunfire tore through the quietness, muzzle flashes lighting up the dusk as bullets ripped into the butterflies. Bodies dropped instantly, some collapsing where they stood, others jerking back violently before hitting the ground.

The sound drew the rest of them in. More butterflies poured out from behind trucks, from places you hadn’t even noticed, swarming toward you in a rush. There was no time to count shots, no time to track who killed who.

You fired again. And again.

The team split, Harcourt peeling left to the small group of buttefleis that were attacking her, but she had it under control. Chris was fighting some off with his shield, throwing it at them, as the metal thing slided their faces clean.

Adrian stayed by your side. Not too close, but close enough to keep an eye on you. Somehow, you caught yourself almost distracted by the way he moved. It was annoyingly… hot.

You pivoted, firing at one rushing you head on. It dropped. Another moved in from the right, you adjusted, squeezed the trigger, watched it crumple.

Behind you, Adrian saw it. A butterfly broke off from the group and sprinted straight for your blind spot. “Behind—” he started.

But you were already self aware of them. Something shifted in the air, some instinct crawling up your spine. You spun sharply on your heel just as it lunged.

You didn’t fire. Instead, you drove forward and swung your rifle hard, gripping the barrel and slamming the butt of it straight into the butterfly’s face.

The crack echoed through your hands. It dropped instantly.Adrian froze for half a second, impressed despite himself.

“…Okay,” he muttered.

You didn’t even look at him. You just re-shouldered your gun smoothly and took out another charging from the side. Under his mask, Adrian smiled and that’s when it clicked. You didn’t need him near you. You weren’t someone he had to cover or protect or keep an eye on every second. You were handling yourself perfectly fine.

He moved faster after that, darting forward, firing with sharp movments, dropping one, then another.

Then his gun clicked. it was empty.

You saw it instantly, the slight pause, the shift in his stance. Without breaking stride, Adrian let the gun fall, already reaching behind him. Twin knives flashed into his hands..

Adrian closed the distance in seconds, ducking under a wild swing, driving a blade up and into a butterfly’s throat. He yanked it free, spun, and buried the second knife straight into another’s chest, twisting hard before ripping it out.

Blood sprayed. Bodies hit the dirt.

Your heart was pounding not from fear, not from adrenaline alone, but from him. The way he moved. The focus. The grin you could practically feel even through the mask.

You were watching him. Too closely to the point you didn’t hear the footsteps beside you. Didn’t sense it until it was already on you.

Something slammed into your side. The impact knocked the breath clean out of you.

You hit the ground hard, spine slamming into the dirt as the butterfly’s weight crushed down on your chest. Its hands were everywhere, scrabbling, clawing, fingers digging into your shoulders as it tried to pin you fully.

You snarled and bucked up, driving a knee into its stomach. It barely reacted.

“Fuck—”

You twisted, fingers scrabbling at your pocket until they closed around your knife. You yanked it free just as the butterfly leaned down, its face too close.

You slammed the blade up under its jaw. The resistance was wet and the sound was horrible.

The butterfly choked, a gurgling sound tearing out of its throat as blackened blood spilled over your hand and mouth, hot and slick. It convulsed on top of you, grip tightening reflexively, nails biting into your skin.

You spit the blood that got in your mouth and twisted the knife deeper and harder, as bones crunched.

The thing spasmed violently, then went slack, collapsing dead weight against you. You shoved it off with a gasp, rolling to your side as you gagged at the taste of blood in your mouth.

You wiped the blood from your mouth, as you stood from the ground. Your eyes flicked instinctively toward the spot where your rifle had been and froze.

A man stood there, a butterfly. He held your rifle, leveled it at you with a slow, deliberate smile that sent a shiver down your spine.

Your stomach dropped. “Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, the word barely audible. Every instinct screamed at you to move, to dive, to do something, anything, but even that seemed dumb.

Then—click. The rifle was empty. The sound echoed in your ears.

Relief hit you in a wave so sudden it stole the air from your lungs. You exhaled sharply, a long, shaky sigh that left your chest heaving. The tension in your shoulders melted slightly, but your hands still clenched around your knife.

Before you could fully recover, the butterfly lunged. In a blur, he sprinted toward you, closing the distance faster than your eyes could track. You dropped into a fighting stance instinctively, knife raised, boots crunching against the forest floor.

Your movements were sharp. Every motion came naturally, honed from years of training and reflex. You slashed at him, ducked under a swing, and countered with a jab to his side. He stumbled slightly, but only for a moment.

The fight was brutal and close-quarters. You drove him back, your knife cutting shallow lines across his arms. But he was fast, and faster than you expected.

With a sudden, sharp strike, your wrist was knocked aside. The knife slipped from your grip, spinning out of your hand before you could catch it. A small, breathless gasp left your lips.

He moved quicker and before you could recover, he caught the knife mid-drop, twisting his body and driving it forward and straight into your stomach.

For a second you didn’t feel anything. Just the force of it.

A small, broken groan slipped past your lips. Then he yanked the knife out and drove it back in again.

Once.

Twice.

The pain hit all at once. It tore through you, sharp and overwhelming, like your body couldn’t process it fast enough. Your breath caught in your throat, turning into a choked gasp as your knees threatened to give out beneath you.

Your hands flew to your stomach, pressing instinctively against the wounds, but it didn’t help. Blood soaked through your fingers, warm and slick, slipping past your grip no matter how hard you tried to hold it in.

Another gasp left you, weaker this time, your vision flickering at the edges as the world tilted around you. It hurt so much it didn’t even feel real.

Your hands slipped from the wound, slick with blood as your strength gave out beneath you. A weak, broken breath left your lips as your body swayed, then dropped.

You hit the ground hard. The impact knocked what little air you had left from your lungs, a sharp, choked sound escaping you as pain ripped through your abdomen all over again. Everything felt wrong.

Your fingers twitched against the dirt, trying to push yourself up, but your arms trembled, barely holding you before collapsing again. Blood soaked into the ground beneath you, dark and spreading, warm against your skin.

Your vision blurred as you forced your eyes to focus on the butterfly standing over you. His face was calm as he looked down at you like you. He tilted his head slighly as he took a small step, ready to just finish you off. Then—

One moment he was there. The next, you caught a glimpse of movement and his head slid clean off his shoulders. His body dropped a second later, collapsing beside you with a dull thud.

You blinked, slow and heavy. Your eyelids struggled to stay open, but you forced them to, your gaze shifting until it landed on him. Adrian.

He was suddenly there, right next to you. Closer than you’d ever seen him in a moment like this. His mask was gone, and for a second, that alone felt wrong.

His face wasn’t calm. It was panic and somehow… that made yours spike even higher.

“Shit—shit,” he muttered under his breath, his voice tight, uneven in a way you’d never heard before and never wanted to hear again.

His hands hovered over you for a second, like he didn’t know where to touch without making it worse. Then he pressed down near the wound, desperately trying to stop the bleeding.

Pain shot through you instantly. A broken, pained groan slipped from your lips, your body tensing beneath his hands.

Adrian froze for half a second, eyes widening. “Fuck—I’m so sorry,” he said quickly, panic flooding his voice. But he didn’t pull away. He couldn’t. He just tried to adjust, hands shaking as he pressed more carefully this time, like that would somehow fix it. It didn’t.

Your breathing hitched, your fingers weakly clutching at his wrist without even realizing it.

Adrian looked like he was falling apart. He turned his head sharply, scanning the area, desperate. “H—Harcourt!” he shouted, his voice cracking in a way that didn’t sound like him at all. “Harcourt!”

Across the clearing, Harcourt had just taken down another butterfly. At the sound of his voice, she turned and the second her eyes landed on you, on the blood, on Adrian kneeling over you. Her expression dropped.

“Shit.”

She didn’t hesitate and ran. By the time she reached you, Adrian was still there, hands pressed over yours, trying to keep the bleeding under control, even though his fingers were covered with your blood now.

“What—oh, shit,” Harcourt breathed, dropping to her knees beside you.

But Adrian barely even looked at her. His attention snapped right back to you, like he was afraid if he looked away for even a second, you’d be gone.

“What do i do?” he said quickly, voice low but frantic. “She’s—she’s bleeding a lot, I—” He cut himself off, swallowing hard, his hands pressing down harder without meaning to.

A sharp, broken sound tore from your throat. “Stop pressing so hard,” you gritted out, your voice shaking. “It fucking hurts.”

Your body tensed under him, your fingers weakly pushing at his wrist, but there wasn’t any strength behind it.

Your vision blurred worse. You hadn’t even realized you were crying until your tears started mixing with the dirt on your face, slipping down your temples, into your hair. Your breathing came out uneven, hitching painfully with every inhale.

Adrian froze for half a second at your words, panic flashing across his face. “I—I'm sorry, I—” His voice cracked again, hands faltering like he didn’t know whether to pull away or keep pressing.

“Don’t stop,” Harcourt snapped, her tone was sharp but her eyes gave her away for just a split second.

“You have to keep pressure on it,” she said, more firmly now, already moving your hands and his into a better position. “If you don’t, she’s gonna bleed out and die.”

Her tone was harsh, almost cold, but her hands moved fast, precise, just a little too urgent.

She was panicking. Of course she was.

You weren’t just anyone. You were Rick’s little sister… and somewhere along the way, you’d become one of the few people she actually gave a shit about. Which made this worse.

“Listen to me,” she added, glancing at Adrian, her expression tightening. “I know it hurts. I know. But we don’t have a choice right now.”

Her jaw clenched as she pressed her hand over yours, reinforcing the pressure, forcing it to stay there even when your body tried to pull away.

“I… I have to close my eyes,” you muttered, voice barely more than a rasp.

Your vision blurred, the edges of everything softening, smearing together. Shadows stretched and warped until the sky above you cracked open into something distant and unreal.

The stars.

They looked brighter than you’d ever seen them.

Harcourt’s voice was there somewhere, sharp and frantic. Adrian’s voice too, low and rough, urging you, begging you but it was fading, drifting farther and farther.

You could feel Adrian’s hand on your cheek, warm against your clammy skin. His thumb brushed gently over your jaw, even as your body refused to respond.

The stars grew brighter for a moment, then dimmed, then everything went completely black.

Your grip on the steering wheel tightned as you stared at the road ahead, Adrian sat in the passenger seat while Economos and Chris sat in the back. You glanced up at the rearview mirror and caught a clear view of Chris staring down at Eagly, who laid across his lap as he gently ran his fingers through his feathers.

You hated yourself for it, but a small, ugly part of you felt something close to satisfaction. Now he knew what it felt like, the hollow ache, the unignorable grief. The same one you’d carried since the moment he killed Rick right in front of you.

The thought made your stomach twist. Because right on the heels of it came guilt. You didn’t know why you felt bad, after everything but you just did.

You glanced up at the mirror again, eyes locking with chris's. His eyes were unfocused, rimmed with red, his expression hollow in a way you recognized far too well.

“Can you please speed up?” he said suddenly, voice tight, barely holding together. You looked away, pressing harder on the gas pedal. The engine whined as the car surged forward.

After three near crashes and one blown stop sign, you finally jerked into the vet’s parking lot. Gravel sprayed as you slammed on the brakes and Chris was out of the car before it had fully stopped.

He sprinted for the entrance, boots pounding against the pavement, Eagly cradled tight against his chest like he might shatter if Chris loosened his grip even for a second. The rest of you scrambled out, adrenaline still buzzing, hearts in your throats as you chased after him.

Chris hit the door hard, sending it slamming against the wall with a loud bang. Inside, three staff members snapped their heads up in alarm.

“I need help,” Chris said loudly, breath ragged, voice breaking despite the force he put into it. He tightened his hold on Eagly, fingers trembling in the feathers. “Please. He’s hurt.”

The workers rushed toward him at once, snapping into motion as they gently but quickly took Eagly from his grasp and disappeared into the back. Chris followed them straight toward surgery, refusing to leave eagly side. You didn’t see his face, but you didn’t need to. You could imagine it all too clearly.

That was almost thirty minutes ago. You, Adrian, and Economos sat around a circular table in the staff break room. You hadn’t said a word, your elbows rested on the table, your face buried in your hands.

Adrian sat beside you, close to the point where his knee was touching yours. Every few seconds, his gaze flicked to you, then to Economos, who sat there uncomfortably. He couldn't excacly sit still either. His knee bounced under the table, fingers twisting together, then pulling apart, then fidgeting again.

The silence pressed in on him until it felt like it might crack him open. Maybe he was nervous about Eagly. Or maybe it was the fact that you were sitting there, completely silent. Which was never a good sign.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. He cleared his throat and pushed his chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the floor. The sound cut through the room.

You finally lifted your head, hands falling into your lap as Economos stood there, awkward, eyes darting between you and Adrian. “I—uh—I’m gonna go call Harcourt again,” he said, adjusting his glasses.

You and Adrian nodded, offering no words in response. Economos lingered for half a second like he wanted to say more, then thought better of it. He gave you both a small, tight nod and slipped out of the break room, the door clicking shut behind him a little too softly.

The silence rushed back in immediately. Adrian shifted beside you. His knee bounced once, then twice, before he finally stilled it, like he was afraid even that much noise might set you off. You could feel his eyes on you.

Your gaze stayed fixed on the empty chair Economos had been sitting in. Adrian watched you carefully, the slow blink of your eyes, the way your lips parted so you could take a small steady breath.

Something was definitely going on in that head of yours. So, he pushed the bridge of his glasses up with his finger, mentally and physically bracing himself to ask what your deal was.  

Adrian shifted again in his chair, the metal legs scraping faintly against the floor before he quickly froze, like he’d just broken some unspoken rule.

He glanced at the empty doorway Economos had disappeared through, then back at you. You still hadn’t moved. Still staring at the chair like it might start talking back to you.

Adrian cleared his throat softly. Maybe hoping you'd turn to him and start talking first, but you didn't.

He pushed the bridge of his glasses up again, buying himself another second. His brain was already running through about twelve different possibilities.

“Hey,” Adrian said finally, his voice careful, like he was approaching a wild animal that might bolt or stab him.

You didn’t look up. He caught the faintest side-eye from you though, and honestly, that was enough for him. At least it meant you were listening.

“Okay, so,” he tried again, his voice picking up speed as his nerves kicked in.

“I’m just gonna ask, because the whole… silent thing you’re doing right now? Super uncomfortable.”

Adrian tilted his head, trying to catch your eye. “Did I do something?” he asked, genuine confusion in his voice.

“Because if I did, you should know I’m like—”

Your attention drifted again.You had heard him, at least part of it, but you had no real intention of talking. That had always been your biggest problem. 

When something got stuck in your head, you didn’t talk about it. You shut down and sat with it until the thoughts wore themselves out.

And right now, your mind was running in circles. Ironically, most of those thoughts were about Adrian.

You still couldn’t get over what he’d done earlier. The way he’d thrown himself straight into danger like it was nothing. Like it didn’t matter whether he made it out or not.

He probably thought it was heroic and maybe it was. But it was also Stupid and Selfish.

It bothered you a lot more than you wanted to admit. Enough that you’d been avoiding actually talking to him since it happened. Because if you opened your mouth right now, you knew exactly how it would come out.

You didn’t know how to say I was scared you were going to die without it sounding like anger.

And Adrian wasn’t exactly great at feelings either. So here you both were. So there you both sat in the middle of an uncomfortable silence.

Well—you were.

Adrian, on the other hand, had been talking. “…are you listening?” he asked.

His voice cut through your thoughts, and you finally turned to look at him. Adrian was already staring at you, his head tilted slightly, eyebrows drawn together in a confused, almost suspicious expression.

“What?” you said.

Adrian made a face immediately, his lips pressing together. “You weren’t listening?” he said.

You didn’t answer right away, which was answer enough. He leaned back a little in his chair, lifting his hands in a small, defeated shrug. “I mean—okay. Cool. Forget about to,” he muttered.“That’s fine. I’ll just… talk to myself.”

You rolled your eyes. “I was listening, Adrian,” you said, your tone flat.

He immediately sat up again. “Okay,” he said. “What did I say?”

You stared at him. Your lips parted like you were about to answer but nothing came out. Adrian scoffed, throwing his hands up slightly before dropping back in his chair again. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

You watched him for a second before your gaze drifted back to the empty seat Economos had left behind.

“You asked if you did something, right?” you said finally.

Adrian, who had been slouched back in his chair, straightened again and looked at you, his expression shifting with cautious interest.

You turned to look at him again. For a second, you just stared at his face. God—his stupid, soft face. You almost got distracted by it, but then your eyes caught the fresh cut near the edge of his forehead… then the one running along the bridge of his nose.

And the irritation came rushing back. Because now you had no way to keep avoiding the conversation.

Your jaw tightened slightly. You were being ridiculous about it, you knew that. Part of you wanted him to keep talking, to keep pushing until you said something. The other part of you wanted him to just… stop.

You blew out a quiet breath. “You piss me off so bad,” you admitted.

Adrian’s face scrunched immediately, confusion and mild offense mixing together. He let out a small, questioning hum, his eyebrows pulling together as his lips parted to respond—

But you cut him off before he could get anything out.

“Like, seriously,” you continued, gesturing vaguely toward his face. “You just throw yourself into stuff like it’s nothing.”

Adrian blinked at you.

“You ran straight into that,” you said, your voice tightening.He shifted slightly in his chair, clearly trying to figure out where this was going.

“I mean, what the hell was that?” you added, frustration creeping more into your tone now. “You act like it doesn’t matter if you get hurt.”

Adrian stared at you, brows slowly pulling together as he tried to replay it in his head. You could almost see him processing, scanning for what he missed. “I—” he hesitated. “I mean… I helped you all. Didn't I?" He said.

“Adrian,” you breathed.

“But I helped,” he added quickly, almost defensively. Not angry , just confused. “That’s what we’re supposed to do, right? We protect each other. That’s like the whole point of the job.”

You stared at him. Your face went still in that way it always did before you either shut down or exploded. You blinked once. “You’re not getting it,” you said quietly.

His jaw tightened a little now. Not mad. Frustrated, because you were so confusing, and so was he so he had no right to be as mad.

“Then explain it to me.” He says.

Something in your chest cracked open at that. “What’s so hard to understand about it, Adrian?” you asked, your voice sharper now.

You shook your head slightly, letting out a frustrated breath. “I really don’t wanna be a fucking bitch right now,” you said, the irritation finally bleeding through. “But it’s kinda hard when you’re acting completely fucking clueless.”

Adrian’s brows creased once again, his lips slightly parted at the fact that you were actually full on mad about the whole thing.

“I didn’t-“ he started but you cut him off once again.

“What if you died?” You questioned.

Your breathing picked up, chest rising faster than you meant it to “What am I supposed to do if that happened?” you demanded, voice breaking despite how hard you tried to keep it steady.

“Did you even think about that?” you continued, the frustration spilling over now.

“How could you do that to me?”

The second the words left your mouth, you saw the moment it landed on him. Adrian’s expression shifted almost immediately. The confusion faded, replaced with something softer. His brows pulled together, his eyes searching your face like he was trying to understand something he hadn’t seen before.

His lips parted like he was about to say something.

But the door suddenly swung open.

The sound cut straight through the moment. Three nurses stepped back into the room, mid-conversation with each other, before their voices trailed off slightly as they noticed the tension at the table.

Adrian leaned back in his chair a little, glancing toward them, then back at you.

You pushed back from the table, the chair legs screeching loudly against the floor. The sound bounced off the walls of the cramped break room, making it feel even smaller. Adrian moved with you, close enough that the side of his arm brushed yours, and you felt the faint jolt of awareness at the contact.

“I’m assuming you’re Mr. Smith’s friend?” the older doctor asking , clipboard tucked against his chest, eyes flicking between you two .

“What? No, we’re— that doesn’t matter!”The words burst out of you before you could stop them.

Maybe it was the stress of everything. Maybe it was exhaustion, hunger, or just you being a complete bitch.

Whatever it was, your bad mood had taken over completely, and apparently, it was clear  enough for everyone to notice.

You winced immediately, realizing how sharp and rude you sounded. “I—im sorry,” you added quickly, dragging a hand through your hair as embarrassed and panic tangled together.

Adrian gave you a small sideways glance. His expression mirrored the staff’s surprise, brows drawn together, mouth slightly parted, like even he hadn’t expected how tense you were.

You took a slow breath, forcing your shoulders to drop. “So,” you said, voice softer this time, polite but clearly forced, “were you able to save Eagly?”

“The… eagle?” the younger male nurse repeated, clearly thrown. You blinked at him, before you took a small deep breath. Adrian caught that just in time. Without hesitating, he stepped in.

“Yes,” he said quickly, a little too cheerfully. “The eagle. His name’s Eagly." He’d only known you for a week, but it had been long enough. Long enough to recognize the warning signs.

“Right. yes. Of course.” The older man said, shooting the younger nurse a brief look. “I’m sorry about that. He’s new.” He turned his attention back to you, calm and steady. “I’m Dr. Hurtwitz.”

"I stitched Eagly up." he continues. "He’s stable. Still unconscious, but his vitals are good.” He paused. “Your friend… he asked for a moment alone with him.”

You and Adrian both let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Your shoulders dropped, tension finally loosening its grip, and for the first time in what felt like hours, your chest didn’t feel like it was caving in.

That’s when the door creaked open again. Economos slipped back into the room, slowing when he saw the change in your face. The tight panic was gone, replaced with relief. His eyes flicked between you and Adrian.

“What happened?" he asked cautiously.

You nodded once, a small, smile tugging at your lips. “Eagly’s fine. He's Still out, but he’s gonna be okay.” Economos froze for half a second then his shoulders dropped. “Oh, thank God,” he breathed,

“Thank you,” you said, hands pressed together as you looked back at the doctor, relief softening your voice.

The doctor nodded and so did the two nurses. Until you noticed the faces shift as they looked behind you.

“Yeah. Thank you,” Adrian added, a few seconds too late. You were still looking at the workers. Until the sharp, unmistakable click of a gun being cocked. Your head snapped toward the sound.

Adrian was already raising the submachine gun, his expression flat, eyes cold as he leveled it at the workers. The shift was instant, relief evaporating, replaced by raw panic. The three staff members froze, hands shooting up in surrender.

“What—dude, what the fuck are you doing?” Economos blurted. Adrian ignored Economos completely, his grip steady, the gun fixed on the three frozen staff members.

“Are you serious? stop fucking around and put the gun down,” you said, your voice sharp with pure irritation.

You glanced back at the staff, forcing your tone to soften. “I’m so sorry.”

“Uh, no thanks,” Adrian shot back without looking at you. “They’ve seen us. They know who I am.”

“Nobody knows who you are,” you snapped. “Nobody gives a shit.”

You turned on your heel toward Economos. “Did you call Harcourt like I told you to an hour ago, John?”

He nodded quickly, fumbling for his phone. “Yeah—yeah. She said she was almost here. Uh… that was like twenty minutes ago,” he added, wincing.

You rolled your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose, breathing through the headache threatening to split your skull in half. “Adrian. Put. The gun. Down. Or I swear—”

“Great! Now they know my name!” Adrian cut in, tightening his grip on the weapon as if that was the real problem.

“Jesus, get your fucking boyfriend under control!” Economos yelled, panic bleeding straight through his voice.

“Okay, look,” you said, turning fully towards Adrian, tone serious. “Don’t shoot them. Keep the gun pointed. I don’t give a shit but don’t pull the trigger.”

You took a steadying breath, softer but no less serious.”Just wait for Harcourt and Murn to get here, okay?”

The sound of Murn’s name made Economos freeze. His eyes widened slightly, his body stiffening like he’d just been struck. By the time you turned back to him, your face was already scrunched in confusion.

“What?” you asked, a little harsher than intended.

“Uh…” Economos stammered, glancing down at the phone in his hand.

While you and Adrian had been locked in that tense standoff about his reckless stunt, Economos had been on the line with Harcourt, giving Economos a rundown of everything that had gone down on her end.

“Murn’s… um, dead,” he finally said. His words echoed in your head, heavy and sharp. Adrian tensed, though he didn’t lower his aim from the staff.

“Murn’s dead?” you repeated, voice tight, a little unsteady. Maybe you were upset. Maybe not. But Murn had been starting to grow on you.

“Yeah,” Economos muttered, already looking away like he didn’t wanna get into it. Like if he didn’t look at you, the conversation would just die on its own. Which it did.

Adrian didn’t say anything, but his eyes were on you. He couldn’t fully see your face from where he was standing, but he didn’t need to. He’d started picking up on your little habits.

You got quiet when something actually bothered you. And yeah… you were definitely quiet right now.

The whole room felt weird after that. No one talked. Like, at all.

You and Economos just sat there at the table, the silence stretching longer than it should’ve. Across the room, Adrian stayed where he was, gun still trained on the hostages.

And after what had seemed like forever, the sound of screeching tires ripped through the air outside. Both of you and economos froze, then locked eyes.

Without another word, you moved fast, heading for the lobby. Through the front glass doors, you saw them, Harcourt and Adebayo striding up the sidewalk, but of course there was no Murn.

“Thank God you guys are here,” Economos said the moment they stepped inside.

Harcourt’s eyes flicked past him, already scanning the building, reading the tension in the air. “What’s going on?”

Her eyes landed on you, excepting you to answer her but you remained silent. “Dr. Hurwitz kindly stitched Eagly up, and Vigilante’s being a total freak.” Economos answered as he lead her and Adebayo the way to the break room.

You all stepped into the room and the situation was exactly as bad as you’d left it. Adrian still had the gun raised, unwavering, the three workers frozen in place with their hands up. He didn’t spare you a glance as you entered.

“I told you,” he said, voice tight, eyes locked on the hostages. “They saw us. Peacemaker and I—and you,” he added, nodding toward you, “we’re wanted.”

He shifted the gun as he spoke, pointing deliberately at each person. “So what other choices do we have besides killing this veterinarian, this nurse, and this male nurse?”

“You can just say two nurses, man,” Adebayo chimed in.

Adrian finally looked away from the hostages, brow furrowing. “If I just say ‘nurse,’ I think people will imagine it as a woman.”

“He’s standing right there,” Adebayo shot back, gesturing toward the terrified man. “We don’t have to imagine anything.”

“It must be weird waking up every day and being a male nurse,” Adrian said, turning his attention back to him. For a brief, terrifying moment, his grip loosened. The barrel dipped just slightly, just enough to give you all hope.

Then Economos opened his mouth. “You’re a fucking busboy,” he blurted.

Adrian’s head snapped toward him “Oh. Great. Now we definitely have to kill them,” he said, snapping the gun back up. “Because you’re giving away details about my secret identity.”

Harcourt let out a sharp sigh of annoyance and turned toward you as you stood near Adebayo. “Can you, like… help us out here?” she said, with irritation.

“No,” Economos chimed in quickly, "shes the one who told him to keep the fucking gun pointed while we waited for you."

Harcourt and Adebayo both gave you confused, incredulous looks.

“Are you serious?” Adebayo asked, raising an eyebrow.

“What?” you said, shrugging. "I doubt he would've listened to me anyways. since he makes his own decisions."

There was a subtle edge behind your tone and  Adrian caught it immediately. His eyes flicked to you, narrowing just slightly, that familiar flicker of recognition passing over his face. He knew you were still mad.

You kept your posture casual, shoulders relaxed, hands at your sides, but the tension radiating off you was obvious to anyone paying attention. And Adrian was paying attention.

“Do we really have to kill these people?” Economos asked Harcourt, his voice small, almost pleading.

She went quiet. Her eyes shifted—first to you, then to Adebayo. “No,” she said finally. “We’ll tie them up. By the time the morning staff comes in, we’ll be long gone.”

The three workers sagged with relief, hands still raised but less trembling now. “They’ve seen our faces,” Adrian argued again, tightening his grip.

“If we can’t stop the butterflies today,” Harcourt shot back, louder now, cutting straight through him, “it won’t matter.”

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. At first, you ignored it, but it kept buzzing insistently. You never really got constant notifications so, you pulled it out while the rest of the team continued their back-and-forth.

You watched the screen lit up once again. Your blood went cold. Missed calls. Messages. One after another. All from your dad.

It's been so long since you've heard from him. So you didn’t think twice and backing toward the doorway. Harcourt noticed immediately. Her head snapped in your direction. “Where are you going?” she asked.

You turned just long enough to meet her eyes. “I need to make a call,” you said, the words coming out sharper than you meant them to. Then you slipped out into the hallway of the veterinary clinic, the sounds Economos and Adrian bickering back and forth fading as you walked further into the hall.

Your finger hovered over the screen longer than you meant it to. The glass felt slick under your thumb, like it might burn you if you pressed too hard. You exhaled once, shaky, then tapped his contact and lifted the phone to your ear.

It rang. Once. Twice.

Then his voice cut in, flat and serious. He said your name. No hey. No how are you. No I heard you got out. Just your name.

“What are you doing with Peacemaker?”

Your throat tightened. You swallowed, hard, and pressed the phone closer to your ear, like distance was the problem and not him. “Hey to you too, Dad,” you said, trying and failing to keep the edge out of your voice.

“Why are you working with Peacemaker?” he repeated, sharper now. Less a question, more an accusation.

Your stomach sank. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t sting that this was what he cared about. Not where you’d been. Not what you’d survived. Just Chris.

“I’m not,” you replied. The words came out quick, defensive. “I’m not working with him.”

There was a pause. Not silence but the faint sound of breathing on the other end of the line. You could picture it perfectly: the narrowed eyes, the set jaw, the way he always decided you were lying before you even finished speaking.

“Then why is his name anywhere near yours?” he said.

You dragged in a breath and pinched the bridge of your nose, eyes squeezing shut. Your head already ached. “You saw the news?” you asked, even though you already knew the answer.

“Everyone saw the fucking news,” he snapped back.

“I know,” you said quietly, forcing your voice down, steadying it. “I know it looks bad, okay? But this isn’t on me.” You paced a few steps, stopping short of the wall. “This is Waller’s bullshit. Not mine.”

Another pause. He didn’t respond right away, and somehow that was worse.

“Dad,” you added, the word slipping out softer than you meant it to, “I was locked up and she gave me a choice, to help her with this mission or rot and die in a cell. That was it.”

“Yeah?” he shot back immediately. “You could’ve declined it. You know that. He killed Ricky. You do know that, right?”

The anger hit you fast and hot, flooding your chest before you could stop it. It wasn’t just about Chris. Or Rick. It was the way he said it, like that was the only thing that mattered. Like your months locked behind didn’t even register.

And you got it. God, you did. You understood why Rick’s death haunted him. You understood the rage and the loss, but that wasn’t the point.

He could’ve asked if you were okay. He could’ve pretended just for a second that you mattered too.

“Declined it?” you repeated into the phone, disbelief bleeding into your voice. You stopped pacing, planted your feet. “Declined it and do what?” Your voice rose despite yourself. “Sit in a cell for the rest of my life?"

You swallowed, chest tight, and pushed on before he could cut you off. “I took the deal because i knew I’d be working with Chris.” Your voice wavered but you didn’t stop. “And I wasn’t going to take it at first.”

You dragged in a breath, “But when they told me he’d be there. I thought I could kill him for what he did.” Your voice broke, anger bleeding into something rawer. “I would’ve told you that. I would’ve told you everything. if you’d fucking called me.”

The line went silent for a moment. There was a small clattering sound and then your dad sighed hard into the phone, the sound rough, worn down.

“I did,” he said quietly. “Trust me. I did. I tried everything to get you out of there.”

His voice was tired. “The people you supposedly killed were already dead. The experiments they were used for, that’s what killed them. That’s what I tried to use to get you out.”

You stayed silent, listening as he continued. “But you know Amanda. and the system. They don't give a shit.” He paused, then added, “That still doesn’t excuse why I never stopped by. Or why I never called.”

You drew in a breath, ready to answer and then you heard it. A sound. It was someones muffled crys. It wasn’t coming through the phone.

Your eyes slid toward the nearby rooms, your body going still as you listened harder. The sound came again, like someone trying to and failing to keep it quiet. The harder you listend the more you started to realize it was chris.

You turned and walked farther down the hallway, your steps slow, almost unsteady, the phone still pressed to your ear even as your focus slipped. The lights overhead hummed softly. Everything smelled like antiseptic and metal.

You stopped in front of a glass window. Inside the room, Chris was on his knees beside the exam table. Eagly lay there, wrapped and cleaned. Chris’s hand moved carefully, stroking along Eagly’s chest like he was afraid the slightest pressure might hurt him.

“God,” Chris whispered, voice cracking. “Please bring back my best pal, Eagly.” He sniffed hard, swiping at his nose with his sleeve. “I never should’ve left him in my father’s garage for four years while I went to prison.”

You listened to Chris, making your dad’s conversation fade away. Chris’s shoulders were hunched, shaking slightly as he bowed his head, forehead resting against the edge of the table.

“He’s not your friend. He never will be. He didn’t give a shit about your brother. So why would he give a shit about you?” Your dad voice said on the line.

You stayed quiet as you stared at Chris from the glass. You’d thought, maybe hoped you’d feel relief seeing him like this. That watching someone finally choke on the weight of their mistakes would feel like some sort of justice.

Instead, a heavy unease settled over you, slow and suffocating. Your fingers tightened around your phone as your dad’s voice ran in your ear.

“Your my last kid." he added. "He’s gonna get you killed. I know he is.” He said. His tone softened in a way that made your chest ache, pulling your gaze away from Chris whether you wanted it to or not.

“You know…” he started, his voice rougher now, like he wasn’t used to saying things like this out loud. “When you were born… I remember thinking—” he let out a small breath, almost like a laugh that didn’t quite make it. “I remember thinking I didn’t deserve you.”

You blinked, caught off guard.

“You were so small,” he continued. “Could barely hold your own head up, and somehow you still had me wrapped around your finger.” A pause. “You cried like hell, though. Loudest kid in the damn hospital.”

Your grip on the phone loosened just slightly.

“But you looked at me,” he said, softer now. “I mean really looked at me. Like you already knew me. And I swear to God, it was the first time in my life I felt like I did something right.”

Your throat tightened.

“You made me… better,” he admitted. “At least, I tried to be. For you.” Another pause. Then a small, quieter chuckle slipped out. “Then there was Ricky… God, did he love you.”

You blinked, eyes stinging.

“He wouldn’t leave your side,” your dad went on, voice softening in a way you hadn’t heard in a long time. “I mean it. Nurses kept trying to get him out of the room, and he just...wouldn’t budge. Said he had to make sure his little sister was ‘good.’” Another faint huff of a laugh.

“He kept asking to hold you,” he continued. “And I told him no at first. he was too damn excited, I thought he’d drop you.” A pause. “But when I finally let him… he got real quiet. Sat down, held you like you were the most important thing in the world.”

Your chest tightened. You felt your eyes water up, but you tried so hard not to cry about his little story.

“He just stared at you,” your dad said. “Big smile on his face, like he couldn’t believe you were real. Kept saying, ‘She’s mine, right? That’s my sister?’ over and over again.”

Your breathing slowed, uneven.

“And every time you made a sound,” he added, voice rough now, “he’d look up at me like something was wrong. Like he needed to fix it.” A pause. “Kid was already wrapped around your finger day one.”

Silence settled for a second. “He loved you,” your dad said quietly. “More than anything.”

“So when I say I’m trying to protect you,” he went on, voice low and controlled, “I mean it. I’m not trying to control you. I’m trying to keep you alive.” A beat. “Because I already buried one kid. I’m not burying another.”

That last sentence it was got you at the moment. It kept ringing in your ears as he continued to speak.

“And you being there, with him, with all of them?” he continued. “You think that man in there gives a shit about you?” he asked, sharper now.

“You think he wouldn’t put you in the ground if it meant saving himself? Because I’ve seen men like him. I’ve worked with them. They don’t change, they just get better at hiding it.”

Your eyes flickered back toward the glass without meaning to. “And that Vigilante?” he added, voice hardening. “He’s worse. He's the kind of person people like me are supposed to bring in.”

Your body went cold as soon as he brought adrian up.

“You don’t belong in that,” he said, quieter now, almost coaxing. “I can get you out of this."

Your jaw tightened, as you slighly hummed and continued to listend.

“All I need is something to work with,” he adds. “You give me his name. You give me anything on that Vigilante and I can get your record wiped, get this whole thing off you before it sticks for good.”

His voice softened again, but there was an edge underneath it now “That’s what your brother would’ve wanted,” he said. “For you to be safe. Not… caught up in this with people who don’t even know you.”

Something in you snapped. You let out a short, disbelieving breath, your grip tightening around the phone again. “Don’t,” you said.

“Don’t what?” he asked.

“Don’t use him like that,” you shot back, your voice slighly rising. “Don’t sit there and bring up Rick just to get me to do what you want.”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are,” you cut him off. “That’s exactly what you’re doing.”

You paced a step back from the glass, shaking your head. “You want Vigilante? Then find him yourself.”

Your voice dropped, sharper now. “That’s your job, right? Tracking people down?” A bitter edge slipped in. “So do it. Don’t ask me to hand someone over for you.”

“You’re protecting a criminal,” he said, frustration creeping back in.

“And you’re trying to use me,” you fired back immediately. “So I guess we’re both disappointed.”

You exhaled, slower this time, forcing your voice to steady. “Don’t call me and pretend this is about me,” you added. “If you want him so bad, go get him yourself.”

The sound of chris talking made you glance back at the mirror. you looked once again, seeing him in that same spot. “I’m sorry for everything I’ve done,” Chris whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry for stealing that candy bar when I was a kid… I’m sorry for accidentally selling weed to that kid and telling him it was legit when it was just oregano.” Each said with a shaky sniffle, his hands trembling as they continued to stroke Eagly.

Your dad’s voice cut through again, insistent, ringing sharp in your ear. Who knew what he was saying, you were to focused on chris praying for eagly to come back.

“And I’m sorry for killing Rick,” he said.

Your breath caught.

“I really am.” His voice cracked completely this time. “I know I hurt her so bad. I hate myself for it every day.” Tears slipped down his cheeks, “I know she’ll never forgive me. And that’s okay. I know I deserve that.”

Your chest felt tight, like it was caving in on itself.

“So God…” Chris whispered, forehead pressing against the edge of the table. “I’ll do anything you want. Anything. Just bring back Eagly. Please.”

Your dad suddenly yelled your name, loud enough that it made you flinch.

“You have no idea what you’re doing,” he shouted. “You’re throwing your whole fucking life away. And for what? For people who don’t even know you?” His voice broke through, desperate now. “I’m your father. You listen to me.”

You swallowed hard, eyes still locked on Chris.

“I know,” you said quietly. Your voice shook despite your best effort. He said your name one more time. Who knew what else he was gonna say, becuase you hung up the phone before he could continue.

The silence afterward was immediate and overwhelming. The phone buzzed almost instantly, his name lighting up the screen again, and again but you didn’t look at it.

He was your dad. He should’ve come first. That was how it was supposed to work, but you couldn’t do it.

You couldn’t be the one to hand Adrian over like he was nothing. You couldn’t be the reason he got caught, even if they would reward you for it, even if it would’ve cleaned your name and made everything easier. You just couldn’t.

And you couldn’t do it to Chris either. Not while he was falling apart on the other side of the glass. You still hated him, deeply, and you probably always would. But standing there, listening to him pray, you realized why that hate felt so complicated… and how much you resented that fact.

You wanted to forgive him, wanted to move past it just so it would stop hurting but there was no way. No fucking way you could ever be near him like that. Some things didn’t get to be forgiven.

So you shut it down.

You told yourself his prayers didn’t matter. He didn’t matter. Whatever happened to Chris wasn’t your problem. The only reason you’d hung up on your dad was Adrian. That was it.

You didn’t realize you were still standing there, staring through the glass, until Chris shifted. He turned slowly, eyes red and unfocused and then he saw you.

You stayed still, your face carefully blank. For a second, neither of you moved. His brows furrowed, uncertainty crossing his expression, like he was trying to figure out how much you’d seen. How much you’d heard.

You had and you weren’t going to acknowledge any of it. You raised a brow at him, just slightly, before turning away without a word and heading back down the hallway toward the break room, toward the others.

The closer you got, the louder the voices became again. Economos and Adrian were still arguing, Harcourt cutting in every so often. 

When you stepped back into the room, the first thing you noticed was the staff. The three workers were now sitting around the break room table, their wrists tied to the backs of the chairs with gauze and medical tape. Their expressions ranged from terrified to deeply confused.

