****

Pain does not humiliate. Fear humiliates.

Erich Maria Remarque

****

Returning to the place once called home turned out to be painfully disorienting.

The luxury of the penthouse, which just a few months ago seemed natural and familiar to Kaylie, now appeared in a completely different light — too bright, too pompous, too alien. As if she, like a screw from an old machine, had been bolted onto a completely different engine and now felt like an unnecessary part in the flawlessly tuned mechanism of an absolutely foreign life.

"I didn't think I'd ever have to drag you home by force," Sylus noted with a hint of disappointment, pulling her by the hand.

"I... I was walking on my own," Kaylie muttered to his back, feeling ashamed.

You're lying, Kix.

After all, she was trailing behind him like a real beaten puppy who knew she deserved the corresponding punishment.

Making matters worse was the fact that Sylus was purposefully towing her into his bedroom — the holy of holies, where she always found it hard to gain access due to the unspoken rules he had set himself.

Though when she was sixteen and was just a wild little animal to everyone, without a hint of femininity, such restrictions hadn't existed at all. She used to often crawl into his bed during nightmares or just when she was bored, and Sylus, though he grumbled about boundary violations, still let her under his wing.

But now it felt somehow wrong, inappropriate: invading the place where that other woman had once been. The hunter who, for an indefinite period, had completely ousted Kaylie from her role as his loyal assistant.

The thought of Aria, who had slept in this bed, worn his clothes, and drank coffee from his mug, made Kaylie's stomach clench painfully.

Kaylie tried to stop, her fingers digging into the doorframe:

"Boss, maybe it's better to talk in the living room?" her voice squeaked as innocently as possible. "Or in the study? I don't need to..."

"You need to go where I tell you," Sylus cut her off without even turning around. "Or have you forgotten who makes the decisions here?"

A tone that brokered no objections, a tone that made her straighten a non-existent dog tail and submissively listen, a tone that choked her fear in its infancy because Sylus's orders were always more important.

Slowly unclenching her fingers, she obediently followed him, even though every step took immense effort.

The bedroom greeted them with the dim light of nightstands and the familiar scent of her personal heaven — a mix of Sylus's expensive cologne, tart leather, and the faint notes of a perfume that clearly didn't belong to him.

Kaylie instinctively sniffed the air and felt her stomach twist into a familiar knot of painful jealousy.

She was here.

Slept in his bed, breathed the same air, saw his face when he woke up...

"Where is she?" slipped out before Kaylie could stop herself. "Aria. Is... is she still...?"

When Sylus finally turned to her, something akin to surprise flashed in his red eyes:

"Aria? She hasn't been here for a month. I took her back to the hunters right after it became clear that we couldn't... work together."

"Couldn't work together?" Kaylie echoed, feeling something inside freeze like arctic ice.

"The resonance of our Evol didn't work," he explained dryly, as if reporting the failure of some contract. "The experiment failed."

An experiment.

Those words destroyed Kaylie's internal world with the precision of a thermonuclear explosion. So, she would have just been a temporary replacement in case his fling with the hunter didn't work out.

A backup plan.

Plan B, pulled from the back drawer when Plan A falls through.

The pain was so sharp that it took her breath away for a moment. All these months she had suffered from jealousy, from images of Sylus together with Aria, and now it suddenly turned out the circumstances were even worse than she had imagined.

Moreover — Kix finally understood her true position in Sylus's life.

"I want to leave," she squeezed out in a cracked voice.

The disappointment in herself was all-consuming — how could she have followed him like a stupid puppy, knowing he was using her as a consolation prize? How could she have believed that there could be something real between them?

Without taking his suddenly darkened eyes off her, Sylus slowly tilted his head, and something in his movements sent her atrophied survival instincts into a red alert.

"You want to leave?" he repeated with that deceptive softness in his voice that always preceded a coming storm. "Interesting. And where exactly are you planning to go?"

He took a step toward her, then another. Kaylie instinctively backed away, the old habit of submitting to his will forcing her to retreat even when her mind screamed to resist, until her knees hit the edge of the bed frame.

"To my room," she muttered. "Just to my room, nowhere else."

"But you specifically said you wanted to leave me," he continued cornering her until there were only a few pathetic centimeters between them. "Again."

Frightened and aroused by this proximity, Kaylie tried to pull away but lost her balance and awkwardly fell on her back onto the bed.

"Then... then I'll find another place," she stuttered, frantically trying to scramble off the soft mattress.

But Sylus was already there, his strong hand swiftly grabbing her ankle and demandingly jerking her toward him, forcing her to fall back with a very obvious suggestion to lie down and not move.

Panic washed over her completely.

What is even happening? This didn't look at all like the punishment she had expected. Unpleasant but easily treatable beatings, ruthless revocation of all privileges, extra work or a transfer to the archives — anything but... this.

However, Sylus was already taking off his jacket, carelessly hanging it on the back of a nearby armchair.

"I spent a lot of time thinking about exactly how to punish you," he shared thoughtfully, loosening his tie. "Beat you? Too rough. Make you sleep by the welcome mat and treat you like a disobedient puppy? Too soft. And then I realized..."

Under the weight of Sylus climbing onto the bed, the mattress dipped slightly, and that quiet, barely audible creak seemed to snap her out of her bad trance, making her push off the bed with her hands and try to crawl backward until he grabbed her ankle in an iron grip.

"Realized what?" she asked hoarsely.

"That the best punishment for a disobedient puppy is to remind her who she belongs to," he answered, leaning over her.

Devilish sparks danced in his crimson eyes, and the smile on his chiseled face grew even more predatory, exactly how predators must look at their prey before tearing into their throat.

"I'm not your puppy!" she snapped, though her voice trembled with nerves.

"No?" he mockingly tilted his head, as if examining a valuable exhibit. "Then why did you willingly throw yourself into my arms at the first opportunity? Why did you cry and beg for forgiveness? Why did you promise never to run away again?"

Every question was a precise strike to the most painful spots of her pride. Yes, yes, she was a total doormat, but he didn't have to throw it in her face!

"Because I'm an idiot!" she shouted angrily. "Because, alas, I'm such a stupid fool that I just can't see that to you, I'm nothing more than a toy for your entertainment!"

"Oh, but you're wrong," his voice softened, turning almost tender. "I'm not playing with you, Kix. I'm training you."

Before she could ask what exactly he was going to train her in, pinning her to his own bed with his body, Sylus grabbed the collar of her dark jumpsuit and sharply ripped it aside. The fabric gave way with the characteristic sound of a long, pitiful tear, exposing the creamy-white skin of her bared breasts, as Kaylie never wore a bra under her work clothes — it was simply impractical in the workshop.

One second... Two...

And instantly blushing the color of a tomato, Kaylie let out something between a squeal and a whimper, instinctively trying to cover herself with her hands, but Sylus, to her deepest shame, was faster, intercepting both her wrists and pinning them above her head into the pillow.

"No need to be shy," he purred, shamelessly examining her chest. "You have beautiful breasts. I've always noticed that."

Her face flushed even harder, ready to burst into flames from the overwhelming embarrassment and something else. Something hot and pleasantly pulsing low in her stomach, because remaining indifferent was simply beyond all her strength.

After all, Sylus...

Her boss, her god, the subject of all her secret fantasies.

...was looking at her naked body and giving her the most generous compliments of her entire life.

"Sylus," she exhaled quietly. "What are you doing?"

"What I should have done a long time ago," he answered simply, taking the untied tie off his neck while still holding her wrists with his other hand. "Showing you your place."

The silk fabric of the red tie wrapped around her wrists like a venomous snake. The knot wasn't too tight, but strong enough that she couldn't free herself.

"Why?" Kix blinked rapidly, tugging at her bound hands.

"Because you forgot who the master is here," he smirked, leaning back slightly to admire his work. "Three months of freedom completely went to your stupid head."

His hungry red gaze slid over her chest with blatant, almost possessive lust, making her skin break out in another hundred goosebumps. He was entirely too focused, entirely too pleased.

"Tell me," Sylus demanded, looking straight into her eyes. "Did you think about me on those cold nights in your dirty workshop? Did you imagine me touching you? Taking you as my woman, which you, my dear, have always been?"

The question was direct and ruthless, and Kaylie felt her face flush even brighter.

Because yes, she had thought about it.

Every single night.

Every damn day.

She imagined his hands on her body, his lips on her skin, his voice whispering dirty words in her ear.

"No," she lied, and her voice trembled from the sheer amount of deceit in one word.

"Liar," Sylus reprimanded softly. "Good puppies don't lie to their masters."

Sylus's large palm slid to her breast, squeezing the innocent pink peak, making her gasp from the electric shock that shot through her whole body.

"I'm not a puppy!" Kaylie cried out, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Then who are you?" he leaned even lower, reducing the distance between their faces to an absolute minimum. "My subordinate? My secretary? My... what?"

Kaylie opened her mouth to answer, but the words got stuck in her throat like a heavy lump.

Who was she to him? What did she mean? And did she even want to know the truth, no matter how bitter it might be?

"I..." she started uncertainly.

His fingers twisted her nipple, his other hand flicking the bud that had hardened from the stimulation, making her treacherously arch her back from the pressure of such a caress, giving herself away completely.

"You are mine," Sylus finished for her with absolute certainty. "Completely. Unconditionally. From your fingertips to your most intimate thoughts. My property, my toy, my... pet."

He said that last word with a special intonation. One that made the muscles low in her stomach tighten from a dark, shameful arousal shooting through her entire body, completely scrambling her thoughts.

"And do you know what happens to pets who run away from their masters?" he continued, biting the lobe of her reddened ear.

"What?" Kix licked her lips in anticipation.

Sharp teeth clamped down on her ear harder, biting the skin, making a moan tear from her throat that was simultaneously a parched plea and a hot protest. Her body betrayed her mind, immediately reacting to his every predatory movement, every commanding word, every uninvited look.

"They get punished," his breath on her neck made her shudder with pleasure. "Taught obedience. Shown their place."

The jumpsuit obediently gave way to the pressure of his Evol, which enveloped her whole body in a dark red mist that turned the remains of her clothes into tiny scraps, leaving her completely naked, covered only by the thin material of her black panties.