Your brows furrowed.You turned slowly to the others“What the hell happened while I was gone?”

Before anyone answered, Harcourt glanced around the room, scanning quickly. “Hey—where’s Chris?” she asked.

You opened your mouth. “Uh, he’s still back wi—”

Harcourt’s eyes suddenly shifted past you, toward the doorway behind you. You frowned and turned.

Chris stood in the doorway. In one arm, he held Eagly carefully against his chest, the eagle’s large wings tucked close, his head resting weakly against Chris’s shoulder.

For a second, the whole room went quiet. Chris looked tired, more than usual.  Adrian’s posture immediately changed. The gun lowered a few inches without him even realizing it.

“Dude,” Adrian breathed, relief flooding his voice as he stepped forward slightly. “Is he okay?"

“Yeah, man,” Chris said quietly.

His eyes drifted away from Adrian and landed on you. You held his gaze for a single second just long enough to acknowledge him before turning back to Harcourt.

“So… can we, like, get a move on?” you said abruptly, cutting straight through the moment. “Or are we just gonna stand here staring at each other?”

The shift in tone made a few heads turn. “Yeah,” Harcourt said after a beat, offering a flat smile.

Everyone awkwardly shuffled closer to her, instinctively forming a loose circle in the middle of the room. Adrian had lowered his gun from the nurses, though the glare he kept throwing their way was enough to keep them stiff and silent in their chairs.

Eagly gave a faint, tired chirp from Chris’s arm, and Chris gently adjusted his hold on him.

“Okay,” Economos said, looking between everyone, clearly trying to get the room back on track. “So how are we gonna do this without Murn?”

“We have someone else we can trust to lead us,” Adebayo said. The room went quiet. Everyone glanced around at each other, confusion spreading slowly, until Adebayo’s eyes landed on Economos.

His face immediately lit up with smug pride. “Wait… me?”

“No. You idiot,” she shot back instantly, rolling her eyes before she locked eyes with Harcourt, the unspoken understanding passing between them.

Harcourt was clearly nervous being the new one in charge since It had always been Murn before. While Harcourt walked the rest of the team through the new plan, Adebayo quietly filled you in on what had happened.

Murn had apparently been a Butterfly. He’d turned against his own, and that betrayal was what had gotten him killed.

Then Harcourt and Economos had known from the beginning. Neither of them told you about it, and that alone was enough to piss you off—but right now wasn’t time argue about it.

By the time Harcourt finished laying out the plan, everything moved fast. The workers were left tied up and left unharmed, and after some very unwilling cooperation, you took one of their vet trucks. It wasn’t the original vehicle anymore, thanks to Chris’s dad, but it would have to do.

You all now stood outside, by the vet truck, “I wanna drive,” you said suddenly.

Everyone turned to look at you. Harcourt’s brows pulled together as she studied your face. “You wanna drive?” she repeated, cautious.

“Yeah. Give me the keys.”

She hesitated for half a second, then tossed them. You caught the keys easily and headed straight for the driver’s side.

You were quiet.Not your usual irritated quiet. Not distracted either. Just… quiet. Everyone noticed it, even if no one said anything. But there wasn’t really time to pick it apart, everyone had too much going on in their own heads.

"oh! i call shotgun," adrain said quickly, stepping foward. You stopped mid-step and tunred back towards him.

“Maybe after we get back from the barn,” you said. Your voice was calm, but there was something delibrate about it. "i- uh actually need to talk to harcourt."

Your eyes flicked from Adrian to Harcourt. Harcourt blinked, clearly caught off guard at first. But the second she got a better look at your face, something clicked. Her posture shifted slightly.

“Yeah,” she said immediately, playing along. “Right. I need to talk to her too. Uh… girl stuff.”

Her tone was flat, almost bored. Adrian frowned slighly, processing that. “Oh,” he said after a second. “Yeah. Okay.”

And that was it. He just nodded like that made perfect sense.

You turned back toward the truck again, Harcourt following a step behind you, while Adrian wandered toward the back side with the rest of the team.

“Uh, I think Adrian wanted to sit up here with you,” Harcourt said as she settled back into the passenger seat. You shot her a brief glance while turning the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life, and you shifted into drive without another word.

“Yeah. I know,” you replied, pulling the truck forward. Harcourt watched you for a moment, one brow inching up. “So…” she began carefully, leaning back against the seat. “Why didn’t you let him?”

You exhaled slowly, eyes fixed on the road stretching out ahead. For a second, you considered telling her, laying out all the stupid, tangled reasons sitting heavy in your mind. But Harcourt wasn’t exactly known for heart to hearts.

“Did he piss you off?” Harcourt pressed, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You glanced at her briefly before looking back at the road, a little thrown by her question. “Something like that,” you said after a second.

Harcourt hummed, staring straight ahead now, arms crossed tight against her chest. The car filled with a short silence. Then she turned to look at you. “Who called you?” she asked.

Your eyes stayed forward as the question echoed in your head. You’d known she’d ask eventually. Part of you had been bracing for it. Another part of you… kind of needed her to.

“uh, my dad did.” you said, finally turning toward her. Your eyes met for a brief second before you looked away first.

Harcourt didn’t miss it. Ever since you’d taken the call, something had been off. You came back a little quiet and tense. So yeah. It was definitely the phone call.

She opened her mouth again, clearly about to push you more. You cut her off before a single word could leave her lips. “He wants me to rat Adrian out,” you admitted.

Harcourt blinked. “He wants you to rat Adrian out?” she repeated, like she wasn’t sure she’d heard you right.

You hummed, glancing at her busted lip, the bruising along her cheek. “Clearly you didn’t watch the news. I mean, Murn’s fucking dead, and you and Adebayo look like shit.”

Your eyes went back to the road. “And while all that shit was happening to you... which is… yeah, obviously way worse than being wanted—” you hesitated, then added quickly, “I guess I’m sorry. For you having to see Murn die.”

“It’s fine,” Harcourt said after a beat. “It wasn’t really Murn anyway. It was a butterfly.”

You looked over at her then. There was something off in her expression, not dramatic sad look, but you could see a hint of sadness in her eyes. It was strange on her. Harcourt wasn’t exactly known for that kind of thing.

“And I did see the news,” she went on. “That Murn stuff happended after I saw it.” She paused, then glanced at you. “I’m guessing your dad saw it too?”

“Mm,” you murmured. “He thinks my life’s basically over after this.”

Your voice dropped, the words heavier now. “He said if I tell him who Vigilante is, that he swears he can clear my name. Get me out of this whole shitty mess.”

Harcourt studied you for a second. “You’re not, right?” she asked.

You turned to look at her. Her brows were furrowed, concern cutting through her usual hard edge. You stayed quiet for a moment longer than necessary.

“No,” you said finally. “Of course not."

You faced the road again, swallowing. “I wouldn't mind having a shitty life after this butterfly thing. What's the worst that can happen." You added.

Harcourt stared at you a second longer. She knew it was wrong to doubt you. But she also knew you well enough to know you could have done it, rat someone out if it meant saving yourself. After that, the rest of the drive passed in silence.

“Wait, if Waller is your mom, then why's your last name Adebayo?” John Economos asked, squinting a little as he glanced at her back.

You didn’t look up. You just kept walking a few steps behind the team, eyes fixed on the uneven ground beneath your boots. The weight of the gun case in your hands pulled at your arms, the handle biting slightly into your fingers every time it shifted. You adjusted your grip without thinking, shoulders tight.

Everything felt… off. It had turned out that the whole reason Chris was being wanted in the first place and blamed for the butterfly situation was because Adebayo had planted that diary in his trailer and set him up.

You probably should’ve been angrier about it. About all of it. Being dragged into something this messy, But you really weren’t.

“I took my wife’s name,” Adebayo answered simply.

There was a small pause. Then, Adrian spoke up, voice slightly muffled behind his mask but just as blunt as ever. “Doesn’t that make you the girl in the relationship?”

Adebayo stopped walking. You finally slowed a step too, watching from a distance as she turned, blinking at him like she couldn’t believe she actually had to explain this.

With a quiet huff, she crouched down and set the bag she’d been carrying onto the dirt, brushing her hands off as she straightened again.

“We’re both the girl in the relationship, Adrian,” she said, her tone flat but edged with irritation. He tilted his head slightly, like he was genuinely trying to process that.

Adebayo let out a short breath through her nose. “That’s… literally what being a lesbian is.”

You let out a quiet sigh as you lowered the gun cases from your grip, setting them carefully onto the ground. The soft thud barely carried in the open air. You were all far enough from the barn to stay out of sight but still close enough that, with the right angle and a decent pair of binoculars, you could see movement through the gaps in the wood.

Which was exactly what Chris and Harcourt were doing. Chris stood a little off to the side,posture stiff while Harcourt was beside him, one knee slightly bent as she adjusted her binoculars.

You glanced at them for a second before dropping down to one knee beside the cases. The latches clicked open under your fingers, the metal snapping softly in the quiet.

Behind you, you could hear Adebayo moving, fabric rustling, metal clinking as she shifted through the different helmets Chris had in his bag. Each one made a distinct sound when she picked it up.

But it wasn’t enough to pull your focus. Your eyes locked onto the large rifle sitting inside the case.

You reached in, fingers brushing along the barrel, tracing the edge like you were reacquainting yourself with something familiar. Your grip tightened slightly as you lifted it just enough to feel the balance.

Footsteps approached.

“You good with that?” Adrian’s voice came from your side.

You glanced over at Adrian  as you carefully set the rifle back into its case, adjusting it so it sat snug in the padding. He’d taken his helmet off at some point, and now you could actually see him—his expression a little tighter than usual, eyes flicking between you and the case.

“What?” you asked, even though you’d heard him the first time.

Adrian shifted where he stood, one foot dragging slightly against the dirt. It was subtle, but obvious enough he was nervous.

“Are you good with that?” he repeated.

Your brows pulled together just slightly.

His eyes widened a fraction the second he saw your reaction, like he immediately realized how that might’ve sounded.

“Wait—did that come off wrong?” he said quickly, hands lifting a little in defense. “I didn’t mean it like that. I know you can use a gun—I’ve seen you use a gun. I was just—” he cut himself off, exhaling shortly, “—trying to make conversation.”

That only made you frown more as you pushed yourself fully to your feet, brushing your hands off on your pants.

“…You could’ve just come up and talked to me,” you said, a little confused. “Like you always do.”

“Yeah, but…” Adrian hesitated as he glanced away for half a second before looking back at you. “I wasn’t sure if you were still mad or something.”

Your expression shifted slightly, some of the tension in your face easing as you studied him. He looked… genuinely unsure.

“…I’m not mad at you,” you said after a second, quieter now.

He blinked. “You’re not?”

“No.”

There was a small pause.Adrian stared at you for a second, clearly trying to read you. It wasn’t easy—your face had gone neutral again, calm and straight in a way that didn’t give him much to work with.

“…Okay,” he said finally, giving a single nod like that settled it in his head.

“Hey, Peacemaker,” Adebayo called suddenly. All of you turned toward her.

“What do these do?” she asked, gesturing toward the row of helmets laid out neatly across a fallen log.

You followed her gaze along with everyone else as Chris moved over, already gearing up to explain.

“That one,” Chris said, pointing, “lets you breathe underwater.”

Adebayo tilted her head. “Okay… not sure how we’d use that right now.”

Chris moved on without missing a beat. “This one’s ‘Scabies for All.’ Upon activation, it gives everyone within a one-mile radius scabies—except, of course, the person wearing it.”

Adrian let out a short laugh, clearly entertained.

“This one’s anti-gravity,” he continued, tapping the next helmet. “Lets you float.”

“Aimlessly?” Harcourt asked.

“No,” Chris said, deadpan. “I carry a tiny hand fan to guide me.”

Harcourt gave him a look.

“This is the sonic boom helmet,” Chris added, picking up another one. “It’s the one I used to stop the rocker chick.”

Adrian leaned slightly toward you, lowering his voice just enough. “Hey—that’s where Vigilante first met you.”

You glanced at him. “No, it wasn’t. I met you at your job, Adrian.”

“Yeah,” he said quickly, pointing between the two of you, “me. Not Vigilante.”

“Your're the Same person.” You muttered as you looked back at the team.

“So how many booms does it produce on one charge?” Adebayo asked, pulling attention back.

“I don’t know,” Chris admitted. “Three, maybe four. And this one—” he pointed to the last helmet, “—we should probably just throw away.”

“What is it?” Adebayo asked.

“Human torpedo,” Chris said. “You aim your head at whatever you want to destroy, and you become a—”

“—human torpedo,” Harcourt finished flatly.

“Sweet,” Adrian said immediately, clearly impressed.

“Yeah, only sweet if you want to shatter every bone in your body,” Chris shot back. “It’s a prototype.”

“Okay,” Adebayo said, thinking now, eyes narrowing slightly as she looked toward the barn in the distance. “Let’s say I want to get this sonic boom helmet onto the top of that barn over there without being seen.”

“Just the helmet itself?” Chris asked.

“No. I’ll put a walkie in it, activate it from here,” she explained, pointing. “Then maybe you use the anti-gravity helmet and float it over there.”

You were listening, actually paying attention now, following the plan as it started to form.Until, A faint shift of movement caught your eye.

The anti-gravity helmet. It moved.

Your gaze snapped to it just as it lifted, barely an inch at first then a little more. You went still. Thinking maybe you were the only one who noticed, you glanced sideways and locked eyes with Adrian.

His eyes were slightly widened, the same realization hitting him at the exact same time. “Uh… guys,” Adrian said carefully.

“Okay, I forgot my tiny hand fan, but y’know, once in the jungles of Cambodia, I used two oversized palm fronds as—” Chris rambled, completely distracted by his own dumb story.

By now, everyone but him had noticed the helmet. It was fully off the log now. Floating and drifting higher.

“Guys!” Adrian said louder this time.

That finally did it for him. Chris turned, following everyone’s gaze and immediately snapped his head up as he spotted the helmet slowly rising into the air.

“…Fuck!” he hissed. “Deactivate anti-gravity! Deactivate anti-gravity!”

The helmet kept going.Chris let out a sharp, frustrated breath before turning slowly toward Adebayo. “…Did you say ‘activate anti-gravity’?” he asked, way too calm.

Adebayo blinked. “No. Maybe? I don’t know.”

“You can’t just say that shit!” Chris snapped, his voice jumping back up.

“I didn’t know it was that voice-sensitive!” she shot back, equally defensive.

The helmet drifted even higher, now well above the tree line. Chris threw his hands up. “Fuck it. No big deal. I didn’t just kill the only man who knows how to make it,” he said, dripping with sarcasm.

“You did just kill the only man who knows how to make it,” Adrian corrected flatly. You let out a slow sigh, blinking slowly.

“I know, bro! I was being sarcastic,” Chris shouted then immediately winced and dropped his voice when he realized how loud he was. He shot you a sideways look, eyebrows raised, clearly saying this is the guy you’re choosing? Really?

“If you’re going to be sarcastic,” Adrian continued, unfazed, throwing his hands up, “you should really warn people so there’s no confusion.”

Everyone stared at him. Blank. Unblinking. You stood beside him, arms crossed, lips pressed.

“Okay,” Harcourt cut in slowly, clapping her hands once to get everyone back on track. “How do we get the sonic boom helmet over to the barn?” Her tone was all business.

“Well,” Chris said, already gesturing, “we could shoot a fishing line from one of these trees over to the barn and just let the helmet slide down.” He pointed from the tree to the barn like it was the most obvious solution in the world.

“Like Green Arrow?” Adrian asked.

“No. Not like Green Arrow,” Chris snapped. “That dude goes to brony conventions dressed as the back half of Twilight Sparkle with a four-inch-wide butthole drilled into the costume.”

Adrian tilted his head, thinking. “Maybe so he can breathe properly?”

You and the rest of the team exchanged deeply concerned looks while Adrian and Chris kept going like this was a normal conversation.

“You actually believe this shit?” Adebayo loudly said. “He’s got an insane story for every superhero.”

“No, I actually heard that’s true about Green Arrow,” Economos chimed in.

Everyone turned to him. “That’s the first real thing you’ve said all day,” Economos says as he looked at Chris.

“And Aquaman fucked a fish,” Adrian added casually. “Well, yeah. Obviously,” Economos agreed without hesitation.

You cleared your throat. “Look, none of that even matters. We don’t have any bows.”

“But we do have a team member capable of flight,” Chris said.

He turned slowly. All of you followed his gaze. Eagly stood a few feet away beside Economos, pecking at the dirt like he was completely uninvolved in this conversation. He paused, looked up, and locked eyes with all of you at once.

“get the fuck out,” Harcourt said immediately, arms uncrossing from her chest. Eagly tilted his head and just like that, the new plan was apparently the eagle.

Chris dropped down onto one knee in front of Eagly like he was about to propose. The rest of you hovered behind him, forming a loose half-circle, watching with a mix of skepticism and morbid curiosity.

“Okay, Eagly,” Chris said gently, “I need you to take the helmet—”

Adebayo passed it to him, and Chris held it up so Eagly could see it, turning it slightly like he was showing off a prized toy. “—and drop it on top of the barn,” Chris finished, pointing toward the roof.

Eagly followed the direction of his finger, eyes sharp as they flicked from the barn back to Chris. “There is no way an eagle understands what you’re saying,” Harcourt muttered, not even bothering to lower her voice.

“Oh, Eagly’s no ordinary eagle,” Chris replied immediately, without looking back. He carefully sets the helmet down on the ground in front of Eagly.

You leaned a little closer and Adrian who was besides you leaned in even closer as well. You slightly glanced at him, before looking back at Eagly and Chris. This was either going to work or be spectacularly stupid.

Eagly stared at the helmet for a long moment. Then he pecked it. Once then twice. Chris’s smile faltered. “Uh… no,” he said, adjusting his tone. “Eagly. Take it.” Eagly pecked it again, a little harder this time, the metal clinking softly against the dirt.

Economos made a flat smile, before looking over at harcourt, who stood there, arms crossed up to her chest. "I told you," she said, tone bored.

Chris pointed at the helmet. “Pick it up. With your feet. Like you do with… literally everything.” Chris let out a huff of annoyance. "eagly! pick It up!" he spoke loudly. Eagly blinked at him. Chris let out an aggravated breath. “Come on, dude.”

“Wait, wait let me try,” you said quickly, brushing past Harcourt before she said something. You crouched down beside Chris. Adrian immediately dropped down next to you, bending low enough that his head hovered over your shoulder like an overly curious person.

Eagly turned toward you and let out a curious little squeal. “Oh. Hi, buddy,” you said softly, your voice automatically dropping into a sweet tone.

You reached out with one finger and carefully scratched the top of his head. Eagly leaned into it instantly, feathers fluffing as he shuffled closer, nudging your hand until you were petting him fully.

There was a beat of silence behind you, Economos glanced at Harcourt. Harcourt’s brows lifted just slightly, at the fact that you were full on being sweet to a bird. Adebayo’s and Adrian watching in amusement.

“Oh my god,” Chris muttered, staring in disbelief. “He’s actually letting you pet him,” he added, like he couldn’t quite process it. You tried to hide your smile, but it tugged at your mouth anyway.

“Im so bragging about this later,” you murmured under your breath, still gently scratching along Eagly’s head. Then you shifted slightly, keeping your voice soft but clear. “Okay, Eagly,” you said, giving him one last scratch. “I need you to take the helmet all the way over to the barn, okay?”

You pointed toward the barn doors with your other hand. Eagly followed your finger, head tilting. Then he looked back at you, like he was actually considering it. He squealed once before hopping forward, grabbing the helmet securely in his talons, and taking off into sky.

All of you watched him fly toward the barn. You quickly stood clapping both hands together. “Oh my god,” you breathed. “He actually listened.”

Before you could stop yourself, you turned and threw your arms around Adrian. He froze for half a second then immediately hugged you back, hands landing on your waist like this was the best moment of his life.

“Did you see that?!” you quickly said. “He listened to me!”

“I saw,” Adrian said, dazed. “I definitely saw.”

Chris was still staring into the distance. “Are you kidding me?” He muttered.

Adebayo, who wasn’t standing far away, slowly looked from the sky to you and to Adrian and to the fact that you were very obviously wrapped around each other.

Her face twisted into open confusion. Economos caught her staring and leaned slightly toward her. “Young love,” he whispered mockingly.

Adebayo’s jaw dropped. “No shit? I told you it was gonna happen,” she shot back under her breath. Behind them, Harcourt just rolled her eyes like she’d been waiting for this exact moment.

That was about the time you finally pulled back from Adrian, still smiling, and turned to watch Eagly finish his flight. Only he wasn’t flying toward the barn.

He was heading In the complete wrong direction. “Why is he—” you started. All of your faces slowly fell as Eagly headed straight for the trees and casually dropped the helmet into the woods.

You all fell into a silence. Chris closed his eyes as he deeply inhaled. Everyone else turned to look at you. You blinked at them, brows furrowing. “What?” No one said anything.

You gestured vaguely toward the trees. “It’s his eagle,” you defended quickly. “I say he trains him better or something." you shrugged. Chris pointed accusingly. “He listened to you!”

“Half-listened!” you corrected.

Harcourt sighed, clearly over it. “Go get the helmet.”

Adrian perked up instantly. “We can get it together.”

You shot him a look, remembering, briefly, that you were supposed to be mad at him. “Or,” you said a little too loudly, “we could all look for it. Just..go our separate ways.”

You made the last part very clear.

Adrian’s head tilted slightly, confused, like a puppy trying to understand why it wasn’t allowed on the couch anymore. You avoided eye contact entirely, but you could feel his gaze burning at the side of you face.

“…Sure,” Harcourt said, picking up on it immediately. Harcourt clapped her hands once, dry and unimpressed. “Okay. Spread out. Find the helmet.”

Adebayo and Economos nodded and headed toward the tree line. Chris muttered something under his breath. You locked eyes with harcourt, as she gave you a look, you gave her one back before sparting your own way.

You wandered deeper into the woods, scanning the ground for Chris’s helmet. It had been a few minutes now ten, maybe more of kicking through leaves and broken branches, coming up empty every time.

A branch snapped behind you.

You spun around instantly.

Chris froze at your reaction, hands lifting halfway like he didn’t want to set you off any further. “Relax,” he said carefully. “It’s just me.”

“Don’t tell me to relax,” you shot back, sharper than you meant to. You turned away almost immediately, crouching slightly to sift through a patch of leaves like you hadn’t just snapped at him.

Chris inhaled slowly. He already knew you’d heard him earlier, heard everything and he’d been trying to figure out how to bring it up without making things worse. Seeing how on edge you were now… yeah, this wasn’t going to be easy.

He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing briefly over his shoulder like he half-expected Adrian to appear out of nowhere and escalte the whole thing.

“Can we… address the elephant in the room?” he asked.

Your brows pulled together, but you didn’t look at him, just nudged a stick aside with your shoe. Chris let out a quiet sigh. Of course you weren’t going to make this easy for him.

“I know you heard me back there,” he said. You blinked, annoyance flickering across your face, but you kept your eyes on the ground.

Chris let out another sight. He’d expect you to react to his sentence and start talking, but no. You remained silent and more interested on the leaves on the ground.

“I was kinda hoping you’d, I don’t know, say something,” he went on, “But… I get it. I mean, If someone killed my brother, I wouldn’t want to talk to them either.”

That made you stop.

Your foot stilled against the leaves, the faint crunch of the wood floor going silent around you.

“And I know,” he added, swallowing hard, his voice catching just slightly, “nothing I say is gonna bring Rick back.”

You finally looked up at him. That same look was there again, that stupid, familiar sadness written all over his face. For a split second, like always, you felt it. That flicker of guilt.

But just as quickly as always, it hardened. Your brows furrowed, your expression closing off as you shoved it down.

“If you know I’ll never forgive you,” you said, your voice cutting, “then why do you keep fucking trying, Chris?”

Chris’s head tilted just slightly at your tone, like he felt the edge of it hit. His jaw tightened, he straightened a bit, shoulders squaring like he was bracing himself.

“Well I don’t give a shit,” Chris said quickly, the words tripping over each other like he couldn’t get them out fast enough.

“I’ll keep apologizing every single day, every second you’re around Adrian. And if you two break up someday, I’ll still be there, apologizing. You’re not getting rid of me that easy.” he added, the last part stumbling out a little rougher than he intended.

Your lips parted slightly as you stared at him, caught somewhere between confusion and disbelief.

“What are you even talking about?” you asked, genuinely thrown. Then your expression hardened, like you were snapping back into yourself. “I don’t have time for your dumb bullshit, Chris. Apologize all you want, it won’t matter anyway.” You let out a sharp breath, “Because after this fucking mission, I’m done working for Waller.”

Chris just stared at you. His brows slowly pulled together, confusion replacing whatever he’d been about to say. His lips pressed into a thin line, like he was trying to process whether you were serious or not.

“Wait…” he said, blinking. “You’re still going with this?”

That made your brows furrow.

“Still going with what?” you shot back, a little thrown by his reaction. You gave a small, confused shrug, like you didn’t understand what he wasn’t understanding.

Chris let out a short, disbelieving breath. “You’re saying you’re done with Waller’s bullshit,” he said, slower now, like he was laying it out piece by piece. “So what, you’re just… leaving? After this?”

You didn’t answer right away and that let alone was an answer. Chris’s expression shifted again, this time something sharper, more serious.

“Did you tell Adrian?” he asked.

Your jaw tightened slightly. “No,” you said.

Chris blinked at you like that was the worst possible answer you could’ve given.

“…You didn’t tell him,” he repeated, quieter now, but heavier.

You looked away, suddenly finding the ground a lot more interesting.

“It’s not his business,” you muttered.

Chris let out a dry laugh. “Not his—are you serious right now?”

He shook his head, then glanced at you again, like he was debating whether to say the next part.

“You know, on the way here… he was talking to me about you,” Chris said.

That made you look over at him again, your attention snapping back despite yourself. Chris caught it.

“Yeah,” he went on, “He told me about the… bathroom incident.” He made a vague gesture with his hand, tone dipping into a light mock.

You rolled your eyes immediately, looking off toward a tree like it suddenly deserved your full attention.

Of course Adrian told him. You should’ve known.

“Adrian tells me basically everything you two talk about,” Chris added, shrugging. “Don’t tell him I said that, but… yeah. He does.” He paused, watching your reaction. “He told me about your little mental breakdowns. About you wanting to quit A.R.G.U.S. and just… leave.”

Your brows pulled together, confusion mixing with irritation. You opened your mouth, ready to cut in but Chris stopped it instantly.

“Don’t,” he said, sharper this time. “Just shut up and listen for a second.”

Your lips parted a little more at his tone, caught off guard.

Chris exhaled. “Do you know how panicked he was when he told me that?” he asked.

You didn’t answer.

“He was acting weird as hell about it,” Chris went on, shaking his head. “Like, not normal Adrian weird. Worse.” He glanced at you. “Dude was acting like psychopath.”

He huffed, a short, almost disbelieving laugh slipping out.

“I’m not saying he was gonna go on a murder spree or anything,” he added quickly, “but like… I’m not saying he wouldn’t at least think about it.”

That… sounded a little too believable. Chris rubbed the back of his neck, clearly remembering it.

“He kept asking me the same stuff over and over,” he continued. “‘Do you think she’s mad? Did I mess something up? Should I text her? No, that’s weird, right? That’s too much.’” He mimicked him a little, then shook his head. “It was.. yeah. A lot.”

Your expression shifted, just slightly. You parted your lips to speak but nothing came out. You did have the intetion of leaving, once agin. it came straight to your brain when your dad called.

So many thouvhs wwere rasing in your mind. once gain you opned your mouth this time ready to actually say something but as soon as a single sound came out of you, chris cut you off.

“No,” he cut in immediately, holding a hand up. “No, don’t. Don’t start doing that thing where you try to explain it away or pretend it’s not a big deal.”

Your brows furrowed, irritation flaring. “I’m not—”

“Yes, you are,” he shot back, sharper now. “That’s exactly what you do.”

You snapped your mouth shut, caught off guard by how quickly he shut you down. Again.

Chris shook his head, “I’m actually so over your little back and forth, whatever the hell this is thing you’ve got going on,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward you. “It’s exhausting and I’m not even the one dealing with it.”

“That’s not fair,” you muttered.

“No, what’s not fair,” he cut in, pointing at you, “is you messing with his head like this.”

Your jaw tightened. “I’m not messing with—”

“Yeah, you are,” Chris said flatly. “Maybe not on purpose, but you are.”

You went quiet, but your expression didn’t soften. Chris exhaled, clearly trying to keep his frustration in check and failing a little.

And you just stood there, staring at him, something about this whole thing not sitting right.

It was… weird. This conversation had started with him apologizing—about Rick, about something that actually mattered.

Now he was standing here, going off on you about your messed up, back and forth thing with Adrian like that was the bigger issue.

“You get close, then you pull away,” he went on. “You say something, then you act like you didn’t mean it. You look at him like he matters, and then five minutes later you’re acting like he’s just… there.”

His voice dropped slightly, but it didn’t lose its edge. “That screws with people,” he added. “Especially someone like Adrian.”

The woods felt too still around you. The tall trees boxed you in on every side, their branches tangling overhead and blocking out most of the light. The only sounds were the faint rustle of leaves and the distant hum of insects but even that seemed to fade under the weight of the tension between you both.

You let out a dry scoff, shifting your weight slightly, your boots crunching against dirt and scattered twigs. You weren’t taking him seriously, not right now and it showed.

Chris’s jaw clenched hard. He looked away for a second, dragging a slow breath in through his nose like he was trying to keep control. His hands flexed at his sides, fingers curling into fists before forcing themselves to relax.

You didn’t get why he cared. This wasn’t his business.

A branch snapped somewhere off to the side, could've been someone from the team but neither of you looked away from each other.

Chris huffed under his breath, shaking his head before lifting his gaze back to you, something colder settling behind his eyes.

“…You’re scared of it,” he said.

Your head snapped up immediately. “I’m not scared.”

“Yeah,” he said flatly. “You are.”

Your expression hardened, something sharp flashing across your face.

“You don’t know shit,” you snapped, your voice cutting through the quiet of the woods. A few birds startled somewhere overhead, flapping away through the trees. “Stop pretending like you fucking know me, because you don’t, Chris.”

“I didn’t come on this mission to make friends,” you continued, your voice rising despite yourself. “Or to fucking fall in love with someidiot. I came because I wanted you dead.” Your chest rose and fell a little faster now, adrenaline creeping in. “For what you did to my brother.”

Chris didn’t move.He just stood there, completely still, staring at you like he was forcing himself to hear every word.

But then—his eyes flicked past you.

Just for a second. They widened slightly, something unreadable flashing across his face.

You noticed. Of course you did.

And you knew you should’ve stopped right there. Should’ve turned around, should’ve checked what had him reacting like that but you didn’t.

You were too far gone. Too pissed at the fact that chris couldn't mind his fucking business.

So instead, you kept going.

“Your little fucking friend,” you said, your voice dropping. “He just got in my way.” You admited.

“He wasn’t supposed to matter.”

The words lingered in the air, heavier than you expected. A small silence fell, yet it felt like forever.

“...Hey,” Harcourt’s voice cut in from behind you, low and cautious. “Maybe you should—”

You turned so fast.

And there he was.

Adrian stood only a few feet behind you, right next to Harcourt, who had Peacemaker’s helmet tucked under her arm. Your eyes flicked between them, your face going a little pale before you could stop it.

By the look on Adrian’s face, you knew. He’d heard everything.

He didn’t look at you for long. Just a second, just enough for it to hit that you fucked it up for real this time. Then his gaze dropped, jaw tightening slightly before he looked past you toward Chris.

“Uh,” Adrian started, his voice a little off, like he was trying to sound normal and missing by a mile. “We found your helmet. So… you can stop looking and, like, taking random shit, I guess.”

His eyes flicked to you at the last part, almost hesitant, like he didn’t mean to look but couldn’t help it.

But he didn’t say anything else. Adrian just nodded once, more to himself than anyone else, then turned and walked away. You watched him go for half a second too long before your gaze dropped.

“Fuck,” you muttered.

“Wow,” Chris said behind you, letting out a breath that almost sounded like a humorless laugh. “And I thought I was a dick.”

“Shut up,” you snapped, not even looking at him.

“You’re the problem. And I hope you see that.”

You clenched your jaw but didn’t respond. Chris stepped closer, just enough that his voice didn’t have to carry. “Adrian doesn’t deserve someone as confused as you,” he went on. “You either want him or you don’t. Stop fucking with him.”

The words landed harder than you wanted them to. Then he brushed past you, shoulder knocking yours just slightly, not enough to start something, just enough to make a point and headed after Adrian.

And then it was just you and Harcourt. The woods felt quieter now that chris and adrian had left.

“I really fucked it up, huh?” you said after a second, glancing at her.

Harcourt shifted the helmet against her side, her expression unreadable as she looked at you. She gave a small shrug. “I doubt it,” she said. “It’s Adrian we’re talking about.”

You let out a breath, but it didn’t help.

“All you gotta do is apologize.”

You visibly cringed. She caught it immediately. Harcourt’s brows lifted just slightly. “If you can’t apologize,” she added, tilting her head a little, “then maybe you’re just not ready.”

She watched you for another second, like she was waiting to see if you had anything else to say, some excuse, maybe. You didn’t.

So she took a small breath and adjusted her grip on the helmet. “I’ll be with the others,” she said. “I’ve got a plan, so… join if you want.”

Her tone stayed flat, but there was something a little less harsh in it now. Not soft, just… not as sharp.

Then she turned and started after the others, boots crunching against the forest floor as she disappeared between the trees. Leaving you alone with the quiet.

But Jimmy Olsen had a special talent for getting under your skin, and lately, he’d been pushing every last nerve you had left. It wasn’t exactly a secret that Jimmy had a mouth on him. And because you were quiet, because you kept to yourself, he seemed to take it as a personal challenge to get a reaction out of you.

Not because he disliked you. It was quite the opposite. Jimmy Olsen had a huge, painfully obvious crush on you. You knew it. He knew it. And everyone else in the building knew it too.

Which meant Jimmy’s favorite hobby became poking at you. Whenever he caught you looking especially serious, brows drawn in, eyes on your screen like you were singlehandedly holding the Daily Planet together,he’d lean back in his chair and throw some comment at Lois and Clark, loud enough to be heard, but not directly aimed at you.

You didn’t react. Just kept typing, focused, unbothered, pretending you weren’t listening at all. Jimmy grinned wider because of it. Clark, sitting nearby, watched the whole thing.

Jimmy nudged Lois with his elbow. “See? She’s doing that thing again. The intense stare. She takes It all to seriously."

Lois rolls her eyes at him before tuning back to her work. Jimmy leaned in closer, stage-whispering, “I’m just saying, if she smiled once, Im sure she'll be fine.”

You didn’t look up but under your breath, quiet as a secret, you muttered, “Yeah… and he wonders why he’s not a top journalist.”

Clark’s paused mid type. His head lifted slowly, eyes flicking toward you with a look that was half surprise, half did I seriously just hear that?

A small smile tugged at his mouth, soft, almost disbelieving, like he couldn’t decide if you’d actually said it or if his brain had just supplied it because he wanted you to.

But then you shifted in your chair, still staring at your screen like nothing happened, and Clark’s smile deepened and it wasn’t the only time Clark heard you. Because once he noticed it, he couldn’t unnotice it.

Every time Jimmy said something aimed in your direction, some harmless jab, some dramatic comment meant to get a reaction out of you, you always had a response.

You just never gave it to him. Not out loud. Not where he could grin and say he finally got you to drop that serious act. You kept your eyes on your work, posture straight, expression calm and unreadable, like you were above all of it.

It was like you had this entire running commentary that you only allowed yourself to whisper into the safety of your own space, little remarks meant more for you than anyone else, like you couldn’t help it. Like the words just slipped out before you could swallow them back down.

You’d just keep going, fingers moving across the keyboard like you were doing something important, while Jimmy stood three desks away acting like he was auditioning for a comedy special.

“Okay, okay,” Jimmy said one afternoon, leaning against Lois’ desk with the confidence of a man who’d never been humbled, “I’m telling you, I could totally pull off being an undercover reporter. Like… easily.”

Lois snorted. “Yeah, no. You talk to much and you’ll give it away.”

Jimmy waved her off. “Yeah, well, I can still do it.”

Clark’s gaze flicked to you automatically, even though you were still staring at your screen, face set in that same calm seriousness. Then, barely louder than a breath, you murmured “Undercover my ass,”

Clark had to drop his eyes back to his monitor so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. His mouth twitched, fighting a smile.

Another time, Jimmy wandered over to your desk, hovering in that way he always did when he wanted your attention but didn’t know how to ask for it without turning it into a joke.

“So,” he said, rocking back on his heels, “I read your article. I’m gonna be honest… I expected it to be boring.” His eyes widened immediately. “Not because you’re boring! Just because you’re… quiet! But it wasn’t boring at all!”

For a second, the only sound was the hum of the newsroom and the faint clacking of keys somewhere behind you. You stared at Jimmy.

Jimmy stared back, looking like he’d just tripped down a flight of stairs in front of his crush and was waiting for the floor to swallow him whole.

Lois slowly turned in her chair, eyebrows climbing toward her hairline. “Jimmy…”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he rushed, hands up like he could physically catch the words and shove them back into his mouth. “I meant, your writing is really good. Like, really good. It was just— I don’t know! you’re quiet, so I thought it’d be all… monotone? But it’s not! It’s like... really good. ”

He stopped, breathing hard, then finished in a quieter voice, almost miserable. “…I’m making it worse.”

Clark watched the whole thing from his desk, pretending to type but absolutely not typing a single sentence. His gaze kept flicking between Jimmy’s panic and your face, your expression still calm, still unreadable, like you were listening to a weather report instead of a boy accidentally insulting you while trying to compliment you.

But Clark knew better. He’d seen you get flustered before. Not with big reactions, never that.

You swallowed once, eyes darting back to your screen like it could save you. “Thanks,” you said finally, voice even. It came out perfectly polite. Perfectly normal.

And somehow, that was the problem. Because you being nice, quietly accepting his messy little compliment without snapping back, only made Jimmy bolder. Like he took your calmness as permission. Like he convinced himself he was getting somewhere.

So he kept hovering. Kept talking. Kept finding excuses to be near your desk, to comment on your work, to tease you like it was flirting, but failing and coming off as insults.

To Jimmy, it was harmless. Playful. Just him trying to get you to react. To you, it started to feel like a fly that wouldn’t stop buzzing around your head.

Day after day, he’d lean too close and crack another joke, like he was determined to make you break character and you’d keep your face neutral. Keep your tone level. Keep your patience… barely intact.

Until you didn’t. Because eventually, even you had a limit.

The day the Daily Planet nearly fell apart. Not literally, but close enough. Journalists pacing, voices raised, everyone suddenly very invested in figuring out who exactly was messing with them.

Perry called the meeting ten minutes after the first prank happened, which, in Perry White time, meant he was already on his last nerve by the time everyone crammed into the bullpen.

He stood at the front, tie loosened, body covered in pink glitter, slamming a folder down onto the nearest desk. “Alright,” he barked, scanning the room like he was daring someone to blink wrong.

“Which one of you thinks the Daily Planet is a playground?”

The room stayed silence. Jimmy, unfortunately, chose that moment to swivel in his chair. the moment he did, his desk chair let out the loudest, most dramatic HONK anyone had ever heard.

Not a squeak. Not a creak. A full-on clown horn. The room froze but Jimmy didn’t.

He jumped like he’d been shot, nearly face planting into his desk as the sound echoed again HONK this time louder, somehow. Phones rang. Someone dropped a stack of papers. Steve Lombard laughed so hard he had to sit down.

Perry’s eye twitched. “What,” Perry said slowly, dangerously, “was that?”

Jimmy’s face went bright red. “I—I don’t know, Chief! I swear, I just sat—”

"shut up, Olsen i've had enough with you." Perry said.

You stayed in your seat, watching the whole thing unfold. Your face was perfectly still, professional to a fault but on the inside, you were losing it. You’d snuck into the Daily Planet late last night, long after the janitors had left, and made a few very specific adjustments to Jimmy’s chair. Turns out taking shop class in high school hadn’t been useless after all.

Beside you, Clark shifted. He glanced at you, brow furrowing slightly as he caught the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at your lips. He leaned in just enough to get a better look, and when you turned your head, your eyes met.

“So tragic,” you murmured quietly, your expression flattening into practiced seriousness. “Jimmy taking his job so unseriously.”

Then you looked back toward Perry, who was still going off on Jimmy like the world itself had personally wronged him. Clark didn’t say a word but the way his mouth twitched told you everything.

Yes, you were seen as a serious person. To everyone but Clark.

Clark was observant in a way that felt almost unfair. Like he noticed things people usually missed, the small details that slipped through the cracks when no one was paying attention. And for some reason, he paid extra attention to you.

Maybe it was because you were so quiet. So composed. The kind of person who didn’t demand space, but somehow still took up a room just by being in it. Or maybe it was your writing, it was always good, effortless in a way that made other journalists jealous.

Or maybe it was everything. The way you stayed calm when the bullpen got loud. The way you never reacted outwardly, but always had something clever tucked behind your silence. Clark noticed all of it. And the more he did, the more he found himself drawn to you

At first, it really was just the chair and the glitter bomb at the entrance. The glitter bomb had been meant for Jimmy, but Perry just had to show up three minutes earlier than usual.

A one-time thing, but then the next day, Jimmy’s computer turned against him. Headlines automatically credited every article to Jimmy Olsen, Investigative Genius. His cursor lagged just long enough to make him misspell everything, freezing at the worst possible moments. And every time he hit print, the office printers, all of them, spat out the same single page.

A blown-up photo of Perry White’s face with the words PERRY SUCKS ASS stamped boldly across it.

“Jimmy, what the fuck is this?” Lois demanded, skidding to a stop beside his desk, waving one of the pages like evidence in a murder trial.

Jimmy shot up from his chair, eyes wide, and snatched the paper from her hands. “How’d you get this?” he blurted. “I thought I threw them all away!”

“You sent them to be printed in every single room,” Lois shot back. “You dipshit.”

Around them, the bullpen buzzed, murmurs, stifled laughter, someone choking on their coffee. That was when you walked in, a cup of coffee in one hand, and on the other, a stack of papers tugged under your arm.

Jimmy spotted you immediately, panic latching onto hope. “Hey!” he called out. “Do you know who did this?”

You met his eyes and shook your head calmly, expression unreadable, before moving past him and taking your seat at your desk right beside Clark’s.

. “Did you see the paper?” he asked, watching your face carefully. You turned to him, face soft and no emotions showing.

“Yeah,” you said flatly, eyes already on your screen. “That’s… really fucked up.” Then you began typing, fingers moving steadily across the keyboard.

Clark lingered a moment longer, studying you your posture relaxed, your breathing even, the faintest hint of satisfaction flickering and disappearing like it had never been there at all.

“Olsen!” Perry’s voice boomed across the room. “Get over here. Now.”

Perry didn’t stop at Jimmy. Once he was done tearing into him, he turned back to the bullpen, eyes sharp, jaw tight, like a man ready to interrogate a war zone.

“Alright,” Perry barked. “Nobody leaves. Not for coffee, not for bathrooms, not for ‘important sources.’ I want answers, and I want them now.”

A collective groan rippled through the room. Perry started down the row of desks, firing questions like bullets. Where were you this morning? Did you touch the printers? Anyone notice anything strange? His voice grew louder with every non-answer, frustration bleeding through.

You kept your head down, fingers still moving across your keyboard. As Perry stopped near Lois’s desk and started grilling her, you leaned back just slightly in your chair and muttered under your breath, barely audible—

“Guess free speech doesn’t apply to printers.”

Clark stiffened beside you. He turned his head slowly, just enough to look at you from the corner of his eye. Your expression was neutral, focused, like you hadn’t said anything at all. But he’d heard you. Of course he had.

The corner of his mouth twitched. Perry moved on, voice booming as he questioned someone else. Clark smiled to himself, fond and knowing, before straightening in his chair as Perry’s shadow crept closer.

When Perry finally stopped in front of your desk, you looked up calmly, meeting his gaze without a flicker of guilt. “Anything you’d like to share?” Perry demanded. You blinked once. “Just my article, Chief.” Perry stared at you for a long moment then grunted and moved on.

You told yourself that was it. One more, then you’d stop. You didn’t.

Because there was something intoxicating about it, the tension in the room, the whispered speculation, the way everyone leaned forward whenever something went wrong, waiting to see who would be next. And Jimmy, bless him, continued to be an endless source of inspiration.

Clark kept an eye out on you. He noticed you began to move your routine around. The way you stayed late more often. The way you’d be at work earlier than usual.

One afternoon, after Jimmy let out an anguished yell from across the room, Clark leaned back in his chair and glanced at you.

“You know,” he said casually, adjusting his glasses, “statistically speaking, whoever’s doing this seems very… organized.”

You slightly glanced at him, then looked back at your screen. “I know. It’s crazy.” You answered, flat. Clark watched you for a beat longer than necessary. That familiar mouth twitch was back.

Clark smiled, slow, knowing, and far too fond for someone who was absolutely starting to suspect that you might be the reason the Daily Planet was quietly falling apart.

But he didn’t want to accuse you. Not yet. No, he wanted to see how far you’d take this little pranking phase. Besides, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying it too.

There was something endearing about watching you like this, calculated, clever, barely containing your satisfaction. About seeing that spark in you that you usually kept so carefully hidden from everyone else. And every time chaos erupted and you stayed perfectly composed, Clark felt a strange mix of pride and amusement settle in his chest.

The last prank wasn’t supposed to be big.

That was the whole point. You were done after this, one final, stupid, harmless thing just for Jimmy. Something embarrassing enough to satisfy the itch, tame enough that you could walk away clean.

You set it up the night before, long after the bullpen had emptied out. The building felt different then quiet, echoing, almost sacred. You climbed onto a chair near the bullpen entrance, hands steady as you adjusted the rig above the doorway. A large pouch of powder. The timer synced to motion, calibrated to trigger when someone passed through at Jimmy’s usual arrival time.

You tested it twice. Clean release. Perfect drop. You went home telling yourself that was it. The next morning, the bullpen hummed like always, phones ringing, printers warming up, the low buzz of people settling into their desks.

You were already seated, coffee going cold beside you, pretending to focus on your screen while your heart ticked louder with every passing minute.

The doors swung open. You didn’t even look up at first. Then the room went quiet in a way that didn’t feel right. A sharp whoosh cut through the air, followed by a soft, awful thump.

Someone gasped. You looked up just in time to see a thick cloud of white powder bloom in the middle of the bullpen, slow, almost graceful as it drifted downward.

And standing directly beneath it—

Perry.

The powder clung to him instantly. His hair. His shoulders. The front of his suit. It settled into every crease like it belonged there. No one dared to laughed or to breath.

Perry stood perfectly still, staring straight ahead as the last of the powder floated down and dusted his shoes. Then he looked down at himself then up.

Jimmy, who had just stepped in behind Perry, looked like he might pass out on the spot. “Chief, I swear—”

Perry turned his head slowly. “Not. A. Word.”

Your stomach dropped so hard it felt like you might be sick. Clark was already looking at you, not smiling, not amused. Just… knowing.

Perry wiped powder from his sleeve with two fingers, jaw tight, then turned and walked straight toward you. “You,” he said. “My office. Now.”

The walk felt unreal. Every step toward his office echoed. You could feel eyes on your back, curiosity buzzing just beneath forced professionalism. Clark watched you go, face slightly smiling.

The door shut and Perry didn’t sit. “I know it was you,” he said flatly.

Your mouth opened, then closed again.

“I didn’t guess,” he continued. “I checked the security footage after the chair incident.” He turned his monitor toward you. There you were, after hours, standing on a chair, carefully adjusting the rig above the bullpen entrance.

You remembered how careful you’d been in the beginning. How you’d checked every corner of the ceiling, every dark dome and blinking red light before the first prank ever happened. You’d made sure of it.

Which meant this one thing. Perry must have added security cameras after the first two pranks.

The realization hit late and heavy, settling in your chest like a dropped weight. Of course he would. Of course he’d quietly tighten security instead of announcing it. That was Perry, let people hang themselves with their own confidence.

And you had.

On the screen, you watched yourself step down from the chair, dusting off your hands like the job was finished. Like you hadn’t just sealed your own fate.

Your stomach twisted and your face burned. “I wouldn’t have thought it was you. My most quiet and best journalist.” Perry said, rubbing a hand over his face.

“It was supposed to be Jimmy,” you said quietly, the words slipping out before you could stop them.Perry laughed once. Sharp and humorless. “I don’t care who it was supposed to be.”

Silence stretched between you. Finally, Perry sighed, long and tired, like someone who had lost a battle he didn’t want to fight. “You’re suspended,” he said. “One week. Without pay.”

You nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“And this ends,” he added firmly. “Completely.”

“Yes, sir.”

When you stepped back into the bullpen, the room felt… off. Conversations stalled mid-sentence. Chairs squeaked as people shifted, suddenly very interested on you.

Jimmy looked like he’d just watched you reveal a second identity. His face was a mix of shocked, annoyed, and weirdly betrayed, like he couldn’t decide if he was impressed or offended.

“You—” he started, then stopped, mouth opening and closing like his brain couldn’t catch up. You didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. You just slid into your chair and reached for your bag.

Clark was still sitting in his desk, like he’d been waiting. You started gathering your things, laptop, notebook, charger, keeping your movements steady even though your hands felt too warm.

“I figured it was you,” Clark said suddenly. You paused mid-zip, turning toward him. “You did?”

He hummed, a smile tugging at his mouth. The dimples showed before he could stop them. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I hear your little comments whenever Jimmy bothers you.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly. “You did?.”

Clark’s smile grew, soft and fond. “Mhm. You’re… really funny.”

Heat crawled up your neck. You looked back down at your bag. “And,” Clark added, then hesitated like he was stepping onto thin ice, “I’ve been watching you.”

Your head snapped up. Clark immediately panicked. His smile dropped, eyes widening. His ears went pink. “Not- not like that,” he rushed out. “I just mean. I’ve noticed you. Like—when things happen, you get this little…” He lifted his hand, gesturing vaguely at his own mouth. “Tiny smile. Like you’re trying not to be pleased with yourself.”

You blinked at him. Then, to your own surprise, you smiled. Not the polite, barely-there one you gave the office when you had to. An actual smile.

Clark froze like he’d been hit with something. His whole face softened, like he’d just seen the sun come out. “There,” he breathed, almost to himself. “That one.”

You rolled your eyes, but it was weak. “Oh my god.”

Clark’s grin came back immediately. “I knew you had one.”

You zipped your bag and slung it over your shoulder, then sighed. “Well. Perry suspended me for a week.”

Clark’s eyebrows lifted. “A whole week?”

“Without pay,” you added, leaning in slightly like you were sharing classified information. “Which is totally fair… and it was fun while it lasted.”

Clark blinked. “It was,” He agreed. That earned you a soft smile. “So,” he said, “I guess I’ll see you in a week.”

You nodded, tightening your grip on your bag strap. “Yeah.”

Clark held your gaze a second longer, like he wanted you to hear him clearly. “I’ll be waiting for you to come back,” he said, simple and sincere.

Your chest tightened. You managed a flat, practiced smile before turning away but the second you did, the real one slipped out anyway, small and uncontrollable.

Across the bullpen, Jimmy was still sitting at his desk, watching the whole thing. He blinked once, then muttered, half-awed and half-offended.

“So she does smile.”

“Sorry!” you blurted out before rushing toward the elevator. Clark’s brows furrowed as he parted his lips to yell for you to hold the elevator door open, but you didn’t. He raised a brow, pushing the bridge of his glasses up, before making his way toward it and having to wait.

“Perry, I’m so sorry! I swear I had no idea I was going to be late,” you said quickly as you burst into his office, the door slamming against the wall and making Perry flinch. “There was this old lady at the coffee shop yelling at Chrissy she was fully bitching about her coffee being too hot when she literally asked for it extra hot.”

Perry sat behind his desk, a tobaccos cigar in his mouth, staring up at you with the same unamused expression he always wore. “Chrissy?” he asked, his tone bored. “Who’s Chrissy?”

You placed both coffee cups on his desk, one for you and one for him, hoping it would soften the topic of you being late, then you set the stack of papers down beside them.

"Chrissy," you repeated. "the barista who, like always makes your coffee when I bring it." you adjust your hair nervously.

Perry let out a sigh as he took the coffee. "right. The coffee you bring whenever you're running late so I won't get mad?" He said, raising a brow. Your smiled dropped as you took a seat in the chair across from his desk.

You parted your lips to speak, but nothing came out. Perry had caught on to your little trick of bringing him coffee whenever you were late, but he never said anything mostly because he enjoyed the free coffee every now and then.

“Okay, relax. The world’s not going to end. I’m not holding it against you,” he said as he removed the cigar from between his lips and placed it in the holder beside his computer.

You let out a small sigh, your shoulders relaxing. Perry then took a sip of the coffee, his lips curling slightly at the warmth. “By the way, great article last week,” he added. “I meant to tell you.” He set the cup down, sitting up straighter as he looked at you.

It was no secret that you were good at writing articles and conducting interviews. Really good. So good, in fact, that you’d once managed to convince Batman to talk to you for three whole minutes. The article had been one of your biggest hits and now, you were aiming for Superman, though he was way much harder to track down.

Just as you were about to thank Perry for actually reading and liking it, the door burst open. You and Perry both looked over to see a tall young man standing there: curly hair, glasses, a perfect face, perfect everything.

He froze for a moment before realizing he’d barged in. “I’m so sorry—I forgot to knock,” he said quickly, his cheeks turning pink as he shut the door just as fast.

You looked back at Perry, your face scrunching in confusion. Perry blinked, clearly annoyed. “Wait! come back in, Clark,” he called. The door reopened, much slower this time. Clark offered an awkward, tight smile.

“Come in,” Perry said, waving him forward.

Clark stepped inside and stopped beside the chair you were sitting in. You glanced up at him and gave him a small smile. He looked back at you and immediately recognized you as the girl who’d rushed past him earlier.

“I’m really sorry,” Clark said quickly, turning back to Perry. “I got lost, and the elevator took forever.”

Perry glanced at you, then at Clark. “Well, look at that. You both run late,” he said. “Guess it won’t be that hard for you two to get along.”

You gave him a questionable look, which he noticed. “Right. Clark, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Clark,” Perry continued. “I forgot to tell you, but you’re going to show him around today. It’s his first day.” Perry smiled, clearly fake.

You stared at Perry, blinking slowly, before standing up. Normally, you didn’t mind showing newbies, but why today? Of all days, it had to be today. You had an important article to write, one you were competing with Jimmy on and now you were being asked to waste precious writing time babysitting the new guy.

Still, you forced a smile. “Great,” you said. “I’m assuming you want me to assign him a desk too, right?” You gathered the stack of papers you’d set down earlier.

Perry only hummed as he leaned back in his chair, picking up his cigar and placing it between his lips. “Okay then,” you said, hugging the papers to your chest. “Clark, follow me.” Clark nodded and followed behind you awkwardly.

“So, I’m assuming you know your way up to Perry’s office now?” you asked as you walked quickly, forcing Clark to keep up.

“Uh, yeah. I mean… sort of,” he said. “But I’m sure I’ll remember.” His tone sounded uncertain. “Great!” you replied.

You weaved through the busy hallway, your arms brushing past people as you passed without stopping to apologize. Clark, on the other hand, muttered a quick “sorry” every time he bumped into someone. You used to do that too, but after a while, you learned that everyone here was always rushing somewhere so it was just normal.

“This is the main area,” you said as you entered the bullpen. “This is where you’ll be working. I’ll be here every single day, every hour, every minute, every second.”

Clark slowed, his eyes scanning the front desk. A large globe of the Daily Planet sat proudly in the center of the area. You noticed he’d stopped and turned back, letting out a small sigh as you walked toward him.

“That’s Mrs. May,” you said, stopping beside him and pointing. “She’s been here for years, she’s the nice one. And that’s Makena right there.” You pointed again. “She has her good days, but I promise you… they’re rare.”

Clark nodded, taking it in. You started walking again, glancing over your shoulder to make sure he was following. He was. You led him deeper into the newsroom, past rows and rows of desks. There were a lot of them, too many to keep track of.

“This is everyone,” you said. “There’s no time to meet them all today, but you’ll get to know everyone eventually. It kind of just… happens.”

Clark looked around as he followed you, eyes wide with curiosity. Phones rang, keyboards clacked, voices overlapped, everyone moving.

You walked all the way toward the back, where your desk was tucked away. There were more offices further back, but you figured you’d show him his desk now. “This is my desk,” you said, setting the stack of papers down.

Clark paused, taking in the area. Your desk was so neat. Every paper was neatly stacked and perfectly aligned. Pens and pencils were arranged just right, not a single thing out of place. Even the surface itself was spotless. It didn’t just look organized, it looked intentional. Like someone who took their work very seriously.

Clark lingered for a second, still looking at your desk. “Wow,” he said quietly, almost to himself. Then he cleared his throat. “Uh, sorry. I just… this is really organized. Like, really organized.”

You glanced at him. “I mean, not in a bad way,” he rushed to add, his ears turning pink. “It’s just… impressive." He gave you a smile, like he was worried he’d said too much. You smiled back. “Wait, you think so? Jimmy thinks it’s fucking weird. He calls me a clean freak.”

Clark laughed softly. “A clean freak?” he repeated, still smiling.

If you’d known that smile was going to be a problem later, you never would’ve agreed to give him the tour. Not that you liked Clark at first you didn’t, really. You were too focused on your job to care. But when he started talking to you every day after his first week, it became harder to ignore him.

Now, it had been three years since his first day. Three years of being around him, but two years of having a massive crush on him. It had gotten so bad that you refused to be alone with him Jimmy or Lois had to be nearby. If they weren’t, you’d get awkward, and you were never awkward. Ever.

You had no idea why he did this to you. You’d known him for three years; you should’ve been comfortable by now. But you weren’t. Not even close.

Clark’s desk sat right next to yours, which made avoiding him nearly impossible. Whenever he was there, you’d suddenly find typing to be the most important thing in the world. He’d talk while you worked, and you’d nod along, pretending to listen while your mind raced through a hundred different scenarios involving him. You knew it was fucking weird, but you also knew you had it bad.

Other times, you’d be on the opposite side of the room, leaning against Jimmy’s desk near where he and Lois sat. From there, you’d catch yourself staring at Clark while he read the newspaper, watching the way he squinted at the page even though he already wore glasses, or how he pushed them up the bridge of his nose. You noticed everything.

So much so that you noticed when he’d disappear during work hours. And when he came back, he’d look slightly out of breath, his curly hair a mess, his tie crooked from clearly trying and failing to fix it.

That’s when your mind would spiral. Maybe he had a girlfriend. Maybe he was sneaking off to see her during the day. The thoughts ran wild as you leaned against Jimmy’s desk, watching Clark type at his computer like nothing was wrong.

“A fly’s gonna go in your mouth if you keep staring with it open,” Jimmy suddenly said. You snapped out of it immediately, standing up straight. “What?” you asked, looking at him.

Jimmy didn’t even look up from his laptop, his fingers still flying across the keyboard. He rolled his eyes. “You. Eye-fucking Clark,” he added quietly.

Your face burned red. You let out a small, forced laugh and quickly took the seat beside him. “What are you talking about, Olsen?” you asked.

Jimmy finally stopped typing and turned to look at you, his expression tired like he was done pretending not to notice. “Really?” he said. “Last month, your article was shit. Like… it sucked.”

Your face scrunched up in offense, your hands lifting slightly. “What the fuck?”

“Exactly,” Jimmy said, pointing at you. “What the fuck, right? Your articles are never shit. Never.”

He leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. “Normally, I’d be happy if you slipped up even once, but no. I thought maybe you were just having a bad day but you don’t have bad days. Ever.”

“Jimmy, what are you even talking about?” you asked. He nodded slowly, like that was exactly the response he expected. “Yeah. That’s what I said to myself at first. ‘Jimmy, you’re overthinking it. There’s no way she’s distracted.’”

He glanced past you right toward Clark’s desk before looking back. “But then I started paying attention.” Jimmy crossed his arms, leaning in slightly. “I noticed,” he said quietly.

“What?” you asked, genuinely confused. “Two years ago,” Jimmy said. “May thirteenth. The first day I noticed.”

And then Jimmy told you the story of when he first realized something was off.

It started on May thirteenth, the day the two of you were competing, like always, to see who could write the better article. Normally, you won. You always won. But not that time.

Jimmy remembered watching you struggle to write, something he’d never seen before. At first, he assumed you were brainstorming, planning something big. That was your thing. But then he noticed the way your leg kept bouncing under your desk, nonstop.

And the glances. The constant, barely-there looks toward Clark. Jimmy squinted, watching you from across the room, telling himself there was no way. You’d always said you didn’t have time for guys that they were dumb, a distraction. So he ignored it.

“But then,” Jimmy continued, “three months after May… August hit.”

He went on to explain how your desk started to change. Papers weren’t stacked neatly anymore. Pens were left out instead of perfectly aligned. Even your chair wasn’t pushed in all the way when you stood up something you always did without thinking.

“Jimmy,” you said quietly, shaking your head. “Why do you even remember all this?” He shrugged. “Because it helped me put the pieces together,” he said simply. “You like Clark. And it’s driving you insane.”

He wasn’t wrong. You looked away, your jaw tightening as you crossed your arms. “I don’t like him,” you muttered, even though the words felt weak the moment they left your mouth.

Jimmy snorted. “Yeah, okay.”

“I mean it,” you insisted. “I just—”

“We’ve been friends since, like, college,” Jimmy cut in. “I’d like to think I know you better than anyone in this room. You like him and it’s driving you insane,” he finished, practically singing the last part a little too loudly. You smacked him in the arm. He winced.

Your head snapped toward Clark on instinct. He’d turned at the sound, and when your eyes met, he offered you a small, easy smile before turning back to his screen.

Jimmy laughed. “Well, look at that. I think Clark feels the same way.”

“Don’t feed my delusions, Jimmy,” you said, glaring at him as you looked back. “It’s not healthy.”

Jimmy just shook his head, laughing. “Okay, okay. From friend to friend,” he said, placing a hand dramatically over his chest, “I’d like to offer you my help, completely free of charge.”

You raised a brow.

“Think of it as an early birthday gift,” he added, clearly pleased with himself.

It was no secret that Jimmy somehow always knew his way around the ladies. He never had the same girl twice, which was… weird, honestly but also kind of impressive. You still didn’t understand how he managed it, but he did. Every time.

So against your better judgment and with a quiet sigh, you accepted his offer. Because if anyone in this building knew how to survive a crush without completely humiliating themselves, it was probably Jimmy Olsen.

And so, the Jimmy Olsen Rules began.

Rule number one: Talk to him.

Normally, you only ever talked to Clark when someone else was around, Jimmy, Lois, Perry, literally anyone. Being alone with him made your chest tighten in a way you hated. But Jimmy had been very clear: if you didn’t get over that fear, nothing was ever going to change.

So you did something terrifying.

It was early, earlier than usual. The bullpen was still quiet, lights half-dim, the city outside barely awake. You spotted Clark through the glass of the print room, standing alone by the printer, sleeves rolled up, waiting as the machine hummed and spat out papers.

You hesitated. Then you looked back at Jimmy and Lois. They both froze when they realized what you were about to do. Jimmy’s eyes went wide, then he broke into a grin and gave you a very enthusiastic thumbs-up. Lois followed, nodding like she was sending you off to battle.

You gave them a flat, unconvincing smile.

Okay. Just talk to him.

You turned and walked toward the print room, each step making your nerves buzz louder. The door creaked softly as you pushed it open. The sound made Clark look up.

For a second, his face was neutral then recognition hit, and his expression warmed instantly. His brows lifted, eyes softening behind his glasses as a small smile pulled at his lips.

“Oh hey,” he said, straightening a little. “Morning.”

“Morning,” you replied, hoping your voice didn’t betray how fast your heart was racing. You stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind you. The click of it closing felt way louder than it should’ve.

Awkward silence followed, filled only by the steady whir of the printer. You glanced at the machine. “Uh… early start?”

He chuckled quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Perry wanted copies of yesterday’s articles before eight. I figured I’d get ahead of it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Perry and his requests,” you muttered. “I remember when this was my job when I first started. I hated Perry so bad—” you lowered your voice, glancing over your shoulder “—don’t tell him I said that.”

Clark laughed softly, the sound warm and easy, and when he smiled, his dimples showed. That alone was enough to make your carefully rehearsed calm completely fall apart. It almost made you crumble.

“I think everyone hates Perry at least once,” he said. Then his expression shifted, thoughtful. “You started, what—five years ago, right? Jimmy told me about you getting the job after him. He said you didn’t even want to take it at first.”

Your stomach dropped. “Oh,” you said, a little too quickly. “Did he?”

“Yeah,” Clark continued, completely unaware of your internal panic. “He didn’t really say why, though. Just that it was… complicated.”

You felt your shoulders tense. Personal questions were dangerous territory. You usually dodged them without thinking, changed the subject, cracked a joke maybe. That was your move.

But Jimmy’s Second rules echoed in your head.

Rule number two: Let him see the real you.

You exhaled slowly. “I just—” you started, then paused, choosing your words. “I used to live in Gotham, before Metropolis. I had the same job there, but my parents still live there, and it just felt… wrong to leave them.” You let out a small, almost awkward laugh. “Until Jimmy gave me this whole dramatic life lesson about leaving the nest.”

Clark’s expression softened immediately. “That sounds like Jimmy,” he said with a gentle smile. “He’s surprisingly wise when he wants to be.”

“Shockingly so,” you agreed. “He told me I couldn’t keep putting my life on pause just because I was scared of change. something about I deserved more than staying comfortable.”

Clark nodded slowly. “I think he was right.”

You glanced up at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said. “It takes a lot of courage to start over somewhere new. Especially when it means leaving people you love behind.”

The way he said it, quiet, sincere it made your chest ache a little “Guess I never thought about it like that,” you murmured.

The printer beeped, breaking the moment. Clark reached for the papers, then hesitated, glancing back at you. “I’m glad you took it,” he said. “The job, I mean.”

You met his eyes, your nerves still buzzing but for once, you didn’t run from it. “Me too,” you admitted. Clark parted his lips to say something else, but a sharp knock against the glass cut him off. You both turned.

Jimmy stood on the other side of the print room window, way too pleased with himself. He exaggeratedly mouthed, you’re both doing great, his face split into a proud grin as he lifted both thumbs in an over-the-top gesture.

Your stomach dropped. “Oh my god,” you muttered, mortified. Clark blinked, then glanced between you and Jimmy. Clark blinked and he shot Jimmy a look. A very clear please leave kind of look.

Jimmy only wiggled his eyebrows and doubled down on the thumbs-up. You slowly turned back to Clark, already bracing yourself, but he was smiling at you soft, a little embarrassed, trying his best to play it off like this was totally normal

Rule number three: Stop pretending you don’t notice him.

Normally, whenever you saw Clark around the city, you pretended you didn’t. You’d look straight through him, suddenly very interested in a storefront or your phone or literally anything else. It wasn’t on purpose. It was nerves. Stupid, uncontrollable nerves.

This time, it was a Saturday morning. No work just you and the city. You were out grabbing a few things for your apartment. Decorations, mostly. Your living room felt too empty and you just wanted to spend money.

You weren’t expecting to see anyone you knew. So when you were walking down the sidewalk and caught sight of a familiar head of dark curls, you stopped dead in your tracks.

Clark.

Your phone was pressed to your ear, Jimmy’s voice still rambling on about his obsessive crazy ex. “Oh my god, Jimmy, you’re not gonna believe this,” you said, eyes locked on Clark.

He stood near the corner, holding a newspaper with both hands, glasses slipping down his nose as he read, completely unaware that your heart had just dropped straight into your stomach.

“What?” Jimmy asked through the phone. “Clark is out here,” you said quickly, already turning on your heel, fully prepared to pretend this never happened.

“Turn back around,” Jimmy snapped immediately. “I know you’re trying to leave.”

You froze. “Remember what I said,” he continued. “Stop pretending you don’t notice him.”

You hesitated, heart pounding. “So go get your man,” Jimmy added, not even trying to be subtle, before hanging up. You stared at your phone for a second, then let your arm fall to your side with a defeated sigh. Your shoulders slumped. “I hate you, Jimmy Olsen,” you whispered to no one.

You turned back around. Clark was still there, still reading, still very much Clark. You swallowed, smoothed your jacket like that would help anything, and took a hesitant step forward.

You took another step forward. Then another. Each one felt louder than it should’ve been, like the city had suddenly gone quiet just to watch you embarrass yourself. Your fingers curled into the straps of your bag, knuckles tightening as your heart started doing that stupid, uneven thing it always did around him.

When you were close enough, Clark finally sensed it. He looked up from the newspaper and for half a second, his expression went blank with surprise. Then his face softened, like recognition settled in slowly. His brows lifted, eyes brightening behind his glasses, lips parting before he caught himself.

“Oh,” he said, folding the newspaper a little too fast, hands fumbling with the edges. “Hey.” The smile that followed wasn’t rushed or polite. It was warm. The kind that made your chest feel tight in the worst way.

“Hey,” you replied, hoping your voice sounded normal. You lowered your bag, suddenly aware of how you were standing, how your hair felt, how ridiculous it was that you were thinking about any of this.

There was a beat of awkward silence. Not bad just unsure. “I almost didn’t say anything,” you admitted, shifting your weight. “I was totally prepared to pretend I didn’t see you.”

Clark let out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You do that too?”

You blinked. “Too?”

“Yeah,” he said, glancing down for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “I always worry I’ll make things weird. So I… don’t say anything. Even when I want to.”

That caught you off guard. You smiled before you could stop yourself. “Wow. could've fooled me.”

He laughed again, a little more relaxed this time. You nodded toward the newspaper tucked under his arm. “What are you doing out here anyway? Thought Saturdays were your sacred ‘catch up on everything’ days.”

“They are,” he said. “But I needed air. And coffee.” He paused, eyes flicking to the bag in your hands. “You?”

“Shopping,” you sighed. “Or attempting to. My apartment still looks like I moved in yesterday.”

“That’s hard to believe,” he said, smiling. “Your desk at work looks like a museum exhibit.”

You rolled your eyes. “My apartment does not get the same energy.”

There was another pause, longer this time. The city noise filled in the gaps: footsteps, distant traffic, someone laughing down the block. Clark shifted his weight, clearly debating something.

“Hey,” he said finally. “There’s a coffee place around the corner. Nothing fancy. But it’s good.” He hesitated, then added, “If you’re not in a rush… we could sit for a bit.”

Your heart jumped straight into your throat. You thought about every time you’d avoided him. Every time you’d pretended not to notice the way he looked at you. Jimmy’s smug face flashed in your mind.

You smiled. “Yeah,” you said, softer now. “sure.” Clark’s smile widened, relief clear on his face. “Great. Uh—this way.”

As you fell into step beside him, you realized something terrifying. Jimmy's rules were actually working.

Over the months of following Jimmy’s rules, things changed, slowly, then all at once. You started talking to Clark every day. Real conversations. The kind that drifted from work to childhood memories to things you’d never told anyone else. Somehow, he knew parts of you that even Jimmy didn’t.

And it didn’t stop at the office. You started hanging out outside of work as friends, obviously. Nothing big. Just coffee before work. Lunch breaks that lasted a little too long. Him helping you decide on a new lamp for your living room because, according to Clark, he “needed to see the space first” to make a fair judgment. Yes, he’d been to your apartment. Yes, it was still very casual. Small hangouts. Normal ones.

Then came rule number four.

Rule number four: Let him miss you a little.

Jimmy said it like it was nothing, then absolutely destroyed you with the explanation. “You hang out all the time now,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “You’re always there.”

“So,” you shot back, “I’m supposed to ignore him?”

“No, no,” Jimmy said quickly, holding up his hands. “Not ignore. Just… don’t always be available.”

You frowned. “And if he asks why?”

Jimmy didn’t hesitate. “You tell him the truth. ‘This new article is driving me insane.’ Boom. Simple. He won't even question it.”

Then he laid it out.

Some mornings, you don’t start the conversation. Some days, you leave first. Some moments, you let the silence sit.

Not to play games. Not to be cruel. But because if Clark liked you and Jimmy was very convinced he did, he wouldn’t ignore the absence.

Jimmy smirked, clearly enjoying this far too much. “Trust me,” he said. “If a guy starts looking around for you when you’re not there? You’re already winning.”

And so, the testing began.

It was a normal day at the Daily Planet. The bullpen buzzed with its usual low hum, phones ringing, keyboards clacking, distant voices drifting through the room. You sat at your desk with your laptop open, typing like your life depended on it. Your fingers moved fast, relentless. Your face was scrunched in concentration, brows furrowed, eyes squinting slightly at the bright screen as if you could force the words into perfection.

You were locked in.

Then you heard the familiar scrape of a chair being pulled out. Clark sat down at the desk beside yours. “Hey,” he said, gentle as always.

You didn’t look up. Didn’t pause. “Hey,” you replied, eyes still glued to the screen as your fingers kept flying across the keyboard.

Normally, this was where you’d turn to him. Ask how his morning was. Make some small comment about the weather, the city, Perry, anything. Normally, you’d ease into conversation without even thinking about it.

Today, you didn’t. The silence stretched.

Clark glanced over at you, his brows knitting together just slightly. You could feel it, his confusion, the way his attention lingered longer than usual. He waited, like maybe you’d say something else. When you didn’t, he turned back to his computer slowly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

She’s focused, he told himself.  He exhaled quietly and opened his own document, deciding to let you work. But every few seconds, his eyes flicked back to you anyway.

Eventually, you glanced over. He had one hand pressed to his forehead, glasses slightly crooked as he stared down at the paper in front of him like it personally offended him. And then you noticed it, his leg bouncing under the desk, quick and restless. Clark never did that.

Something warm sparked in your chest. Oh. Was he overthinking your silence?

A small, almost victorious smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it. You turned back to your screen for a beat longer, just enough then suddenly pushed your chair back. The abrupt movement made Clark look up immediately, eyes snapping to you like he’d been waiting.

You stood. For half a second, he looked like he expected you to say something. You didn’t. You calmly gathered your paperwork, slid your laptop under your arm, and walked away toward the front of the room. Clark watched you go, completely thrown.

As you passed Jimmy’s desk, you slowed just enough to glance at him and silently mouth, I think it’s working.

Jimmy’s face lit up like Christmas morning. He grinned at you, nodding proudly, then casually shifted his gaze toward Clark.

Clark was already staring at him. Brows raised. Mouth tight. Very confused. He subtly mouthed, Your rules aren’t working.

Jimmy only shrugged, far too innocent for someone actively ruining a man’s emotional stability, then turned back to his work like nothing had happened. Behind him, Clark looked back toward the front of the room, toward you, his jaw tightening just a little.

What you didn’t know was that Jimmy wasn’t just helping you get Clark. He was helping Clark get you, too.

Jimmy Olsen was sneakier and smarter than anyone gave him credit for. His rules always worked. They just took time. And if he waited a little longer, he knew you and Clark would end up completely wrapped around each other’s fingers.

Days passed, and you kept it up. You stayed kind but dry. In a Professional way. Just Like the first year when clark started working there,

It was harder than you expected. Ignoring Clark didn’t feel powerful the way Jimmy promised. It felt… mean. Every short answer, every moment you didn’t look his way, twisted something in your chest.

But you also noticed it. The way Clark lingered by your desk longer than necessary. How he’d glance over when you laughed with someone else. The way his focus slipped, papers reread twice, his articles taking more time to be written. It was getting to him.

Friday afternoon rolled around, the office slower, heavier with the promise of the weekend. You were leaning against Lois’s desk, arms crossed loosely as she scrolled through her computer, eyes narrowed in concentration while she searched for dinner spots for her and her newest situationship.

“Why don’t you try that Italian place down the street?” you suggested, tilting your head to get a better look at her screen.

Lois hummed thoughtfully. “Mm, Jessie doesn’t like Italian,” she said without looking up. You frowned. “Who doesn’t like Italian?”

“People who claim they’re ‘not into carbs,’” Lois replied dryly, finally glancing up at you. “Which is already a red flag.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “how tragic.”

As you spoke, you felt it that familiar pull. You didn’t have to look to know Clark was nearby. Sure enough, when you finally glanced over, he was at his desk, pretending very hard to read an article while absolutely not reading it at all.

His pen hovered over the page, unmoving. His jaw was tense. And when you laughed at something Lois said, his eyes lifted just for a second before he looked away again.

Lois noticed. She followed your gaze, then slowly leaned closer to you. “Oh,” she murmured. “Guess I’m not the only one with a situationship,” she whispered, lips twitching.

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t quite hide the smile tugging at your mouth. “It’s not like that,” you said quietly. “Jimmy’s just been doing his whole ‘how to get a man’ rulebook thing.”

Lois laughed, sharp and knowing. “Well, whatever he’s doing, it’s working.” She nodded subtly toward Clark. “He’s been out of it for days.”

You glanced back at him again. He was staring at his screen now, but his fingers weren’t moving. He looked… distracted. Lois smirked. “Hate to break it to you,” she added, “but he’s down bad. Like, really bad.”

Your stomach flipped. You scoffed, trying to brush it off. “You’re dramatic.”

Lois raised a brow. “Am I? Because from where I’m sitting, that man is one missed conversation away from losing his mind.”

Clark finally pushed his chair back. The sound was subtle, but you noticed it immediately. He stood, gathering his things with movements that felt a little too stiff, like he’d already decided something and was bracing himself for it. He slung his bag over his shoulder, glanced once toward the exit then hesitated and instead of leaving…

He walked toward you. Your stomach dropped. You straightened instinctively as he stopped in front of you and Lois, hands shoved into his pockets. For a second, he didn’t say anything, just shifted his weight, eyes flicking between yours like he was choosing his words carefully.

“Hey,” he said. “Uh… what are you doing after work?” Your brain short-circuited. “I, uh what?” you stammered, blinking at him.

Lois shot you a look. A very pointed don’t you dare mess this up look.

“I mean,” Clark rushed on, clearly nervous now too, “if you’re busy, that’s totally fine. I just thought maybe—”

“No!” you blurted, then immediately cringed. “I mean, yes. Busy. I’m busy.” You quickly said. Lois’s expression twisted into disbelief.

“I—I have to take my dog to the vet,” you said quickly, words tumbling over each other. “He’s, uh… sick. Very sick. Emergency vet situation.”

You grabbed your bag off Lois’s desk, nearly knocking over a stack of papers in the process. “So I should probably go. Because… of dog.”

Clark blinked. Once. Then again. “Dog?” he repeated gently.He tilted his head, brows knitting together as realization crept in. “You don’t have a dog.”

Lois slowly lifted her hand to cover her mouth, shoulders already shaking, eyes sparkling with barely contained laughter. Your face burned. “I—” you let out a small, nervous puff of air. “Pfft—did I say my dog?” You glanced desperately at Lois for backup.

She only shrugged, utterly unhelpful. Clark’s lips twitched, like he was fighting a losing battle with a smile.

“I meant my neighbor’s dog,” you rushed on, pointing vaguely toward the ceiling like the answer lived up there. “Mrs. Castro. You’ve met her. Her dog is sick. And she needs me to… tag along.”

You nodded emphatically, as if that sealed it. Clark gave you a flat, polite smile Cleary unconvinced. “So yeah!” you said too brightly. “I can’t today. Maybe another time? So—bye.”

You didn’t wait for a response. You spun on your heel and practically fled, weaving through desks like the building was on fire. Clark watched you go, confusion written all over his face.

Lois watched you go with a wide, knowing grin. After a beat, Clark slowly turned back to her. “I don’t think Mrs. Castro has a dog either.”

Lois dropped her hand and finally laughed. “Nope.”

Clark stared at the doorway you’d disappeared through, rubbing the back of his neck, a helpless smile tugging at his mouth. Lois’s eyes drifted down to the laptop and the stack of papers still sitting on her desk, your things, abandoned in your panic.

A slow, knowing smile spread across her face. “Well,” she said casually, tapping the stack with her finger, “since she’s being all weird… maybe you can drop these off at her place and, I don’t know, figure it out.”