The total vulnerability and equally total perversion created a strange mix, driving all coherent thoughts from her head.

"You've lost weight," he noted, running a finger along her ribs. "Weren't eating well in your dirty hole?"

"I didn't have an appetite," Kaylie confessed honestly, involuntarily arching into the aftershock of his touches. "I couldn't eat when... when you weren't around..." and deciding that buttered him up enough, added a pleading: "P-please, Sylus..."

"Oh, now you're begging?" he teased her. "And what exactly is your request, my dear Kix?"

Logically, she knew what her body craved so badly.

She wanted him to keep touching her at the same commanding, confident pace, to not stop even if she begged him to, to finish what he had started without cutting it all off on the cruelest note.

But saying it out loud was beyond her strength.

"I... I don't know."

"Then let me decide for you," moving down to her thigh, he squeezed it with an immovable force. "After all, the master always knows what's best for his pet."

His fingers slipped even lower, to the most sensitive spot, tearing an almost animalistic whimper from her throat. The desire scorching her from head to toe grew more unbearable with every passing minute, because she craved more.

More touches.

More contact.

More... Sylus.

"Just like that," he whispered approvingly, digging his hungry gaze into her. "See how simple it is? Your master just has to touch you, and you turn into a trembling, moaning bitch."

The word hit her worse than any slap, but instead of the expected outrage, it only brought even more arousal.

Because it was the truth.

Next to him, she really did become a bitch — wet to the point of utter vulgarity, ready for absolutely anything, and most importantly, desperately craving his attention, his touches, his approval.

"Say it," he demanded, pushing several fingers at once into her wet passage. "Say what you are."

"I... I'm yours," Kaylie forced out, entirely capitulating.

"Who exactly?" he pushed her for more. "Come on, use your words, Kix."

"Your... your bitch," she exhaled, shuddering from a mix of self-humiliation and arousal. "I'm your bitch, Master."

"Good girl," Sylus praised, rewarding her with more insistent caresses. "Now show me how much you missed your master."

The wet sounds of her own body reacting to the intrusion of his fingers struck her like lightning from a clear sky. She cried out not from pain, but from an unbearable relief mixed with a shameful greed. The walls of her vagina pulsed, desperately clenching around his long, divine fingers, which she had dreamed of countless nights in Gunner's dirty workshop.

"So wet and tight," he muttered with mocking admiration, adding a third finger, watching how readily she took him. "I wonder how long you abstained from sex, thinking only of me?"

Kaylie cried out, pressing her face into her shoulder.

Even three of his long, skillful fingers were agonizingly... not enough. Her body demanded more — it wanted to be filled completely, wanted to feel his weight, his strength, his total possession.

But her bound hands didn't allow her to reach for him, pull him closer, to beg for more with her body.

"Sylus, p-please," she whispered, squirming on the silk sheets in an attempt to impale herself deeper onto his fingers. "Untie me... I... I want to touch you..."

"Why?" his low voice let out a mocking chuckle above her. "So you can run away again at the first opportunity?"

"No!" Kix exclaimed fiercely. "I will never... never run away again! I swear!"

"The oaths of a runaway puppy aren't worth much," he noted, slowing the pace of his hand's thrusts. "I need guarantees."

She felt like a musical instrument in the hands of a virtuoso musician who knew every string of her fallen flesh, flowing just from his existence. Kaylie felt her mind fog over with pleasure, felt the last remnants of her pride dissolve under the onslaught of his skillful caresses.

The caresses of her precious, magnificent god.

"What... what guarantees?" she breathed out between moans.

"Show me how deeply you regret your escape," Sylus demanded, withdrawing his fingers to her deep moan of righteous disappointment. "Beg me to forgive you. Beg the way an arrogant little puppy should."

The emptiness inside became unbearable.

Kaylie fidgeted on the bed, trying to rub against his thigh, against anything, to get back that delicious sensation of being filled. But Sylus kept his distance, watching her torment with almost sadistic satisfaction.

"I... I'm sorry," she babbled. "I'm so sorry I ran away. It was truly stupid."

"Not convincing enough," he shook his head in disappointment. "Try again. And this time, speak as if you actually understand the scale of your guilt."

The humiliation burned from the inside almost as much as the unsatisfied desire. But Kaylie was ready for anything just to have him keep touching her, just so he wouldn't leave her in this eternal torture of slow anticipation.

"I b-beg you, forgive me!" swallowing a bitter lump, she uttered with a broken sob. "Forgive me for being such an ungrateful bitch! For running away from the best to the absolute worst! I'm not worthy of your forgiveness, but I beg you... I beg you, give me a chance to make it right!"

"Better," Sylus finally looked at her approvingly, with the air of a school teacher evaluating a stubborn student's answer. "But you have to show me what you're willing to do to stay right now."

He touched her again, but this time his movements were slow, teasing, truly agonizing. Kaylie shuddered anew, trying to impale herself deeper, moving her tense hips as if they weren't throbbing with pain every passing second, but he controlled every touch, so all her efforts were useless.

"Anything!" she shouted without a second thought. "Absolutely anything! Use me however you want! Do whatever you want to me! Just don't throw me away!"

Dangerous sparks danced in the red depths staring down at her.

"Anything?" he asked her quietly. "Even if I want you to crawl on all fours? To eat from a bowl on the floor? To wear a collar with my name?"

Every word was a blow to her pride, but Kaylie willingly nodded at every command, feeling salty tears continuously streaming down her face:

"Yes! Yes, anything! Just don't leave me!"

"Good girl," Sylus softened. "Now I see that you've truly understood your mistake."

Untying his tie around her wrists took barely a couple of seconds before she was finally freed, immediately reaching for him, wrapping her arms around his neck to pull herself forward.

When their lips met in a desperate and heated kiss, there was incomparably more hunger in it than tenderness. Slipping her tongue into his mouth, she tasted expensive whiskey and something dangerous — the taste of Sylus himself. That taste made her head spin completely, though perhaps the throbbing between her legs was growing more because his fingers had mercifully returned to her moisture-slicked vagina.

She threw her head back, arching into a smooth curve, gasping from the tearing sounds of the pleasure bestowed upon her. The white flash that washed over her consciousness wiped everything away — the shame, the fear, the pride — leaving behind only pure, primal bliss.

"Boss," Kix whispered hoarsely, gradually coming to her senses.

"What?" removing his hand, Sylus extended his fingers, slick with her love juices, to her mouth. "Want to taste yourself?"

A command, not a question, given in a tone that brokered no arguments.

Kaylie obediently opened her mouth, wrapping her bitten lips around his fingers, licking her own moisture off them. The taste was salty, slightly tart, and the realization that she was doing something outrageously dirty and perverted made her breath catch all over again.

"Look what a beautiful whore you can be for your master," Sylus approved of this undeniably provocative picture, watching her tongue greedily slide around his fingers, sucking them in along with her saliva when he pulled them away.

She was still re-learning how to exist in a world where her boss touched her not like a useful tool or an amusing puppy, but like coveted prey, when she felt a slight shift in space. Foreign hands unnoticeably grabbed her lower back, lifting her hips, and before Kaylie could process what was happening, the sensation of a wet and entirely too perfect touch of a tongue overtook her.

Sylus's tongue.

Inside her.

God bless her.

Kaylie's teary eyes snapped wide open, her spine abruptly straightening—or rather, failing to do so, because in a panic she grabbed his silver locks, trying to stop what felt absolutely wrong to her.

Because... because he couldn't do this.

He was her boss.

Her master.

Her Sylus.

He couldn't... couldn't humiliate himself like this in front of her. No. Especially not in front of someone like her. It was her honorable prerogative — to be humiliated, to be on her knees, to be the dust beneath his feet.

"Hands," was all he said in response, not tearing himself away from his task.

"B-but... you can't!" Kaylie objected stubbornly, perhaps squeezing the short strands of his hair too roughly in an attempt to crawl away despite the iron grip on her bare thighs. "You can't! Please... I-it's better if you let me... Don't humiliate yourself like this..."

How could she allow herself to taint the body of her god?

"Kaylie," for the first time all evening, an annoyed Sylus called her by her full name, pulling back just enough to look her in the eyes. "Hands. Right now."

It was the voice of a man accustomed to unquestioning obedience, and even in a situation as intimate as this, his power over her remained absolute.

Reluctantly and with almost pathetic slowness, Kaylie finally unclenched her fingers, freeing his hair, even though her whole body trembled from the conflict gnawing at her from the inside.

On one hand — the habit of thoughtlessly submitting to his every word. On the other — a deeply rooted conviction that she was unworthy of such treatment.

"But Boss, I'm... I'm just your puppy," Kix whimpered pleadingly. "How could you even..."

"Shut up," Sylus cut her off roughly, without a trace of real anger, but rather a condescending, almost tender annoyance. "And lie still. Or do you want me to tie you up again?"

The threat worked instantly.

Kaylie froze, nervously digging her fingers into the silk sheets beneath her, and tried to relax. But it was impossible — every cell of her body tensed in anticipation of the continuation, while her mind frantically darted between ecstasy and a feeling of her own worthlessness.

But when Sylus returned to the interrupted task, Kaylie almost choked on her own sob. Sylus's tongue was terrifyingly skillful, demanding, and ruthlessly methodical in its drive to push her to the edge of madness. He found every sensitive spot, every place where a mere touch turned her into a pitifully whimpering ball of perverted emotions.

"Sy... Sylus," she moaned, throwing her head back onto the pillow. "This... this is wrong... I should... I should be serving you, not..."

"You are serving me," he mumbled against her wet passage, and the vibration of his voice made her shudder involuntarily. "You're serving me by letting me do whatever I want to you."

The logic was flawless in its perversion.

Kaylie felt the last remnants of her resistance melt under the onslaught of his cold reasoning and exhausting caresses.

If Sylus wanted to do this — then it was right. If it brought him pleasure to see her in such a pathetic state — then she had to accept it. That was her philosophy of servitude, taken to an ironclad absolute.