She looked up at Clark, her smile wide, like she knew something he didn’t. Clark blinked. “Her place?”

Lois shrugged, far too innocent. “You’ve been there before. And unless her neighbor’s dog suddenly makes a miraculous recovery, she’s probably be home.”

He glanced down at your laptop, then back toward the doorway, then at Lois again. “You think that’s… okay?”

Lois smirked. “Trust me. It is.”

Clark hesitated for half a second then nodded, picking up your things. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Okay.”

As he headed toward the exit, Lois leaned back in her chair, smiling to herself. Sometimes, people just needed a little push.

So that’s exactly what Clark did that night. He’d meant to come by right after you left the office to drop off the papers, and figure out what was up with you. But things came up. Important things. The kind that pulled him away longer than he wanted, longer than he’d planned.

Still, when everything finally settled, he found himself standing outside your apartment building, a little later than he liked, but in one piece.

You, meanwhile, were curled up on your couch, knees tucked in, the glow of the TV washing over the living room. The news was replaying footage from a recent Superman sighting, shaky phone videos. It had happened maybe twenty minutes ago.

Twenty minutes ago. That was too late. You pushed yourself off the couch with a frustrated sigh, running a hand over your face. You’d been trying to interview Superman for three years. Three years of dead ends, and then again you’d been nowhere near it when it mattered.

You wandered into the kitchen, your bag sitting on the island where you’d dropped it earlier. You dug through it then faster.

Your laptop was nowhere too be found. You froze, then let out a quiet groan. “…I left it at the Daily Planet.”

Of course you did. You reached for your phone, already debating who to text and how embarrassing the request would sound, when a sudden knock echoed through the apartment.

Your heart jumped as you turned toward the narrow hallway leading to the front door. You weren’t expecting anyone. For a second, you wondered if maybe Lois had come back with something you’d forgotten, she did that sometimes.

Another knock followed, polite but firm.

You wiped your palms on your jeans, nerves buzzing for no clear reason, and walked toward the door. You reached for the handle, completely unaware that just on the other side stood Clark Kent, your laptop tucked under one arm, a stack of papers in the other hoping he wasn’t intruding, and hoping even more that you’d open the door.

You opened the door and there he was.

Clark stood in the hallway, hair slightly mussed like he’d run his hands through it one too many times, glasses sitting a little crooked on his nose. Your laptop was tucked carefully under his arm, papers neatly stacked in his hand like they mattered a lot which, knowing Clark, they did.

For a split second, neither of you spoke. "Oh,” you said dumbly.

“Oh hey,” Clark replied at the same time, blinking like he hadn’t fully expected the door to open. Then he smiled, soft and a little unsure. ”

Your brain stalled completely. This was not on the list of possibilities you’d been running through in your head. “Hi,” you echoed, shifting your weight. “What are you… doing here?”

He let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh. “ you might’ve left these behind.” He lifted your laptop slightly, then the papers. "Lois suggested I drop them off since I was, uh… already heading this way.”

That was a lie. A gentle one. You didn’t know that yet. “Oh my god,” you said, heat creeping up your neck. “I didn’t even realize until like five minutes ago. Thank you. Seriously.”

“Of course,” he said quickly, holding them out to you. “I figured you’d need them.”

Your fingers brushed his when you took the laptop, the contact brief but electric enough to make your stomach flip. You pulled it against your chest like it was a shield.

Another pause settled between you thicker this time, heavier. Clark cleared his throat. His eyes flicked past you, just barely, into your apartment. “Um. Sorry if this is a bad time. I can go—”

“No,” you said too fast. Then you winced. “I mean no, it’s fine. I was just… watching the news.”

“Yeah?” His eyebrows lifted. “The Superman thing?”

You nodded, leaning against the doorframe without realizing it. “Story of my life.”

That earned a small smile. “You’ll get him,” Clark said gently. “You always do.”

Something about the way he said it so certain, it made your chest tighten. “Do you, uh,” he hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck, “want some company? I mean, only if you’re not busy. I can leave. Totally fine if you want me to leave.”

You blinked at him, your heart thudding a little too loudly in your ears.

Jimmy’s voice echoed in your head, smug and confident. Once he notices the distance, he’ll probably come running. And when he does remain calm. Don’t blow the cover. Just let it play out.

You swallowed, nerves buzzing under your skin. This was it. You stepped aside just enough, opening the door wider. “…You can come in,” you said softly. Then, almost as an afterthought, “If you want.”

Clark’s shoulders relaxed immediately, relief washing over his face. A small smile tugged at his lips as he nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I’d like that.”

He stepped inside slowly, like he wasn’t sure if the moment might disappear if he moved too fast. You closed the door behind him, the soft click echoing a little louder than it should’ve in the quiet apartment.

“Sorry it’s kinda… messy,” you said automatically, even though it wasn’t. Your place was cozy lamps casting warm light, every spot well decorated, the faint smell of vanilla lingering in the air.

Clark glanced around anyway, even though he’d been here more than a few times. His eyes paused on the large mirror by the key holder. “Oh, new mirror?” he asked, pointing.

You followed his gaze and nodded. “Yeah. The wall was too empty and It was driving me insane,” you said with a dry little laugh,

He smiled at that and followed you into the kitchen, watching quietly as you set your laptop and papers down on the dining table. There was something unhurried about him, like he wasn’t in a rush to leave this space or you.

Then he spoke again, softer this time. “Is that what’s been making you act all weird?”

You looked up, confused. “Mm?”

“The empty wall,” he clarified, tilting his head slightly. “Is that what’s been making you distant lately?”

You blinked, caught completely off guard. Of all the reasons he could’ve landed on… that wasn’t one of them. A small, nervous laugh slipped out before you could stop it. “No,” you said gently.

He shifted his weight, hands slipping into his pockets, like he was bracing himself. “I just… noticed,” he said carefully. “You’ve been a little quieter. You also leave before I can walk with you and you stop conversations before they even start.” He glanced at you, then away. “I don't know, i figured I did something.”

That landed heavier than you expected.You leaned back against the counter, crossing your arms, not defensively, just to keep yourself steady. “You didn’t,” you said quickly. You softened your voice. “uh, this one’s on me.”

Clark nodded, but it was the kind of nod that said he was listening, not letting it go. “Okay,” he said.

The room fell still after that. Not uncomfortable, just heavy. Full of everything neither of you seemed brave enough to say out loud.

You still leaned on the counter, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of it. Your mind raced. Do I tell him? Do I finally say it? Two years of stolen glances, half-finished conversations, carefully built distance. You could feel the words sitting right there in your chest, pressing, begging to be let out. But the idea of saying I’m in love with you and hearing anything other than the same thing back it made your stomach twist.

Clark wasn’t doing much better.

He stood there, shoulders slightly tense, glasses pushed higher on his nose even though they didn’t need adjusting. He knew what he wanted to say. He always had. He just didn’t know how to say it without risking everything.

Because the truth was, he’d had a crush on you since the very first day.

From the moment he meet you in Perry’s office. You were breath taking , intimidatingly smart, effortlessly funny. The kind of person who seemed to belong anywhere she stood. Clark had clocked it immediately and just as quickly convinced himself you were out of his league.

He never got the girl. That had kinda been normal to him though so he never really tried to get you.

So when Jimmy had caught him, literally caught him staring a little too long at you in the printing room months ago, Clark had nearly jumped out of his skin. Jimmy had leaned in with that knowing grin and said, “You know, for someone who’s supposed to be sneaky, you’re really bad at hiding it.”

Clark had tried to deny it. Failed miserably.

And when Jimmy offered help, the same kind he’d been giving you, Clark had taken it without hesitation. Because if anyone in that building knew how to read people, how to nudge things just enough without blowing them up, it was Jimmy Olsen.

Now, standing in your apartment, the air warm and quiet between you, Clark finally looked up and met your eyes.

His voice came out softer than he probably meant it to. “So, uh… can I tell you something?” he asked, shifting his weight slightly.

“Mmh, sure,” you said, straightening instinctively. Clark did the same, clearing his throat like he needed the extra second to gather himself. Instead of speaking right away, he started toward the living room, and you followed, unsure of where this was going or what he was about to say.

You both sat down on the couch, leaving a noticeable amount of space between you. The cushions dipped under his weight. He rested his hands on his knees, fingers flexing once, nervous.

The silence stretched. You frowned slightly, anxiety creeping in. “Wait, are you okay, Clark?” you asked, turning toward him. “Did I… did I actually mess things up by being distant?”

Your voice was quieter now, more vulnerable. “I didn’t mean to, if I did. I just—”

Clark turned to you then, really looked at you, and the concern on his face made your chest tighten. He shook his head immediately. “No. No, you didn’t mess anything up,” he said quickly. “I just this isn’t bad. I promise.”

He hesitated, then let out a slow breath, rubbing his hands together nervously. “Just… promise me this won’t change anything if you react the opposite way,” he added, eyes flicking up to yours and then away again.

You blinked. “Uh well, I guess that depends on what it is, Clark,” you said carefully. Then, out of habit, you added, “Did you make top journalist?”

You pointed at him slightly. “Because if you did, I might see you differently.” The competitive edge slipped into your tone before you could stop it and he definitely noticed.

“What? No, no,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “It’s not about work. At all.”

He swallowed. “It’s… it’s about you. About us.”

You let out a small, relieved sigh until your brain caught up. “Us?” you repeated, eyebrows lifting. On the inside, you were absolutely losing it.

He hummed softly, jaw tightening as nerves crept in. “Yeah. I mean—” he stopped himself, exhaled, then tried again. “This is probably dumb, but—”

You rolled your eyes, a fond smile tugging at your lips. “I doubt it. Just get to the point, Clark,” you said, waving your hand lightly.

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and a small, nervous smile broke through. His dimples showed, of course they did. Your heart had no chance.

“I was wondering,” he said, voice quiet but steady, “if maybe you’d want to go out with me sometime.”

You stared at him, your face completely still but inside, you were fighting the very real urge to cry, scream, or do something deeply crazy. There was no way this was actually happening. No way Clark Kent was sitting on your couch, in your apartment, asking you out.

Clark noticed immediately. His brows furrowed, concern softening his features. “Hey—” he started, then hesitated. “It’s okay if you don’t. Really. I get it.” He gave a small, awkward shrug, eyes dropping to his hands. “I just… needed to know. Because honestly Jimmy’s stupid rules aren’t really working,” he added with a quiet, embarrassed laugh.

Your head snapped up. “Wait. Jimmy’s rules?” you said quickly.

Clark looked back at you, caught. “Uh,” he muttered.

Then something clicked.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, staring at the space between you like the answer was written there. A slow, stunned smile spread across your face. “Jimmy Olsen, you fucking genius.”

Clark blinked. Once. Twice. “I’m… very confused,” he admitted, glancing between your face and the floor. You let out a shaky laugh, finally turning fully toward him. “He’s been helping me too,” you confessed. “He gave me these stupid rules too,"

His eyes widened slightly. “You—?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Turns out we’ve both been victims of Jimmy’s master plan.”

For a beat, Clark just stared at you then he laughed. A real laugh, warm and surprised, dimples deepening as his shoulders relaxed for the first time all night.

“So,” he said softly, eyes meeting yours again, “wait… does that mean the rules worked?”

Your heart was pounding, loud enough you were sure he could hear it. But for once, you didn’t try to quiet it or talk yourself out of the moment. “I’d like to say yes,” you said, your voice just a little breathless.

Clark’s smile softened, turning into something quieter. Neither of you moved right away but the space between you felt suddenly unnecessary. He shifted closer, slow, like he was giving you time to stop him. You didn’t.

Your knees brushed. His arm rested along the back of the couch, not quite touching you, but close enough that you felt the warmth of him. You tilted your head up slightly, and he mirrored the movement without even realizing it.

“Can I—?” he started, barely above a whisper.

You nodded. That was all it took. He leaned in, careful at first, like he was afraid you might disappear. When his lips met yours, it was soft, almost hesitant but the second you kissed him back, his hand found your side, grounding and gentle. The kiss deepened just a little, like neither of you wanted to rush something you’d waited years for.

When you finally pulled back, foreheads resting together, Clark let out a quiet laugh. “Jimmy is never going to let us hear the end of this.”

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah. His ego is definitely gonna grow bigger."

Clark smiled, thumb brushing lightly against your side. “But… I guess we kind of owe him.”

You thought about everything, Jimmy’s ridiculous rules, the distance you forced, the nerves that kept you both quiet for so long. How close you came to missing this entirely. You’d doubted him every step of the way, rolled your eyes, complained endlessly… but somehow, against all odds, it had worked.

“Yeah,” you said softly, smiling as you looked at Clark. “Thank God for Jimmy Olsen.”

He laughed quietly at that before leaning in again, this time with no hesitation. The kiss was easier now, more confident, like the hard part was finally over. You leaned into him, smiling against his lips, knowing that whatever came next started right here.

Standing in the middle of the whole thing, torn between two people he cared about most. Once you and Chris left to go hide, he had sat down at the end of the staircase, debating who he should go talk to first. You or his best friend but either choice felt like a betrayal of the other.

He hesitated, hands clenched at his sides, heart racing in a way he wasn’t used to. His feelings stacking on top of each other until he could barely breathe. He didn’t even know he was capable of feeling this much at once and it scared him more than the fight ever had.

It took time, long hours spent staring at the floor and fighting the urge to turn check up on you, but eventually he forced himself to move. He’d considered talking to Chris first, he was his best friend after all. But none of it felt right.

He didn't wanna talk to Chris. He needed to talk to you. Needed to see you with his own eyes, to make sure you were okay, that you were still there. So he went, heart pounding with every step, not knowing what he would walk into.

You were upstairs, tucked away in one of the empty rooms. Specifically, the one next to where the Judomaster was being held. As you’d passed the night before, you’d caught a brief glimpse of him still tied to the couch.

The room you’d chosen had no furniture, no warmth, nothing to soften the space. Just bare walls, a single window leaking in cold air, and silence thick enough to press against your chest. You sat on the floor, back against the wall, arms wrapped around yourself as if that might keep everything from spilling over.

You could’ve gone home. Could’ve left the mission to the rest of the team, slipped away without a word and disappeared before anyone noticed. A part of you had wanted to.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Even as you told yourself there was no real reason to stay, your feet refused to move. You didn’t fully understand it, only that something anchored you there, kept you sitting in that cold, empty room instead of walking away.

Maybe it was Adrian. The thought settled in your chest, quiet but undeniable. Maybe you wanted more time, moments you could pretend meant nothing. Maybe you just wanted to be near him, to hold on to the familiarity of his presence before this final mission came to an end. Because after this, you would go home. Away from Evergreen. Away from the team. Away from him.

And yet the feeling twisting in your chest was strange—unfamiliar and bitter. You hated yourself for it. You hated him for it. Not in any sharp, vicious sense, but because of how easily he had slipped past your defenses. It had taken a few days, sure, but not nearly as many as it should have.

The longer you sat there, staring at nothing, the clearer it became: Adrian had been a distraction from the very beginning. From day one, really. A convenient one. Almost as if the universe had placed him directly in your path—to soften you, to pull your attention just far enough away from the idea of wanting to kill Chris.

And it had worked. You no longer had any intention of killing Chris.

The knock came suddenly—soft, almost hesitant—and it made your head snap up. Your eyes flicked to the bottom of the door, where a shadow stretched across the floor.

When you didn’t answer, a few more knocks followed, spaced out in a careful, almost familiar rhythm.

You already knew who it was. Adrian.

You scrubbed at your face with the back of your hand and forced yourself to stand. The floor creaked beneath your steps as you crossed the room, every sound feeling too loud in the quiet. Your fingers curled around the doorknob, twisting slowly before you pulled it open.

Adrian stood there, eyes fixed on the floor like he wasn’t sure he deserved to look at you. Then he glanced up and whatever he saw made his expression falter. Concern washed over his face instantly. His jaw tightened, his brows pulling together as his gaze flicked over you: the dried blood, the red-rimmed eyes, the way you were holding yourself together.

“Hey,” he said quietly, like raising his voice might break you. “You didn’t… you didn’t come back down. I just—” He swallowed, shifting his weight. “I wanted to make sure you were still here.”

He lingered in the doorway, not crossing the threshold. Not yet. Like he was waiting for permission. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t glad he’d knocked but being you, the rudeness slipped out before you could stop it.

“What, are you checking to see if I jumped out the window and left?” Your voice came out rough. You really had no intention in being rude, it just came out. “There’s a front door for a reason,” you added, heavy with sarcasm.

Adrian didn’t flinch. If anything, his shoulders loosened, like the bite in your tone confirmed something instead of offending him. “Yeah,” he said mildly, “I figured if you were gonna disappear, you’d at least be dramatic about it.”

You shot him a look, the kind that lingered a second too long. One brow twitched upward, your mouth flattening as you weighed whether to snap back or let it go. It was the look that said you’re not funny.

He caught it immediately.

Adrian lifted one shoulder in a small, unapologetic shrug. “It was a joke,” he said lightly. “Just trying to lighten the mood.”

You let out a slow sigh, irritation bleeding through despite yourself. “You’re really annoying, you know that?”

And he was, but obviously you liked it.

You liked everything about him. The way he never knew when to stop. The way he stayed, even when you made it clear you didn’t want him to. The way he looked at you like he saw past all the sharp edges you threw up on purpose.

Adrian cleared his throat. You snapped out of your daydream when you realized how long you’d gone quiet. Your brows knit together as you blinked at him, refocusing.

“Found your car keys on the floor downstairs,” he said, pulling them from his pocket.

Your gaze dropped to the keys, then lifted back to Adrian. Confusion flickered across your face as you patted the pockets of your jacket, once… twice.

He noticed. “I’m pretty sure you dropped them when you took that fall,” he added, voice careful, like he didn’t want to remind you too sharply of it, but he did.

Right. The fall that literally made your life flash before your eyes. You were still surprised you’d managed to stand afterward, even more surprised you hadn’t snapped your neck or cracked a rib on the way down. Maybe you had. That might explain the way your insides burned now, but it didn’t matter. Not when your attention was fixed on Adrian.

“I heard you took it like a champ,” Adrian said with a short laugh. “Honestly, I’m a little surprised you’re still standing.”

You blinked at him. Not saying a word, as you just reached out and took your keys from his hand. Cleary you weren't interested in having a conversation but Adrian kept on talking.

“I’m, uh… sorry for tasing you last night,” he quickly added.

You tilted your head at him, studying his face. “You know, I was really close to pulling my gun,” you stared as he spoke, “But then I realized that might be a bad—”

“It’s fine, Adrian,” you cut in, a little harsher than before.

His face relaxed for a second, then it hardened. This was more serious than the version of him you were used to. There was no humor left in his expression now, just something raw and unsettled beneath the surface.

“I know this is stupid, but…” He hesitated, then forced the words out. “When you said this was going to be your last mission you meant it because you were going to kill P, Right?”

The question landed heavier than you expected, knocking the air from your lungs. “I kind of put it together after what you told me yesterday,” he went on, voice steady but tight. “That’s why you parked so far from his place. You were planning on killing him.” His jaw clenched. “And the cops showing up ruined it, didn’t it?”

You didn't answer. He acted clueless most of the time but he’d put the pieces together better than you’d expected.

“And if you’d actually killed him,” he continued, his voice tightening as the realization settled in more, “there wouldn’t have been any coming back. No more A.R.G.U.S.”

“I mean, I tried so hard not to believe it,” he muttered, not quite under his breath just loud enough for you to catch. “But after last night… you kinda proved P right.”

Your jaw tightened. “Why were you even there last night?” you asked, irritation bleeding into your voice. “P called me,” Adrian said with a shrug. “Said he didn’t want to be alone. But that’s not the point.”

You scoffed. “So what—what did Chris tell you? Huh?” The words came fast. “I’m guessing you got his version. Did he say I attacked first? Because that’s bullshit. He came after me when I specifically told him to leave me alone.”

Adrian shook his head. “No,” he said quietly. “He didn’t.” You blinked, thrown off.

“He didn’t say much at all,” Adrian continued. “Just that things got out of hand." He hesitated, eyes flicking to yours.

"Right. Out of hand." You said with a small scoff. "So did you come up here to gather information for your little boyfriend? Your voice was edged with sarcasm.

Adrian’s head snapped up. “What?” His voice hardened, the word clipped. “No.”

“Oh, come on,” you shot back. He took a step toward you, anger flashing across his face. “I didn’t come here for Chris. Don’t do that.”

“Then why are you here?” you demanded. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels like you already picked a side.”

His jaw worked, like he was biting back something sharp. “I’m here because I was worried about you,” he said and the moment the words left his mouth, he froze.

He straightened, shifting uncomfortably, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. You watched him, catching the slip, and had to fight the urge to smile.

He cleared his throat. “And yeah,” he added quickly, trying to recover, “because you tried to kill my Best Friend. Obviously I’m pissed about that. That’s not something I can just ignore or move on from.”

“Okay,” you said slowly. “I’ll admit it. Yeah—I’ve been planning to kill him since day one.” You met his eyes, unflinching.

“So don’t act surprised. I don’t owe you or anyone an explanation for why I wanted Chris dead, Adrian.” You didn’t wait for him to respond.

“He took my only brother,” you said flatly. “And you really thought I was just going to let him walk free after that?”

Adrian stiffened, but you didn’t give him room to interrupt.

“If you did,” you continued, eyes hard, “then you’re just as stupid as everyone else on this team who keeps pretending like this is something I can move on from”

Adrian stared at you. He opened his mouth like he had something ready but no words came. The moment stretched, heavy and awkward. You could see it written all over his face now, clear as day.

He was upset. About you trying to kill Chris. You’d crossed a line, and you knew it. Even without him saying a word, it was obvious how much Chris mattered to him. The idea of losing him, especially by your hand, sat wrong with him in a way he couldn’t ignore.

You swallowed, the anger draining out of you all at once, leaving only exhaustion behind. You liked adrain so much the guilt was kinda getting to you. You let out a small sight as you stood straight.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly, the words rough but honest. “I’m sorry for trying to kill Chris… and—and I was never using you as bait to get to him.”

Adrian’s expression softened, his brows drawing together slightly. “Wait,” he said quickly. “Did you hear our whole conversation yesterday?”

You gave a small shrug. Color crept up his neck, his face flushing as embarrassment set in, realizing just how much you might’ve overheard.

“You’re right,” you continued before he could say anything else. “The cops did screw up my plan. I was there to kill Chris but then Murn called me and told me about the cops coming to arrest him and since I was already there, I did what he asked me to.”

Adrian stared at you as you kept talking.

He knew he should be angrier. Your intentions alone—planning to kill Chris—should’ve been enough to make him step back, put distance between you. But the anger never fully came. Maybe there was a flicker of it, but not enough to push him away. He could never stay mad at you. Not really. He cared about you too much.

“So… yeah,” you said, exhaling. “It kind of feels good, I guess—not hiding it anymore. I’m sorry. Again.”

Adrian stayed quiet, just staring at you so quiet it was obvious he’d drifted off somewhere in his head. You frowned slightly. “Adrian?” You reached out and poked his shoulder.

He blinked, snapping back. “Mm—yeah?”

“Did you even hear what I just said?” you asked.

“No! I mean, yeah. I did,” he said quickly, then cracked a small smile. “I was just… trying to enjoy the moment of you actually apologizing.”

He tilted his head, thinking. “I know you’ve apologized before like that time you picked me up from the police station but that one was total bullshit.”

You blinked at him, then looked away, suddenly awkward. “Just take the apology, Adrian,” you said flatly. “Don’t push it.”

He nodded, once. For a moment, his gaze drifted, taking in the empty room, the bare walls, the way the cold seemed to cling to everything like it didn’t want to leave. Then his eyes came back to you. They lingered a fraction too long on the dried blood at your temple, the faint bruising you hadn’t bothered to hide.

“You look like shit,” Adrian said suddenly.

You stared at him, blinking once. Then again. “Yeah?” you shot back. “Well, I feel like shit, Adrian.” You said, as you began getting irritated once again. “If you’re done insulting me, you can leave.”

“It's not an insult,” he said calmly. “Not when it's true.” He added the last part with a crooked smile, clearly trying to soften the edge, to make you laugh. You didn’t.

The silence landed heavier than any comeback. Adrian’s smile faltered. “Oh,” he said quietly, the humor gone. “Okay. Yeah. Too soon.”

You hummed in response and brushed past him, moving toward the restroom across the hall. The space between you felt deliberate.

Inside, you flipped the light switch out of habit, but it did nothing the room was already washed in pale morning light spilling through the narrow window near the ceiling.

Adrian lingered where he was, watching you for a long moment, weighing his next move. Part of him knew he could leave you alone. give you the space you clearly wanted, let you handle things in silence like you always did. That would’ve been easier.

But another part of him, louder and far more stubborn, refused to let him walk away. The part that couldn’t stand seeing you like this. The part that kept urging him forward, telling him to do something, even if he had no idea what that something was.

He hated to admit it, even to himself but he was nervous. Really nervous. His stomach twisted, his hands twitched at his sides, and that unshakable calm he usually relied on? Gone. For once, he didn’t know the right move, and that scared him more than he cared to acknowledge.

He watched as you turned on the sink, the rush of water filling the room. You slid your hands beneath the stream, and the dried blood began to dissolve, swirling red down the drain. Your reflection stared back at the faucet your face composed, almost eerily calm. Anyone else might’ve believed you were fine.

Adrian didn’t.

He could see it in the set of your shoulders, the stillness you held too tightly. Whatever had happened hadn’t left you. it was sitting just beneath the surface, gnawing at you in ways you refused to show.

He drew in a slow breath and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, forcing down the knot in his stomach. Standing there, doing nothing, wasn’t an option anymore.

He took a step forward. “Hey… let me help,” he said, voice soft as he grabbed a clean cloth from the metal hanger. You quickly looked over at him as your body stiffened, jaw tightening, instinct screaming at you to push him away.

You should’ve declined, should’ve snapped at him like you usually did but for some reason, you didn’t. You just let him. You pulled our hands our the water, drying them on your jeans as Adrian then ran the cloth under warm water, wringing it out before lifting it toward you.

His hands were steady, sure, despite the nerves he felt roiling beneath the surface. He brushed a strand of hair away from your forehead and gently pressed the cloth to the dried blood, letting it soften and lift slowly.

“Tell me if it hurts,” he murmured.

“It… doesn’t,” you muttered, teeth clenched. Not because of the pain—but because you were fucking nervous. He was too close. Close enough that you were hyperaware of every movement.

He nodded once, moving deliberately, almost reverently, careful not to rush. The warmth of the cloth seeped into your skin, and despite yourself, you felt some of the tension in your shoulders start to ease.

Adrian didn’t make a sound beyond that soft murmur. He stayed close, focused entirely on helping you clean up. You avoided making eye contact, staring instead at the plain, white wall, willing yourself not to react to him being so close.

Meanwhile, Adrian’s gaze swept over every inch of your face, taking in details he’d never truly noticed before. The bruise along your nose, the one Goff had left days ago, it was finally starting to fade. His eyes lingered on a thin scar above your eyebrow, a mark he’d never noticed from a distance.

You felt every stare Adrian gave you, and it made your chest tighten in a way that was both irritating and impossible to ignore. You took a deep breath, then finally forced yourself to meet his gaze.

You shouldn’t have.

The moment your eyes locked, the room seemed to shrink, the air pulling tight around the two of you like the walls had closed in. Adrian froze mid-motion, the cloth hovering just above your skin. His hand didn’t lower, didn’t shift it was as if your gaze had rooted him in place.

Neither of you spoke. The silence stretched, thick and electric. You could feel the tension winding tighter in your chest, the way your heartbeat seemed too loud and too quick.

Adrian’s breath hitched slightly, not enough for you to hear clearly but enough that you noticed the shift, the subtle pause he took. There was this look in his eyes, his pupils were dilated, glossy, and for a split second you could see yourself reflected in his lenses, framed by the way he was looking at you.

You wanted to look away, so bad, to shove this weird feeling away and remind him you didn’t need… this. But your body betrayed you, standing rooted in the small space between him and the sink, feeling the warmth of the cloth, the steadiness of his hands, the intensity of his gaze.

His gaze flickered down to your lips, just for a fraction of a second, and it made your stomach twist. Your heart was hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it. You could feel it, in the tension in your shoulders, the sudden tightness in your chest.

Adrian’s free hand moved with slow, deliberate care, his thumb brushing lightly over the softness of your cheek. The space between you, dissolved the instant he stepped closer, until the gap that had been there vanished entirely.

You stared up at him, your defenses fraying, your face soft in a way you rarely allowed anyone to see. You parted your lips to speak, but the words died on your tongue the moment his lips met yours.

His sudden movement startled you, and you pulled back on instinct, confusion flickering across your face as you looked at him. Adrian’s brows knit together, a flash of panic crossing his features like he was bracing himself for you to pull away completely, or worse, to yell at him.

But then you kissed him back.

He froze for half a heartbeat before responding, caught off guard just as much as you were. The kiss started of slow, soft, careful. Your chest tightened, your breath hitching as you became aware of him again—the steadiness of his hands, the familiar weight of him, the undeniable warmth pressing close.

You weren’t entirely sure how the moment had led here, but you weren’t complaining. Your mouths moved slow together at first before the kiss deepened, growing heavier as the two of you got comfortable with each passing second.

Your hands rose of their own accord, cupping his face, tracing the familiar lines of his jaw and the curve of his cheek. He leaned into your touch, tilting his head, deepening the kiss. His tongue brushed against your bottom lip.

His hands found your waist, pulling you against him, and suddenly it felt like nothing else in the world existed except him and you. You could feel him, so close and it made your heart hammer like crazy.

Every brush of his lips, that little groan that slipped past him sent shivers down your spine. You couldn’t help but wrap your arms around him, holding on like you might disappear if you let go. It was so unlike you.

Then, just as it was getting unbearably good, the sound of Chris calling out for Adrian cut through the tension like a blade.  Both you and Adrian froze, your bodies shifting slightly, yet neither of you fully pulled away.

His forehead still rested lightly against yours, his eyes half-lidded, warm and searching, as if trying to memorize every line of your face in that moment.

“Adrian!” Chris’s voice rang out again, louder this time and unmistakably closer. “Adrian! Where are you?!”

Adrian’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t move. Not yet. He lingered in that small, electric space between you, giving just enough time for the quiet intimacy to linger before reality threatened to intrude fully.

You let out a sharp breath and eased back , just enough to put a distance between you. “You should go,” you murmured quietly, pushing his glasses back into place. “Who knows how your boyfriend’s gonna react.”

Adrian’s lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “He’s going a little crazy about the diary. I’m also pretty sure he was crying after… you know, last night,” he admitted.

Your brows drew together slightly as you finally stepped fully back from him. Adrian stiffened at the sudden emptiness, the absence of your warmth pressing against him. Usually, he hated the thought of another person touch but yours. That was different.

“Adrian!” Chris shouted again, this time standing in the doorway of the restroom. His eyes flicked between Adrian and you, the tension in the room making his own expression falter. He cleared his throat, forcing his voice to stay steady.

“We gotta get the hell out of here,” he said, his gaze locking on Adrian.

Adrian hesitated, then slowly turned his back to you to face Chris, brow furrowed. “Uh… why?” he asked.

Chris’s shoulders tensed, his voice tight with urgency as he took a step back, giving both of you space to move out of the restroom, so you did.

“That guy on TV… he’s supposed to be watching our backs,” Chris said, pointing toward the end of the hall where the glow of the still-on TV flickered from the room they’d left on last night.

“Every police station in the country has one mandate this morning: find and stop these three by whatever means necessary,” the voice on the TV said, clipped and serious.

Your stomach dropped as you recognized the cop who had saved the three of you in the woods the weird, scary-looking one. Beside him was a large poster board: first, Chris’s face; then Adrian in his vigilante suit, his identity still hidden; and then… you. Your mug shot stared back at you.

“What the shit,” you muttered under your breath, unable to tear your eyes away. “Out of all the pictures they had to choose that shitty one?” Chris rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath that you didn’t catch.

Adrian stared at the screen, squinting as he tried to get a better look at your mug shot. It was the one from the day you’d first been booked—your hair a mess from resisting arrest. Looking back, you realized you’d been a total mess that day; it had been the day Rick died, and you were barely holding it together.

“Why are your eyes so red?” Adrian asked, glancing at you.

You shot him a sharp look. “I was maced, okay? I was resisting the arrest,” you said quickly, a little defensively.

“Okay,” Chris cut in, rolling his eyes. “Can we focus on the important thing here? No one’s on our fucking side, and we’re wanted all over the planet.”

“You think he’s a bird?” Adrian suddenly asked. “A bird?” Chris echoed, confused.

“Like Goff,” Adrian clarified. “You mean a butterfly,” Chris corrected, shaking his head.

“Dude, a butterfly is a type of bird,” Adrian said confidently.

“Um… no, it’s not. It’s an insect,” you interjected, voice flat but firm. Both of them immediately turned to look at you. “What she said,” Chris added, looking at you. But you didn't bother looking back.

Adrian blinked, clearly processing this new correction, before letting out a low, begrudging groan. “Fine,” he said. “But you’re both wrong anyway.”

Chris sighed in frustration and turned away from you both, then began walking towards the room where Judomaster was in. “Okay,” he said slowly, irritation creeping into his voice, “so if you didn’t plant the diary in my place… who else could possibly—”

His sentence was cut short as he stopped walking towards the room. His mind raised to the different people he had over, mentally ticking off faces. Then it hit him, like a lightning bolt.

“Fucking Adebayo!” he shouted, the realization loud enough to echo off the walls.

You and Adrian exchanged a brief, uneasy glance before hurrying after Chris as he speed walked toward the room, his pace sharp and purposeful.

“She probably planted the diary in my trailer,” Chris muttered, shaking his head. “I knew I couldn’t trust these people.” He shoved the door open with a sharp push, stepping inside ahead of you.

“Where the fuck is Judomaster?” he demanded, eyes scanning the empty couch where Judomaster had been tied up just a day ago.

“Judomaster was supposed to be here?” Adrian asked, clearly lost, his brow furrowing as he looked around the room.

Right. Judomaster.

Maybe that noise you’d heard last night had been him escaping—and you’d chosen to ignore it. Guilt prickled at your spine as you looked away from the couch where he’d once been restrained, your eyes drifting aimlessly around the room. You probably looked as guilty as you felt.

Chris’s gaze landed on you. He let out a frustrated sigh.

“Fuck it. Can’t worry about it now.” He waved his hands dismissively, then crossed over to a black bag in the corner, that had various helmets. You watched him for a moment before glancing at Adrian, who stood beside you, equally tense.

“Where are you going?” you asked suddenly.

Chris paused mid-step, clearly caught off guard by you addressing him. He turned, fixing you with a flat, determined look. “I’m going to kill the cow,” he said simply.

Before you could respond, he brushed past both of you, already moving with purpose down the hall. Adrian reacted on instinct, starting after him—until you caught his wrist. Your fingers wrapped tight, stopping him short and forcing him to turn back toward you.

“You’re going?” you asked, voice low.

By then, Chris had reached the top of the staircase. He paused there, shoulders stiff, pretending not to listen—though the stillness gave him away. Adrian glanced between you and the stairs, then back to you. “Well…yeah?” he said, like the answer should’ve been obvious.

You tightened your grip on his wrist, thumb pressing into his pulse as if to anchor him there. “I think we should wait,” you said, voice low but firm. “For Murn. For everyone else.” You shook your head slightly, frustration bleeding through. “It’s two against—whatever the fuck is waiting for you in that barn.”

Your eyes held his. “ That’s basically suicide, Adrian.”

The word hung between you, heavy and deliberate.

From the staircase, Chris shifted his weight, jaw tightening, still pretending he wasn’t hanging onto every syllable. Adrian didn’t pull away, didn’t joke it off—not immediately. For once, he just stood there, caught between the pull of the mission and the weight of your concern, his usual certainty cracking just enough to show through.

“It’s three,” Adrian said. Your brows knit together, confusion flashing across your face.

“It’s three because you’re going,” he added.

You straightened slowly, letting go of his wrist. The contact broke clean. Adrian caught the look on your face immediately—the stillness, the way your jaw set. He knew it then. You had no intention of going anywhere near that barn.

His shoulders dropped just a fraction. “You’re not going?” he asked, the question more confirmation than surprise.

Before you could answer, footsteps sounded behind him. Chris turned back from the staircase, his expression tight. “She has to,” he said flatly, stepping closer. “Waller’s deal.”

The words cut through the room like a blade.

“She specifically said we get this mission done and your jail sentence gets cut,” Chris continued, his eyes locking onto yours, unyielding. “If you don’t finish it, you go back.” He paused, letting it sink in. “And I seriously doubt you want to return to that hellhole.”

Adrian’s head snapped toward him. “That’s bullshit—”

“It’s not,” Chris shot back. “It doesn’t matter that the people you killed were already half-dead. The system couldn’t care less. And no—your daddy can’t get you out of this one.” His gaze returned to you, unwavering. “so, You don’t go, you’re done. and you'll just die in that little cell alone. It's up to you."

For a moment, you didn’t react.

“Yeah… I mean, I kinda agree with Peacemaker on this,” Adrian said. “The Mugshot is not it.” He winced. “It's rough. You looked miserable. So, yeah. I really don’t think you wanna go back there.”

The room went quiet after that. Adrian shifted on his feet, clearly uncomfortable, glancing between you and Chris like he regretted opening his mouth at all. Chris, meanwhile, didn’t look away from you—not even for a second. His expression was hard, expectant.

“So,” he said at last, voice flat, “we clear on what’s at stake?”

You let out a slow sigh. “Fine,” you said simply. Your voice was steady, but it cost you more than you let on. “But if Murn gets all worked up about us going without him,” you added flatly, eyes locked on Chris, “I’m blaming you.”

You didn’t wait for a response. You brushed past him, shoulder clipping his as you went, and kept moving, leaving both of them standing there in the quiet you’d just carved through the room.

You’d never had a bad feeling about a mission before, but this one felt wrong in every possible way. Especially with Chris calling the shots. There was no way in hell you were all making it out alive. Maybe some of you would. But barely.

Adrian and Chris followed behind you. The sound of their footsteps trailing you made you glance back for just a second before facing forward again.

Neither of them said anything. Chris’s boots were heavy, each step a reminder that there was no turning back now. Adrian’s were lighter, uneven, like he couldn’t quite decide whether to keep up or slow down.

You reached the bottom of the stairs before finally stopping. Turning to face them, you crossed your arms. “I mean… I guess get whatever you need before we go,” you said, your tone flat, almost detached.

Chris hummed, still carrying the black bag he’d grabbed upstairs. “Sure. I just need to grab something from one of the desks.” He walked past You and Adrian without another glance.

Halfway toward the front of the building, he stopped. Turned back.

He dug into his pocket and tossed you a set of keys. You caught them on instinct, the metal biting cold against your palm. You glanced down at them, then back up at him.

“Start the truck while I get my stuff,” he said. Then, as an afterthought, “And make sure we’ve got enough weapons.”

Before you could respond, he turned and headed toward the desk area. Then he stopped again.

Slowly, Chris turned his head and looked at Adrian. “You coming, Vig?”

Adrian blinked, like the question caught him off guard. He glanced at you, then back at Chris, shifting his weight. “Uh… y’know, I think I’ll just help her,” he said, lifting one shoulder in a half-shrug. “It’s kind of a two-person job.”

Chris’s eyes flicked to you. Lingered a beat too long. Then back to Adrian. Something unreadable passed over his face—suspicion, maybe, or simple irritation—but he didn’t press it.

“Whatever,” he muttered.

He turned away for good this time, boots echoing as he disappeared into the rows of desks, leaving the two of you standing there with the keys.

You let out a sigh and turned away, heading for the back door. Adrian fell in step beside you, keeping pace as you shoved the door open. Cool air rushed in, brushing over your face like it was trying to wake you up.

“Do you think he knows?” Adrian asked.

“Knows what?” you shot back, glancing at him as you crossed the lot. The Box truck loomed ahead. You reached the back, fingers closing around the lock as you worked it open and slid the door up “Knows about us,” Adrian said quietly.

You didn’t turn to look at him. You climbed into the back of the truck instead, boots thudding against the metal floor, focusing on the weight of your movements—anything but the way his words landed heavier than they should have.

“Can we talk about this after the mission?” you muttered, already turning away as you dug through the stacked crates of weapons. One by one, you flipped them open, eyes scanning the familiar shapes inside.

“But I thought you were leaving. Then what?” Adrian’s voice was soft, but it carried that weight that made your chest tighten.

You snapped the crate shut, the metallic clang echoing in the truck, and slowly turned to face him. He was standing impossibly close. His eyes those intense, searching eyes locked onto yours.

“I mean… you said you were leaving only because you were gonna kill P,” he said quickly, almost rushing the words out before you could respond. “But now that you’re not… you’re not leaving, right?”

And he was right. Before, your plan had been clear, take care of Chris and face the consequences. But now? That plan was gone. Suddenly, you had no idea what you wanted, which made the space between you and Adrian feel heavier, more suffocating.

Now it felt like you had to choose—him or yourself. Would you rather try to live a normal life with him by your side, slowly healing from Rick’s death, or go back home and try to heal alone?

“Can we… please talk about it after? I promise I won’t leave without talking to you,” you said softly, the words barely above a whisper, but full of meaning.

Adrian’s eyes softened, and for a moment, he just stared at you, like he was trying to study your face. Then he stepped closer, just enough that the heat from his body brushed yours.

“Okay,” he said finally, his voice low and steady. “After. We’ll talk after. But… don’t think for a second I’m letting you walk away without that conversation.”

His hand hovered near yours, almost brushing it. You glanced down then back to his face. You parted your lips to speak, when movement caught your eye beyond the open doors of the truck.

A car rolled in slow, tires crunching over gravel before coming to a stop a few spaces away. The driver’s door swung open, and Economos stepped out, tugging his jacket tighter as he looked around like he was already annoyed to be here.

Adrian followed your gaze, his shoulders dropping a fraction as he saw Economos. “Hey,” Economos called as he came up to the back of the truck, squinting up at the two of you. “I thought Peacemaker said he didn’t write a diary?”

You and Adrian both looked at him. “He didn’t,” you both said in union. .

Economos frowned. “Well… did you guys watch the news?” He gestured vaguely, like the situation was too ridiculous to point at directly. “Because, uh... you're all kinda wanted.”

You nodded once and hopped down from the truck, boots hitting the pavement harder than necessary. Adrian followed a second later.

“Yeah. We know,” you said, irritation bleeding into your voice. You jerked your thumb back toward the building. “He’s inside, if you wanna go interrogate him.”

Economos glanced past you toward the doors, then back at your face. “Did you see the picture they used for you?” he snickered.

You froze, face serious, and for a second, Economos thought he was getting away with it until he caught your glare. His eyes darted to Adrian, who was shooting him a sharp look that clearly said shut up.

“Which, uh… was a nice! You looked great, by the way,” Economos hurried to add, as he pushed the bridge of his glasses up.

You muttered “bitch” under your breath and turned away, done with the conversation. Adrian and Economos fell in step behind you as you headed back inside, footsteps echoing through the building as you made your way toward the desk area.

Chris looked up when he heard you all approaching. “I thought you said you didn’t write a diary,” Economos said, as he stopped a few feet away.

“I didn’t!” Chris snapped, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Did you see that thing? It looked like it fell out of my fucking vagina!”

He scoffed, letting out a sharp huff. "Do I look like the kind of guy who stays up at night collaging Jupiters and aliens and shit to put on the front of my fucking diary?” Chris continued.

Economos considered that for a beat. “On first impression? I’d say no,” he replied carefully. “But after getting to know you a little…” He shrugged. “Yeah. I gotta admit, I can definitely see you doing that.”

Chris scoffed again. “You know what? Fine. Fuck it. If I enjoyed it, I wouldn’t let people’s judgments hold me back. I’d collage all sorts of shit,” he said harshly, grabbing the bag stuffed with his helmets.

“Well… that’s cool of you,” Economos replied, clearly not invested either way.

“I’d make a collage of the four of us getting drinks after the mission,” Adrian chimed in cheerfully as you followed Chris into the hallway leading toward the back. “Like, dolphins everywhere. We’re all doing beer bongs.”

Chris ignored him, stopping at a stash point to grab a few guns that had been left behind. He checked them with quick movement “Where are you going?” Economos asked, lingering beside you.

“Might as well get this shit done before they find us,” Chris said, already assembling a large weapon. “What?” Economos blinked.

“We’re gonna kill the cow,” Chris replied flatly. “Feel free to tag along.”

He slung the weapon into place, grabbed the rest of his gear, and headed for the back door without another word. You and Adrian then followed.

“Wait, you’re totally okay with just going?” Economos suddenly said. You stopped in your tracks looking at him. “Why can’t we just wait for murn and like the rest of the team.” He says.

“We don’t have time,” you said. “Okay? Murn can meet us there. And besides” you said before you continued “we’ve got your big brain to guide us anyway.”

Economos shook his head, clearly unconvinced. “I still think this is a bad idea.”

You scoffed under your breath. “Yeah, no shit, Economos.” Your tone hardened. “So make your decision. Come with us, or don’t. We don’t care.”

You turned away before he could argue again, already heading for the exit. Adrian hesitated for half a second, but quickly followed you back outside.

Economos stared at the door before his eyes flickered to eagly who was walking out the door himself. He let out a sight of annoyance before he himself began walking out, giving in to the whole new plan.

“Did you get my message?” Adrian asked

You flicked your eyes up at him, just long enough to acknowledge his existence then dropped them back to the knife in your hands. The blade slid over the stone in slow strokes. Scrape. Scrape. The sound cut cleanly through the low hum of the engine and whatever song was playing in the background.

Adrian watched you. The crease between your brows told him everything: you were locked in, somewhere far away, and you clearly didn't acknowledge what he had said. After a beat too long, he cleared his throat.

The knife paused.

You looked up again, expression unreadable, head tilting just a fraction. “Did I get your what?” you asked, tone delayed rather than confused, as if you’d heard him the first time and simply decided to respond on your own time.

“My message,” Adrian repeated, waving a hand as if that clarified everything. You blinked at him. Once. Then again. “No,” you said slowly. “I don’t think so.”

You’d been on the road for who knew how long. Adrian had spent most of the drive rambling sone weird theories, and a disturbingly detailed opinion on what the cow could possibly look like.

You were getting tired of just sitting there, listening, and doing nothing with your hands, so you offered to sharpen his knives while he went on about his stupid theories. The sound of metal against stone became your little rhythm, a small distraction to his endless chatter.

At some point, though, he went quiet. The hum of the engine, Chris's weird music and the scrape of the blade were the only sounds left.

You were too focused on sharpening his knife, the steady scrape of metal grounding you, your attention fixed on the blade. And while you were deep into that distortion Adrian pulling out his phone, searching online until he found a creature that he assumed the cow would look like.

Adrian rolled his eyes. “Well maybe take your phone off Do Not Disturb,” he shot back, irritation sharp in his voice.

You stared at him, the knife frozen mid-grip. “Oh, I’m sorry,” you said sweetly, in a sarcastic way. “I had no idea my phone was supposed to be the number one priority on this mission. My bad. I’ll just turn distractions on next time. wouldn’t want to offend anyone by taking my job seriously.”

Up front, Economos drove, eyes fixed on the road, glancing once in a while at the rear mirror at you and Adrian bickering. While Chris sat in the passenger seat, his head bobbing slightly to the aggressive rock song blasting through the speakers. You weren't surprised at all when you also saw eagly moving his small head at the beat.

“Here’s your knife,” you said, extending it toward Adrian, the metal catching the dim interior light. “Take it before I test it on you.” You threatened.

Adrian took it immediately fingers closing around the handle. Even though he knew you were fucking with him but he also knew exactly how far you’d go if you got really pissed. “Thank you,” he muttered, tucking it away with a carefulness.

The music dipped, the sudden quiet loud. “Are you sure about this whole thing?” Economos asked, voice cautious as he turned the volume knob down. You looked over at him, seeing he was looking at you through the rear mirror.

“Yes,” Chris said easily, still leaning back in his seat. He glanced over his shoulder at the rest of you, a confident half-smile tugging at his mouth. “If we don’t do it… who else will?”

You glanced at Chris, irritation flashing openly across your face before you looked away again. Whatever confidence he was radiating did nothing to help your mood.

The car slipped into an uneasy silence, thick and uncomfortable, until Chris apparently incapable of sitting with tension for more than five seconds, reached forward and cranked the volume back up. The aggressive rock flooded the cab again, loud enough to rattle the windows.

You turned your attention back to Adrian. “So,” he said, lifting a shoulder in a small shrug, trying for casual and failing, “can you look at my message?”

You stared at him, shaking your head slightly. “You know what I think the cow looks like? That alien from Alien vs. Predator,” you said, leaning back into your seat.

Adrian’s face lit up, his eyes brightened at the fact that you also thought of the same thing. “No! I literally sent you a picture of Scar,” he said quickly, a little too eager. You raised a brow and grabbed your phone.

“Yeah, right. I think mine’s more accurate,” you said, scrolling through the photo he had sent.

“Or… maybe it’s just a cow,” Economos chimes in. You and Adrian both turned toward him, catching his eye roll from the rear mirror.

“I doubt it,” Chris loudly said as he slighly moved his head to the beat of the music. “Or maybe it’s just a giant butterfly,” you added, “but they call it a cow for some reason.” Chris stopped moving and looked at you, giving a small, agreeing shrug.

“Uh, no. It has to be something scary-looking,” Adrian said quickly. Chris turned to look at him, parting his lips like he was about to debate the whole cow conversation, until the impact came out of nowhere.

A strong force slammed into the side of the truck, the metal groaning under the impact. The tires screeched, and before anyone could react, the vehicle lurched violently, tipping onto its side. All the crates fell over, snapping open, and the world tilted sideways as the truck skidded across the ground. you were all thrown, the impact rattling your bones.

“What the fuck was that?” Economos shouted as he and Chris struggled to stand. Adrian landed beside you, pushing himself upright before looking down at you and holding out a hand. You grabbed it, and he helped pull you to your feet.

“Are you okay?” he asked, still holding onto your hand.

“I’m fine,” you replied quickly.

Adrian gave you a sharp look, his eyes scanning you from head to toe. “You’re shaking,” he said, his tone filled with concern. "You sure you’re actually okay?” He asked again.

You quickly nodded. Just as you were about to speak, the sound of Eagly’s chirping caught your attention. You glanced over to see one of his feet trapped under a crate.

“Oh shit,” you muttered, rushing over and letting go of Adrian’s hand. You knelt beside Eagly and carefully lifted the crate off him.

He let out a soft chirp, and you patted his head with your finger, just as the sound of screeching brakes echoed down the road—cars stopping abruptly, doors slamming one after another.

You straightened, confusion prickling along your spine.  You all exchanged looks, when the truck suddenly shuddered. Metal groaned as something slammed into it from the outside. Then it hit again.

The entire vehicle lurched, shifting beneath your feet. Your eyes locked on the spot where the metal warped inward, each clang louder, closer. The air went still. And then—

A hand punched through the steel. Fingers curled, tearing the metal apart like it was paper, peeling it back with brutal ease. You all froze, staring in stunned silence as the figure stepped into view.

It was Chris’s dad in his white dragon suit. “Dad?” Chris said, his voice cracking with confusion. “What are you doing?”

“What I should’ve done a long ago,” his dadreplied coldly.

He lifted his hands, curling them slowly into fists. Orange Light flared to life around them, blinding color bleeding through the seams of the suit.

You quickly backed away as he shot the flare toward Chris. Chris was fast enough to throw himself out of the way, and Adrian, right next to him, had to do the same. They both hit the ground hard, sliding slightly across the floor.

You glanced at the spot where his dad had fired and saw a large hole ripped through the metal. Your eyes darted back up just in time to see him preparing to fire again.

But Adrian was quicker. He grabbed a rifle and started shooting, forcing Chris’s dad to lift his hands to shield his face as he backed out of the flipped-over truck.

you watched as he moved with the rifle in his hand, forcing Chris’s dad to back up but before you could take it all in, a chirping pulled your attention away. again

Eagly was struggling to walk. The weight of the crate had hurt him, and he let out another distressed chirp.Without thinking, you took off your jacket and knelt down, gently scooping him up. Your heart clenched as you held him close.

“That’s it, man—we gotta go. Come on, get up,” Economos called, hauling Chris to his feet.

You glanced toward them, holding Eagly securely, wrapped in your jacket. You quickly looked over at Adrian, who was feet planted, firing relentlessly at Chris’s dad as the white dragon suit absorbed the shots like they were nothing.

Economos managed to get Chris moving, dragging him out through the other exit near the treeline. “Adrian” you yelled. He glanced at you, just for a second then turned back and kept shooting. He didn’t answer because he was already reaching into his gear.

Your stomach dropped as he pulled something free. Even without knowing the specifics, you knew exactly what it was. A Grenade.

“Wait—what are you doing?” you said quickly, dread creeping into your voice. Eagly chirped, almost like he sensed the emotions that began running through your body.

Adrian still didn’t respond. “Don’t be fucking stupid,” you snapped, panic finally breaking through.

“C’mon!” Economo's shouted from behind you. You watched, helpless, as Adrian yanked the safety pin free. Your chest tightened as you watched his slide it over to Chris’s dad.

By then, Economos had grabbed you by the arms, dragging you back as you struggled against him. “Let me go!” you shouted, panic clawing up your throat. “We can’t just let him do that!”

You shoved his hand off, fighting to keep your balance, trying to be careful with Eagly still bundled against you in your other arm. Your gaze snapped to Chris. He looked just as panicked as you did, eyes wide, frozen in place. You opened your mouth to yell at him but the words never made it out.

The explosion ripped through the air.

You all ducked instinctively as the blast shook the ground beneath your feet. Chris and Economos scattered deeper into the woods. Economos hand was still wrapped around your wrist as he pulled you into the woods with him. The noise startled Eagly, and he tore free from your grip, wings beating frantically as he disappeared into the trees.

You looked up just in time to see him vanish, then whipped your head back toward the truck. The spot where Adrian had been standing was empty. Your heart dropped straight into your stomach.

You yanked your wrist free from Economos’s grip. He didn’t even react as he was too busy bent over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. You were shaking so badly you didn’t even realize how hard you were breathing until Economos finally looked up at you, his face scrunching in confusion.

You didn’t look at him.

“Your fucking bird flew away,” you snapped, shoving past Chris as you shrugged your jacket back on with jerky, angry movements.

“It’s fine,” Chris muttered. “He’ll come back.”

You stopped dead. Slowly, you turned to face him. Chris and Economos both froze, staring at you like they’d just tripped a wire. “I don’t give a shit about your stupid fucking bird,” you lashed out. “I told you this was a bad idea. And now look what the fuck happened.”

Economos flinched at your tone, shoulders tensing. Chris just stared at you, completely lost. A little offended about you calling Eagly stupid. Y ou didn't mean It, but you were just mad about Adrian.

“So are we just—what—forgetting the part where your best friend basically killed himself for you?” you shot back, jerking your head toward the direction you’d come from.

“What the fuck? I had no idea my dad was gonna do this? How is this my fault?” Chris shot back. Economy stood there, watching the whole thing awkwardly.

“Every thing is your fault, Chris!" You said. “Cmon, guys. We don’t have time for your fucking problems, Jesus Christ.” Economos said, annoyance in his tone.

“Okay, well since you fucked the whole things up. Enlighten us with a new fucking plan.” You sarcastically said, waving a hand up.

“How the fuck did they even find you?” Economos cut in.

Chris glanced at him, brow furrowing. He paused then the realization slammed into him. He let out a sharp sigh. “Fuck,” he muttered.

You rolled your eyes and looked away. “He’s tracking your fucking helmet, isn’t he?” you said flatly. You dragged a hand down your face, letting out a deep breath. “You stupid fuck.”

Both of them turned to stare at you.

“Okay—okay,” Economos said quickly, holding up his hands. “We get it. You hate Peacemaker. But now is not the time to go full fucking psychopath.”

Chris rolled his eyes at you. He placed his hands on his hips, as he began thinking. The one things about Chris was that he always had a stupid plan. The kind built on the dumbest ideas imaginable—and somehow, against all odds, some of them usually worked.

Minutes later after Chris trying to come up with a plan, You and Economos stood there watching Chris wrestle a raccoon, as he desperately tried to strap his helmet onto it while the raccoon fought for its life. It shrieked, it’s claws lashing out, scratching deep red lines across Chris’s face as he cursed and staggered backward.

You and Economos just stared. Then Economos snorted. Against your will, a short laugh escaped you. It surprised you how good it felt—how badly you’d needed it. For a brief second, the absurdity of it all cracked through the fear, easing the pressure in your chest.

But it didn’t last.

Because even as Chris finally released the raccoon, helmet dangling awkwardly from its body as it bolted into the trees that hollow ache settled right back in.

Adrian wasn’t here to see this.

The thought hit you hard, sudden and cruel. Your throat tightened, eyes burning. It felt too familiar, too close to watching Rick die all over again. That same helpless dread.

You shoved the feeling down, forcing yourself to keep moving as the three of you scrambled through the woods, lungs burning with every breath. After a few frantic minutes broken up by quick, unavoidable stops because Economos needed small breather break, and Eagly randomly coming back, you all finally burst out onto a road.

It was still the middle of nowhere, but at least it wasn’t endless trees closing in on you anymore. The three of you spotted the red car at the same time. You exchanged quick looks before Chris broke into a run, and you and Economos followed close behind. As you drew nearer, you squinted through the windshield and then your heart lurched.

Someone was slumped in the driver’s seat. Still. Unmoving. Like they were asleep. Your breath caught. Recognition hit you all at once.

It was Adrian.

Your face dropped. A wave of relief washer over you. It was like that weight was lifted off your shoulders. You wanted to run towards the car, make sure he was okay, but this angry feeling just washed over you.

Yes, you were glad he was okay and alive but what he had done was so selfish. So stupid to the point where you were so angry that you didn’t even wanna be near him.

Chris on the other hand quickly made his way to the car, and you and economos followed behind him. You watched Chris tap on the window hard, over and over. Adrian was startled awake at the sound, blinking in confusion as his eyes Chris. “Unlock the door,” Chris said quickly.

Adrian frowned, clearly still dazed. “Cmon man! Unlock the door!” Chris repeated in an urgent tone as he pointed down at the lock. His gaze followed his finger. His hands shook as he fumbled for the controls, missing the button twice, then again.

Finally, the lock clicked.

Adrian opened his mouth, then stopped, clearly still out of it. “Move over, I’m driving.” Adrian barely had time to respond before Chris was sliding behind the wheel, muttering to himself. With a quick, awkward scramble, Adrian shifted to the passenger seat.

Economos climbed into the back. You followed but looked down at the ground, seeing eagly there. “Go on, buddy. You first.” You said.

He squealed as he jumped in the back seat, economos slightly tensed up as eagly sat next to him and you followed shutting the car door.

Up front, Chris threw the car into reverse. The tires spun uselessly in the shallow ditch, gravel spraying as the engine whined louder and louder. He cursed under his breath, flooring it again until, with a jolt, the car finally lurched free.

“Ha! Got it,” Chris said, already speeding off.

In the backseat, Economos leaned closer, eyes flicking to Eagly. “Hey, buddy…” He reached out, gently brushing his fingers along the eagle’s feathers. Which was such a bad idea. Eagly let out a sharp squeal and immediately went for his shoulder, talons scraping as he pecked and clawed.

“Ah—hey! Stop! Stop!” Economos yelped, twisting sideways, but there was nowhere to go in the cramped backseat.

You watched the whole thing with a smile tugging at your lips. “Shouldn’t have touched him, dumbass,” you said lightly.

“Ow!” Economos snapped, trying and failing to shield himself as Eagly snapped again.

Adrian glanced back at the scene, laughing to himself before looking back toward the front, then over at Chris. “How’d they find you guys, anyway?” he asked.

In the backseat, Economos was still half-curled away from Eagly, one arm raised defensively as he answered, “They put a GPS tracker in Peacemaker’s helmet.”

Adrian’s brow furrowed. He turned slowly, his gaze shifting from Economos to you… then to Chris. You and Economos both stared back at him.

“What?” Chris said, glancing sideways, already suspicious. Adrian made a face and gave a small shrug. That’s when Chris slammed on the brakes. The car skidded to a dead stop.

“You brought the rest of the helmets, didn’t you?” Chris demanded, teeth gritted as he turned in his seat.

Adrian hesitated, then nodded slightly. Chris huffed out a sharp breath and shoved the door open, climbing out of the car without another word. Adrian followed him, already talking.

“I didn’t know!” Adrian called after him. “I thought they were expensive! I didn’t think he’d stick trackers in them!”

You stayed in the back with Economos, Eagly still in between you both. The argument continued just outside the car, voices muffled but tense. Economos shifted beside you, glancing between the windshield and you. He cleared his throat quietly. You could feel economos stare so you glanced at him. “What, John?” You asked, annoyance in your tone.

“Nothing,” he said, then added casually, “Just wondering if you have a thing for Adrian.”

The words caught you completely off guard. Was it really that obvious? Had whatever was going on between you two been written all over your face this whole time?

“What are you talking about?” you said, shifting in your seat. He shrugged. “Your whole dramatic moment back there? Kinda gave it away. You were going full psycho when you thought he was dead.”

“Is it illegal to be worried about your teammates?” you shot back.

“For you?” he said without missing a beat. “Yeah. Definitely.”

You blinked hard and turned to stare out the window, jaw tightening “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

Economos hummed like he didn’t buy it for a second. “Uh-huh.”

You shifted, crossing your arms, Eagly rustling softly between you. Finally, you glanced back at him. “Shut up,” you muttered. Economos blinked, genuinely confused. “I didn’t even say anything!”

You glanced at Eagly before you looked at economos again, giving him a nasty look before shoved the car door open, and climbed out “She’s so mean, I swear,” Economos muttered to Eagly.

Eagly responded by pecking at his hand. “Ow!” Economos yelped, jerking his hand back.

You fully climbed out the car, Your eyes went straight to Chris, who was still at the open trunk. He glanced back at you as you looked inside, taking in the bag stuffed full of helmets.

Next to them there was another bag of guns. “Oh,” you said flatly, lifting a brow as you looked over at Adrian. “You actually brought all of them.”

“I didn’t know,” Adrian repeated, shifting on his feet. “And I also brought all the guns. Well most of them!” Adrian quickly adds.

“So if they do find us again, then we’ll have all these fucking guns to shot them,” he says. You slightly nodded at his words as you looked at Chris to see his reactions. You both locked eyes, clearly he was still annoyed with Adrian but it wasn’t completely his fault. He had no idea the helmets had trackers.

Adrian groaned under his breath. “Ugh. I really have to fucking pee.” He shifted again, clearly uncomfortable, then turned toward the woods.

You watched Adrian disappear into the tree line, his figure swallowed by the woods. Then you turned back to Chris, who was hauling the bag of helmets out of the trunk.

“Are you convinced yet,” you said, leaning against the side of the car, arms crossed, “that your dad’s a shitty person?”

Chris didn’t look at you as he zipped the bag shut. His jaw was tight, knuckles white around the zipper. “You don’t know shit,” he muttered.

“I don’t,” you agreed coolly. “But even I know a dad isn’t supposed to try to murder his own kid. When is that gonna sink into that little brain of yours, Chris?”

That did it. He straightened, slinging the bag over his shoulder. His eyes flicked to your just a second before he turned away and headed toward the open field, intent on dumping the helmets.

Economos climbed out of the back seat and eagly followed, blinking at the scene like he’d just walked into the aftermath of a bar fight. His eyes darted from you to Chris’s retreating figure, then back to your face.

“I can’t even imagine how I’d feel if my own dad wanted to kill me,” Economos said quietly. You looked at him, then shook your head. “I thought your dad was dead?”

“He is,” he replied.

“Perfect,” you said with a tight, fake smile. “Then you’ve got absolutely nothing to fucking worry about.”

Economos face dropped. He stood there awkwardly, fidgeting with the zipper on his jacket. “I was just trying to make conversation. Gosh.”

Then, as if incapable of letting it go, he added, “I mean—how would you react if your dad wanted to kill you? No offense, but your dad is, like… beyond fucking terrifying. I kinda see where you get it from.”

You stared at him, the smile gone now. You let out a sight before completely ignoring him and turned away, focusing back on the field where Chris had headed.

That’s when you saw him stop. He spun around, shouting, his voice sharp with alarm as the white hood people emerged from the field again. “God, I’m so tired of this shit,” you muttered.

Economos followed your gaze. The color drained from his face. Without a word, he bolted—ducking behind the car before dropping to all fours and scrambling into the woods.

“Wait—where are you going?!” you shouted, pushing off the car, eyes locked on where he vanished.

A sharp squeal ripped through the air. You looked up just in time to see Eagly take off. Again. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you muttered.

Instinct kicked in. You moved fast, circling to the trunk of the car and grabbing the bag of guns Adrian had brought. You slid back behind the car for cover, heart already pounding.

Yeah, you still hated Chris. It would take a million years before you even considered liking him again. But that didn’t matter right now. There was no way you were leaving him behind.

You’d seen how many of them were chasing him. A whole pack. Way more than he could handle on his own. So, against your better judgment —you decided to help him.

You dropped to your knees and dug through the bag. Rifles, shotguns, everything you’d need to take out the entire group. Until you started checking them. One by one, you cursed under your breath. Empty. Empty. Empty. "Of course,” you muttered.

The only thing left was a small pistol. Just your fucking luck.

“Please tell me he brought bullets,” you whispered, shoving guns aside, digging frantically through the bag.

But there was nothing. Adrian had forgotten them.

The sound of Chris grunting snapped your head up. You peeked over the hood just in time to see them slam him onto the pavement. Bats cracked into his ribs. Fists followed. He thrashed beneath them, trying to fight back, but there were too many.

You ducked back down, breath coming fast, your heart slamming against your ribs. “Okay,” you muttered, jaw tightening.

You looked down at the pistol in your hand and checked the chamber. Four bullets. Not nearly enough for the group you were about to take on, but it would have to be.

With a sharp exhale, you stepped out from cover and raised the gun. The shot cracked through the woods. One of the white hoods jerked back and collapsed, hitting the ground hard. The sound snapped the group’s attention toward you, shouts breaking out, bodies turning, everyone except the four still focused on beating Chris.

“Hey!” you yelled, already moving.

Two of them broke off and charged you. You fired again. The shot took one clean in the head. He dropped instantly, dead before he hit the ground.

Two bullets left.

The second white hood came at you fast, swinging wild. You ducked under the blow and slammed the butt of the gun into his jaw. His bone cracked beneath the impact. He staggered back with a choked sound.

You didn’t give him time to recover. You kicked his knee out from under him, sending him face-first into the dirt.

You could’ve shot him but wasting a bullet on someone already down wasn’t an option. Instead, you drove your boot into his face, not to hard but hard enough that he went limp.

The sound of pounding footsteps made your head snap up. You turned just in time to see another white hood charging straight at you.

The white hood charged, a wooden bat gripped in both hands. He swung wide, aiming to crush your skull. You stepped into the strike instead of away, the bat whistling past your ear as you slipped beneath it. You drove the grip of your gun up into his gut, folding him with a sharp gasp.

He staggered, surprised, boots scraping against the pavement. You brought the pistol up and smashed it into his throat. He gagged, dropping the bat with a clang as his hands flew to his neck.

It was stupid to waste a bullet but you fired anyway. The shot kicked his body back, dropping him hard and still. The gunshot echoed and it caught the attention of two more white hoods. They turned toward you.

These ones had guns. Big fucking ones. Your stomach dropped. You only had once single bullet left. Not even close to enough compared to what they were holding.

For a moment, no one moved. They just stared at you across the road, fingers loose on their triggers, almost like they were giving you time to savor your last few seconds of being alive.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t nervous because you absolutely fucking were. Your pulse was pounding in your throat, your hands slick with sweat, every instinct screaming at you to move, even though there was nowhere to go. The woods, maybe but that would've been just as dumb as trying to take them down with a single bullet.

Where the fuck were Economos or Adrian?

Chris couldn’t help since he still was getting jumped in the corner, barely able to move. You shook your head slightly, forcing yourself to accept this might be it.

Then—

A piercing screech split the air. You looked up just as Eagly came out of nowhere, wings slicing. He slammed into one of the white hoods, talons out, sending him screaming to the ground.

“Oh, thank God,” you breathed.

The horrifying screams of the white hood eagly was attacking distracted the other one, and you took your chance. You shot him, one clean headshot as he dropped instantly.

Eagly flew back up after finishing off, wings slicing through the air. Your attention shifted to the far end of the road, where Chris’s dad landed hard on the pavement. “Just great,” you muttered.

Eagly screeched again, immediately diving straight at the white dragon. Chris’s dad surged upward, catching Eagly and slamming him into the ground with brutal force. The impact made your chest seize.

“Eagly!” Chris shouted, panic ripping through him.

Seeing Eagly thrown like that snapped something in Chris. He shoved off the last three white hoods still on him, staggering to his feet, eyes blazing. Without a second thought, he sprinted straight at his dad. He crashed into him with everything he had, tackling him hard and slamming him onto the concrete road.

You watched from afar, trying to catch your breath. The last three white hoods had their backs to you, focused on Chris and his dad.

Then, movement caught the corner of your eye. You thought it was just the trees swaying in the wind. You were wrong. It was the white hood you had knocked out earlier.

Before you could react, he was on you, grabbing a fistful of your hair. You let out a sharp yell as he yanked back, pain exploding through your skull and With a brutal tug, he threw you toward the other white hoods. Your yells made them all spin, eyes locking on you. They formed a rough circle, closing in.

Then, chaos erupted behind them. Chris’s dad slammed into Chris with a brutal force, throwing him across the road. Chris flew like a ragdoll, landing hard meters away, chest and face slamming against the concrete. He groaned, wind knocked out of him.

Chris’s dad’s eyes snapped to the last four hoods surrounding you “Don’t you touch her,” he shouted, his voice cutting through. “I want her to watch.”

The white hoods froze, as they all turned to him. You felt your heart hammer in your chest, but your eyes stayed glued on chris lying on the pavement, and his dad moving toward him like a predator closing in on its prey.

Then one of the hoods shoved the end of a gun roughly into your stomach. You groaned, pain exploding through your midsection as you crumpled to your knees. Another grabbed the back of your neck, yanking your head up and forcing your eyes to stay fixed on the scene ahead.

Every nerve screamed. You were trapped, helpless and you could feel their cruel smirks pressing into you like a weight.

“Forty years ago, God challenged me, as He did Abraham,” his dad spat. “But I was too weak to listen… but not anymore!” He slammed his boot into Chris’s chest. Chris let out a pained yell.

“Yeah! Kill that piece of shit, Dragon!” one of the white hoods shouted. You tried to push stand, but the hood behind you squeezed harder against the back of your neck, shoving you back down, making you wince.

“I knew you was unclean when you were born!” his dad yelled. “Even more so when you killed your brother!” He pressed harder on Chris’s chest.

“That was you!” Chris screamed, struggling under the pressure. He let out a piercing scream as his dad drove into his chest, the bone cracking slightly under the force.

“Do it, White Dragon! Do it!” another hood yelled, egging him on.

“I knew when you listened to that devil music! I knew when you shaved your body like a woman! I knew when you slept with the whores of polluted blood—and men!” he shouted.

“And even more so,” he said, lifting both hands as an orange light circled his wrists, “when you conspired with the forces of Baphomet against the United States of America! And now, boy… I give your life to God—”

His dad’s words were cut off as Adrian jumped out from nowhere, plunging a knife into the gap of his white dragon suit. The man screamed, throwing Adrian off violently. Adrian landed hard in front of you.

Both your eyes locked as the remaining white hoods leveled their guns at him. you saw fear in adrians eyes. You’d never seen that look before, and for a moment, a terrifying thought crossed your mind maybe this time, he was actually going to die.

Then a shout tore through the chaos—Economos.

You looked over just in time to see him gripping a machine gun. The roar of automatic fire shredded the air as bullets ripped into the white hoods, screams erupted around you.

Adrian moved instantly, shielding you as the hail of bullets tore through the remaining white hoods. Your heart hammered in your chest, adrenaline pushing every nerve to the edge.

When the gunfire finally stopped, you lifted your head slowly. All the white hoods laid dead on the ground. You turned to Adrian, his face was inches from yours, one arm wrapped around your shoulder, chest heaving.

“Oh… I’m so glad to see you,” you blurted, and without thinking, you hugged him.

Adrian froze for a moment, caught off guard, then hugged you back tightly. You had no idea why you’d done it—maybe because you’d just thought you were about to die and the pounding of your heart, and the adrenaline still roaring through your veins made you desperate for something to hold onto.

Economos had dropped the gun once he he actually killed them all. His hands shook as he made his way over to you and Adrian, every step heavy.

“Guys… can we save this for later?” Economos muttered.

You finally pulled away from Adrian, looking over at economos. You noticed him staring at something, and when you followed his gaze, your stomach dropped—Chris was repeatedly punching his dad.

Adrian stood first, holding out a hand for you. You took it without hesitation, letting him pull you to your feet. The three of you stood there, watching Chris unleash everything at his dad.

“You killed my brother! You killed Keith!” Chris screamed, fists pounding.

“And you’re only right about one thing,” chris spat between blows. “I am a piece of shit! A piece of shit for listening to you all these years! A piece of shit for not killing you in your sleep!”

“You hit like a girl,” his dad sneered with a laugh.

Chris grunted, fury flaring, shoving him back, then walking toward a gun lying on the ground. He leveled it at his dad. “Well, go ahead and do it, you fucking pussy,” his dad taunted.

You stared at Chris, as his hands shook while holding the gun. “I knew you couldn’t do it, you faggot,” his dad sneered. “’Cause I control you. Whether I kill you or not, you’ll never—”

The sentence cut off as Chris fired. The three of you froze for a moment, stunned that he actually did it. Chris’s dad’s body fell back.

Chris stood there for moment as he lowered the gun. His face was still at first until it scrunched up. Then he collapsed to his knees, as a sob left him.

“Dude, this is a really weird time to do your face exercises,” Adrian said, leaning in slightly to get a better look at Chris. You and Economos both turned on him at the same time, irritation plain on your faces. “He’s crying, Asshole,” Economos snapped.

Adrian straightened, his mouth forming a small "o" as understanding finally clicked. His eyes flicked to you. “Oh. Uh… should we, like, hug him?” he whispered.

You shot him a look. “No, Adrian.” The edge in your voice was sharper than you meant. His brows knitted together at the sudden shift in your tone. Maybe he was overthinking it—but he’d noticed it. You’d been off since the car ride.

“Let him cry it out,” you added, softer now, turning back toward Chris.

Chris was still on his knees, shoulders shaking, hands pressed into his knees like it was the only thing keeping him upright. After a moment, your gaze drifted past him, toward the road.

Eagly lay there, unmoving.

The air felt heavier as Economos followed your stare. “You think he’s dead?” he asked quietly. “Let’s hope not,” you muttered.

And every time he did, someone else listened. Someone who couldn’t stand the idea that you were taking what he believed should have been his place, Issac Night.

You and Isaac had an ongoing “competition” of sorta at least, that’s how he saw it. Both of you spent long hours studying, memorizing lessons, perfecting every detail. But to be clear, it was only Isaac who viewed it as a rivalry. You had no interest in competing; you barely noticed him.

That all changed the first time Professor Orloff paired you together at the start of the school year. Isaac had watched you effortlessly master the assigned lesson, recalling details he had missed. From that moment, he knew you would be a problem for him.

So ever since then, he’d been keeping an eye on you. Closely. Especially now, with it being your final year. Being the top student meant everything to him and the thought of losing it to you gnawed at him constantly.

Your attention was fixed on your notebook, pencil moving steadily as you sketched a black widow spider, the one you’d seen the night before, its legs glossy and precise in the glow of the night.

You shouldn’t have been out that late last night. You knew that. But lately, sleep hadn’t come easily for some reasons. There was a strange restlessness clinging to you, a persistent sensation crawling along your spine. Like you were being watched, you assumed maybe you were just stressed for the finals in a few months, so you bushed it off, having no idea what was to come next.

You lowered your gaze back to the notebook, focusing on the familiar comfort of graphite and paper. The black widow was nearly finished now, every leg sharp and deliberate, its body dark and glossy beneath careful shading. You refined the final details with steady hands, grounding yourself in the motion, in the quiet scratch of pencil against the page.

When you finished, you paused. The spider stared back at you from the paper. You hesitated only a moment before placing your fingers lightly against the page, breath slowing as something warm stirred beneath your skin.

The lines of the drawing began to tremble, graphite darkening, thickening, lifting from the page as if pulled by invisible threads. Slowly, the spider peeled itself free, legs unfolding with a faint, unnatural sound. It dropped onto the desk with a soft tap, solid and real, its body gleaming under the classroom lights.

The spider moved carefully, testing its legs. You held out your palm, and it climbed onto you without hesitation. The sensation was startlingly real, far beyond the pencil and paper it had been born from. You brought it closer to your face, studying its glossy black abdomen and delicate, spindly legs.

Then it happened. A sudden chill ran up your spine.

Your body froze. The hairs on your arms prickled as if every nerve had been lit on fire. Your breath caught. The room seemed to contract around you, walls creeping closer, the silence stretching until it pressed into your ears.

And then the spider moved, without your command. It lifted from your palm, hovering in midair. You stood, heart hammering, watching it rise, legs extended and rigid as though sensing something unseen. The graphite shimmered faintly in the air, particles of pencil dust swirling around it like smoke. And then, Its body popped into a cloud of fine lead powder, drifting down like dark ash, leaving your hand empty and your heart racing.

It went on like that for days. Then weeks. Then months.

The feeling never left. No matter where you were, whether surrounded by people or completely alone. There was always that sense of being watched, of being followed, toyed with. It pressed against you constantly, like fingers just out of sight.

Things began to go wrong around you. Small at first. Your schoolwork would vanish without explanation, only to reappear days later after the due date. Your sketches were scattered across your dorm floor, pages bent and smudged, as if someone had rifled through them with careless aggression. Sometimes drawings were moved. Other times, they were gone entirely. Like someone wasn’t just watching you but searching through you.

And while those thoughts spiraled endlessly through your mind, while you strained to understand who could be doing this to you, the answer had been there from the very beginning. You just never saw it. Because all while quiet and unseen, Issac watched you from afar.

At first, he hated you.

He hated how effortlessly smart you were, how teachers praised you without hesitation, how your name seemed to linger in their mouths like something precious. He hated the way people gravitated toward you, drawn by your talent, your quiet confidence, the way you always seemed to know exactly what to say.

He was smart too. Just as smart. But no one seemed to notice. No one handed him the same praise you got , no one lingered on his name with admiration. And that more than anything burned inside him.

He hated the way the school adored you for qualities he possessed but could never make them see in himself. He hated how you occupied every space effortlessly. But hatred has a way of twisting into something else.

At first, it was envy. Then frustration. Then fascination. Every glance you gave someone else, every laugh, every fleeting smile, it made something dark flare inside him. He told himself it wasn’t about you. It was about fairness. About what the world owed him.

But he was lying. Because slowly, inevitably, the hatred turned to obsession. He had to see you. Hear you. Know your every move. And eventually, he decided he would not let anyone else occupy the space that he believed was his alone.

It wasn’t enough for him to watch from afar anymore. The obsession had grown stronger. Every day, he lingered where you might appear, hallways, stairwells, the quiet corners of classrooms. He memorized your routines. Every single detail. Which side of the cafeteria you preferred, how you fidgeted with your pencil when thinking, the exact moment you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

He began to anticipate you before you arrived, waiting in places minutes early just to see you come into view, just to confirm that his understanding of you was still correct. When you changed a habit, even slightly, it irritated him more than it should have. Like you were slipping out of alignment with the version of you he had so carefully constructed in his mind.

You started noticing it too.

Not him, never him directly but the way the same spaces felt occupied even when they were empty. Sometimes you’d turn a corner and feel your chest tighten, convinced someone had just stepped away and Isaac made sure of that.

He wanted you uneasy. Alert. He told himself it was necessary, so you’d stop drifting so carelessly through the world, so you’d finally understand that being seen came with consequences. He wasn’t hurting you. Not really. He was teaching you.