"Finally stopped thinking and started feeling," Sylus "rejoiced" at the complete shutdown of all her muscles.

The entire world shrank to the size of this luxurious bed, to the space between her legs where sweet magic was happening.

"Boss, I... I'm close..." Kix's voice broke on a high note. "V-very close..."

Sylus smirked — she felt that enticing movement of his lips with her own hole clenching around him — and abruptly stopped. Kaylie let out a long moan of disappointment, almost a cry, when the desired release slipped away at the very last moment.

"No," she pleaded, writhing in sweet languor, trying to catch his eye. "Please, don't stop... I've been good, I listened to you..."

"Listened?" Sylus propped himself up on his elbows, licking the residual moisture off his lips. "You tried to stop me. Grabbed my hair. Said I shouldn't be doing this."

"I... I just didn't understand," Kaylie babbled helplessly, awkwardly trying to justify herself. "I thought I was unworthy..."

"And who said you get to decide what you can or cannot be worthy of?" he slowly crawled up her body, leaving a trail of scorching kisses on her stomach, in the cleavage of her plump breasts, on her sharply defined collarbones.

Every kiss was like a brand, marking her as his property, and she would have truly been glad for it if it didn't mean the end of another, much... sweeter branding.

"No one said that," she whispered. "I put it in my own head..."

"Exactly," Sylus hummed, reaching her neck and biting the tender skin with such a sharp movement that her voice broke into a painful scream. "You decided for yourself that you knew best. Decided you could judge your master's desires. Very presumptuous for a mere dog, don't you think?"

The bite was hard enough to leave a mark — a dark bruise that would serve as a reminder of his ownership for days to come. Kaylie sobbed, burning in the aftermath of the pain descending upon her, and realized that she wanted more of those marks. Wanted her whole body to be covered in the traces of his teeth and lips.

"Forgive me," Kix begged tearfully, turning her head to give him better access to her neck. "I won't decide for you anymore. I promise."

"The promises of a trained bitch," Sylus muttered thickly, shifting to the other side of her neck to reward her with a softer bite, or maybe just a hickey. "What are they even worth?"

"I'll prove it!" Kaylie exclaimed with desperate conviction. "Give me a chance to prove I've learned my lesson!"

"Alright," Sylus dropped a pleased chuckle, and...

What happened next erased everything else from her mind.

Sylus attacked the most intimate place in her body with such intensity that she choked on a scream. He varied the rhythm and intensity, at times bringing her almost to the peak of pleasure, then pulling back, forcing her to balance on the fragile edge of forbidden delight.

Waves of pleasure rolled in one after another, each stronger than the last, until she felt she was about to plunge into the abyss of her own personal little void.

"Sylus!" she screamed when the final wave crashed over her head.

The world around her exploded in white light.

Every cell inside her literally shuddered from the tsunami crashing down on them, every nerve burned from a very real sensory overload. She arched so hard she almost lifted off the bed, choking on the syllables of his name, curses, and sacred prayers.

Sylus kept caressing her even as the orgasm reached its peak, stretching the pleasure out until she weakly started pushing him away, unable to bear any more stimulation. Only then did he finally bother to pull back, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction at the sight of Kaylie splayed across his bed, dying in the most beautiful sense of the word.

"Beautiful," he murmured, running a finger over her wet lips. "You cum so beautifully, my sweet Kix."

Kaylie couldn't answer: her breathing hadn't recovered yet, her mind was a watery vacuum separating her from the real world and the world of hellish lust. She felt emptied and simultaneously filled in ways that felt not just wrong, but monstrous. When Sylus asked something — she didn't even catch what it was — only a pitiful moan tore from her throat, something between a plea and a note of gratitude.

"More," she exhaled, not realizing she was speaking out loud. "Please, more..."

And he gave her more.

Even though her body was ready — entirely too shamelessly wet and greedily spread open for him — Sylus's imposing size still made her shudder from the painful stretch. He entered slowly, as if giving her time that didn't exist, keenly tracking every change in her face, every sob tearing from her mouth.

When he was about halfway in, Kaylie screamed, instinctively trying to get away from the overly intense sensations, but there was nowhere to run — his hands held her hips firmly, and she was clenching around him far too tightly for any real resistance, only coaxing him, begging him to go even deeper.

"Wait," she pleaded, squeezing her eyes shut so tight a fresh stream of tears broke through. "Give me... give me one second..."

Sylus smirked — a low, pleased sound that made something inside her clench even harder.

"A breather?" he repeated with a mocking softness. "After a three-month escape, you're asking me for a breather?"

Before Kaylie could voice any objection, his hands shifted to her buttocks, gripped them tight, and jerked her towards him, burying himself even deeper. She felt him stretch her to her absolute limit, filling her so completely it felt like — one more second, and she would simply tear in half in the vice of his mighty arms.

The sensation was overwhelming: she felt pierced all the way through, split in two, conquered by his size and strength with no chance of recovery. And at the same time — painfully right, as if she had been waiting her whole life for this exact moment.

"That's better," Sylus muttered with sadistic satisfaction, leaning close to her face. "Now you look exactly how my little bitch is supposed to look."

That signature predatory smile played on Sylus's lips, the one that was always a harbinger of a torturous death for any enemies. But not for her. For her, it was the smile of a god deigning to touch his mortal.

"Sylus!" she howled, digging her nails into his back so hard she probably left bloody streaks behind.

"Yes, exactly like that," he approved, setting a steady rhythm. "Scream my name. Let everyone know who you belong to."

Every movement was torture and bliss all at once. Her body desperately resisted the intrusion, while simultaneously greedily wrapping around him, unwilling to let go. Kaylie felt broken, slaughtered, defeated — and wasn't that what true happiness was all about?

She saw him from the depths of her submission — a formidable figure towering over her like an unshakable titan. His silver hair was disheveled from sweat and the heavy breathing rocking his chest, his red eyes burning with the triumphant fire of a victor. He was the embodiment of strength and power, a deity who had come down to her to bestow an inexpressible pleasure.

And she could touch him.

For the first time in her life, Kaylie was so close to her deity, felt his presence next to her so vividly, that she couldn't believe the reality of what was happening.

Fingers trembling with adoration traced his chest, exploring every line of muscle under the pale skin, every scar left by countless battles. It felt like touching living marble — cold at first glance, but radiating a sophisticated internal heat.

Kaylie was broken, yet at the same time she couldn't help but triumph — she had achieved this, waited for the moment he would want her not as a tool, but as a woman. Even if it came at the cost of humiliation and total submission.

"I'm finally home," she whispered, running her palms over his shoulders, surprised by her own boldness.

Crimson eyes looked down at her with an expression she couldn't fully decipher. They held satisfaction, possessiveness, but there was something else too — something almost tender, hidden behind the familiar mask of a hungry predator.

"Home," Sylus repeated, leaning lower and biting the lobe of her ear, still recovering from the previous bite. "And you will never leave again. I'll make sure of it."

It wasn't a promise, it was a threat.

But that didn't scare Kaylie — quite the opposite, a warm feeling of total security spread inside her. He wouldn't let her leave. Wouldn't let her do anything stupid again. He would keep her by his side, where she belonged, on a leash if necessary, just like disobedient puppies should be kept.

She understood this truth with a sudden clarity that pierced her mind like a myriad of stars the moment a new jolt of sharp pleasure consumed her entire core. Her internal muscles began to spasm around him, wringing his own orgasm out of him, which manifested as hot, rough thrusts filling her to the brim, claiming her as his property.

"Sylus!"

A white haze blinded her, and the only anchor in this chaos of sensations was Sylus's body above her, his hands moving to her waist, his heavy breathing at her ear. Kix clung to him with all her might, terrified of losing this perfection, terrified he would push her away right now and say the demonstration lesson was over.

But Sylus didn't pull away. Instead, he slowly dropped down onto his elbows, pressing his entire body against hers, and for a while they just lay there — tangled up, breathing heavily, but still connected in the most primitive and savage way.

Kaylie focused on this moment of intimacy, admiring the shine of his silver hair in the dim light of the bedroom. The sweat beading on his forehead made the strands darker, giving them an almost metallic glint, and a few unruly locks fell across his forehead, giving him an unexpectedly vulnerable look.

She swallowed the lump forming in her throat and shuddered when Sylus, still deep inside her, ran his knuckles across her cheek with an unprecedented tenderness.

"Why are you crying?" he asked hoarsely.

Kaylie blinked absentmindedly, as if only just now noticing the wetness running down her face. Touching the tear tracks on her cheeks with her fingers, she let out a quiet laugh: a sound full of genuine amazement and some childish delight.

"Probably because I..." she caught his hands and pressed a gentle kiss to each, leaning her cheek against his warm skin with a dizzyingly happy smile. "...am finally reunited with my master."

The words sounded simple, completely devoid of shame or even a second's hesitation.

There was such sincerity in them, such genuine joy, that Sylus froze for a moment, intently studying her face. Something fleeting flashed in his red eyes — surprise? Tenderness? Or just the satisfaction of seeing his power affirmed?

"Your master," he repeated slowly, as if tasting the words. "Interesting phrasing."

Kaylie felt a spike of anxiety — had she said the wrong thing? But before the fear could grow and turn into sheer panic, Sylus leaned forward and kissed her. Softly, gently — the complete opposite of the harshness he had displayed just minutes ago.

"I thought you called me Boss," he murmured against her lips.

"Boss is work," she shared quietly, wrapping her arms around his neck. "But a master... a master is forever."

"Forever is a very long time," Sylus noted after a minute of tense silence.

"Not for me," she stated firmly, without hesitation. "It's no different than air. You can hold your breath for a while, but sooner or later you still have to take a breath."

Sylus chuckled faintly with a hint of approval:

"A poetic metaphor for a girl who spent three months in a dirty workshop."

"Hey!" Kaylie genuinely bristled, lightly shoving his shoulder. "The workshop was perfectly decent. And I read books, by the way."

"Which ones exactly?" he asked out of curiosity. "Engine repair manuals?"

"Sometimes those too," she admitted, blushing. "But also... others. Romance novels and stuff... about love..."