And still, you didn’t learn. Dear God, you were so stupid, so oblivious to how close danger already was. If you wouldn’t see it, he would make sure you did. So as the days passed, his possessiveness grew.

Other people began to feel like intrusions. When someone laughed too loudly beside you, when a hand brushed your arm, when a voice held your attention longer than it should, something dark and volatile stirred inside him. He imagined removing them from the picture, quietly, efficiently. Imagined how peaceful you’d look without all that noise around you.

You didn’t need them. You only needed him. And he was going to make sure you understood that. He was waiting for the moment you’d finally look at him and realize the truth that he had always been there, closer than anyone else ever was.

And then it happened.

You were walking down the hall toward the garden, notebooks clutched tightly to your chest. It was your free period, one of the few hours you spent in solitude, usually perched at your favorite window. But recently, you’d noticed it was taken, occupied by a boy around your age. You knew him, though not personally. And yet, even from a distance, something about his presence made the hair on your arms rise.

Deciding to change your routine, you made your way toward the school’s garden building instead. As you stepped outside, the breeze brushed against your face, carrying the faint scent of grass and earth. The garden was quiet, the only sounds the wind rustling through the trees and small birds chirping in the distance.

Your shoes crunched softly against the grass as you headed toward the tree where you liked to sit, savoring the peace.

And then you stopped.

There he was. That same boy. Isaac. Sitting there as if he had been waiting, watching, everything about him impossibly still, impossibly deliberate. A chill ran down your spine as your heart skipped a beat.

He knew you had noticed him, and a faint, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips. You stared at him for a moment, your heart picking up its pace, before finally finding your voice.

“Isaac,” you said, taking a cautious step toward him. “Right?”

He nodded, still smiling, the kind of smile that made your stomach flutter despite the unease crawling up your spine. “That’s me,” he said quietly. “I think I’ve seen you in biology… you always sit near the window, don’t you?”

Something in the calmness of his voice, the way he didn’t rush or crowd you, made you lower your guard. You told yourself it was just curiosity getting to know someone new. After all, he seemed… harmless. Polite, even. And, admittedly, there was a strange magnetism to him, something compelling you to linger despite the tiny alarm bells ringing in the back of your mind.

So you spoke that day. Small talk at first, classes, teachers, hobbies. Isaac listened, asked questions that made you feel seen, understood. He laughed at the right moments, nodded encouragingly.

In reality, he didn’t care about your words. Not truly. He only needed to feel in control, to measure your reactions, to see how easily he could draw you in. And you… were too oblivious to notice.

so, it didn't take long before his presence became unavoidable. You didn’t notice how he slowly edged into your daily life, shaping your thoughts, guiding your choices, until his influence felt natural. He made it seem like he was the one keeping you safe, keeping the world at bay.

He pretended to care, all to manipulate you—to make you fall in love so you’d stay, so he could remain the one in control, the one who succeeded while you became dependent on him.

And eventually, he asked you out.

You didn’t question it when he asked. Not really. By then, his presence felt familiar, almost expected. He framed it casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world, like it had always been heading there.

At first, it wasn’t bad. He was attentive in public, charming enough that others approved without question. He held doors open, remembered your schedule, walked you between classes. It felt like care. It felt like safety.

But slowly, almost imperceptibly, things shifted.

He began commenting on what distracted you from your studies. Suggesting which friends were “good influences” and which ones weren’t. He discouraged you from staying late alone, insisted on knowing where you were, who you were with, what you were working on. Always calm. Always reasonable. Always framed as concern.

“You’re too important to waste your time,” he’d say. “I just don’t want anyone taking advantage of you.” “You trust me, right?”

And you did.

Your sketches grew fewer. Your grades dropped like crazy. Your time became his. When you succeeded, he redirected the praise, reminding you how much he’d helped. When you struggled, he was there immediately, steady and reassuring, positioning himself as the only constant you could rely on.

You didn’t notice how small your world was becoming. How quiet. How centered entirely around him and Isaac noticed everything. He liked it that way.

But you didn’t, and you loved him to much to leave

He caught your interest in everything and glanced over as he brushed past you, close enough that the shift in his presence pulled you out of your nosiness.

“Is your mom here?” you asked, looking at him as he started down the entry hall.

“Yeah, she’s always here,” he said , glancing back at you. “She’s probably out in her garden or something, otherwise she would've already been all over us.” There was a trace of annoyance in his tone, impossible to miss.

You hummed at his words as you followed after him. your eyes drifted over the rest of the decorations scattered throughout the house. Framed pictures lining the hallway, little figurines perched on side tables. Most of the pictures, where of Adrian and his brother as little kids.

You paused, as a certain picture caught your attention. A Family portrait. Everyone was young, so the photo had to be years old. Your gaze lingered on the man standing just behind Adrian and his brother. You squinted slightly, taking in the sharp jaw, the familiar eyes. The resemblance was so weird.

“Uh, this way,” he said, motioning you forward as he headed down a narrow hallway.

You shot him a quick look before hurrying after him. He moved fast, like he was suddenly very aware of you being there. You passed a tidy living room full of crocheted blankets and pastel throw pillows. You noticed him turn a left, and quickly followed him, again. Adrian glanced at you over his shoulder, nervous but trying not to look it.

“My room’s upstairs,” he said, heading for the staircase. “I’ll grab clothes and, um… change. You can wait in the hallway if you want. Or, uh inside. I mean. Not with me changing. Just… like… the room. It’s big.”

He stopped at the end of the stairs, realizing too late how badly he’d tangled that sentence. His face scrunched in on itself, a wince pulling at his mouth like he wished he could physically rewind time and start over.

You stared at him for a beat, taking in the flustered energy, the stiff shoulders, the way his hand hovered uselessly in the air, the very obvious oh my god shut up look written all over his face.

“I’ll go with you,” you said.

His expression flickered with surprise, and you immediately realized how that must’ve sounded. “I mean,” you added quickly, “no offense, but I really don’t feel like running into your mom down here.” Your eyes drifted once more around the area, half-expecting someone to appear out of thin air.

Adrian blinked, then let out a short breath that might’ve been a laugh. “Right." He said, nodded without another word and you began following behind him.

The stairs creaked softly under your shoes as you climbed. More pictures lined the walls along the wall. No family ones, they were several framed portraits of animals that were… definitely fake. Like, aggressively fake. A raccoon wearing a little vest. A squirrel holding a tiny sword.

You blinked, a little annoyed and more than a little overwhelmed, and tore your eyes away from the endless parade of photos. You trailed after Adrian toward what you assumed was his room, of course it was all the way at the end of the hallway. And, of course, the walls on the way there were covered in even more pictures.

It was… a lot. You weren’t used to seeing this many photos in one place. Every few steps felt like walking through a new chapter of someone else’s life. Overstimulating, definitely but also strangely nice. Like the house was introducing you to Adrian in its own cluttered, affectionate way.

Your gaze snagged on a familiar graduation photo the same one you’d seen when you were, admittedly, stalking him online. Beside it was a picture of him as a kid, clutching a soccer ball in a sunlit field. And next to that, another photo, Adrian and Gut, arms thrown around each other, grinning wide by a lakeshore.

They looked so happy. It made your chest ache, knowing they hadn’t really been close at all not the way the photo showed. You couldn’t help thinking of Rick. If you and him had grown up only to end up hating each other as adults, you weren’t sure how you’d survive it.

You didn’t realize you’d stopped walking until Adrian did. He glanced back, then slowed, watching you stand there in front of the wall. For a moment, he just observed, how you leaned in slightly, how your eyes traced the frames like you were trying to memorize every detail. It almost pulled a smile out of him before he could stop it.

You felt his gaze and turned. You caught the smile mid-formation, your face scrunching with faint confusion. That’s when he realized he’d been caught. He cleared his throat a little too quickly, shifting his weight.

“Aren’t you gonna change?” you asked, tilting your head. “Yes! yeah. I mean, yes!” Adrian said, already backing away. “I’ll be right back.”

He disappeared down the hall, his footsteps retreating quickly, leaving the space oddly quiet. You were now alone with the walls of framed memories and the soft hum of the house around you. The air still smelled faintly of coffee and fabric softener.

You stared at the spot where he’d been standing, half-expecting him to reappear, to say something else. When he didn’t, your attention drifted to the light-brown cabinet tucked beside the door.

It was cluttered, the top lined with smaller picture frames arranged without much thought. You walked over slowly, almost cautiously, as if touching any of it might feel intrusive. Your fingers hovered before settling on one frame, lifting it carefully.

It was an older photo. Adrian was younger, maybe early high school, his hair longer, messier. He stood next to Gut, but this time the smiles weren’t as wide. They looked annoyed, like they were being forced to take the picture together.

You turned the frame over in your hands and noticed the date scribbled on the back in faded marker. Another frame caught your eye. You set the first one down and picked this one up instead.

This time, it was just Adrian, he looked younger. He was holding a tiny puppy up to his face, its paws clumsy and oversized for its body. Adrian’s hands were careful, protective, like he was afraid to squeeze too hard.

His smile was wide. Not the guarded, sarcastic curve you were used to, but something open and genuine, the kind that reached his eyes and crinkled them at the corners. His nose was slightly scrunched as the puppy licked at his chin, and there was a faint blur in the photo. He looked… genuinely happy.

The realization loosened something in your chest before you could stop it. Your fingers tightened slightly around the frame, thumb brushing the edge of the glass. A small smile pulled at your lips.

You told yourself it was just the picture. Just nostalgia you didn’t even own. But the truth settled quietly anyway, warm and undeniable. You loved his smile.

Lost in your thoughts, the sudden creak of the back door swinging open jolted you upright.

“Adrian?” a woman’s voice called out. You froze. The smile vanished instantly as your pulse spiked. His mom. The thought landed all at once, and you panicked. You straightened so fast you nearly knocked the frame over as you set it back down, fingers fumbling to place it exactly where it had been.

Your gaze snapped to the window on instinct and suddenly looking like the only exit in the room. You glanced back at the stairway, hesitating just a second too long, imagining the questions, the awkward explanations, the Who are you?

You turned and hurried toward the glass, heart hammering in your ears, already reaching for the latch as if you might be able to slip away unseen.

The bedroom door swung open before you could even touch the latch. Adrian froze when he realized the hallway was empty. His eyes swept the space, sharp and quick, until they landed on you by the window.

“What are you doing?” he asked, pulling the door shut behind him, his voice low but edged with confusion.

You turned to him quickly, noticing that he had already changed. He was wearing a simple dark blue hoodie over a white T-shirt, the sleeves slightly pushed up past his wrists, paired with light jeans that fit comfortably well.

Your eyes lingered just a second longer than necessary, scanning the casual, effortless way he carried himself, the way his hands moved as he adjusted his glasses. He didn’t notice, too absorbed in waiting for your explanation, completely oblivious to the way you were silently taking him in.

You walked towards him, whispering, “Your mom’s downstairs. No offense, Adrian, but I really really, really don’t feel like meeting your mom right now.”

He blinked. Once.“…What?”

“Your mom’s downstairs,” you repeated under your breath.

“Yeah. I heard you,” Adrian said, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I kind of need to go downstairs to my secret room.”

You stared at him. “What? You couldn’t have done that first and then come up here to change?” you snapped quietly. He frowned, like the answer should’ve been obvious. “Uh, no. Because if I ran into my mom looking like Vigilante, she’d start questioning my outfit.”

He gestured to himself, already bracing for the interrogation. “And once she starts, she doesn’t stop.”

You let out a sigh of annoyance, pinching the bridge of your nose as a familiar knot tightened in your chest. You weren’t exactly good with moms. Every mom you’d ever met seemed to dislike you. Not because of anything you’d done wrong, but because you never quite knew how to talk to them. There was always some unspoken rule you missed, some tone you failed to match.

You didn’t know how moms were supposed to be. You’d never learned. You’d never had one. Just a dad. The thought settled heavier than you expected, dull and aching, and it only made the idea of meeting his mom, right now, like this feel ten times worse.

“Uh… are you okay?” Adrian said suddenly, his voice quieter now. “You’re, like breathing really hard.” The words snapped you back into reality. You blinked, forcing the tightness in your chest down, then looked at him.

You straightened, rolling your shoulders as if you could shake the feeling off. “Just lead the way,” you said, a little sharper than you meant to. “I wanna get this over with.”

Adrian hesitated, studying your face like he might push but then he nodded once. “Okay,” he slolwy said, before he began heading down the stairs.

You followed behind him, your irritation written all over your face, and it was impossible to miss. Adrian felt it like pressure in the air, heavy enough that he kept stealing glances at you, unsure whether to say something or make it worse. The floor creaked beneath your combined steps and that was all it took.

“Adrian!” his mom called out brightly as she stepped into the hallway from the living room. She still hadn’t noticed you yet you were half-hidden behind Adrian’s shoulder. “I thought you were hanging out with your friends today,” she added, tone light and curious.

“I was, Mom. I just came to grab something,” Adrian said, the edge in his voice giving away his impatience. Her gaze shifted then sliding past him until it landed on you.

The sharp, bitchy expression you’d been wearing vanished in and instant, replaced by a wide, polite smile as you met her gaze. She gasped softly, one hand flying to cover her mouth.

“Oh! And you must be Adrian’s girlfriend!” she said happily, already closing the distance with open arms, as she pushed Adrian out the way.

You barely had time to process the word girlfriend  before she wrapped you in a tight hug. Your body stiffened on instinct. After half a second, you managed an awkward pat on her back. “Oh. Hi,” you said, your voice coming out brighter than you felt, the second pat somehow worse than the first.

She pulled back just enough to keep her hands on your shoulders, eyes sparkling as she looked you over like she’d struck gold. “He didn’t tell me he was bringing you over,” she said warmly. “I would’ve made something, cookies, or tea, or oh, I look a mess.”

“I’m fine, really,” you said quickly, smile still glued in place. “Oh, and you’re just as gorgeous as he described you,” she added with a delighted smile.

Beside you, Adrian groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Mom. Shut up.” You looked at him, face slighly confused at the way he talked to her.

“It was honestly a relief when Adrian told me he’d met you,” she continued, as you turned to look at her again, “I can’t remember the last time he ever talked about a girl. If I’m being honest, I was starting to think he was—”

“Mom!” Adrian cut in, mortified, waving his hands dramatically. “What the fuck? Can you just leave us alone? We’re heading downstairs. Don’t follow us!”

Mrs. Chase only laughed, waving him off like this was the most entertaining part of her day. “Oh, just go grab whatever you need,” she said lightly, turning to you. “I’ll keep her company.”

The words caught you off guard, your smile faltering before you could stop it. You and Adrian exchanged a look, yours questioning, his apologetic. “It’ll just be a few minutes,” he said quietly. “I’ll be quick.” You blinked at him. There was no way you were going to be rude in front of his mom.

“Sure,” you said flatly.

“Mom,” Adrian warned as he rolled his eyes, already backing away, “don’t say anything stupid.” She only smiled wider, watching him disappear down the hall. And then it was just you and her standing there in the sudden quiet, her attention settling fully on you.

~

You followed Mrs. Chase into the kitchen, which smelled faintly of brewed coffee, the same one you had smelled since you first walked in. She walked over to the counter, hands smoothing over the polished wood. While you sat in a chair by the table, like she insisted.

You watched her reach over for the coffee maker, pouring you some in a mug. She had insisted on giving you a cup of warm coffee. Since she had commented on you looking tired.

“There you go, dear,” she said, walking over to you as she slid a warm mug toward you. The ceramic radiated heat through your fingers. “You look so tired. I’ll wake you up in no time.”

You awkwardly smiled as bringing it closer to you. She had her own mug as she took a seat across from you.

That's when she began talking, barely pausing to breathe, moving seamlessly from one story to the next.

It had been more than just a few minutes, despite what Adrian had said. It felt closer to an hour. In reality, only seven minutes had passed, but the way Mrs. Chase filled the room with stories made time stretch.

Adrian as a baby. How he cried constantly. How he always wanted to be held, fed, comforted. “He was glued to me,” she said with a laugh, waving a hand. “Wouldn’t sleep unless I was holding him. And don’t even get me started on nursing. good lord, that child never stopped eating.”

You nodded along, offering polite smiles at the right moments, though your mind drifted in and out. It was painfully clear where Adrian got his lack of a filter from his mom had none. Not even a little.

Just when you thought she might pause, she leaned slightly forward, eyes bright. “So, tell me about you, Dear. Adrian told me everything, but I want to hear it from you,” she said, her tone still as bright.

Your stomach sank. Everything? What exactly had Adrian tell her? Knowing him, it was probably something fucking stupid. You glanced at her, your expression tightening into a mixture of irritation and anxiety.

You shifted slightly in your chair, hugging the warm mug closer as if it could shield you. "well, uh…” you began, your voice tighter than you intended. 

Mrs. Chase, however, seemed oblivious to your discomfort. She smiled, tilting her head. “Adrian told me that you can be really… mean and a little bitchy because-” She leaned closer, lowering her voice to a whisper, “-of the loss of your brother.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but she didn’t give you the chance. The irritation prickled across your face, but she continued. “But you know what? I think that’s okay. He did say it was really bad at first… but that it’s been getting a little better.”

Her words lingered in the air, equal parts comforting and unsettling. You weren’t used to people talking so openly about your past—especially not someone you’d just met. And yet… the warmth in her tone, the lack of judgment, made it harder to push her away than you expected.

“What else did Adrian say?” you asked, curiosity sneaking into your voice as you sat up a little straighter.

“Oh, a lot,” she replied with a small, amused laugh. “Mostly about the day you first met.”

“What?” you asked, caught completely off guard.

“The day you two met,” she clarified, smiling as if the memory belonged to her too. “Adrian told me all about it. Honestly, he didn’t shut up about you for the entire day.”

That made you sit up a little straighter. You tilted your head, curiosity slipping through despite yourself. “What’d he say?” you asked.

Mrs. Chase’s smile turned knowing. She interlaced her fingers on the table, leaning back slightly as if she were savoring the memory. “Oh, he said you had the most gorgeous face,” she said effortlessly, her tone warm and amused.

“He said you didn’t smile much. He actually thought you looked really miserable,” You huffed quietly despite yourself as she continued, a soft chuckle escaping her. “But he told me he liked that about you. How scary and serious you seemed compared to the group that you were with that day. But you’re not serious at all, honey.”

You felt a small, involuntary smile tug at your lips at her words. She leaned forward slightly, eyes twinkling. “He even admitted that you were… well, a little mean. A little scary, as he put it.”

You blinked at her, caught off guard, and the corners of your mouth lifted just a fraction. Mrs. Chase laughed softly, shaking her head. “He never stops talking about you.” She added.

The words settled slowly, heavier than you expected. Your gaze drifted down to your hands as they loosened around the mug, warmth fading against your palms. You hadn’t realized how much that first meeting had meant to him.

Now that you thought about it, you remembered it vividly. You’d been freshly out of jail, exhausted and angry at the world. So when Adrian bumped into you that day, It pissed you off and you were rude, but somehow… he’d decided to like you anyway.

The realization sat heavy in your chest. Not uncomfortable, just strange. Like he'd walked into your life at your worst, and instead of turning away at ever little mood swing that you got from it, he still managed to wanna be around you.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway, followed by the creak of a cabinet opening somewhere out of sight. Adrian’s voice drifted in, faint and muttering to himself.

You looked up just as he appeared in the kitchen doorway, a black bag slung under one arm. Your gaze swept over him, before he gave you a questioning look. You returned it, brow furrowing slightly, as he made his way toward the table, completely unaware of the conversation he’d just missed.

He stopped short when he saw the look on your face. “What?” he asked cautiously. “Why do you look like that?”

Mrs. Chase stood, patting his arm as she passed him. “Nothing, sweetheart. I was just telling her how much you liked her.”

“Mom,” Adrian groaned. “Why would you—”

She waved him off, already moving toward the sink. You stood from your seat, pushing the chair back under the table a little too carefully. “We should probably get going,” you said, voice steady. “We’ve still got a few things to take care of.”

Adrian shot you a grateful look and nodded. “Yeah. We were just stopping by. I grabbed what I needed.”

Mrs. Chase turned back to you, her hands resting on the counter, her smile bright and knowing. “Already? I was just starting to like having you here. The house gets so boring when Adrian’s gone—”

“Mom,” Adrian groaned again.

She laughed, completely unfazed. “What? Bring her over more.” She pointed at you cheerfully. “You’re welcome anytime. Oh! Maybe next time I’ll make something, cookies. Or maybe you could bring your parents over for dinner”

You smiled at her, soft and polite. “That’s really kind of you, Mrs. Chase, but my dad isn’t a people's person.”

“Oh,” she said easily. “Well, maybe your mom then.”

Your smile flickered, just slightly. Adrian noticed. “Okay, Mom,” he said quickly. “We’ve really gotta go. And please don’t follow us to the door.” He reached for your wrist and started guiding you toward the entryway anyway.

You glanced back over your shoulder and, to your surprise, she was already trailing after you. “It was really nice meeting you, Mrs. Chase,” you said, offering her a genuine smile.

She clapped her hands together, beaming. Adrian turned, rolling his eyes when he realized she’d followed despite his warning. “It was wonderful meeting you too,” she said brightly. “Please come back another time. I have more great stories.”

She waved enthusiastically as you headed out, already acting like it was a done deal. You smiled back as you and Adrian crossed the driveway toward his car. Only after she finally shut the front door did you let go of his wrist.

You let out a long breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Everything she’d said replayed in your head, replaying, leaving you more confused than you cared to admit. Adrian noticed immediately.

“Okay… why are you acting weird?” he asked, slowing his steps. Then his eyes widened slightly, alarm bells going off. “Wait. what did my mom say?” He asked panicking.

“Nothing. Just… traumatizing baby stories,” you lied, shaking your head. “Oh,” he said, letting out a small, relieved breath as he pulled his keys from his pocket and opened the trunk of his car.

A moment later, a thought hit you. “Wait… you told your mom I was your girlfriend?” He paused, hands braced on the edge of the trunk, then looked at you, hoping you'd never bring it up.

“I panicked,” he admitted, shrugging as he placed the bag inside, as the sound of metal clanking together was heard. “She won’t stop asking fucking questions. You should’ve seen her last night when I came home late. I had to make up a story, okay?”

You stared at him, irritation flickering across your face, before glancing at the bag. “What’s in the bag?” you asked, trying to change the subject.

“I’m glad you asked,” he said, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. Then he reached for it, unzipping it carefully. Your eyes widened slightly as you saw inside the bag, it was filled with different types of guns. Big ones.

“You have all this… in your mom’s house?” you asked, turning to him in disbelief. He shrugged, as if it were completely normal. “Yeah… I keep it in my secret room, plus it’s not like she goes down there and uses them.”

You blinked at him. “You do know Murn already has guns for us, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Adrian said easily. “But they’re not as cool as these.” He gestured toward the bag, a proud grin spreading across his face. “What the hell am I supposed to do with a little handgun anyway? Where’s the fun in that?”

You shook your head slightly, letting out a small sigh before speaking again. “We have bigger guns… in those black cases in the corner,” you added.

Adrian’s mouth formed a perfect ‘O’ as he glanced from the bag to you, then back again. “Oh,” he said slowly. "Is it too late to take them back, then?” he asked, flashing an apologetic look. You just stared at him, face serious. “Yes. I have things to do, Adrian,” you said firmly, a little annoyance in your voice.

For a moment, you both just stood there, staring at each other. The pause stretched longer than either of you intended, and a quiet, awkward tension began to creep in.

“Okay,” you said finally, looking away. “Can we go? We were supposed to get my car a while ago, remember?” You started making your way toward the passenger side.

You needed to escape the closeness, though knowing you were about to be in the car with him after hearing what his moms said, it didn’t make it any easier.

Adrian watched you go, then quickly shut the trunk and made his way to the driver’s side. He unlocked the car with a swift motion, and you both slid inside.

~

The car ride was quiet for a while not the awkward kind, but a calm, peaceful silence, surprising. You stared out the window as Adrian drove, the town trees blurring past. The sun hung low on the horizon, its brightness glaring through the glass until it hit your face. With a quiet huff, you lifted a hand to shield your eyes.

Adrian glanced at you, then glanced again at the sudden movement. You shot him a slight glare. His lips parted, like he wanted to say something but didn’t. You could tell the silence was getting to him. Every few seconds, he’d sneak another look in your direction, until you finally had enough.

“What?” you asked, irritation creeping into your tone. Adrian straightened in his seat, eyes fixed on the road. “Can I ask you something?” he finally said,

You turned to look at him. “No.” He looked back at you, unfazed. “Well… I’m gonna ask you anyway.”

You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath, but something in the way he said it made you shift slightly in your seat, bracing yourself for whatever was coming because you were never so sure what’d come out of his mouth.

“Well, it’s not really a question,” Adrian said, blurting it out, “but i came to conclusion that you kinda hate moms.” He goes.

“And I figured it’s because you don’t have one.”

You let out a sight of annoyance. His grip tightened on the steering wheel as he heard you. Adrain defeneally had his way with words and sometimes it annoyed you. You kept your gaze fixed straight ahead, not bothering looking at him after his dumb sentence.

You blinked, irritation flaring. “Yeah, Adrian. I don’t have a mother,” you said flatly. “So obviously that’s why I hate moms. I hate them so much I want to stab myself and them.”

The sarcasm was sharp and sorta serious. Your eyes never left the road. Adrian’s brows furrowed as he looked at you, clearly unsure whether to panic or laugh. “You… wanted to stab my mom?” he asked slowly. You finally turned to face him now . “I was being sarcastic.”

“Oh,” he said after a beat, eyes snapping back to the road. “Okay. Good.”

“Your mom’s great, by the way,” you admitted, the edge in your voice softening just a little. “She’s not a biatch like you said she was.” You shook your head faintly.

Adrian glanced at you, quickly then back to the road. “Well… she is,” he muttered. “Adrian,” you said as you looked at him. He hummed, finally looking at you again. “What?”

“You can’t just call your mom a biatch,” you said. “I mean, my dad’s a dick, and you don’t see me calling him a dick.”

He blinked. “You literally just did.”

“Yeah, but that’s not the point,” you shot back. “He is a dick. Your mom? She’s really fucking nice. Like, over the top nice.”

“No, she’s just annoying,” Adrian said, shaking his head. “She gets emotionally excited about everything,” he went on, gesturing vaguely with one hand before putting it back on the wheel. “Literally everything. It’s annoying.”

You hummed, eyes drifting back straight ahead, the corners of your mouth twitching despite yourself. He was basically describing himself. “Maybe she just loves you,” you said simply.

He scoffed, but there was no real bite to it. “Yeah. Sometimes aggressively. I mean, you wouldn't know. You don't have a mom."

The last part slipped out before he could stop it. He glanced over at you, just in time to catch the sharp glare you sent his way. “I’m sorry—okay, I’m sorry,” he rushed, hands tightening on the wheel. “That just came out. Please don’t hit me.”

“I’m not gonna hit you, you dick,” you said flatly, eyes back on the road. Silence settled in again, thicker this time.

You rarely talked about her not because people didn’t ask, but because most of them knew when to stop. Adrian, though, seemed incapable of leaving things alone. He wanted to understand everything about you, even the parts you kept hidden away.

“Sorry,” he added quietly after a moment. “I guess it’s a touchy subject.” His voice had lost its teasing edge now. Just… careful.

“I don’t really remember her,” you said suddenly. “I just know she was around until I was, like, three. then after that…” You shrugged. “Who the fuck knows what happened to her.”

The words landed heavier than you intended, lingering in the car as it hummed down the road. Adrian glanced at you again, then quickly returned his eyes to the street. He knew he probably shouldn’t bring up the conversations he’d had with Chris, but he figured it tied into the moment.

“You know,” he began cautiously, “Chris was telling me… um, he said you weren’t really close with your dad either. That he… kind of left you to figure things out on your own.”

You turned to look at him. He caught your gaze and side-eyed you, clearly nervous. He knew now that bringing up Chris had been a mistake, but then again, Adrian always managed to make some things worst.

“Chris talks about me to you?” you asked, your voice sharp.

Adrian’s eyes darted away for a split second before he shook his head quickly. “Mmh… no! I—I mentioned you. That’s how the whole conversation started that day,” he said, a little too quickly, his tone obviously forced.

You narrowed your eyes, unconvinced. “Sure.”

His grip on the wheel tightened slightly, betraying his nerves . “Look, okay… maybe we kinda ended up talking about you, but it wasn’t like gossip. Not..the bad gossip."

“Gossiping is bad gossip,” you shot back. “You’re gossiping. Every gossiping is bad, Adrian! ” He hesitated, caught between wanting to explain and knowing he’d already pissed you off. He finally met your glare, words coming out a little too fast.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says. “I know I have no right to say whether you should talk to him or not. Personally? I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t talk to him if he did what he did to you to me. But… since you’re sort of working with him now, I thought maybe… a little conversation might be good. You know, to clear things up.”

He shrugged, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, eyes flicking toward you for a reaction. Your face was still, the mix of anger and annoyance showing. "Or… you can just like do want you want." he quickly says.

The car fell into silence again, heavy and awkward. The faint hum of the engine and the rhythm of the tires against the road felt louder than usual. You stared straight ahead, focusing on the blur of trees and streetlights outside the window.

“Did we just… have our first real fight?” Adrian asked, breaking the silence, his tone half-joking, half-hopeful, like he'd hope it make things better.

You rolled your eyes, letting out a small, exasperated sigh, shaking your head slightly. “You’re so stupid,” you muttered under your breath.

Adrian glanced at you, eyebrows raised. “A little conversation isn’t gonna fix anything,” you said, voice tight. “Plus… it doesn’t matter. This is probably my last mission. I’m not gonna work for Waller anymore.”

You didn’t add that it wasn’t exactly a choice, you knew that once you took care of Chris, they’d send you straight back to that hellhole where they’d kept you just a days ago.

“What?” Adrian asked, alarm creeping into his voice.

“Stop. Right here,” you said sharply. He immediately slowed and pulled over, glancing at you nervously as the silence stretched between you. “What’s going on?” he asked quickly.

“Oh, My car’s right there,” you said, pointing. He followed your gaze and saw it parked a short distance away, not near Chris’s house, but a few houses down. “Why’d you park so far?” he asked, turning to look at you as you unbuckled your seatbelt.

Adrian felt a strange unease settle in his chest. Maybe Chris had been right about you wanting to kill him because why else would you park so far away? Not unless you didn't wanna be seen around his property to protect yourself from being the prime suspect. But he forced himself to push the thought aside for now.

“Don’t tell anyone this is my last mission,” you said firmly, meeting his eyes. “I’ll know it was you who told, because you’re the only one I’ve told.”

Adrian stared at you, his expression unreadable. “So what? you’re just gonna leave after this is over?” he asked quietly. You kept your gaze straight ahead, as you felt his stare on you. “Yeah,” you said after a beat. “Something like that.”

When you finally looked at him, his brows were drawn together, confusion written plainly across his face. He didn’t understand why you’d want to stop. Why you’d walk away now after this specific mission.

“But… I don’t wanna do cool shit without you,” he admitted, almost sheepish, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. The words hit harder than you expected. You held his gaze for a second too long before clearing your throat. God. He was making this harder than it needed to be.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” You said, your voice calm but distance before finally opening the car door. You stepped out, closing the door firmly behind you, and moved quickly toward your car. Adrian watched you go, tense and cautious, unsure of what to make of the conversation.

He nervously pushed the bridge of his glasses, trying to make sense of it. You’d said it was your last mission… and there was something in your tone something he couldn’t quite put his finger on and to him, it wasn’t good.

Maybe Chris had been right. Maybe. But Adrian didn’t want to believe that you wanted to kill Chris. He just couldn’t. Not when he’d started to care about you so much that the thought of you being gone after made his chest tighten.

He didn’t want you to leave without knowing he cared, even if you didn’t want to hear it. It was hard for him to express it, harder than he expected. He wasn’t used to these sudden, unfamiliar emotions, the way your presence seemed to pull him off balance, the way your absence gnawed at him.

Adrian exhaled slowly, gripping the wheel a little tighter. He didn’t have the words yet, but he knew one thing for certain. He wasn’t ready to let you go.

You, on the other hand, were lost in your thoughts. The road stretched ahead, empty and quiet, but your mind was anything but quiet.

You gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, letting your thoughts swirl as the town lights blurred past. Adrian’s face lingered in your mind, his concern, his words, the way he’d looked at you before you got out.

You tried to push it aside. You couldn’t afford more distractions right now. Not with your plan. One wrong move and everything could go wring, everything you’d carefully set into place could fall apart but it wasn’t like it already had.

And yet… part of you ached in a way you weren’t used to. That strange tug at your chest, the way his presence even in the brief moments you’d shared had gotten under your skin. You hated that it did. It was messy. And still, you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

The silence in the car was both a relief and a torment. Relief because you could focus, torment because it gave space for your thoughts to go crazy. You tightened your grip on the wheel, took a deep breath, and told yourself that whatever came next, you’d handle it.

By the time you got home, exhaustion weighed on every single on of your muscles. You left your car and trudged up the stairs toward your apartment, each step slow and deliberate. Your face showing just how drained you were, how done you felt with everything.

As you rounded a corner, a woman hurried past you, moving with a tense, almost frantic energy. Her eyes met yours for a split second, sharp and filled with a mixture of anger and sadness, before she looked away and continued down the stairs. She was clearly in a rush, but something about the intensity of that glance stuck with you.

Curious, you followed her gaze back to the doorway she had emerged from. There, Adebayo stood by her doorway, her expression heavy with concern and sadness.

You could've easy walked off and not gave a shit but the way she stood there, waiting as if maybe the person who had just left would come back. You guess you weren't the only one having a shitty day,

“I take it… that’s your wife?” you asked suddenly, your voice quieter than you intended, as you stepped closer.

Adebayo’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, the space between you felt charged with something unspoken an uneasy mix of tension and quiet despair. You noticed the slight tremor in her hands, the way her shoulders were stiff, and it just showed you how much weight she seemed to be carrying just standing there.

“You… you guys having problems?” you asked.

She nodded, her expression tight as if she were holding back tears, and for a moment, the raw vulnerability in her posture made you hesitate, unsure how to respond.

You took a small step closer, keeping your voice soft. “I… I’m sorry. I don't mean to be nosy.” Adebayo gave a faint, almost humorless smile, shaking her head slightly. “It’s… fine,” she murmured. “It’s just… complicated.”

Her eyes flicked toward the stairs you had come from, lingering on the empty hallway for a moment before returning to you. “We’ve been trying to make it work, but…” Her voice faltered, and she looked down, twisting her hands together nervously, as if she wasn’t even sure you cared.

You hesitated, unsure what to say. Offering comfort felt awkward, but you couldn’t just walk away not when you had the urge to be there, “Sometimes… talking helps,” you said finally, your tone careful and dry. “Even if it’s just saying things out loud.”

She glanced up at you again, meeting your gaze for a fraction longer this time. There was a flicker of something in her eyes relief, maybe, or the faint hope that someone wanted to listen, even a little.

A deep exhale escaped her, and she finally whispered, “I don’t even know where to start.” You nodded slowly, giving her the space to find the words, letting the quiet between you hold just enough room for her to begin.

For the next hour or so, you listened as Adebayo vented about her wife, how against she was to Adebayo taking on this mission, how unsafe she felt it was, how much it stressed her out.

Adebayo admitted she needed the money to survive, to keep her life stable, and you could see the tension weighing heavily on her. You were used to seeing her bright, cheerful, but now, that lightness was gone, replaced by worry and exhaustion.

You listened. And listened. It was better than being stuck alone with your own thoughts, better than letting your mind slowly consume you. So into were you in the conversation that you even found yourself offering advice. something you didn’t expect yourself to do.

Adebayo seemed to relax a little. She leaned back on the couch, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You know… you’re not so bad, after all,” she said suddenly, her tone almost teasing.

You raised a skeptical brow, sitting across from her in the living room, the soft glow of the lamp casting warm shadows across the furniture. “What do you mean?” you asked, your voice laced with doubt.

She shrugged. “Everyone makes you out to be so… impossible. But you actually listen. You give good advice, surprisingly, and… well, it’s kind of nice having someone who doesn’t judge right away, unlike Harcourt.”

You offered a small, tight smile, but it felt hollow even to yourself. The more she spoke, the more you felt it, that creeping similar feeling of irritation. You were doing it again, you were letting the team warm up to you. It didn’t sit right.

And the thought of Adebayo trusting you, enjoying your company, made a sharp edge cut through your patience. “Right,” you said slowly, standing up. “ I should go.”

Her smile faltered slightly, noticing the mood switch. “Wait—”

“No,” you interrupted, your tone firmer than you intended. “I’ve been here long enough.” You grabbed your jacket from the back of the couch, moving toward the door. “You’ve got… things to handle, ads.”

Adebayo opened her mouth, but you didn’t wait. The mix of frustration and self-preservation burned hotter than ever, and you didn’t want to give her another chance to pull you back in. You opened the door, stepped into the hallway, and left before she could respond.

The soft click of the door behind you felt like a relief. Everything was starting to get to you more than you expected. You’d been… nice to her, listening, offering advice, actually caring about her problems and that was exactly the problem. You weren’t supposed to give a shit about anyone.

And yet, somehow, you had. You had wanted to help her, even though you couldn’t explain why. The thought unsettled you, leaving a strange mix of frustration and confusion churning in your chest.

The day had been going horribly shitty. Every hour felt heavier than the last, and you hated it with a deep, gnawing kind of hate. The swirl of mixed, confusing emotions inside you was unbearable It all collided at once, and you needed a way out. You needed a distraction, something to pull your mind away from itself.

Grabbing your keys, you decided to drive to the video store. At least there, you could bury yourself in work, focus on something else, and force your thoughts into the background.

The drive was quiet, the hum of the engine and the occasional flash of streetlights the only company as you navigated the familiar streets. It was now dark out and late, so the street were empty. Your hands gripped the wheel a little tighter than necessary, knuckles white, as you replayed parts of the day in your head and forced yourself to let them go.

When you finally pulled into the small, dimly lit parking lot of the video store, you exhaled, leaning back in your seat for a moment. The parking spaces were empty, meaning no one else was here, which was perfect. you needed the place to be empty so you could be alone.

With a sight, you finally got out of the car and began walking toward the back door of the video store. As your hand closed around the handle and you pushed, the door creaked open slowly, the sound swallowed almost immediately by soft piano notes drifting through the building.

You paused.

It was… nice. Unexpectedly so. You hadn’t known anyone on the team could play, and for a second you had assumed no one was in the building. You assumed maybe it was Economos. He seemed like the type to have hidden talents. Curious, you followed the sound, each step drawing you deeper as the music grew clearer, warmer.

You slipped into the main room without a word, your eyes sweeping the space until they landed on Chris.

His back was to you, broad shoulders slightly hunched as his fingers moved over the keys with surprising ease. You stared, caught off guard. You had no idea he knew how to play. The melody wasn’t flashy or loud just steady, and well played.

The building was silent except for the piano. That’s when it hit you, you and Chris were the only ones here. It would’ve been the perfect moment to do what you’d been planning. But something in you felt heavy and exhausted.

You weren’t in the mood to fight not physically. You should’ve been. You knew that. But you weren’t. So you tore your gaze away from him and turned, heading for the stairs leading to the second floor.

The building was old. old enough that every step protested under your weight. The wood creaked loudly beneath your boots as you stepped up the stairs, and the piano music cut off mid-note.

The sudden silence made your skin prickle. You didn’t bother looking back. Instead, you continued up the stairs, as you turned to look over at the room in the right side of the very top of the stairs. You noticed a dim glow spilling from in there. A small television was on.

The screen lit the otherwise dark room as you approached, peering inside to check if anyone else was there, but it empty. Your attention shifted back to the TV. It was the local news. The cop who had sort of saved you three earlier was on-screen, his expression grave as he held a book in his hand.

“Now, the diary maintains that the world is inhabited by aliens posing as human beings,” he said. You stepped closer, trying to hear more clearly.

“And it is the suspect’s mission to identify and kill them. The diary links Smith not only to the murder of Annie Stumphausen, but directly to the murders of Senator Royland Goff and his family and potentially thirty-three victims at the Glan Tai bottling plant massacre.”

Your breath caught.

“Rest assured,” the cop continued, “every police station across the country has one mandate this morning: find and stop Peacemaker by whatever means necessary.”