She whispered those last words, clearly embarrassed by the confession that had just spilled out loud.

"Romance novels?" he echoed with mild mockery. "And what exactly did you learn from them?"

"That life is nothing like it is in books," Kaylie answered honestly. "In books, the girls are beautiful and smart, and the men are noble and romantic. But in reality..."

"In reality?" he nudged her when she trailed off.

"In reality, I fell in love with a sadist who keeps me on a short leash and gets lustful pleasure from my suffering," she blurted out all in one breath, then squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the subsequent explosion.

But instead of anger, there was a quiet but genuine laugh.

"A sadist?" Sylus appreciated the joke. "Quite a harsh accusation."

"But isn't it true?" Kix dared to open her eyes and look at him. "You enjoy watching me suffer."

"I do," he agreed without any denial. "But you're forgetting one important detail."

"What detail?"

"You enjoy your suffering too. Otherwise you wouldn't be lying underneath me looking so satisfied right now."

Kaylie felt her face flush with a mix of shame, pride, and arousal. Because he was absolutely, ruthlessly right. She really did get off on the pain he caused her. On the humiliation, the submission, the feeling of her own helplessness in his hands.

"I know it's wrong..." Kix hung her head.

"Why?" he leaned down to her ear. "Who says it's wrong? Society? Morals? Or your own pathetic attempt to salvage the last scraps of your pride?"

"I don't know," she whispered eventually. "I don't know what's right or wrong. I just know that next to you, I feel... alive."

"Even when I cause you pain?"

****

"You tried to run from me, Will."

"You're a monster."

"Perhaps. But you always come back. Again and again. What does that say about you?"

"That I'm weak."

Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham, Hannibal (2013-2015)

****

She should probably be happy. Or at least feel relief that she was finally returning home, that she no longer needed to hide, that Sylus had shown unprecedented mercy by forgiving her escape. But instead of joy, a tight knot of anxiety sat in her chest, growing heavier with each passing minute.

Like a faithful dog that could rely on bare instincts alone to sense its master's mood, she understood that Sylus was angry.

Very angry.

Yes, he controlled himself, spoke calmly, even hugged her at that abandoned factory. But alas, Kix knew her boss too well to be fooled by his outward calm. In the way he gripped the steering wheel with his fingers, in the barely noticeable tension of his jaw, in the too-even breathing — everything betrayed barely restrained rage hanging by a single thread.

The rapidly dimming streets of Linkon City slid past the tinted windows like a holographic film, gradually giving way to the grim territory of the Zone — blue neon signs soon replaced by garish pink, light advertising increasingly featuring all sorts of prohibited substances.

But Kaylie, sitting next to him in the passenger seat, was focused only on the main reason for her escape in futile attempts to guess when the storm would break.

Mephisto, perched on a special stand between the front seats, also didn't help the situation by periodically turning his head in her direction and flashing his photosensors, as if like his master, assessing the degree of repentance of the unlucky runaway.

"Talk," Sylus finally said without taking his eyes off the road.

His voice sounded businesslike, almost indifferent, but Kaylie knew this tone perfectly. Behind the outward calm hid the carefully concealed tension of a predator playing with captured prey.

"Talk about what?" Kaylie asked warily, hunching her shoulders, though she understood perfectly well where the conversation was heading.

"How you spent these three months and four days," he ordered with his characteristic precision. "Every detail."

"Three months and four days," Kaylie repeated to herself with a treacherous beat of her touched heart. "He was counting."

"Where should I start?" she muttered, trying to delay her answer, nervously removing the worn leather gloves.

"From the very beginning," the boss "kindly" prompted. "How did you get out of the house? Who helped you?"

Kaylie hesitated.

Telling the truth meant putting Luke and Kieran in the crosshairs. But lying... No, lying to Sylus was unthinkable and useless — one way or another he'd get to the truth.

And not by the most humane method.

"The twins," she quietly admitted, dejectedly lowering her head. "Luke and Kieran helped me hide for a while."

"Of course they helped," Sylus commented dryly. "Otherwise you wouldn't have lasted even a week. What exactly did they do?"

"Prepared documents, found a car, planned the route," Kaylie awkwardly listed, feeling like the lowest creature who sold out her family for pennies. "They... they didn't want me to leave. They just understood I'd do it anyway and decided to help so I wouldn't get into some kind of trouble."

"What caring brothers," dangerous notes sounded in Sylus's voice. "And where did you spend these months?"

"At the Old Port. In an auto shop. With a mechanic, Gunner Müller."

Sylus cast her a quick glance:

"Müller? Gray-haired old man with a lame leg?"

"You know him?" Kaylie was surprised.

"We met once on business," he answered evasively. "Continue."

Kaylie felt her foolish heart plop to the floor and flop around like a desperate fish. If Sylus knew Gunner by sight, then the old man wasn't just in danger, but at death's door! And not just him — everyone who'd been connected to her escape in any way could perish in terrible agony.

"Boss," she looked at him pleadingly. "Please, don't touch them. Not the twins, not Gunner, nobody! This was entirely and completely my idea. My choice. And anyway, I'm the one who persuaded and forced them to help me..."

"'Forced'?" in the red eyes intently peering at her, reflections of street lights danced, creating an almost hypnotic effect. "How so?"

"I... I said I'd leave anyway, with their help or without," Kix "confessed" shamefully. "And they understood that without their help I'd just die somewhere in the first alley I came across."

Sylus was silent for several seconds, and Kaylie felt the tension in the cabin mounting. Finally he pronounced thoughtfully, lightly tapping his finger on the expensive car wheel upholstery:

"The twins betrayed my trust and deserve a certain... punishment."

"No!" horrified, Kix genuinely worried. "Please! They're your family! And the old man has nothing to do with it at all, he just gave me a job!"

"Hm," Sylus fell silent again, as if seriously weighing her words rather than just playing on her nerves. "Alright. I promise not to harm them. But only because you're asking."

Relief flooded Kaylie like a tidal wave as she wearily leaned back against the seat with a sense of duty fulfilled, relaxing her tensed muscles.

"Thank you," she quietly thanked him. "Thank you so much..."

"Keep talking," Sylus didn't allow her to indulge in excessive sentimentality. "What did you do at this workshop?"

Encouraged by his promise, Kaylie spoke more freely:

"Fixed cars. Old ones, mostly — sports cars from the previous generation, well, and regular cars too, all kinds of motorcycles. Gunner taught me to work with vintage equipment, explained principles I didn't know. He's a good teacher, strict but fair."

"And you liked it?" Sylus asked with some strange subtext.

"Of course!" Kix completely gave in to nostalgia. "I'd never thought about the fact that I could work with my hands for so long. Almost day and night! Before it seemed like I'd get bored quickly — it's not a couple hours of tinkering with your motorcycle or Luke's car, but when you take a broken thing and make it work... it's some kind of special feeling. Like with this repair I'm bringing something back to life."

"A special feeling," Sylus echoed.

Dangerous notes appeared in his voice, but Kaylie, too caught up in her story, didn't even notice them.

"Yes! And Gunner said I have talent! That I have golden hands, can you imagine? Me, who spent half my life in Onychinus just shuffling papers and carrying coffee, turns out I can fix complex mechanisms! And it gave me a feeling of some kind of... freedom, probably. Didn't need to report to anyone, didn't depend on anyone. Of course, I missed home, missed you, but... but at the same time I felt good. Calm."

She pronounced the last words with such sincerity that she didn't immediately realize she'd made a fatal mistake.

Sylus sharply hit the brakes, causing the car to stop with such a screech of unfortunate tires that if not for the seatbelt, Kaylie would've definitely crashed face-first into the front panel.

Mephisto also cawed disapprovingly from below, barely managing to stay on his stand.

"W-what's wrong?" the confused girl looked at him, understanding nothing. "Did something happen?"

"So working with me was a cage for you?" Sylus asked coldly, gripping the pathetically creaking steering wheel until it crunched. "A prison you'd been dreaming of escaping all this time?"

"No!" Kaylie protested in panic, sharply turning to him. "That's not what I meant!"

"Then what did you mean?" he turned to her with his whole body, focusing all the attention of his angrily blazing eyes on her. "That without me you felt better? Calmer? Oh, or freer?"

"I wasn't saying that!" shame's heat scorched her cheeks. "I just... just tried to explain..."

"Explain how easily you abandoned me," Sylus roughly cut her off with a cruel smirk. "How simple it turned out to be to replace me with work on some pieces of iron..."

"'Replace'?" Kix stared at him in sacred horror. "I didn't replace anyone! I came back!"

"After you got caught," he noted irritably. "I wonder, if I'd never found you, how long would you have lasted in your 'calm' little world?"

Such a seemingly harmless answer nearly knocked all the air from her lungs.

Kaylie opened her mouth to object, but words stubbornly wouldn't come or rather didn't want to be voiced aloud.

Because somewhere deep inside she knew — he was right. Yes, she truly missed home, but also wholeheartedly enjoyed her new life. And if not for the illegal races, if not for the need for adrenaline that reminded her of her previous life...

Sylus would never have found her.

"I'm waiting for an answer," Sylus demanded impatiently. "How sincere were your so-called 'feelings' if you ran away from me so easily? Usually people don't run from those they love. Unless that love was... for show."

The reviving Kaylie froze in repeated shock and slowly spreading horror through her veins.

Feelings.

He was talking about feelings. About those very feelings she'd supposedly "buried" after experiencing his cruel rejection at seventeen, even if she couldn't convince even herself of it.

"You... you knew?" she whispered. "You knew all this time?"

The chuckle he let out sounded like a sentence.

"Of course I knew," he answered with mocking lightness. "You think I'm blind? Your crush was written on your face so clearly that even Mephisto noticed it. Honestly, it was even... amusing."

Her most cherished dreams, her love that had been through fire and water, which she'd considered her biggest secret in an attempt to prove to everyone she'd grown up after all, turned out to be simple entertainment for him.

"I... I need to get out," she helplessly squeezed out, pressing both palms to her face. "I need to... need to..."

"You're not going anywhere," Sylus cut her off in a peremptory tone. "We haven't finished our conversation yet."

Kaylie felt the world around her beginning to crumble.

The stuffiness in the cabin became so unbearable that she wanted to fling open the door and run out into the street, then curl up somewhere in a dark corner and disappear forever. The shame was so strong it caused almost physical pain.

"He knew," she thought in a fit of despair. "Always knew. And laughed at me."

Why had she even agreed to go with him? Why didn't she run when she had the chance?

Caught like a stupid little animal that crawled into the hunter's trap itself.

"But the question is..." Sylus continued breaking her with some clinical curiosity. "...how deep were these feelings? If a girl who supposedly 'loves' me can so easily run away and live without me for months?" and not waiting for an answer, extended his hand and despite the resistance offered, inexorably pulled her palms away from her face ready to fill with another portion of tears, forcing her to look at him. "Come on, Kix. Explain to me."

"I... I don't know what to say," she bleated in response, feeling unimaginably helpless. "It's... it's complicated..."

"I want to hear the truth," Sylus said coldly. "Not childish fantasies or romantic illusions. The real truth about what you feel."

"Why?" Kaylie's voice broke into a barely distinguishable whisper. "Why do you need this? You already know everything..."

"Because I want to hear it from you. In your own words. Without half-truths and bashful hints."

This was the worst humiliation she'd ever experienced.

If he'd slapped her a hundred times or even beaten her, she could have forgiven him and somehow come to terms with it, but not this.

Not attempts to completely break her soul, forcing her to say aloud what she'd so carefully hidden for five long years.

"I won't," she wheezed with effort. "I won't give you a reason for new mockery."

Sylus's fingers squeezed her wrist harder than before, possibly to bruises.

"You will. Or I'll drop you off here and now and never appear in your life again."

The threat worked better than any coercion.

Kaylie froze, imagining life without him, and understood with painful clarity — it was simply impossible.

Whatever he did, however he humiliated her, she couldn't live without him.

"I..." her voice trembled as words wouldn't form into a complete phrase. "I love you."

"Not sincere enough," Sylus didn't think of stopping his mockery. "Again. With feeling."

Humiliation burned her ears worse than searing fire, but Kix still closed her eyes, gathering her courage.

"I love you," she said louder. "Love you like a complete idiot."

"Continue."

"I think about you every second! Every day, every night! Even when I hate and despise myself for it! Even when I understand that to you I'm just... just a way to dilute boredom! A toy for entertainment!"

Eyes quite tired of tears for this evening shed another portion of heavy grief, but Sylus was relentless:

"More."

"What else?!" Kaylie exploded, no longer able to restrain herself. "What else do you want to hear?! That I'm a complete fool for falling in love with a sadist for whom I'm nothing more than just a toy?! That even though I know and understand this, I still can't do anything about it?! That I'm ready to endure any of your mockery just so you, you fucking asshole, don't throw me out of your life?!"

Sylus was silent, carefully studying her tear-stained, emotionally crushed face. In the crimson depths was something predatory, satisfied — like a cat that finally caught a mouse after a long hunt.

"Thank you for the honesty," he finally said.

"Go to hell," Kix muttered, turning away to the window. "Just to hell with all of this..."

She reached for the door handle, desperately wanting to escape from this damn car, from this damn tangled situation, from this damn hated and simultaneously ardently loved person who knew how to cause pain with words alone.

But didn't even manage to touch the handle.

With a click of the lock, her wrist was captured by a strong male hand, then roughly jerked back.

And in the next instant, Sylus's lips crashed into her mouth with such force that she couldn't even let out a pathetic cry. This wasn't a love kiss from the romantic films she'd watched out of boredom. This was a kiss of capture, demand, submission. Not an expression of the finest tenderness, but of rough conquest.

Kix made a muffled sound of protest, something between a moan and a sob.

It was too much — after everything that had just happened between them, after all the humiliations and painful confessions, this kiss seemed like mockery of the very existence of her naive feelings.

A pathetic attempt to push away ended in complete failure. Female hands pressed against his chest in powerless anger, but he didn't even notice it. With one hand Sylus held her by the back of her head, depriving her of the slightest chance to pull away, and with the other by the waist, firmly pressing her to himself.

This wasn't right. Not at all what it should have been!

But her body, like a deserter ally hiding in the rear, treacherously reacted to his proximity, to the familiar scent of his skin, to the warmth of his dry lips. Seven years of secret fantasies couldn't disappear without a trace.

When Sylus finally pulled away, he left her in a state of deep shock. Blue eyes, on whose lashes frozen tears trembled, looked at him with a mixture of fury, embarrassment, and something she didn't yet want to acknowledge. Swollen lips burned from the first kiss, breath was ragged, and complete chaos reigned in her head.

"Promise me," he said, pressing his forehead against hers and looking straight into her eyes. "That you'll never run away again."

"I..." Kaylie got confused, still digesting the close physical contact.

"Promise," he repeated more insistently.

"Go to hell," Kaylie weakly whispered, but somehow tiredly and exhaustedly.

"I'm waiting, Kix."

She looked into his eyes and understood she simply had no other choice.

Never had, if she was being honest.

"I promise," Kaylie reluctantly, almost breaking herself under his demands, said fragilly. "I... I'll never run away again."

"Good girl," Sylus instantly softened, tenderly kissing her sweaty forehead. "See, how simple everything is when you're honest."

He released her wrists with some delay and started the engine. The luxurious car moved forward again with a quiet purr, continuing its journey through the city's night streets.

Mephisto quietly cawed something from the dashboard, as if seriously commenting on all the fucking chaos of what was happening.

"And now rest," Sylus graciously permitted. "Ahead of you awaits punishment for three whole months of worry."

Squeezing her eyes shut, Kaylie exhaustedly leaned back against the seat, feeling not just tired, but... empty. The emotional marathon of the last minutes had sucked all the strength out of her. She was just like a squeezed lemon — dry, empty, deprived of former juice.

But somewhere deep in her soul, despite all the pain and humiliation she'd experienced from him, a small voice whispered lovingly:

**** When you're a god, all your mistakes become catastrophes.

Thor

****

One month.

Only a month had passed since their kind Lucian dissolved into golden sparks of warm rays from the Sun Beneath the Waters, leaving behind nothing but warm memories and an empty throne in the center of the throne room.

A month, and Iriel still couldn't forget his last words, spoken in a voice trembling with weakness when he pressed his exhausted palm against her silvery crown for the last time — a crown that contrasted so sharply against his faded, once-golden locks.

"Little pearl," he'd said in that soft voice of his. "Soon I'll be gone. Another will take my place."

That last phrase made her small heart clench with pain.

How could anyone imagine Lemuria without Lucian? He was part of the very essence of their underwater kingdom — like the gleam of crystals in the main Temple of Whale Fall, like the singing of whales in the deepest parts of the sea, like the shimmer of dense plankton in its dark waters.

"But why?" she'd protested weakly. "You're our god... you can't just leave..."

Lucian had pulled himself up in his bed, carefully nudging her by the hand, urging her to sit on the edge so their faces were level. In his sky-blue eyes lay infinite tenderness mixed with something little Iriel could only define as... weariness. As if he carried the weight of all the world's oceans on his shoulders.

"This is our way, child," he'd explained, gently stroking her cheek. "Sea gods aren't eternal. We serve our people, then pass our legacy to the next. It's the natural order of things."

"And the new god... will he be as kind as you?" Iriel squeezed her eyes shut, afraid to hear the answer.

For a while Lucian kept an oppressive silence. The stillness in his divine chambers became almost tangible. When he finally spoke, it was in a completely different tone — one tinged with unspeakable anxiety.

"He'll be born from sacred flame," he'd said slowly, as if carefully choosing each word. "He'll be strong, willful... perhaps even cruel and selfish. All gods are like this at the beginning of their path. They're like wild currents, unaware of their own power."

Iriel's azure eyes flew wide with fear.

"He'll be bad?" she'd squeaked.

"Not bad," Lucian shook his head, though his smile was sad. "Difficult. And he'll be very lonely. Loneliness makes gods cruel. That's why he'll need a friend more than I ever did."

Then he'd taken her small hands in his and looked directly into her eyes — more serious than ever before.

"So, Iriel, I'm asking you... no, begging you... Even if he causes you pain, promise that your friendship will be his anchor to Lemuria. Promise you won't abandon him, no matter how difficult the circumstances."

And she'd promised.

Of course she'd promised — looking into those kind blue eyes, she couldn't say anything else. Even though she'd cried in his arms for hours afterward, unwilling to part with her first and only friend.

Now, swimming down the corridor toward the throne room accompanied by her father, Triton, Iriel still couldn't understand what the word "difficult" meant in connection with their god.

Her Lucian had been easy, like the flow of water.

He'd never asked for anything excessive, only her presence, or rare requests to sing a song only she knew — because her voice, he'd said, reminded him of the sea before it grew tired of endless storms.

Father was difficult when he forced her to memorize ancient treatises until black spots danced in her eyes. The old priests were difficult with their endless ceremonies and complex rituals. But god... god had been home, warmth, safety.

"Iriel, remember everything I taught you," her father's voice sounded stricter than usual, snapping her back to reality. "Stand straight, speak only when addressed, and under no circumstances look the new god directly in the eye until he permits it."

"But Father, with Lucian I always—"

"Forget about Lucian," Triton cut her off sharply. "That god was... soft. Too soft for our time. The new one..." He paused, weighing his words. "The new god is fire in a child's body. He's dangerous, Iriel. Dangerous even to us who serve him. But he's also our only hope. Lemuria needs a strong ruler, not a kind dreamer."

Her father's words stung her compassionate heart.

Did that mean Lucian had been a bad god? But he'd been so kind, so understanding... Was kindness really such a terrible trait for a god?

Seeing the confusion on her tiny face, Triton placed a hand on her shoulder — a gesture meant to be comforting but somehow felt like a final farewell, considering he was about to leave her right at the gates of the throne room.

"You'll manage, my daughter. You were born for this. And remember — whatever happens in that throne room, your destiny is to become the Sea God's companion, the vessel of his legacy. It's the greatest honor a Lemurian woman can receive."