Your mouth fell open. They were pinning everything on Chris. That had to be the diary Harcourt mentioned earlier. The one that was supposably found in there.

You were so lost in your thoughts that the sound of the floor creaking behind you, made you spun around. Chris stood in the doorway. For a moment, his gaze stayed on the television, jaw tight, eyes dark and unreadable. Then he looked at you.

“It was you,” he said. The words were flat and harsh. Your brows knit together in confusion. It took a second before you realized what he meant—the diary. “What are you talking about? You think I did that?” you asked, pointing at yourself, disbelief creeping into your voice.

“I don’t think,” Chris shot back. His jaw tightened as he took a step inside the room. “I know you did.” You stared at him, stunned.

“This is how you get back at me,” he continued, voice low and sharp. “For what I did. You couldn’t do it yourself. So you let the whole world do it for you.” You shook your head slowly, looking at him like he’d lost his mind. Yes, you were planning somehing, but it would never be to frame him for something.

“You really think I’d do something like that?” you said. “Take my time writing some stupid fucking diary just to frame you for all this stupid alien shit?”

Chris didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed locked on yours, searching, like he was trying to find the lie written somewhere on your face. “You had motive,” he said finally. “That’s not a fucking coincidence.”

Your chest tightened. “I don’t have time for your bullshit, Chris,” you shot back. “I didn’t come here to fucking argue with you, so leave me the fuck alone.”

The words hit harder than you expected. He looked stunned, caught off guard by how quickly you shut it down. It wasn’t like you to back away from a fight, especially not with him. The realization settled in his expression. You were definitely planning something at the very moment.

Chris stepped forward, jaw tight, hands clenching at his sides like he had to stop himself from doing something. “I know you're fucking lying and I know what you've been up to. You don’t give a shit about this mission and we all know it.”

You stared at him, unblinking, letting the words hang in the air.

“I’ve seen you work,” he continued, voice rising. “I’ve seen you actually try. And you’re not doing that here, because your little brain is distracted on something else and we both know on what.”

Heat flared in your chest, crawling up your throat. You shook your head slightly, letting out a dry, bitter scoff. “Oh, what the fuck are you even talking about?” you snapped, voice sharp. “Do you hear yourself? You really think everything revolves around you, don’t you?”

He opened his mouth, but you cut him off, lifting your hands in a dramatic, exasperated gesture. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” you spat, sarcasm dripping from every word, “that I’m too busy grieving my brother’s loss to cater to your ego. I didn’t mean to offend you… by not giving you all the attention in the world, Chris." ”

The room felt smaller now with tension buzzing between you like a live wire, neither of you willing to back down. “Don’t call me that,” he said sharply, meaning his name. His jaw tightened as he added, “You don’t deserve to say it.”

You blinked at him once. Out of everything you’d thrown at him that was what he latched onto. You let out a dry laugh. The audacity of it hit you all at once. You didn’t deserve to say his name? You hadn’t done a single thing to him, not really. And yet here he was, acting like you’d crossed some unforgivable line.

That was it. The final straw though, if you were being honest, just being around Chris always felt like one. Something about him dug under your skin, stirred an uncontrollable anger.

Your cheeks burned, heat crawling up your face as you clenched your fist at your side, nails biting into your palm. You stared at him, vision narrowing, the room fading until there was only him.

“I don’t deserve to call you by your name?” you repeated slowly, each word deliberate. “Me?” The question wasn’t really a question at all.

Chris stared at you, searching your face. He couldn’t tell what you were feeling anger, hurt, who knew. You gave him nothing. Your expression had gone eerily blank, eyes steady, unblinking. It was hard to read someone who refused to let anything show. Then he noticed it.

A shift. Subtle, but unmistakable. Something cold slid into place behind your eyes. Something he's never seen in you. The room somewhat became quiet, the television sounds slighly fading at the sudden tension.

No one else was around. You realized it, deeper this time Adrian wasn’t here. He was your biggest distraction, the one thing that kept pulling you back. God only knew where he was now but for once, you didn’t care. Chris stood right in front of you, close enough to reach.

“You’re right,” you said calmly, the corners of your mouth lifting just enough to suggest a smile that never reached your eyes. “I don’t deserve to call you by your name.”

You tilted your head slightly, voice dripping with mockery. “God… how stupid of me not to know better than to call you, Chris.”

The sarcasm landed heavy in the air. For the first time, something like unease flickered across his face. His brows drew together, confusion cutting through his anger as he searched for a response and came up empty.

He glanced back at the doorway. Just for a second. Like he was already planning his exit, deciding it wasn’t worth whatever this had turned into. He shifted his weight, ready to leave it there. You didn’t give him the chance.

Your hand slid to your weapon holder, fingers closing around the baton as you pulled it free in one smooth motion. The sudden movement snapped his attention back to you, eyes widening just enough to give him away. Before he could speak, you lunged.

The baton came up fast, arcing toward his face. Chris barely reacted in time, throwing himself backward as the strike cut through the space where his head had been a heartbeat earlier. He stumbled, colliding with frame of the doorway.

“Jesus—!” he growled, shock flashing across his face as instinct kicked in. “You’re fucking insane!”

The baton snapped forward again, forcing him to raise his arm just in time. The impact jolted through him, metal striking bone as he staggered sideways, boots scraping against the floor.

“Stop,” Chris shouted, more reflex than threat. He backpedaled instead of countering, hands coming up open, defensive. “I’m not doing this. I’m not fighting you.”

You didn’t listend, as you singed the baton on his face, making his head snap to the side hardly. The sound of the baton hitting his cheek, slighly echoed. “Fuck—” He gritted his teeth at the sudden hit.

You didn’t hesitate. Your fist shot out, connecting with the side of his jaw. He staggered back in surprise, his guard faltering just long enough for you to press your advantage.

You lifted your boot, aiming for a swift kick to his chest, but Chris reacted faster than expected. He grabbed your leg mid-strike, twisting and yanking before hurling you into the hallway by the stairs.

You hit the floor hard, letting out a grunt as the baton slipped from your grasp. Pain radiated through your side, but your eyes immediately locked on him, then at the baton that was by his foot. He noticed your gaze, before kicking it further away.

You didn’t panic. Instead, you slowly stood. Your eyes never left his, as you carefully watched his every move. Every muscle in your body tensed, ready to react as you did.

Chris lunged, aiming to close the distance, but you anticipated him. Ducking low, you sidestepped, letting him overshoot. Before he could recover, you delivered a sharp elbow to his ribs, forcing him back another step.

Your body moved with fast.. Fists flying, you threw a multiple punches, each one aiming for the most week spot of the body, but he kept on dodging them.

Your frustration flared, and you swung again, this time landing a hard blow to his abdomen. He grunted in pain, stumbling backward. But it was so clear that Chris wasn’t trying. He was dodging every single hit, but yet he never threw one at you.

You raised your hand for another punch, but he reacted faster than expected, catching your fist and throwing it back with a sharp force. He shoved you harder than he intended, and you stumbled back, foot sliding down on the top step of the staircase.

With a grunt, you tumbled down the staircase, hitting each step with a jolt that made pain shoot through your body. Chris froze, eyes wide, panic flashing across his face. “Holy fuck!' he shouted, his voice slightly echoing as he looked down at you.

You groaned, teeth gritting as you slowly pushed yourself upright, one hand braced against the wall. Pain lanced through your leg, but you forced yourself to move, limping down the remaining stairs.

Your ribs throbbed with every step, and you groaned again, gripping your side. Somehow, you were still standing. No doubt that it was the adrenaline. You quickly scanned the lower floor, eyes locking on the gun sitting on one of the desks.

Ignoring the pain, you pushed yourself forward, limping toward the weapon. Chris had made his way down the stairs, eyes locked on you as he realized your gaze was on the gun.

He let out a sharp breath as he had no intention of hurting you. So he had to do what he had to do. Without hesitation, he sprinted toward you. You glanced up, eyes widening. Instincts taking over. You shoved yourself forward, slamming into the desk. The sudden movement sent the desk wobbling and the gun sliding off onto the floor.

Chris lunged over, closing the distance faster than you could react. With no time to grab the gun, you snatched the lamp from the desk instead. Swinging it with all your strength, the metal base connected with his face.

Chris hit the floor hard, a grunt tearing out of him as he landed on his back. He was already trying to push himself up when you stepped in, your boot slamming into his stomach. The air left him in a strangled sound as he curled in on himself.

He barely had time to recover before you kicked him again this time across the face. His head snapped to the side, and blood immediately bloomed from his nose, dripping onto the floor.

“You killed my brother, you piece of shit!” you shouted, the words ripping out of you before he could even open his mouth.

Chris groaned, one hand coming up uselessly as if to shield himself. You didn’t give him the chance to speak. You kicked him again, rage rushing threw you as every hit fueled by months of anger you’d kept buried in.

Then you suddenly stopped as you dropped to your knees over him, straddling his torso. Your fist came down hard, once. Twice. Again. Knuckles slamming into his face in a brutal way. He didn’t fight back. He didn’t even try. He just took it, jaw clenched tight as blood bloomed beneath your blows.

Your knuckles burned, skin splitting open, slick with blood, but you didn’t care. “You took everything from me, you worthless piece of shit!” you shouted, the words tearing out of your throat, breaking with every punch.

Chris’s face was a mess now, blood streaking down his cheek, his lip split wide, his nose red and swelling fast. His eyes fluttered, unfocused. “Fight back,” you spat, voice shaking. “You fucking coward.”

You pulled your arm back one last time, vision tunneled so caught in your own little breakdown that you didn’t notice his hand close around something solid until it was already too late.

Chris’s hand slid toward his gun holster, before grabbing it roughly slamming it onto the side of your head. The impact was blunt and brutal. Pain exploded behind your eyes as he used this as an opportunity to shove you off him.

You stumbled sideways, barely catching yourself as your vision blurred and the sound around you warped, like everything had been dropped underwater. The hit wiped out whatever adrenaline you’d been running on and a sharp, pounding headache settled in immediately, throbbing with every heartbeat as you struggled to stay upright.

That second was all he needed. Chris surged forward, forcing himself up despite the damage, and grabbed you before you could recover. His arm locked around your neck, pulling you into a headlock. His grip was firm. He had no intention it killing you, he needed you to go into a deep sleep.

“You think you’re better than me?” you snarled, the words torn straight from the fury boiling in your chest.

His arm tightened instinctively as you struggled, forearm pressing against your throat. Your breath hitched, lungs burning as the pressure stole the air from you. You could feel his heartbeat against your back.

“This isn’t what I want,” he said through clenched teeth, voice strained, conflicted. “You’re forcing this.”

But the hatred roaring through you didn’t care.

You clawed at his arm, muscles screaming as you fought for air, mind racing even as your vision began to dim around the edges. Spots crept into your sight. Your chest burned. You were running out of time. You scratched at his arm, then you remembered. Your jacket.

Your hand slipped inside it, fingers closing around the familiar grip of your gun. You pulled it free clumsily, breath hitching as the weight of it settled into your palm. It was already loaded.

“I’m sorry,” Chris said suddenly, his voice tight, strained in a way you hadn’t heard before. His grip tightened unconsciously as he spoke. “I really am. It kills me every fucking day.”

Your face burned from the lack of air, vision blurring, but you still tightened your hold on the gun, twisting your wrist, angling it blindly toward his stomach.

“I’m sorry for killing Rick,” he continued, words tumbling out now, raw and uneven. “I really am. And I know—” his voice cracked, just barely, “I know no matter what I say, you’ll never forgive me for it.”

The words slammed into you.

For half a second, just one, everything faltered. His voice wavered, thick with something dangerously close to tears, and your grip hesitated, emotions crashing violently together. Your eyes began to stung. Maybe it was the lack of air. Maybe it was hearing Chris, the guy you hated, sounding like a damn whiny child. Either way, the world tilted for the briefest moment.

You were both too focused on each other to notice the movement in the hallway. Adrian stood there, frozen in shock, eyes wide as he took in the scene. Chris restraining you with a bloody face, you wiht the gun in your hand, your face flushed and bruised. Panic hit him all at once.

“Oh, oh shit,” he muttered, fumbling instinctively for the device at his side. He didn’t think. Adrian raised the taser, not sure who to shoot it at. you or Chris, but his panic caused him to press it and accidentally tase you.

Electricity tore through you. A sharp, uncontrollable scream ripped from your throat as your muscles seized violently, every nerve on fire. The gun slipped from your fingers, clattering uselessly on the floor.

Chris released you from the chokehold instantly, but still holding onto you. You coughed and gasped, your body convulsing, struggling to breathe as the shock coursed through you.

“What the fuck—” Chris shouted, eyes snapping to Adrian, who still stood frozen, taser in hand. “Turn it off, Adrian!” His voice loud, sharp with command and panic.

Adrian stood there, horror flooding his face as he realized what he’d done. “I didn’t know what else to do,” he stuttered “You were—she had a gun—”

The screaming had stopped, the electricity faded, but your body still trembled violently. Every nerve screamed, every muscle burning, and your chest heaved as you struggled to draw air into your lungs.

Chris’s arms were still on you, but with a sharp push, you shoved them aside. You dragged yourself upright, head bowed, breathing shallow.

You coughed once, shoulders shaking, sweat clinging to your skin as you fought to steady yourself. Every breath burned, scraping your lungs raw. You lifted a hand to the side of your head, fingers trembling as you pressed down at the aching spot.. When you pulled it back, blood smeared your fingertips. Then you noticed the rest.

You turned your hands over, staring at your knuckles that were bruised, split, still smeared with blood that wasn’t all yours.

The room fell silent. They watched you, cautious now, uncertain of your next move. Chris slowly stood, as you stayed on the ground, head bowed. The fight was over, but the weight of it pressed down on you harder than any blow ever had.

Defeat settled deep in your chest, heavy and suffocating. You were used to finishing things. You always completed every mission you were given. And yet you couldn’t even finish the one thing you’d set out to do for yourself.

It should have been simple, But somehow, something always got in the way. If you were being honest, truly honest. You had no intention of killing Chris anymore.

Maybe at first you did. Back when the grief was strong and fresh, but as the days passed, that certainty faded. Not because you couldn’t kill Chris. You knew you were capable of it. That was never the question. You didn’t do it because you didn’t want to.

The realization sat ugly and raw in your chest, making your throat tighten. You wanted him to suffer. You wanted him to live with it. To wake up every day knowing what he’d done, carrying the weight the way you carried it unceasing, unforgiving.

A shaky breath slipped out of you as your gaze dropped to the floor. Your eyes burned, and when you tried to force the feeling back down, it broke free instead, hot and fast.

Chris froze, staring at you in shock as you collapsed into sobs. Your hands flew to your face, muffling the sound as your shoulders shook. Adrian frowned, confused. “What’s happening?” he asked.

“She’s crying, dipshit,” Chris said quietly, shooting him a sharp look.

Chris didn’t move at first. He just stood there, caught between instinct and uncertainty, like stepping closer might shatter whatever fragile thing was happening in front of him.

Adrian shifted awkwardly on his feet, hands hovering uselessly at his sides. “I—I didn’t think…” He trailed off, clearly realizing too late that there was nothing he could say that wouldn’t make it worse.

Your sobs tore out of you like your body was finally giving up the fight it had been waging for far too long. Your chest ached, every breath hitching painfully, and no matter how hard you tried to stop, it just kept coming. The sound filled the room, raw and unfiltered.

Chris finally knelt in front of you, slow, careful, like you might bolt if he moved wrong. “Hey,” he said quietly, as he reseted a hand in your shoulder “Hey… you’re okay. You’re-”

You knocked his hand away and finally looked at him. “I don’t need your fucking fake words, Chris,” you snapped, voice rough and shaking, the hurt cutting sharper than the anger.

Chris flinched at your words but didn’t pull back. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, the anger in your voice seemed to echo something he couldn’t fix.

You finally forced yourself to your feet, every muscle screaming, and you pressed a hand to the spot where Adrian had tased you. Chris rose slowly as well, voice low, careful. “I’m not trying to lie to you,” he said.

Your eyes flicked to Adrian, still standing there, face tense but softened as your gaze landed on him. “I just… I don’t know what else to do.” Chris added, voice low.

You swung your gaze back to him, brows furrowed, jaw tight. “You’re a fucking joke, Chris,” you spat.

Chris flinched, the sting of the words hitting him harder than anything. His mind went back to Rick, the day in Corto Maltese. Those were Rick’s exact last words and they echoed in his head, loud and hard as the memory twisted in his chest like a knife.

Your voice dragged him back, “I won’t kill you,” you said, “Because I want you to live with that shitty, fucking guilt every goddamn day.."

The room seemed to shrink around the words, pressing down on Chris, leaving him breathless, caught between the memory and the punishment in your gaze. He didn’t speak. His eyes flickered with something between guilt, and you could see the weight of it in his eyes.

Adrian stood frozen, watching. You could feel his hesitation in the way he shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, chest tightening, heart hammering painfully against his ribs as the scene unfolded.

He wanted to say something, anything but seeing how of a mess you were he didn’t dare risk saying the wrong thing and pushing it further. So he stayed quiet, trapped in his own helplessness, watching.

Your legs felt like lead, each step toward the stairs a fight. Your body ached in every joint, every muscle screaming. Sweat and tears mixed on your skin, and the effort to keep moving burned through you. You didn’t have the energy to drive home. You didn’t have the energy to do anything but move, blindly, one step at a time.

By the time you reached the first landing, your strength had almost entirely drained. You didn’t look back, didn’t acknowledge the eyes following your every move. You simply disappeared up the stairs, your presence fading, leaving only the echo of your steps and the heaviness of everything you’d left behind.

“Should I—” Adrian started, hesitation thick in his voice.

“No, man. Let her be,” Chris interrupted sharply, his tone harsh. “She doesn’t need any of your stupid bullshit right now.”

He shot Adrian one last hard look before disappearing down the hall, moving away from the room where the fight had happened, leaving only the echo of his footsteps and the lingering weight of everything.

“Where’s your shirt?” You blinked again, finally focusing on the figure in the doorway, Harcourt. She stood there with one hand still on the doorknob, looking you up and down with a very distinct mixture of concern and disbelief.

“What?” you croaked, glancing down at yourself. Unfortunately, she was absolutely right. No shirt. Just your bra. At some point during the night, you must’ve peeled it off without even remembering.

Harcourt stared as you visibly struggled to piece together when and how that had happened. “I’ll… make you some coffee,” she said finally, giving you an awkward little smile. “And, uh, I’ll let you get cleaned up.” With that, she backed out of the room and pulled the door shut behind her.

Your hands found your face, and you dragged your palms down with a tired groan. The memories of having drinks with Adrian hit you in instantly. You still couldn’t believe you’d actually agreed to go out with him. Part of you had enjoyed it, more than you wanted to admit but the other part hated that you’d let yourself.

All you really remembered was talking to him at the bar… though you had no idea about what. The last clear memory was him walking you home. A few exchanged words on your doorstep and again, about what, you had absolutely no clue. Then he left, letting you stumble inside and pass out.

After you cleaned yourself up, the warm, rich smell of coffee drifting down the hall. You let out a sigh as you stepped out of the bathroom and made your way toward the kitchen, where Harcourt was waiting.

You rubbed your eyes, still half-asleep, as the scent of coffee grew stronger with each step. Then you saw her—stretched up on her toes, reaching for a mug in your top cabinet like she’d done it a hundred times before.

“So… what are you doing here?” you blurted. It came out sharper than you meant, and she glanced over her shoulder at you.

“Oh—hey.” She flashed a quick, easy smile, completely unfazed. She didn’t bother answering your question. Instead, she poured steaming coffee into the mug she’d finally managed to grab. “Extra dark, just the way you like it,” she said, her tone light as she slid the mug onto the counter with a gentle tap.

You glanced at the mug then at her. “Why are you here, harcourt?” You asked, slowly making your way towards the kitchen island as you then slumped into the seat, wrapping your hands around the warm cup just to feel the warm of it.

“Just checking up on you,” Harcourt said. “Since you didn’t show up to the video store." You squinted slightly, your brain struggling to remember why you were even supposed to be at the video store this early. Harcourt watched the gears painfully turning in your head, then quietly poured herself some coffee.

“We were supposed to meet up to review the stuff we found at Glan Tai. Did Adrian not tell you? I fucking swear I told him to tell you after I left,” Harcourt said. You stared at her for a beat, then shook your head slowly.

Harcourt looked away, muttering something under her breath. Your gaze drifted down to your coffee, your reflection wobbling on the dark surface. “I feel like complete shit,” you repeated quietly, lifting your eyes to her again.

“I bet,” she said, watching you over the edge of her own mug with that knowing little look she always had—judgmental but affectionate in her own Harcourt way.

Then she tilted her head, eyes narrowing just a fraction. She was waiting, giving you room to confess on your own. But when it became very clear you weren’t going to, she took matters into her own hands. “So… how was last night with Adrian?” You froze mid-sip, staring at her like she’d just spoken in a different language.

She caught the look and smirked. “Oh, don’t give me that. I was in Murn’s office last night. Walls are thin. I heard you two talking.” She lifted her brows, sipping her coffee.

You blinked at her, setting your mug down a little harder than you intended. “You were still there? You said you left.”

“Yeah, and then I came back because I forgot some paperwork. That’s when I heard you two.” Harcourt didn’t even try to soften it—just stated it like a fact.

You stared at her, fingers tightening around your mug. “Well, I just… really needed a drink, and he offered,” you said, giving a shrug that tried way too hard to look casual.

Harcourt’s smile sharpened. She knew your lies—the tiny crease between your brows that showed up every time you lied. And it was absolutely there. “You really needed a drink? That’s bullshit and you know it,” she laughed.

“You said that about that one guy from Gotham,” Harcourt added, pointing her mug at you.

You rolled your eyes because, unfortunately, you remembered exactly who she was talking about. Years ago, back when you’d first started working for A.R.G.U.S., You, harcourt and Economos had been sent there for a mission. And there’d been a guy. Not like Adrian at all. In fact, he’d been worse. Way worse, but apparently you had a thing for the weird ones and Harcourt knew it.

You pressed your palm to your forehead, trying to rub away the memory. Harcourt took a slow sip of her coffee. “You have a type,” she finally said. “No, I don’t,” you shot back immediately.

Harcourt snorted. “Please. You absolutely do. Weird men who are bad for you and way out of your league.” She lifted her mug like she was toasting to your suffering. “That Gotham guy, who you somehow dated for a year, by the way. The intel guy who kept calling you ‘kid’ like he was your disappointed uncle. That tech guy who never fucking blinked—ever. And, oh! how could I forget? The one who tried to impress you by juggling grenades—"

You stared at her with a flat, unimpressed smile. “Yeah? Well, I never went out with any of those three guys. So it doesn’t count,” you cut in. “Because Rick scared them all away,” she corrected.

The second his name left her mouth, the smile that had been tugging at your lips vanished. Your gaze dropped to your coffee mug, shoulders sinking.

Memories flickered through your mind of Rick shutting down every guy who so much as looked at you at work. It had been funny at the time, and annoying too. He never let anyone at work get close to you, because in his head, you were still his kid sister he needed to keep safe. Too bad he wasn’t here now. He probably would’ve scared Adrian off before you even had the chance to say yes to that drink.

“Point is,” Harcourt continued, her voice snapped you out of your thoughts. You blinked, lifting your head just enough to meet her eyes.

“You don’t just ‘grab a drink,’” she went on. “It took me two months to get you to hang out with me outside of work. And Adrian? Less than two weeks.”

You stared at her, slightly tilting your head, listening at what she was saying. “I’m just saying he’s a great guy,” she said, leaning her hip against the counter, arms crossing loosely. "And I know you’re not exactly the type to get all serious and emotional and all that shit, but I see it.”

Your face deadpanned. “It’s not like that. I was just being nice. His life is boring as hell—he needed to do something new.”

“Sure,” she said. “But maybe it wouldn’t kill you to actually try with someone. I think you need something to pull you out of… everything that happened with Rick.”

Of course she brought it up again. You should’ve seen it coming. But the part that really got you—the part that made your jaw clench—was that she had the audacity to tell you to try with someone when she was the champion of shutting people out.

“You’re fucking with me, right?” you said with a dry laugh. Harcourt didn’t laugh back. She just stared at you, seriously.

“You’re just… not the same anymore,” she said, her voice softening, like she hated hearing the words even as she said them. “You don’t talk to me like you used to.” She hesitated, jaw tightening before she forced herself to continue, quieter this time. “I mean… I feel like I’ve barely heard a word from you since we got you back.”

Your brows pulled together, the fog of your hangover evaporating under the sudden, sharp burn of the topic. You straightened on the stool, spine stiffening.

“So you break into my place,” you said, voice low and flat, “and then you have the fucking audacity to tell me I should go out with someone because you think it’ll help me forget my brother’s death?”

Harcourt inhaled sharply, opening her mouth to respond—but you didn’t let her. “What if I told you to go fuck someone so you could forget about the way your dad treated you growing up?”

Harcourt went still. For a moment, she didn’t even blink. The muscle in her jaw twitched, just once, before her expression shuttered into something cold. “That,” she said quietly, “was a low blow. Even for you.” Her voice didn’t rise. That almost made it worse.

“I wasn’t telling you to forget him,” she said, and the steadiness in her voice wavered at the edges. “I know you can’t. I know that. I just..” She exhaled through her nose, looking suddenly tired in a way that had nothing to do with sleep. “I’m trying to get my friend back.”

You let out a humorless breath of your own. “Yeah? And where the hell was that when I needed you?” Your voice came out quieter than you expected, but sharper for it. “Where was it when Waller locked me up?

Harcourt flinched, actually flinched like the words hit her square in the chest. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out at first. She just stared at you, guilt settling heavy in her eyes.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “You need your space. I get that. So… I’ll let you be.” Harcourt cleared her throat, the sound tight and awkward as she headed toward the door. “Take the day off. I’ll tell Murn you weren't feeling too good.” Her hand was already on the knob when she added, softer, “And, uh… lock the door next time.”

The door clicked shut behind her, and the apartment felt ten degrees colder—like all the warmth had walked out with her. You let out a long breath, the kind that seemed to deflate you from the inside out, leaving your shoulders heavy and your chest hollow. Your whole body felt tired, not the kind a full night’s sleep could fix, but the kind that sat deep in your bones.

If you wanted peace—real peace, the kind that didn’t leave you waking up every morning with that same hollow pit in your chest. There was only one way to get it. kill Peacemaker and It had to be done now.

After Harcourt had left you alone. You decided to get back on track. You didnt have much time, you were getting to close to everyone on the team and you were failing miserable at the plan you had since day one.

But you had to make sure peacemaker was all alone at his place and you knew if he wasnt there whole only be one person who would willingly hang out with him and it was Adrian. so you had to make sure he was busy.

You pulled your phone out, and tapped the group chat. You assumed he was the one who had texted that weird mermaid emoji so you clicked on the contact and called him. you swear the phone only ringed once before he picked up.

Then he answered, breathlessly. Like he’d been sitting there staring at his screen, waiting for your name to pop up. “Hello?” he said, too fast.

“Adrian?” you asked, just to be sure. “Oh, hey!” he said immediately, scrambling to shove fake casual into his voice. You could hear him straightening up, like posture mattered over the phone.

You exhaled slowly. “What are you doing?” “Oh. Uh, working. I’ve got shift until noon. It’s kinda slow. Well, it was slow, but now you’re calling, which is better than just standing around. So this is like the opposite of slow—”

“Working,” you repeated, cutting through his rambling. “So you’re busy.”

“Yeah! Well, I mean, I can stop. It’s just a shift, and I can ask to leave early..” He laughed nervously. “Is everything okay? Do you feel sick?"

You closed your eyes. You didn’t have time for this. You didn’t have time for him. Every second you spent listening to his voice was a second of distraction. “No,” you said firmly. “Everything’s fine. I just needed to know if you.. you were fine from last night." you lied.

“Well, yeah, I’m fine. I’m always fine,” Adrian said quickly. You could hear the smile in his voice. “Really, if you need—”

“Adrian.” You cut him off before he could offer anything else. Before you let yourself want it. There was a tiny pause on his end. “I was just making sure,” you added, keeping your voice clipped and serious. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

“Oh, okay,” he said, tone dimming just slightly, like you’d switched off a light inside him. “Yeah. Right. Work. I’ll, um… talk to you later then?” But you didn’t answer. You hung up instead.

It was all perfect. Adrian was busy. Harcourt and the rest were at the video store and peacemaker was still at his place. You've never felt more happier with everything set in place, so you made your way to peacemakers place.

-

You had snuck on the roof of his trailer. You took notice that he had a starlight. Which was by far perfect. You quickly made your way over to it, and slightly peeked inside. You squinted as you were only able to get a view of what had seemed like his living room, but you could hear his muffled voice, talking to someone.

You tried to listen a little harder, and his voice began to sound more clear. it was almost like he was talking to a baby. His voice was all soft and then you realized he's probably talking to his pet eagle.

He was alone — perfect. No witnesses. If something happened to him, it would look like a tragic accident, or at least a series of unlucky coincidences.

You forced your gaze away for a beat and checked your gun, feeling the cool, familiar weight of raw metal in your palm. You clicked it opened, making sure it was filled then you clicked it closed.

Peacemaker might’ve been dumb, but he wasn’t that dumb—not enough to miss the signs of someone gearing up for a fight. You had to be prepared. Really prepared. And even though you hated him, you couldn’t deny it: the man knew how to fight. You almost admired that. Almost.

Everything was going according to plan. It was all way to perfect, even you knew that. There was always something that got in the way. Always. Then the sound of a rhyme knock was heard on peacemakers front door. You couldn't really see anything but the view of a couch and table.

While you were on the roof, trying to get a better view. Peacemaker, who sat on his table, eating a bowl of cereal, called out. “Come in, Adrian,” he said, flat and unbothered.

Your stomach dropped. You leaned in closer, trying to angle yourself just enough to see inside, but all you caught was the edge of a shadow—Adrian’s. You muttered a string of curses under your breath. He’d literally said he was working until noon. Yet here he was.

Adrian stepped fully inside. “Hey, how’d you know it was me?” he asked, genuinely confused. “You knock in a very annoying way,” Peacemaker replied, still hunched over the bowl of cereal. “Oh.” Adrian deflated a little, his shoulders slumping. “Sorry…”

You listened from the roof, every muscle pulled tight. "You're not gonna believe it." Adrian says as he walked over to him. Peacemaker hummed as he shoved a spoon of cereal in his mouth. “Guess who I got drinks with last night.”

Peacemaker answered with another noncommittal hum, still chewing. But Adrian just stood there. Staring. Waiting for Peacemaker to guess like this was some kind of game show.

Peacemaker finally dropped his spoon with a wet clatter. “Dude, just say it.” Adrian sighed dramatically, as if he were the one being tortured here.

From your perch, you stayed still, the cold metal of the roof biting through your clothes, ears straining. If you were going to be interrupted mid-assassination attempt, the least the universe could do was let you hear the gossip.

And then you heard your name come out of Adrian’s mouth.

“No shit,” Peacemaker said, tuning to finally look at Adrian with his eyebrows lifting as he looked him up and down, clearly surprised. Adrian nodded, smiling like he still hadn’t fully processed it himself—like he couldn't believe he had pulled you of all people.

“Yeah, right,” Peacemaker scoffed, grabbing a spoonful of cereal like he needed crunchy support for disbelief. “No, I’m serious,” Adrian insisted, stepping closer, too earnest for his own good. “Like actually serious. We had drinks. It was—” he paused, brows knitting as if replaying the night in his head, “—really nice. I think.”

Peacemaker blinked. “You? And her ?” He pointed with the spoon, cereal bits hitting the floor. Adrian nodded again, still wearing that stunned little smile.

“Did you get laid?” Peacemaker asked bluntly. Adrian recoiled, hand slapping dramatically over his chest. “What?! No! What—why would you even—?”

“I mean, dude, you’re walking around like a Disney side character who just learned about feelings,” Peacemaker said, shrugging. “You’re all… chipper. It’s weird.”

“I’m not chipper,” Adrian protested, voice cracking like a teenager. He straightened up. “I’m just… in a good mood. People can be in good moods.”

“Yeah,” Peacemaker snorted. “After sex.” Adrian made a strangled sound. “We had drinks. That’s it.” Peacemaker lifted his brows. “Uh-huh. And you’re sure you didn’t, like… black out and accidentally—”

“NO!.” Adrian snapped, face red, glasses slightly crooked now. “Nothing happened except for… bonding.”

Peacemaker stared at him for another moment, blinking irritatedly until he remembered about yesterday. His mood shifted and Adrian noticed, furrowing his brows.

Peacemaker finally stood, grabbed his bowl, and walked toward the sink. “If I tell you something, you have to promise not to tell her,” he said, dumping the bowl in with a clatter. “Sure, dude,” Adrian replied, instantly.

Peacemaker leaned his hip against the counter, arms folding, expression shifting into something unusually serious. His voice dropped low, almost conspiratorial. “I think she’s trying to kill me.”

You went completely still on the roof—breath locked, muscles frozen, heart hammering so hard it almost drowned out the words. You'd think he'd keep it to himself but you should've known he'd tell someone eventually.

Adrian, however, just blinked at him. His face went completely blank for two seconds before he let out a single, disbelieving laugh. “Yeah, right.” But Peacemaker didn’t laugh. Didn’t even crack a smile.

“I’m serious,” he insisted, jaw clenching, eyes narrowing. “She tried to shoot me yesterday!” he said loud enough that Adrian actually jerked a little.

Adrian’s brows pinched as he tried to process the information, then he spoke with the straightforward logic. “Didn’t you kill her brother though? I mean… if you killed my brother, I would probably wanna kill you too.”

Peacemaker blinked, stunned for a second. Then waved a hand dismissively. “Dude, Gut hated you.” Adrian’s face fell like someone had unplugged him. “So you’re admitting he did hate me."

“That’s not the point!” Peacemaker snapped. “The point is, she’s planning something, and she’s probably using you to get to me." Adrian’s face dropped again—round eyes wide, shoulders caving a little as betrayal sank in. “What?”

Peacemaker nodded sharply. “Uh, yeah. I know her. Or—I did. I don’t know what the fuck happened to her but she’s gone like…” peacemaker stopped to think. “I don’t know insane.” He finished.

“I mean you did kill her only brother.” Adrian shrugged. “I know!” Peacemaker yelled, making Adrian jump. "Well, yeah, she’s a little bipolar. So what?” Adrian tried again, shrugging like the world’s most oblivious person. Peacemaker rolled his eyes, irritation bleeding through—Adrian wasn’t getting it.

Peacemaker continued, voice firm. “Look, she’s probably just using you as bait. That’s what assassins do.”

You blinked once. Twice. Bait? If anything, Adrian was… the emotional equivalent of a bonus side quest you didn’t mean to start. And now he was downstairs, starting to look genuinely heartbroken that you might not actually like him—that you might be using him.

Adrian’s attention drifted to the counter. His eyes landed on the butterfly — still trapped in the same damn jar Peacemaker had swiped from Goff’s place. “Dude, you still have that thing?” he asked, brows up.

“Oh yeah,” Peacemaker said, like it was a perfectly normal thing. “He tried to kill us,” Adrian added. “And he cut half my toe off.” He said it offendedly.

The conversation drifted back into their usual nonsense, but your mind stayed locked on the part that mattered—the part where Peacemaker and Adrian though you were using him.

You exhaled sharply and shifted back from the hatch. The metal roof creaked under you. This plan was screwed. Completely, irreversibly, cosmically screwed.

All because Adrian had to show up at exactly the worst possible time and ruin everything. Of course. You should have expected it. You were never going to get Peacemaker alone—not with Adrian orbiting him.

Yet another failed attempt to kill peacemaker, you had to choice but to try again another time. you could wait and let Adrian leave but even you knew he wasn't leaving any time soon. So, of course, you had to be the one to go.

The brief calm you’d managed to hold onto dissolved, replaced by that familiar irritation the kind that came with hearing Adrian’s name or, worse, being anywhere near him.

Then your phone started buzzing like crazy. The sudden vibration made your pulse jump. You fumbled it out of your jacket pocket, the sound loud enough for both Peacemaker and Adrian to hear. Thankfully, neither of them bothered to look up—they were too wrapped up in whatever idiotic argument they were having.

Murn’s name flashed across your screen. You pressed the phone to your ear. “Hello,” you whispered, ducking lower against the roof’s edge.

“Flag! Where are you?” Murn’s voice exploded through the speaker—sharp and urgent. “Uh… home,” you lied, glancing toward the window where Adrian and Peacemaker were now sprawled on the couch, still bickering over something pointless.

“No, you’re not. I know you’re at Peacemaker’s place,” Murn snapped back immediately. Your stomach dropped. You opened your mouth, but all that slipped out was a weak, confused “Uhm…”

Murn exhaled, long and frustrated. “It doesn’t matter. I need you to get him and yourself out of there. Now.”

“What?” you asked, heart kicking up.

“There’s a warrant out for his arrest. The police are already on their way. Get him out of the house. NOW.” His voice hit each word with a hard edge. Before you could protest or even process, he hung up.

You shoved your phone back into your pocket. For a moment, your mind wasn’t even on the fact that Peacemaker had a warrant out—no, it snagged on something else entirely. Murn knew where you were.

You sat frozen, breath caught somewhere in your chest. And then the realization slammed into you. They’d been tracking you. Since day one.

Not because you were important—because they didn’t trust you. Not enough to leave you unmonitored. Not enough to believe you wouldn’t try something on peacemaker.

Yes, you could’ve just walked out and let Peacemaker deal with the whole thing. Let him get dragged off in cuffs and rot in a cell. But Adrian was in there too. If the police found him in his Vigilante suit, he’d be arrested on the spot—and with the list of things he’d done, he'd be done for. And you couldn’t let that happen. So, whether you liked it or not, you were choosing to help them.

With an irritated sigh, you tucked your weapons away and rose to your feet. Keeping quiet, you crossed to the opposite side of the starlight glass. You crouched, fingers hooking under the edge of the pane. Slowly, carefully, you cracked it open. A faint creak echoed—loud to your ears, but apparently lost under the argument below.

Adrian and Peacemaker were still going at it on the couch, both gesturing wildly like toddlers in adult bodies. Goff, who was still in the jar, was placed on the coffee table directly in front of them, eerily calm, waiting for the screaming to stop.

Who knew what the hell they were arguing about this time? Whatever it was, it had to be life-altering in their minds, because they were so locked in that nothing else in the world seemed to matter. So much for being professional assassins.

So with that you swung your legs over the frame and lowered yourself inside. The moment your boots hit the floor, both heads snapped toward you in perfect, synchronized alarm.

Peacemaker lunged up first, ripping his gun free so fast the couch cushions puffed. Adrian mirrored him but his weapon wavered the second he recognized you. You didn’t flinch. You just stood there, arms relaxed at your sides, face carved in unimpressed stone.

Peacemaker didn’t relax—if anything, he tightened his grip, shoulders tensing like he expected you to explode.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he demanded, voice dropping into that dangerously serious tone he rarely used unless shit was truly, absolutely going sideways.

“I’m here to save you, you stupid fuck,” you said flatly as you stepped forward.

Peacemaker immediately jerked his gun higher, the barrel snapping toward your face. His stance hardened—legs braced, jaw locked, finger far too close to the trigger for your comfort.

You stopped, raising your brows in exaggerated confusion. “You gonna kill me, Chris?" you asked, tilting your head. "Because that’s not gonna look great when the cops show up.”

“Cops?” Adrian repeated. “Yeah,” you lied without hesitation. “That’s why I’m here.” Total bullshit but it wasn’t your fault the universe had decided today was the day the cops tried arrest him.

Peacemaker didn’t budge. If anything, he tightened his grip, shoulders coiling like a spring ready to snap. His aim stayed locked on your face, distrust radiating off him in waves. He was bluffing—and you could tell.

“Don’t believe her, Adrian,” Peacemaker loudly spoke, not looking away from you for even a second. “You can’t trust a single damn word that comes out of her mouth.”

Adrian glanced between you two awkwardly, like a kid caught between divorcing parents—except the parents were armed, unstable, and wearing ridiculous costumes.

Adrian shifted his weight, his gun now pointed somewhere in the general vicinity of the floor. “Um… are you sure?” he asked Peacemaker hesitantly. “Because she usually only lies when it’s… y’know. Convenient.”

“You don’t even know her well enough to tell when she’s lying!” Peacemaker snapped, gesturing at you wildly with the gun like it was part of the argument. “Look at her! She’s doing that face.”

“What face?” you demanded.

"That one. The ‘I swear I’m innocent but I’m absolutely about to screw us over’ face!” You let out a slow, tired sigh and pinched the bridge of your nose.

“Chris, your life is already ruined,” you said. “I’m just trying to keep you from getting arrested so murn can shut the fuck up!" You snapped.

Adrian slighly jumped at your sudden yell. Peacemaker huffed as he adjusted his stance, squared his jaw, and kept that damn barrel glued to your forehead.

“You really expect me to believe you just happened to sneak in through the roof and drop into the room like some kind of shitty ninja because the cops are coming?”

“Chris,” you said, tone flat, “I don’t even like you enough to lie that creatively.”

Adrian gasped softly. “That’s kinda harsh.”

You inhaled as you blinked harshly. Peacemaker didn’t lower the gun, but the tension in his shoulders wavered. Distrust was still there—thick as mud—but he was listening. Barely.

“Okay,” you said, keeping your voice level despite the tension coiling in the room. “You can shoot me later if it makes you feel better. But right now? We really do need to go. I can’t get caught with you two psychos and Adrian’s going to jail if they find him here in full vigilante cosplay.”

Adrian made a small offended noise. “It’s not cosplay—”

“Adrian.” You shut him up with a look.

Peacemaker’s jaw flexed, his eyes flicking on you. Finally—finally—his arms dipped. The muzzle of his gun lowered inch by inch, slow and stubborn, like he was physically allergic to trusting you.

“Fine,” he muttered. “But I’m still keeping an eye on you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, stepping towards the window. You reached the window and slowly, carefully, peered out through the curtain gap.

And your stomach dropped.

Police cruisers—dozens of them—were lined up across the street like some kind of fucked-up parade. Doors slammed. Radios crackled. Officers poured out in tactical gear, fanning across the perimeter with rifles drawn. “Shit,” you whispered.

Behind you, Adrian crept closer. “Is it… bad?”

You stepped away from the window and turned toward them, expression grim. “It’s worse than bad,” you said. “They’re surrounding the entire area. If we don’t move now, they’re gonna box us in.”

“Fuck,” Peacemaker muttered under his breath.

“Grab your shit—and get Goff,” you ordered, already moving.

For once, he didn’t argue. Peacemaker bolted straight to Eagly, who was perched on his little stand in the kitchen. Eagly chirped once in confusion as Chris swept him up.

Your eyes shifted to Adrian. He’d scooped Goff into his arms and began taping him to his side. “You said you were working till noon,” you said quietly, walking over to him.

Adrian froze for a second, then looked up at you. His posture eased, shoulders dropping just a little. “I switched with this guy,” he said. “You sounded… uh, weird on the phone. So I just wanted to stop by, but you weren’t there.”

Something in your chest pulled tight at his words—at the way he said them. Adrian wasn’t good at reading emotions, not really, but he noticed yours. He noticed you. And that alone sent a warmth creeping up your throat you didn’t have time to deal with.

“Oh,” you breathed, trying to sound casual. “Right. Well… thanks.”

He nodded, but it wasn’t his usual chipper bobblehead kind of nod. It was smaller, careful—almost shy. His eyes darted away immediately, like the moment had gotten too bright to look at directly. He focused on Goff instead, adjusting the last bit of tape on the jar.

He wanted to keep talking—you could tell. There was a flicker of something restless in the way his fingers fidgeted, in the way his shoulders tightened. But whatever he was feeling—whatever that warm, nervous current running under his skin was—made him retreat into silence. If he kept looking at you, he’d blurt out something random and stupid.… so he forced himself to look away.

You watched him for a moment, catching every shift in his posture. His sudden shyness. The quiet tension. How he kept his eyes anywhere but on you.

It was new. And it was… tender, in a way he probably didn’t even realize. And it made your heart stumble.

You parted your lips to say something—finally—but before the words could form, Peacemaker hissed from across the room. “Hey! Stop fucking flirting and let’s get the fuck out of here!”

Both you and Adrian shot him identical glares. Peacemaker ignored them, stomped over to the coffee table, and climbed up on. Without hesitation, he jumped, grabbed the edge of the skylight, and hauled himself up.

“Move!” he hissed down at you. “Cops aren’t waiting for your little rom-com moment!”

Your brows creased at that. Heat flared in your chest, and you opened your mouth, ready to talk back but once again, you didn’t get the chance. “We have an arrest warrant for Christopher Smith! I repeat, come out now with your hands up!” a booming voice barked through a loudspeaker. That was your cue.

You scrambled onto the coffee table. Peacemaker was already crouched above the skylight, arm braced. He reached down toward you, hand outstretched. “Come on!” he hissed.

You grabbed his wrist, and with a grunt he hauled you up through the opening and onto the roof as you steadied yourself beside him. Then you both looked down.

Adrian was still inside—still taping Goff to his side. Carefully. Like the cops weren’t seconds away from busting the door off its hinges. Peacemaker stared at him, baffled. “Dude. What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m taping Goff to me so I have both hands free,” Adrian said defensively. You couldn’t help the tiny smile pulling at your mouth.

You and Peacemaker exchanged a look. You gave him a small shrug. “It’s actually a pretty smart idea,” you chimed in. He rolled his eyes hard enough you were surprised they didn’t fall out.

Before you could say anything else, a thunderous CRACK shook the entire house as the front door buckled under a battering ram. All three of you snapped toward the sound. The doorframe splintered violently, cops shouting orders from the other side as they hit it again.

Adrian jolted into motion, climbing onto the coffee table like the floor had suddenly turned into lava. Peacemaker immediately dropped his arm back through the skylight.

Adrian grabbed his forearm, and Peacemaker yanked him up just as the door downstairs exploded inward, cops flooding into the room with shouts and weapons raised. Adrian tumbled onto the roof beside you in a heap.

Peacemaker followed last, slipping through and quietly pulling the starlight panel shut behind him. The moment it clicked, you and Adrian backed away, inch by inch, keeping low.

Below, the sounds were unmistakable—boots pounding, furniture crashing, officers barking orders as they tore through Peacemaker’s place. They were tossing everything, overturning anything they could get their hands on, desperate to something.

You all ducked low, backing into the far corner of the rooftop. The sounds below were getting louder—cop radios crackling, boots pounding, shouted updates echoing through the house. Your pulse thudded against your ribs.

You glanced to your left and spotted a thick tree branch stretching over the top of the roof. “Hey… what if we climb on that tree?” you whispered.

Peacemaker and Adrian followed your gaze. “Yeah. I’ll go first,” Peacemaker muttered.

He jumped onto the branch, and it creaked under his weight—loud enough to make all three of you wince. Once he was fully on it , Adrian followed, testing each foothold carefully before committing. Then it was your turn.

“Eagly,” Peacemaker hissed again toward the rooftop. Nothing. He tried a soft whistle, and that was his mistake.

A cop below immediately turned toward the sound. All three of you jerked back into the shadows, pressing yourselves against the trunk, breath caught in your throats as the beam swept dangerously close.

You all watched as Eagly finally took off. Then your eyes snapped back to the cop who’d heard the noise. She lifted her radio, murmuring something urgent into it before circling around the trailer. All three of you tracked her with your eyes, breaths held.

“Should we… kill her?” you whispered, hand instinctively finding Adrian’s shoulder for balance. You felt his whole body go rigid beneath your touch.

He turned to look at you—really look—while your gaze stayed locked on the cop. Your other hand slid down to your boot, fingers curling around the handle of your knife.

Peacemaker whipped his head toward you, horrified. “Are you insane? She’s a cop!” he hissed. You and Adrian both scrunched your brows, not fully catching the whisper.

“She’s a cock?” Adrian whispered back, confused. Peacemaker made a deeply disgusted face. “ She’s a cop,” he repeated, teeth clenched.

Adrian let out a heavy sigh—equal parts annoyance and disappointment—and looked toward you. You shot him a disappointed look as you tucked the knife back into your boot.

“We gotta get out of here,” Peacemaker whispered. You glanced past him, your eyes catching on another thick, sturdy branch. “There,” you whispered, pointing.

Both men followed the line of your finger, then looked back at you with the same surprised expression. “How are you so good at this?” Peacemaker muttered, already shifting his weight toward the branch. He eased onto it with a small hop, gripping it tight before glancing back at you and Adrian.

Adrian turned to you, breath visible in the cool air. “You go first,” he said softly, offering you space. You didn’t argue. Instead, you brushed past him, your body grazing his just long enough to feel the warmth beneath his suit. Then you crouched, steadied yourself, and pushed off—landing lightly on the next branch with a soft thud, leaves rustling under your weight.

After Adrian made the jump, the three of you found another branch to stand on—this one a little higher than the last. “Alright, where’s your car?” Peacemaker whispered.

You glanced at him. Right. Your car. Parked seven houses down so no neighbor could swear they’d seen you around here when the news of peacemaker murder was announce but none of that happened since you were interrupted yet again, “We won’t make it in time,” you lied easily.

“What? Fuck.” Peacemaker snapped. “Adrian—where’s your car?” He shifted his gaze to the right. You followed it. Adrian’s expression fell.

“I… Ubered.” Peacemaker blinked. “Why the hell did you Uber?”

“Well, I thought we could get wasted. Tomorrow’s my day off,” Adrian said, almost proudly.

“You literally drank last night,” you muttered at the same moment Peacemaker said, “Get what?”

Adrian sighed dramatically, then decided to demonstrate. He lifted an imaginary cup, tipped it back, and mimed chugging. To sell it, he leaned backward— Too far that branch dipped. Adrian’s foot slipped.

Your instincts kicked in. you lunged forward to grab him, but that only made things worse. His hand shot out, catching your arm in pure panic, and the sudden weight yanked you off balance.

All at once, you and Adrian tumbled off the branch together—a tangle of limbs, panic, plummeting toward the ground. Glass shattered beneath you as you hit the ground. Adrian landed flat on his back with a heavy thud, and you landed squarely on top of him, breath knocked out of your lungs.

You blinked, stunned. Goff’s jar lay in pieces beside you, glittering shards catching the light, But Adrian didn’t look at the jar. He didn’t look at the glass. He didn’t even seem to notice the pain radiating up his spine.

His wide eyes were fixed entirely on you. And in that breathless moment, with chaos crackling in the air around you, it was painfully clear. The fall wasn’t what had his heart racing.

You scrambled to your feet just in time to see Goff shaking off glass and stretching his wings. In a blink, he launched into the air. Your eyes followed the blur of movement—right as the cop rounded the corner, gun raised and aimed directly at you.

“Stay where you are, don’t mo—” She never finished.

Goff darted straight into her open mouth with a wet, horrifying snap. The cop gagged once, eyes bulging, then collapsed backward as the butterfly was forcing its way inside.

You stared in shock, breath caught in your throat, before your gaze dropped to Adrian. He was sitting up now, eyes wide, watching the horror unfold. By then Peacemaker had leapt down from the tree, sprinting toward the cop on the ground who was choking—violently—on Goff.

You and Adrian hurried after him, but you were too late. Goff was already inside her. Blood sprayed from her mouth in a sickening burst as the butterfly burrowed deeper, disappearing completely.

“We’re so fucked,” you whispered, the words barely forming. Before either of them could respond, a shout cracked through the air:

“They’re here!” Another officer—alert, armed, and already sprinting in your direction. You all whipped around at the same time, instincts kicking in before thought. Without a word, everyone bolted toward the woods. Branches whipped past, mud splattering under your boots.

You stayed close, but Adrian and Peacemaker were faster, their silhouettes darting ahead through the trees. The sound of cops shouting behind you filled your ears. it was like they were everywhere, so you panicked. Then thats when the shooting Began.

You risked a glance over your shoulder—two cops were chasing, weapons raised, shouting something you couldn’t make out over the pounding of your heart.

Then came the sharp metallic hiss of a blade being drawn. You snapped your head forward just in time to see Adrian pivot, arm cocked back, knife flashing in his hand. He threw it fast, clean but your timing was terrible.

You ducked—too late—and the knife arced just overhead. A sickening thunk echoed behind you. Adrian’s throw had hit the cop trailing you. You barely had time to register that Adrian had saved your ass again—before your own clumsiness intervened.

Your foot caught a jagged rock. You stumbled forward, arms flailing like a wind-up toy, and face-planted spectacularly onto the ground. Gravel bit into your cheek as you groaned.

Adrian’s eyes went wide. “Shit—!” he shouted, skidding to a stop and spinning back toward you as Peacemaker dove for cover behind a tree.

“I’m sorry!” Adrian yelled, as he was about to run towards you. You began scrambling to get back up, but one cop remained, gun trained squarely on you, stopping Adrian in his tracks.

Adrian and Peacemaker both widened their eyes as they watched the officer move with unnerving precision. “Don’t move!” he yelled at you, the muzzle of his gun locked on the center of your back.

Your body went still, pressed flat against the ground, breath shaking. Slowly, you lifted your hands just a little, fingers trembling. “Get up. Slowly,” the cop ordered, voice cold and steady. “Then turn around.”

You managed a small nod, stealing a quick glance toward Adrian and Peacemaker, who had ducked behind a tree, watching everything unfold from cover.

Your muscles protested as you rose inch by inch, hands still lifted, the weight of the gun trained on you making every movement feel like stepping through glass.

You slowly turned. The cop’s gaze snapped to yours, cold and assessing. “I got one of them,” he said into his radio, eyes never leaving you, finger still near—but not quite on—the trigger. “It’s a girl,” he added.

You squinted, watching every twitch of his hand. One palm was still pressed against the radio; he didn’t even have a full grip on his weapon. Perfect.

You shifted your weight, ready to strike, timing your breath. Then a shrill, high-pitched cry sliced through the air.

Before you could process it, a blur of feathers and fury dropped from the sky. Eagly slammed into the officer’s face with a screech, wings beating wildly as the cop screamed and stumbled back.

You scrunched, face twisting in disgust as he went down hard, Eagly was picking at his face, and eating his eyes. “Gross,” you muttered under your breath.

Adrian and Peacemaker finally burst out from behind the tree, panting like they’d just run a marathon instead of hiding like cowards. They ram to a stop beside you, and you gave them both a flat look. “Thanks for the help, you morons.”

Peacemaker huffed, rolling his eyes as if you were the unreasonable one. “Don’t thank us,” he said, jerking a finger towards eagly. All three of you turned to Eagly—who was still enthusiastically pecking at the cop’s face.

“Thank Eagly,” Peacemaker declared proudly. “He’s the one who saved your ass.” Eagly screeched in triumph, lifting his wings like he expected applause.

“Hey! You three—stop right there!” a voice yelled. All of you whipped around to see four more cops sprinting toward you, guns already raised. “Oh, Great,” you muttered, shoulders slumping. “I’m already tired…”

The officers didn’t wait for a warning. Bullets cracked through the air a heartbeat later, splintering bark and kicking up dirt at your feet.

“Move!” Peacemaker shouted.

You all bolted, adrenaline snapping your legs into motion. You dipped low as you ran, feeling the air hiss past your ears as rounds barely missed. The world blurred—trees, gunshots, your heartbeat pounding like it wanted out of your chest.

The three of you kept running, weaving through the trees, stumbling over roots. A few more cops appeared along the way, but Eagly took them out one by one in a chaotic blur of feathers and screeching. Still, it wasn’t enough.

Because soon, four officers closed in, forming a tight circle around you. Peacemaker bent, scooped up a rock, and hurled it at one of them. It smacked the cop square in the face, making him stumble back. Adrian then pulled out one of his knifes, and threw it at on of the cops chest, and she fell back with a grunt.

There was now two cops left, their guns snapped up, aimed directly at the three of you. Your breath hitched. Instinct took over as your fingers brushed the grip of your own gun, but one of the officers jerked his aim toward you specifically.

“Don’t move!” he yelled. You froze, eyes locked on him, your hand still hovering over your holster. “Move your hand!” he shouted, sharper this time.

Slowly, you did—lifting your fingers away from your weapon. Adrian shot you a quick, worried look, and you felt your chest rising and falling too fast, your lips parted as you tried to steady your breathing. But your eyes stayed fixed on the cop directly in front of you—his gun now trained on Peacemaker, because he was the main target.

Adrian should have been watching the cop about to shoot his best friend. He should have been panicking or Something, but he wasn’t. He was staring at you.

Watching the tiny furrow in your brow, the tension in your jaw, the fear buried under your stubborn determination. You were worried—really worried. And Adrian didn’t understand why. Not when he knew you hated Peacemaker. Not when you acted like you wanted to strangle him half the time. So why were you looking at him like you didn’t want him to die?

Then, suddenly, the crack of a gunshot snapped him back to reality. His attention jerked forward just in time to see a cop collapse, a neat hole punched through the side of his head. Another shot. The second cop dropped beside him.

All three of you whipped around to stare at the man holding the smoking gun—a cop himself. Older. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Something about him was unsettling, he was unsetteling.

“There’s a car up the hill waiting for you three,” he said, voice gravelly and calm, as if he hadn’t just kill two people. You exchanged confused looks, sizing him up.

“Take it and get out of here,” the old man added, stretching his back with a wince. “Who are you?” you asked, unable to hold it in.

He shot you an irritated look. “Do you wanna ask stupid questions, or do you wanna live?” He started walking toward the three of you with slow, heavy steps.

“Which one do you wanna do?” Adrian muttered under his breath. You and Peacemaker turned to stare at him in annoyance.

Peacemaker was the first to turn and run. You glanced back at the man one last time—his expression unreadable—before spinning around and sprinting after Peacemaker with Adrian right beside you.

Behind you, the man approached one of the surviving cops, a woman who was sobbing and begging for her life. He didn’t hesitate and then he shot her. He moved to the other officer, who was already unconscious, and fired again just to be sure. The whole thing felt wrong. He felt wrong.

You all faced forward again, pushing through the trees as fast as your legs would carry you. Branches snapped under your feet. The woods blurred around you until finally, the outline of a car came into view at the top of the hill—exactly where he’d said it would be.

Peacemaker dove into the driver’s seat. Adrian slid into the passenger side, still panting. You climbed into the back with Eagly perched beside you, heart pounding as the engine rumbled to life.

Peacemaker hit the gas, and the car lurched forward. All of you were breathing hard, adrenaline still buzzing beneath your skin. Adrian kept twisting around in his seat every few seconds, eyes darting over the road behind you like he expected the old man to appear out of thin air.

For a while, no one spoke. Even Eagly had settled down, leaning his warm weight against your side. You tensed instinctively, glancing at the big bird before returning your eyes to the road ahead.

Then, out of nowhere, Peacemaker reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. From the front seat, Adrian snapped. “What are you doing?”

“I’m calling Harcourt—” Peacemaker started, but he didn’t get to finish. “No!” Adrian practically lunged across the console and snatched the phone out of his hand.

“What the fuck, dude? No!” Peacemaker yelled as Adrian raised the phone and started slamming it against the dashboard in a panic, each hit ringing through the car like a gunshot.

“No! Fuck, no! Fuck!” Peacemaker screamed, lunging for his phone, but Adrian grabbed his wrist—and, for a split second, looked like he was about to bite him. “No biting! No biting!” Peacemaker yelled, flailing.

You sat in the back, arms crossed, glaring at them like two toddlers fighting over a toy. Then, without warning, Adrian rolled down the window. “They can track these things!” he shouted, and with a decisive flick, sent the phone flying.

“Nooo!” Peacemaker yelled. You caught the phone mid-fall with your eyes as it hit the road, shattering into pieces. You glanced back at Peacemaker. His face was a storm of rage, eyes locked on Adrian.

“You’re welcome, vigilante. For saving my life,” Adrian said casually, leaning back. “It was a secure phone! They can’t fucking track it!” Peacemaker yelled, voice cracking with fury. “Oh.” Adrian’s face fell.

“My bad, then. Sorry, dude. That was pretty messed up on my part,” Adrian said quickly. “Messed up?” Peacemaker exploded. “I had a ton of super-cute pictures of Eagly on there, man! They’re irreplaceable!”

“Oh—sorry, sorry. Sorry, Eagly,” Adrian added quickly, glancing at the eagle. You sat with your arms crossed, watching the two of them spiral. Finally, you pushed forward with a sigh. “You don’t have the cloud or what?”

“I don’t even know what the cloud is!” Peacemaker yelled, whipping his head toward you. “The damn cloud happened while I was in prison! Everyone keeps talking about the fucking cloud. They might as well be talking about neuropsychology or cricket or— I don’t know—Blackpink songs!”

Adrian’s face twisted into pure fear at Peacemaker’s volume, while you just watched, mildly entertained, but bothered by him yelling at you when Adrain was the one who threw his phone.

“Don’t yell at me you fucking dick!” you snapped right back at him “We wouldn’t even be here if you hadn’t held your gun at me for, like, an entire century!”

“We could’ve been out of that shithole in no time, but no! You had to throw a whole fucking fit about killing me!” you shouted. Peacemaker shot you a sharp look through the rear-view mirror—one last warning glare—before he suddenly slammed on the brakes.

Your body lurched forward, catching yourself on the back of his seat. That was it. You snapped. Without thinking, you leaned in and wrapped your arm around his neck from behind, yanking him back just enough to make him choke.

“—HEY—! The fuck?!” Peacemaker wheezed, clawing at your arm as you pulled tighter.

Adrian, in the passenger seat, froze like a terrified meerkat—hands hovering in the air, eyes huge behind his glasses.

“Um—guys? Guys??” he squeaked.

But you weren’t letting go, and Peacemaker wasn’t making it easy. He tried to pry your arm off; you only hooked your elbow deeper.

“Say you’re sorry!” you demanded.

“For what— choking me?!” he rasped.

“For being a dick!”

“I’m not— you started—”

Adrian finally panicked enough to act.He twisted around in his seat, grabbed your wrist with both hands, and tried to peel you off Peacemaker with the strength of a man who had maybe two percent upper-body power.

“Guys—stop! STOP!” he yelled, voice cracking. “No killing each other in the getaway car! That’s a rule! That’s gotta be a rule!”

You loosened just enough for Peacemaker to suck in a breath. Adrian wedged himself between the two of you like some kind of trembling human shield.

“Okay,” Adrian said, holding a hand up to each of you like a kindergarten teacher separating feral children. “Both of you—apologize. Now. Right now. Like adults.”

You locked eyes with Peacemaker in the rear-view mirror, both of you wearing the exact same expression: pure, stubborn refusal. Adrian kept his hands raised between you two like he was handling two live grenades, a nervous sweat already forming along his hairline.

“Say it,” he insisted, voice tight with desperation. Neither you nor Peacemaker moved. Neither breathed. There was no universe where you’d ever apologize to him first. Never

“I’m not apologizing,” you said flatly, crossing your arms as you sank back into your seat. Peacemaker scoffed, rolling his eyes so hard it was a miracle the car stayed on the road. “Great. Cool. Me neither.”

Adrian looked between you both, horrified. “Oh my god—why are you like this?” You snapped your head toward him, disbelief flaring hot in your chest. Your brows pulled together, anger rising fast.

“Why am I like this?” you shot back, voice sharp enough to cut. “Adrian, he killed my brother. So don’t you dare make it sound like I’m the one being unreasonable here.”

The car fell into a hard, heavy silence—thick enough to choke on. Even Eagly seemed to sense it; the eagle shuffled closer on your left and nudged his head gently against your shoulder. You gave him a quick glance, a silent thanks, before a vibration buzzed against your hip.

You pulled your phone from your pocket. A notification from Harcourt lit up the screen: “Meet us at the video store.”

You exhaled, long and steady, then lifted your gaze. Up front, Peacemaker and Adrian sat stiffly, pretending they weren’t occasionally cutting awkward side-glances at each other. You could hear them muttering under their breaths—nonsense, little attempts to fill the unbearable quiet.

“Harcourt says to go to the video store,” you said aloud at last, breaking the tension like snapping a brittle twig. Both men jerked slightly, as if they’d forgotten you were even there.

None of them answered. Peacemaker just shifted in his seat, jaw tight, and turned the key in the ignition. The engine rumbled back to life, loud in the kind of silence that already felt suffocating.

And that was the rest of the car ride—thick, strained quiet, the kind you could probably feel from a mile away. Even the road noise seemed to hush itself, like it didn’t want to get involved.

You stared out the window, but every so often you caught it— Peacemaker glancing at you through the rearview mirror. Quick, sharp looks he snapped away from the moment you turned your head. You weren’t sure if it was guilt or anger or something else he didn’t know how to name. But he kept looking.

But eventually, the car rolled into the parking lot of the video store. The silence didn’t break, not even as you climbed out from the cat. Not even as the three of you walked toward the door in a stiff, awkward formation.

Peacemaker shoved the door open first, practically bursting inside. You and Adrian followed after, side by side, both of you still carrying the weight of the car ride on your shoulders.

“Hey! You have a diary?” Harcourt asked, arms crossed, eyes locked onto Peacemaker. “No,” he shot back immediately, way too fast.

“Well, then someone found one in your trailer,” Murn added from behind the counter, voice flat and unimpressed.

“Bullshit,” Peacemaker barked. “I got a notepad, but I barely ever use it.” He threw a hand through the air, dismissive. “But fuck that. We got a bit of an issue.”

“We know,” Murn said dryly. “You’re a wanted man.” Peacemaker scoffed. “Not that.” A beat of dramatic silence. “Goff got out.”

Everyone stared at him.

“…Goff?” Harcourt repeated, slow. “Yeah! We kept Goff,” Adrian chimed in brightly.

“You kept Goff?” Murn exploded, stepping forward like he might actually throttle one of you.

“Because Peacemaker has masculinity issues,” Adrian added helpfully. “It’s like a knuckle-dick’s tiger.”

Murn blinked. Harcourt sighed. Economos pinched the bridge of his nose, and adebayo kept looking down at the desk like she was avoiding eye contact with anyone.

“I didn’t trust you guys,” Peacemaker argued, crossing his arms defensively. “And I kept him because I wanted answers.”

He jabbed a finger at the air. “And I knew he wasn’t gonna get out.”

You let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Oh, right. Except he did get out. And then crawled into a cop’s mouth. Because of you.” Peacemaker’s expression twisted. “No, Because you and Adrian fell out of a fucking tree and shattered the jar!”

“Yeah? Well maybe you sh—”

“Shut the fuck up!” Murn suddenly shouted.

You and Peacemaker froze mid-argument, turning toward him like kids caught in a middle of a fight. Murn looked done—done with you, done with Peacemaker, done with the entire concept of existing.

The anger in his eyes was molten. “God damn it, you two!” he snapped, jabbing a finger at each of you in sharp, stabbing motions.

Peacemaker stepped forward immediately, shoulders thrown back, jaw tight. “Don’t talk to me like that after you sent Pennywise the fucking clown out there to help us!”

“Locke?” Murn shot back incredulously.

“That psychopath murdered three cops—and one of them was unconscious when he did it!” Peacemaker shouted, stepping even closer, practically chest-to-chest with him now.

The tension thickened, turning the air into something solid and suffocating. Harcourt let out a slow exhale, nose scrunching in irritation. Adrian took a nervous half-step back.

Then—

“Uh… hey, I think I found something,” Economos said, voice cracking with the weight of the moment he was interrupting. Everyone twisted toward him. You immediately shoved past Adrian—who made a small, startled noise as you leaned over Economos shoulder.

On his laptop, you looked at a picture of a white truck. Economos pointed at it with a shaky finger. “I think I know where the raw amber fluid is coming from.”

“This is the truck Adebayo found visiting every three days,” Economos explained, tapping the keyboard with renewed confidence.

Everyone else had crowded behind him—Peacemaker leaning so closely you that you slighly shoved him away. Adrian, meanwhile, stayed across the room with Eagly sitting proudly on a desk beside him. He gently scratched the eagle’s head, trying to look useful.

You glanced his way for a moment… then focused back on the laptop as Economos pulled up a series of grainy security feeds.

On the screen, stop-motion glimpses of the same white truck appeared—gas stations, rural highways, city intersections, warehouse districts. Every angle, every lighting condition. Always the same truck.

“I got access to every security camera and highway cam within a sixty-mile radius,” Economos said, scrolling rapidly. “Then I reversed the route frame by frame to find the truck’s original spot. And it’s consistent. Same path. Same timing. Every few days.”

He clicked one final time.

The map zoomed in on a satellite image. It was a barn. Just a normal looking barn. “It’s listed as Coverdale Ranch,” Economos said. Everyone leaned closer. You narrowed your eyes at the grainy rooftop of the barn, trying to make out details.

“A ranch?” Murn echoed, skeptical.

“I’m guessing the barn is where the amber fluid is coming from,” Economos continued. “That barn isn’t nearly big enough to produce enough to fill those vats every day,” Harcourt cut in, shaking her head.

“Butterflies burrow,” Murn reminded them. “We saw it below the Goff residence.”

“And at Glan Tai—where I kicked that gorilla’s ass and saved all your lives,” Economos added, puffing himself up.

You blinked at him. “Wait… did you actually?”

You’d been knocked out cold during that yesterday. You didn’t see anything past the blur of Adrian knocking you out cold. Economos looked mildly offended. “Uh, yeah. I never got a thank you, by the way.” Peacemaker rolled his eyes so hard they nearly dislocated. Harcourt muttered something like, “Jesus Christ,” under her breath.

“Anyway, the source is underground,” Murn said, his tone clipped as he tried to bring everyone to the original topic. “We destroy their food source, we destroy the butterflies.”

“What? How the hell do we know that?” Peacemaker shot back, frowning. You exchanged a look with him, then both turned toward Murn.

And that’s when you noticed it, a flicker, sorta like hesitation. Murn’s gaze slid sideways, avoiding both of you like the truth was a spotlight. Your brows knit together. You scanned the room—Harcourt wouldn’t meet your eyes either. Adebayo, normally quick to jump in, stared very intently at the floor.

“What the fuck is going on?” Peacemaker demanded, voice rising. “There’s something weird here. You think me, Flag, and Vigilante are too stupid to notice?”

You crossed your arms, watching them. Suddenly Adrian’s voice cut through the tension like a foghorn. “Hey! Everyone, look!” You all turned. He was standing stiffly beside Eagly… striking the exact same pose as the bird.

“Which one’s me and which one’s Eagly?” he asked proudly.

You blinked. Hard.

You caught Harcourts eye from the side, so you looked over at her. She shook her head, and mouthing, ‘An idiot.’ Then she rolled her eyes so far back you thought she might lose them permanently.

Peacemaker sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Okay, you’re half right. But you score fifty percent on a test at school, what do you get? A ‘D.’”

“An F,” Murn, Economos, and Peacemaker said together—Peacemaker realizing his mistake half a second too late.

A dry laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

“F,” Peacemaker repeated grumpily. “All right… school wasn’t my bag. It’s for dorks.”

Adebayo cleared her throat, stepping forward like she’d rather be anywhere else on Earth. “We… have reason to believe the butterflies have a cow.”

Peacemaker’s eyebrows shot up. “A cow?”

“A large animal they milk for amber goo,” Adebayo explained, still avoiding both your eyes. “And there’s only one on the planet. Without it… they’ll die.”

“How do you even know all this shit?” you asked, voice low, suspicious. No one answered. They just stayed silent. Not the kind where no one has an answer, the kind where everyone has the same answer and refuses to say it.

They all avoided your eyes again. Harcourt suddenly found something fascinating on the table. Adebayo pretended her phone was now more important. Even Economos hunched deeper into his chair.

You glanced sideways—and caught Peacemaker already staring at you, jaw tight. “So much for being a fucking team!” he snapped, throwing his hands up.

He wasn’t wrong. This was probably the only time you were ever gonna agree with him, They were acting weird. They knew something, and they weren’t exactly dying to share it with you three.

“Everyone, go do whatever you need to get done. We leave at the break of dawn for Coverdale Ranch to kill the cow,” Murn said abruptly. Then he spun on his heel and disappeared into his office, door slamming shut behind him.

Harcourt stood from her seat without a word. Adebayo followed, eyes glued to the floor. Neither of them offered an explanation. Not even a glance.

You exhaled sharply, as your gaze drifted to Economos. He was typing furiously, his glasses sliding down his nose. He gave you the quickest side-eye before pretending he hadn’t.

“Hey, John,” you said softly, crouching beside his chair with a small smile. He flicked his eyes toward you, then immediately back to the screen, the clicking of keys getting louder—his nervous tell.

“You know something, don’t you?” you asked, quieter this time, almost gentle. Economos shook his head instantly—way too fast—still typing like his life depended on it.

“Uh-huh,” you murmured, watching him with narrowed eyes. “Sure you don’t.” He swallowed and kept typing, but the guilt on his face said everything he wouldn’t.

Then Economos suddenly shot up from his chair, nearly knocking into you and forcing you to step back.

“Oh—I think I hear Harcourt calling me,” he blurted, voice cracking slightly. He shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose, snapped his laptop shut so fast it echoed, and clutched it to his chest like a life raft before speed-walking toward the back of the building.

And just like that, he was gone. Now it was only you, Adrian, and Peacemaker left in the room. “They’re not telling us something,” you said quietly. “Yeah, no fucking shit,” Peacemaker snapped without missing a beat.

You turned your head just enough to look at him—blank expression, unimpressed. “Shut up,” you muttered as you started toward the front door. Peacemaker rolled his eyes dramatically, grumbling something under his breath, and headed toward the back of the building instead.

“Hey—where are you going?” Adrian’s voice called out behind you.

Right. Adrian was still here. He’d been so quiet the whole time, you’d almost forgotten he was still standing by Eagly, who remained perched proudly on the desk.

You turned back to look at him, and he tilted his head slightly, waiting for an answer. “I’m going to go get my car from Chris’s place,” you said, already half-turned toward the door again. “Wait—can I go with you?” Adrian asked quickly.

You stopped, exhaled through your nose, and turned to face him again. He stood there beside Eagly, hands clasped awkwardly in front of him. His eyes were wide behind the glasses—hopeful, nervous, and unmistakably lonely. “Why?” you asked, not harshly, just… tired.

He blinked. “Because everyone’s being weird and secretive and quiet and avoiding eye contact, and you’re, like… not doing that.” He paused, scrunching his nose. “Also, I’m ninety percent sure peacemaker doesn’t actually want me following him around.”

“I don’t think it’d be a good idea having you walk around in your Vigilante outfit,” you said, giving him a pointed look. “You stand out like… a lot, and you're sorta on the wanted list in town.”

Adrian looked down at himself, then back up at you, genuinely surprised. “I do?”

“Yes,” you deadpanned.

He nodded slowly, absorbing that. Then his eyes suddenly lit up, like a switch flipped in his head. “Oh! We can go to my place first,” he said, snapping his fingers. “I have regular-people clothes there." You gave him a look, and he hurried on.

“Plus it’s not far,” he added, walking towards you. “We can swing by my place, I’ll change, and then we can take my car to go pick up yours. It'll be quick and easy." His face brightened with that last line, like he was genuinely proud of the plan.

It was a good plan… objectively. But it also meant you’d be alone with him again—this time sober. And Adrian talked. A lot. With zero filter. And you were absolutely not in the mood for a spontaneous long conversation about facts and things that his brain latched onto.

Still, you sighed and gave in. “Sure, Adrian. Sounds good,” you said, the dryness in your tone impossible to miss. He didn’t seem to notice. Or he did—and was just too delighted that you agreed to care.

Eagly let out a soft chirp as you and Adrian stepped out of the building, the air colder than you expected. The door clicked shut behind both of you, leaving the lingering tension of the team inside.

As you walked on the side walk now, following Adrian's directions. Adrian stayed half a step in front of you—like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to walk beside you or if that would be weird.

“So…” he said carefully, “do you think they’re hiding something big? Like—big big?”

You didn’t answer right away. Your mind snagged—caught on Harcourt’s eyes refusing to meet yours, on Murn’s clipped tone, on Adebayo’s sudden interest in absolutely anything that wasn’t your face. Something about all of it felt wrong, deeper than a simple omission. “Oh yeah,” you said, finally .

Adrian nodded slowly, brows pulling together behind his glasses. “Cool, cool, cool. So we’re in deep shit.”

You hummed. “Probably.”

You both slipped into a calm quiet—not awkward, not heavy. Just… quiet. Adrian walked a few paces ahead, hands fidgeting at his sides, glancing back at you every so often just to make sure you were still there.

One of those times, your eyes met. Just for a second. He jerked his head forward so fast you were honestly surprised he didn’t give himself whiplash.

A tiny, unwilling smile tugged at your lips. God, he was so awkward sometimes—tripping over his own reactions, flinching at eye contact, scrambling for words that weren’t even hard to say.

But Adrian wasn’t always like that. You’d seen him run his mouth a lot with peacemaker, and he never hesitated, never stuttered, never second-guessed himself. It just… didn’t happen.

Except around you.

You’d been too distracted—too wrapped up in your own irritation, your own problems, your own everything—to notice the pattern. Adrian only ever got like this around you.

Adrian actually startled, shoulders jumping the moment he realized you were suddenly beside him. “Oh—uh—hey,” he blurted, like you hadn’t been walking in the same direction for minutes. “I didn’t… I mean, I thought you needed your space.”

“Yeah, well,” you muttered, eyes fixed ahead, “you kinda took that when you decided to tag along.” It came out sharper than you meant. You heard it too late to pull it back.

He nodded quickly, then slowed his steps just slightly to match yours—like it was instinct. He didn’t talk back, surprisingly. You exhaled softly. “Sorry.”

He turned his head, genuinely confused. “For what?” You met his eyes for a beat—just long enough to feel something warm twist in your chest—before you looked away again. “For being… you know.” You shrugged, shoulders tense. “Rude. Or whatever.” Your voice lost its edge at the end, softer than you intended.

Adrian blinked at you, like he was trying to process the idea of you apologizing at all. “Rude?” he repeated, eyebrows lifting. “You’re not rude. You’re—”

He stopped himself, lips pressing together awkwardly before he looked forward again. You narrowed your eyes slightly. “I’m what?”

He shook his head a little too fast. “Nothing. It’s just… you’re dealing with a lot. And Peacemaker yelling and everyone being weird and—” His voice dipped. “Rick.”

Your step faltered. Hearing his name out loud again felt like someone sliding a knife right under your ribs. It was a trigger—raw and violent, so bad that your lungs stalled, your throat tightened, and for a split second it felt like the ground tilted underneath you.

Adrian noticed immediately, hands hovering uselessly at his sides like he wanted to reach out but wasn’t sure if he was allowed. “I just meant,” he said gently, “it makes sense you’re on edge. Anyone would be. He was your brother."

You exhaled slowly, eyes fixed on the sidewalk as it passed beneath your feet. “Yeah. Well. Still didn’t give me the right to snap at you.”

“Sure it did,” Adrian replied with a casual shrug. “I mean, you are really rude, but… I get it. I get you.”

Your chest tightened at that—at how sincere he sounded—though you still let out a small laugh at the way he delivered the insult like it was just a fact of nature.

“Oh—look. We’re here,” Adrian said suddenly, straightening as he stared ahead. You followed his gaze and blinked. His neighborhood. Already. The walk had felt short—almost too short—and you hadn’t even noticed the shift from cracked sidewalks to quiet residential streets.

“Just a heads up,” he said as you two headed toward a modest two-story house, “my mom is a total biatch.” You huffed a dry laugh. “Don’t talk about your mother like that.” He glanced at you, dead serious. “No, really. You’ll see.”

You stopped dead in your tracks, boots scraping lightly against the pavement. Adrian was already a few steps ahead before he noticed the sudden absence of footsteps behind him and turned.

“Wait—I’m going inside?” you blurted, eyes widening.

He blinked at you like he genuinely didn’t understand the question. “Mmh… well, yeah.” He gestured vaguely at the air around you. “It’s kinda cold out here, mmh?”

Before you could argue, he was already pushing open the front door. The hinges squeaked loud enough to announce your presence to the entire house. He held the door open with an earnest little nod—like he really expected you to walk through it.

You just stared at him for a beat, your pulse ticking faster at the idea of stepping into his actual living space, and to meet his mom. He lifted his brows, waiting. “Come on,” he whispered.