But "vessel of his legacy" sounded far too frightening for a girl who'd only just turned seven moons old. She'd heard adult Lemurian women talk about how painful it was to lay eggs, and though everyone said it wasn't as scary as young Lemurians feared, she still trembled at the thought.

And most importantly — she couldn't reconcile herself with the thought that Lucian was gone. That his gentle hand would never touch her head again, that his sad smile would never warm her frozen heart.

Instead, there was someone else now.

Someone "difficult."

She watched her father's back disappear around the corner at the end of the corridor, his dark green tail flicking one last time before he vanished. Then she looked at the massive gates decorated with carvings of sea waves and solar accents. Two guards in ceremonial armor made from leviathan scales stood silently on either side of the entrance, waiting for the little priestess to gather her courage.

Don't abandon him, she remembered Lucian's words. Whatever happens, don't abandon him. He'll need you more than he'll understand.

Taking a deep breath, Iriel nodded to the guards. The gates slowly parted, and she swam into the magnificent throne room.

The enormous dome of transparent crystal allowed a view of the endless sea expanse directly overhead, where schools of silver fish and graceful rays glided past. Columns of white marble, mined from the ocean's deepest crevices, stretched high toward the ceiling.

At the center of the marvelous chamber rose the throne itself — a work of art carved from a single pearl the size of an enormous whale. Its surface shimmered with every shade of mother-of-pearl, drawing the eye. Steps stretched down from the throne to the floor, though they were rarely used, given the Lemurians' equally picturesque tails.

On both sides of the throne stood Lemuria's elders — thirty of the most ancient Lemurians, each branch of whose ancestry traced back to previous gods. Among them Iriel recognized her father, Triton, standing to the right of the throne, his face frozen with tension.

But all this magnificence faded when Iriel's gaze fell on the throne.

In the place where sad, kind Lucian had sat just months ago, there was... a boy. No more than seven years old, like herself, but there was something... wrong about him. Something that made the water around him tremble with barely contained power.

Not that he was ugly — quite the opposite. His beauty was so perfect it seemed almost unnatural, as if someone had created a perfect statue and forgotten to breathe a soul into it. His hair was the color of a deep-sea storm — dark purple with lavender highlights at the edges, curling around his sculpted face in soft waves. His skin was pale, almost translucent, with a barely noticeable bluish tint that betrayed his divine nature.

But his eyes...

Iriel had never seen such eyes.

They were pink-blue, like pink dawn over the sea, with one difference — there wasn't a drop of the setting sun's warmth in them. These were a predator's eyes — searing, cold, ancient, despite his childlike face.

The eerie boy's body was clothed in ceremonial garments of underwater white silk, embroidered with patterns of pearls and corals, and on his arms rested golden bracelets with symbols of divine power.

But despite all the royal attributes, he looked... bored at the very least. His soft cheek rested carelessly on his fist, and his posture radiated poorly concealed irritation, as if this entire ceremony burdened him.

With a moment's hesitation, Iriel carefully swam to the foot of the throne. Her heart hammered so loudly it seemed the entire hall could hear it. Reaching the first step, she gracefully bent her back as her father had taught her. Her silvery hair streamed through the water with a gentle glow, casting light from the pearls woven into it.

"Your Divine Majesty," she said in a thin voice trembling with excitement. "I am Iriel, daughter of Triton, and from this day forward I... I will serve you with all my heart and soul, as the previous sea god commanded."

The silence stretched on.

The boy on the throne studied her with the same interest one might examine a new toy — evaluating, emotionless. His unusual eyes quickly slid over her small figure, lingering on her hands trembling with nerves and her lowered head.

Finally he spoke in a voice far too commanding and low — though melodious — for a child.

"Rise."

Iriel slowly straightened her back, not daring to raise her eyes above the plumage of his lilac tail.

"Look at me."

It was a command, not a request.

Swallowing the saliva pooling in her mouth, Iriel cautiously raised her gaze and met their new god's eyes. Despite the sparks of blue flame drowning in the depths of his pools, the boy's expression remained cold.

For a long time he simply stared, examining her face with interest.

Iriel felt her cheeks flush under such frank attention, but she couldn't help it — she just tried to fidget as little as possible, calming the nervous twitching of her pink fin.

"Too small," he finally pronounced, as if passing judgment.

An awkward silence hung over the hall. Several elders exchanged quick glances. Triton clenched his fists with all his might, but no one dared object.

The god-boy meanwhile waved his hand carelessly, drawling capriciously, "I wanted a jellyfish. At least they glow prettily in the dark."

One of the elders — Krall, ancient as the sea itself with a dark beard — laughed nervously. "Your Majesty must be joking. The girl was chosen by Lucian himself, she—"

"Lucian is dead," Rafayel cut him off sharply, and the water temperature around the throne rose noticeably, becoming almost unbearably hot. "But I'm here. And I don't need a fragile toy."

Iriel felt tears welling up from the offense burning inside her, but she immediately remembered her father's words about how crying in front of a god was the ultimate disrespect. She quickly bit her lip to suppress such inappropriate emotions.

Now she understood perfectly well how difficult gods could be...

Rafayel noticed her silent struggle and suddenly smirked — for the first time during the entire audience, an expression other than boredom appeared on his face.

"Ah, so you do feel something after all. Interesting."

He rose from the throne with a graceful, fluid yet commanding movement. Even at his young age, the thirty-fourth god moved like a predator confident in his power. Descending a couple of steps, he found himself level with Iriel.

The god's proximity made her feel the full force of his divine essence — the water around him pulsed with oppressive energy, and the scent... the scent was like the ocean after a storm — salty, sharp, wild.

Difficult.

"What's your name?" he asked again, though she'd already introduced herself.

"Iriel, Your Majesty," she answered in a trembling voice, unable to tear her gaze from him without permission.

"Iriel," he repeated, savoring each syllable. "Beautiful name. For my jellyfish."

Rafayel swam a small circle around her axis to study her from all sides. Iriel stood motionless the entire time, feeling like some exotic fish in his aquarium from the way this strange god's gaze penetrated so deeply.

"You're afraid of me," he stated, stopping in front of her.

Iriel wanted to object, to say she wasn't afraid, that she was ready to serve him faithfully — but the words stuck in her throat like a heavy stone. Because... she really was afraid. This boy radiated the same danger as the monsters from the ocean floor.

"That's good," Rafayel hummed with satisfaction, tilting his head like a bird. "Fear means understanding. You understand that I can do anything I want with you."

He extended his hand and touched her cheek. The touch was light, but Iriel felt the hidden power in it — power capable of crushing mighty rocks and raising hundred-level tsunamis.

"Of all the Lemurians, Lucian chose you," he mused thoughtfully. "I wonder if he saw something in you that I don't see yet. Or if he just pitied a little orphan."

"I'm not an orphan," Iriel objected quietly, daring for the first time during the entire audience to say something on her own. "My father is Triton, the chief advisor."

Rafayel smirked, rolling his eyes. "Ah yes, Triton. The same one standing in the corner praying I won't eat his precious daughter for breakfast." He then turned to the assembled elders and ordered carelessly, "Leave us. I want to talk with my 'faithful companion' alone."

Triton immediately flicked his tail, swimming forward. "Your Majesty, perhaps it would be better—"

"I said leave us," Rafayel's voice became quieter, but dangerous notes rang through it.

The water around him began to bubble, boiling as if caught in the hot glow of a real sun.

The elders hurriedly bowed, dissolving into apologies, and left the hall. Triton lingered for a moment, casting a worried glance at his daughter, but he couldn't disobey their god's will.

When the massive gates closed with a loud sound, only the small god and his equally helpless priestess remained in the hall. The silence was deafening — through the crystal dome came only the quiet gurgling of water and the hum of sea creatures.

Rafayel returned to the throne, but now without the gaze of unwelcome witnesses, his posture seemed more relaxed. He leaned back, draping an arm over the armrest, and looked at her with unrestrained, genuine curiosity.

"Do you know what my 'faithful companion' is supposed to do?" he asked with a cruel smirk.

Iriel nodded. Her father had explained all her duties in detail.

"Accompany you to all important events, learn all your desires and needs, help with rituals that require it, be near when you need someone's company..."

"Boring," Rafayel interrupted. "All that was done with Lucian. And I'm not Lucian."

He rose from the throne again and in one flick of his tail appeared in front of her face.

"I think we need new rules. First rule — you do what I say, when I say it, no questions. Agreed?"

Iriel nodded silently, understanding she didn't really have a choice.

"Second rule," he continued, beginning to circle slowly around her. "You don't tell anyone what happens between us. This will be our little secret, shell."

Iriel's heart pounded even harder.

What did he mean?

"Third rule — you don't cry in my presence. Tears irritate me."

The young sea god stopped directly in front of her and leaned so close he scorched her face with his hot breath.

"And the last rule — you belong to me. Not to your father, not to the elders, not to Lemuria. To me. Understood?"

She stared into his sunset eyes and felt something inside her twist into a horrible spasm. This wasn't the god her father had served. This was someone completely different: wild, unpredictable, dangerous.

But she remembered the promise she'd made to Lucian.

Don't abandon him.

Be his anchor.

"Understood, Your Majesty," she whispered.

Rafayel smiled a smile that was simultaneously beautiful and terrifying.

"Excellent. Then let's start with something simple. I want to see the palace. Will you show it to me?"

Iriel nodded, though everything inside her trembled with fear. Something told her this walk would be the first of many trials the new sea god had prepared for her.

****

We don't return to people, but to the feelings they awaken in us.

Anaïs Nin

****

Kaylie knew this was a damn bad idea.

So bad that any sane person would call her a complete idiot and advise her to immediately seek a qualified psychiatrist.

But three months of constant walking on a knife's edge, constant vigilance, and living in "don't look back" mode could drive anyone insane. And so she urgently needed release — desperate, reckless, capable of drowning out that constant hum of anxiety that had sounded in her head since the moment of escape.

And the Old Port, transformed into something completely different at night, was exactly what she needed. During the day it was decorated with dreary docks, old warehouses, and life-battered workshops where simple working folk labored, but with the onset of darkness, thrill-seekers flocked here — racers, various tech modifiers, dealers in prohibited substances, and just ordinary seekers of dangerous adventures.

Neon strips of blue-cyan lighting stretched along the piers, echoing the distorted sound of modified engines. The air hung with the smell of sea salt, engine oil, and ozone from powerful energy blocks.

Kaylie sat behind the wheel of a specially prepared sports car — not the fastest or most expensive, but reliable enough not to fail at a crucial moment. Over three months of working in Gunner's workshop, she'd personally made several improvements to it: reinforced the suspension, tuned the stabilization system, and slightly increased the power of the main engine.

A black protective suit tightly hugged her slender figure, and a dark helmet with a tinted visor reliably hid her face. Looking like this, she was almost unrecognizable — just another nameless participant in underground races, of which there were dozens here.

"Brilliant, Kix," she mentally cursed herself, nervously peering through the windshield at the other race participants. "Ran away from Sylus only to get into trouble again. Logic at its finest. Maybe you should rob a bank too? Or fly to the moon without a spacesuit?"

But despite the internal self-irony, Kaylie couldn't deny that for the first time in all these months, she finally felt truly alive. Adrenaline pulsing through her veins, the anticipation of speed and danger, the feeling of control over a powerful machine — all of this brought back that feeling she'd so lacked in the measured life of a mechanic.

The same high she'd gotten working for Sylus, living on the edge of risk and devotion.

"Attention, participants!" the organizer's voice rang out over the dozen cars lined up before the finish through powerful flying drone speakers. "Today's route goes through the old industrial quarter, finish at dock number seventeen. Distance twenty kilometers, three laps. Usual rules — the winner is whoever comes first and stays alive!"

And that wasn't even a joke.

Illegal races in industrial districts had always been particularly dangerous. Narrow streets, sharp turns, obstacles in the form of containers and construction equipment — all of it turned each race into Russian roulette on wheels.

But it was precisely this edge that attracted all the racing drive enthusiasts.

At least it helped forget the pain in her heart and longing for the home she'd voluntarily left behind.

"Ready?!"

Kaylie gripped the leather-gloved steering wheel tighter until it creaked pathetically. Her heart pounded as fast as the growling engine, her tongue in her mouth instantly grew heavy, but this was exactly what she'd craved for the past two weeks since the last race.

"Three... two... one... START!"

With an ear-ringing whistle, a rocket shot into the sky, bursting into fireworks, and the race began.

A string of cars took off simultaneously, creating a cacophony of roaring engines and squealing tires. Kaylie instantly slammed the pedal to the floor, feeling powerful speed literally press her back into the seat.

The first seconds were complete chaos — everyone trying to greedily break ahead, cars going practically shoulder to shoulder, fighting for every meter. Kix held her place in the middle of the pack, waiting for the right moment for a decisive push.

"Patience," she reminded herself, weaving between two aggressive racers trying to push through even at the cost of a possible crash. "No need to play hero on the very first turn."

But when the group stretched out, freeing up more space after a series of particularly sharp curves, Kaylie saw her cherished chance. A straight section between warehouses where she could show what her modified engine was really capable of.

She changed lanes to the left and pressed the turbo boost button — a small device of her own design that briefly increased engine power by a full forty percent.

The car shot forward like an arrow released from a bow.

"Oh yeah!" Kix exclaimed excitedly, overtaking three opponents at once.

The speed was simply stunning — the speedometer already showed one hundred eighty kilometers per hour and kept climbing!

By the end of the first lap, she was already in third place, overtaking opponents on straight sections thanks to her engine modifications. On the second lap, she managed to climb to second place.

"Come on, baby," she prayed to her partner, shifting gears before another turn. "Show them what a girl from the N109 Zone can do..."

The third lap passed in intense battle for leadership.

One of the opponents tried to cut her off on a narrow section between containers, but Kaylie managed to avoid the collision and even gain several meters of final advantage.

Adrenaline was doing its job, and now breathing life-saving oxygen into her lungs, Kaylie truly felt alive.

That's why she didn't immediately notice the black sports car that appeared as if out of nowhere and began pursuing specifically her baby. Moreover, the car of the rich boy who'd latched onto her was clearly not among the usual race participants — too expensive, too perfect.

And something about his movements seemed vaguely familiar.

Too confident, too aggressive, too purposeful.

This wasn't an ordinary race — this was... a hunt.

"No," Kaylie whispered, pressing the gas pedal even harder. "No, it can't be him. J-just a coincidence. Just a rich boy decided to have some fun."

She accelerated, but the pursuer didn't fall behind.

Moreover, slowly but surely he was closing the distance between them. On the last turn, the black sports car went for an overtake from the outside, and Kaylie, trying not to let herself be passed, slightly pressed him against the barrier.

What happened next occurred so fast that she didn't even understand who hit whom.

Her car lurched, the front bumper crashed with a screech against something metallic, and the vehicle began to skid sideways. Kaylie turned the wheel, trying to regain control, but it was too late — the car veered off the track and stopped by the wall of an abandoned warehouse.

The other race participants indifferently rushed past, paying no attention to the accident, as was proper.

If you couldn't continue the race, that was exclusively your problem.

But the damn black sports car also stopped.

Fury instantly flooded her entire consciousness.

She gritted her teeth and shot out of the car like a bullet, not even bothering to remove her helmet, to get to the crazy owner of the cool ride as quickly as possible with a very emotional intention to start a real throwdown.

"Hey, asshole!" she shouted, expressively waving her arms. "These are street races, not bumper cars! There are still rules here! You can't just..."

The sports car door opened slowly, almost theatrically, and then a tall figure in a dark leather jacket began to emerge from it.

And then Kaylie saw silver hair.

The world stopped.

Her heart skipped several tragic beats while destructive emptiness reigned in her head. All sounds — the noise of the sea, the distant rumble of other racers, the crackling of cooling engines — disappeared, leaving only a prolonged ringing in her ears.

Sylus, and it was indeed him, meanwhile confidently rose to his full height, and even in the dim light of the port lamps, he could be recognized at first glance. The dark gleam of crimson eyes, the barely perceptible smirk on outlined lips — some of the main elements of the picture once imprinted on the retina of her eyes.

"Oh no," Kix said fearfully, stepping back. "No, no, no, this can't be..."

Panic struck her like lightning.

Three months of fears and nightmares materialized in one figure standing several meters from her, making every instinct inside her body scream only one thing: RUN!

Without thinking long about the consequences, Kaylie turned her back to him and rushed back to her car, stumbling on flat ground from the terror that gripped her. Gloved fingers trembled so violently that she could barely find the door handle.

"Start, start, start!" she frantically muttered under her breath, climbing into the driver's seat and feverishly searching for the ignition keys.

The keys, as luck would have it, had rolled under the car seat during the sharp braking, forcing her to dive under the steering wheel, awkwardly groping across the floor in search of the cherished escape from reality and cursing whoever invented the complex mechanism of front seats.

Tap-tap-tap.

The sound of careless knocking on the glass made her jump and painfully hit her head on the steering wheel.

"Open the door," came the familiar voice from outside.

Kaylie froze, realizing the game was over, though some idiotic part of her consciousness still hoped she could somehow wriggle out of this.

"I don't know you!" she desperately shouted, not raising her head. "Step away from the car immediately!"

"Ah, you don't know me?" he asked with a slight smirk in his voice. "Interesting. Then what's your name, beautiful stranger?"

"Kay... Keira!" she quickly answered. "Keira Hart. Completely ordinary street race participant!"

"Keira Hart," Sylus repeated thoughtfully. "Very original name. And very... familiar voice for a stranger. Tell me, Keira, why did you start running headlong the moment you saw me?"

"He's playing with me," Kaylie realized. "And he's enjoying it. Damn sadist."

"I wasn't running!" she protested indignantly. "Just... um... wanted to fix my hair!"

"In a helmet?"

"Yes! Even in a helmet you need to watch your hair!"

He fell silent for several long minutes, and Kaylie almost believed her absurd excuse had worked.

"Last time I'm asking nicely," Sylus finally stated, and the temperature of the air around the car immediately dropped several degrees. "Open the door."

"I won't open it for a strange man!" she bravely declared, deciding to hold out to the last. "That's not safe!"

"You know what's really 'not safe'?" he asked coldly. "Participating in illegal races. Especially when you're a runaway..."

He didn't finish the sentence, but Kaylie understood everything anyway.

Sylus was tired of the game.

In the next instant, he raised his hand, and a dark red mist of his evol swirled in the air around her. The car window cracked along a perfectly straight line, then shattered into thousands of small pieces without causing her the slightest harm.

From somewhere above came familiar crow cawing, and then Mephisto landed on the car roof.

"Traitor," Kaylie muttered resentfully, looking at the once-beloved bird.

Mephisto cawed again, as if mockingly agreeing with her assessment.

Sylus, meanwhile, casually reached through the broken window and unlocked the door.

The click of the mechanism sounded just like a fatal shot.

"Get out," he ordered, already without any playfulness in his voice, pulling open the car door.

"Don't want to," Kaylie stubbornly replied, tucking her trembling lip. "I like it here!"

"Kix," he repeated in a tone that brooked no argument. "Get out of the car. Right now."

"I told you, I'm not Kix!" she desperately objected under the farewell screams of her conscience.

The man sighed with the suffering expression of an adult tired of a child's stupid whims, then finally leaned forward and grabbing her by the collar of her coveralls, pulled her out of the car in one movement.

Not expecting such a direct attack, Kaylie flew out of the cabin like a cork from a champagne bottle, finding herself pressed against the side of the car face to face with her main nightmare and most cherished dream.

For a moment her breath caught.

Not from physical impact — Sylus was careful and didn't hurt her. Breath caught from the proximity that formed. From the fact that for the first time in three months she saw him so close, felt the familiar scent of his cologne, sensed the warmth of his body.

"Well?" the Onychinus leader raised a light eyebrow with interest. "What do you say now, Keira Hart?"

Instead of finally admitting complete defeat, Kaylie pushed him away from herself with all her strength and retreated to a distance safe enough for her yearning heart, crossing her arms over her chest in a protective gesture.

"Don't touch me!" she barked with unexpected fury. "Who even gave you that right?"

"Right?" he asked with feigned astonishment. "Interesting question. How many rights do you think an owner has over a dog that ran away from him?"

The words hit harder than any slap.

"I'm not a dog!" she screamed, forgetting all caution and disguise. "And not your property! I'm a person, and I have the right to freedom!"

"Freedom?" taking a step forward, the Onychinus leader's face hardened. "You call freedom hiding in a dirty workshop under someone else's name? Participating in illegal races, risking your life for cheap adrenaline?"

"Yes!" Kaylie exclaimed hotly, feeling tears begin to burn her eyes. "This is my life! My choice! I'm tired of being a bird in a golden cage! Tired of following orders, carrying breakfasts, watching you bring other women home!"

The last words escaped on their own, and Kaylie realized she'd given herself away completely. But it didn't matter anymore. The dam had burst, and emotions accumulated over three months poured out in an unstoppable torrent.

"Ah, so that's what this is about," Sylus drawled with understanding. "Jealousy. I thought as much."

"This isn't jealousy!" Kaylie sobbed, no longer trying to hold back the tears streaming down her cheeks, desperately gasping for air. "This is pain! Understand? Pain from the fact that you replaced me with her! With your beautiful hunter!"

"Kaylie..."

"No!" she harshly cut him off, shaking her hair. "Don't comfort me! I understood everything! You replaced me with her, and that's normal! You have the right to choose! Just... just don't make me watch it!"

Sylus slowly approached closer, but without the previous overwhelming sense of unquestioning submission that suppressed all coherent thoughts. On the contrary, a certain caution appeared in his movements, as if he were approaching a wounded and wildly frightened animal.

"If I really wanted to replace you..." he said quietly. "...I wouldn't have spent three whole months searching for you."

Kaylie froze, digesting his words:

"What?"

"Three months, Kaylie. Every single day and every damn night. I mobilized the entire organization, spent millions on the search, turned half the city upside down and was ready to shake the whole world. Do you think I would do this for an employee who could be so easily replaced?"

"I-I don't know," she whispered hoarsely under her breath as the previous rage gradually dulled into something far more lost.

Disbelieving.

"Take off the helmet," Sylus ordered, stopping directly in front of her.

"No," Kix shook her head in panic. "Don't want to."

The reason was simple as the world — she didn't want him to see her tear-stained and red from prolonged crying, and therefore completely unattractive face at such close distance.

She wanted to preserve at least the remnants of dignity, if not pride.

Judging by Sylus's darkening face, he didn't appreciate such an answer.

"Kix," he spoke in that tone that made even the most desperate Onychinus fighters freeze with fear. "Take off the helmet. Now."

"No!"

"I won't repeat myself."

The threat in his voice was so obvious that Kaylie understood: resisting further wasn't just useless, but also life-threatening.

With fingers trembling from nerves, she unfastened the chin strap and slowly pulled the helmet off her head, exposing her tear-stained, reddened face stubbornly looking down.

She looked terrible and knew it perfectly well.

Disheveled dark hair disgustingly stuck to wet cheeks, blue eyes were swollen from tears that wouldn't stop, and her nose had reddened from constant sniffling. No resemblance to that confident, self-sufficient girl (at least she'd tried to convince herself of this) she'd tried to seem in the helmet.

Sylus silently looked at her for several seconds, then quietly sighed — not irritably, but tiredly, like a person who finally found what he'd been searching for over a very long time. His facial expression softened, and he slowly spread his arms to the sides — a wordless gesture she'd remembered since she was fifteen.

"Sylus?" Kix questioned uncertainly.

He didn't answer with words, just continued standing with arms spread wide, patiently awaiting her defeat.

And then something inside her broke completely.

All pride, all stubbornness, all anger evaporated in one second. With a final sob, Kaylie desperately threw herself at him and flew into his embrace at such speed that he barely stayed on his feet. Clutching his jacket with all her strength, Kaylie buried her face in his chest and cried like a little girl — loudly, uncontrollably, pouring all her pain and loneliness of the past three months into tears.

"I missed you," she sobbed into his chest with a trembling voice. "Every day, every hour, and every minute. I-I thought I'd go crazy from longing..."

"Shh," he said soothingly. "Everything's fine now. You're home."

"Forgive me, boss," Kix squeezed her eyes even tighter, crumpling the fabric of his jacket. "Forgive me for running away... I didn't want to... just couldn't... endure anymore..."

Sylus's arms wrapped around her in a memorized familiar gesture, firmly and reliably, like the walls of an iron fortress. One hand lay on her back, and the other buried itself in her short hair.

"You understand you'll still be punished, right?" he suddenly whispered near her ear.

Even through the happiness of long-awaited reunion, Kaylie felt a sticky chill of oppressive fear.

Punishments from Sylus had never been particularly merciful, and calling them pleasant was simply impossible.

For betrayal of Onychinus, and especially of him, he usually killed with particularly cruel methods, but... with her everything was slightly different. Always different.

"I understand," Kix swallowed hard.

"And you're ready to accept it?"

"Ready."

Sylus pushed her away from himself and looked into her eyes — long, intently, as if searching for something important.

"Then let's go," he finally said, heading toward his car and firmly squeezing her sweaty palm.

Kaylie obediently trudged after him, leaving her modified car at the edge of the track. Right now it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was that she was beside him again.

Sitting in the passenger seat of the luxurious sports car, she stole a glance at Sylus.

"In the end, it's better to be punished by him than free without him," Kix thought with satisfaction, unable to hold back a wide smile.

Because home isn't a place you return to over the long years. Home is a person beside whom you're willing to be even in a cage.

The space hums with impatience and perfume, with coats brushing past and voices rising over one another. There are hardly any places to sit; the few chairs pressed against the wall are already claimed by other waiting parties. You remain standing, weight shifting subtly from one foot to the other, the small heels you rarely wear beginning to make themselves known.

Caleb notices. Of course he does.

His gaze flicks around the room, then down to you, regret softening his expression. He hadn’t thought it through—hadn’t considered how busy it might be, or how long the wait could stretch. He exhales quietly, as though the oversight were a personal failing.

When a couple is finally called and moves away, a single chair opens up near the wall. Just one. An island of relief in the churn of waiting bodies and noise.

Caleb sees it at the same moment you do.

“Hey,” he says, already turning toward you. “You should sit.”

You shake your head at once. “No. It’s only one seat.”

“I know,” he replies, gentle but insistent. “You’ve been standing for ages.”

“So have you,” you say, folding your arms lightly, not unkind. “I’m not sitting if you can’t.”

He hesitates, then gives a small, conceding smile. Rather than argue, he steps over and takes the chair himself.

But he doesn’t stay settled for long.

Caleb looks up at you, the noise of the lobby fading slightly around the edges as he pats one of his thighs—an easy, unselfconscious gesture, flirtatious in the quiet way he excels at.

“Take a seat.”

The words are simple, but something about the way he says them makes your breath catch.

“Caleb,” you begin, already shaking your head.

He lifts his shoulders in a mild shrug, as though this were the most reasonable solution in the world.

“No,” you say again, more firmly this time.

A brief silence settles between you, thickened by everything you do not say. The thought arrives unbidden, unwelcome, yet deeply familiar.

You are not the thinnest of women.

It lingers there, heavy as the chair had been moments before—unoccupied, undeniable. You remain standing, meeting his gaze, and in that small, crowded space, the choice feels larger than it should.

You hesitate, words forming from caution and practicality alike.

“I’m… probably too heavy for that,” you add, forcing levity. “And who knows how long we’ll be waiting. Your leg could go numb. Or you’ll end up in pain.”

Caleb does not laugh.

He tilts his head slightly, gaze settling on you, steady and attentive. In that moment, he notices it—your skin flushed, the faint tremble in your fingers, the subtle hitch of your breath, the way your lips part just slightly. Every small signal that tells him exactly what is happening to you, that your body has betrayed you before your mind even tries to mask it.

“Please,” he says, low, calm, unshakable. “Have you seen me?”

You blink.

“I know you know I work out,” he continues, voice casual but certain. “And I’m fairly sure I bench well over what you weigh.”

Then, soft, simple, entirely matter-of-fact:

“I can handle you.”

Your body seizes immediately. Heat blooms from the centre of you, curling down your thighs, pressing insistently against your small heels. Your sex responds first—damp, swollen, aching, betraying the way your mind snaps back to the other Caleb, the one in the Secret Times section of the game, the one who said almost the same thing, low and deliberate, just for you, the player. You know precisely why it hits so hard.

Caleb’s brow quirks, a subtle crease of curiosity crossing his face. He does not speak. He does not ask. But his mind registers the effect before his body even notices: the rapid pulse in your throat, the quiver in your hands, the way your gaze locks on him. He sees it all.

Then his body responds, almost instinctively. Even seated, a faint catch in his breath, the subtle tightening in his thighs and the shift of his hips—traces of desire that he does not yet need to hide, stirred by yours, following the signal you have unwittingly sent.

You huff out a sound, part chuckle, part frustrated exhale, brushing a hand lightly along your neck and down your collarbone, pressing your fingers together in a subtle, discreet attempt to steady yourself. You will not let it show, not like this, not in public—but you are keenly aware of every pulse and quiver beneath your skin.

“You’re impossible,” you murmur, voice light but loaded, a veneer laid carefully over the heat gathering low in your body.

Caleb’s lips twitch in the faintest, almost imperceptible smile.

It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

He’s already noticed the change in you: the way your breath has gone just a fraction shallow, the brightness in your gaze that doesn’t match the casualness of your tone. The sound you made isn’t laughter, not really. It’s a dodge. A soft misdirection meant to carry both of you past something that has suddenly grown teeth.

He lets the moment breathe.

Your face is flushed, warmed into a soft, vivid pink that you do not seem to realise you’re wearing. In his eyes, it is devastating. He watches the colour bloom across your cheeks, the way your mouth curves as you try to keep things casual, and something in him tightens further.

He is acutely aware of himself now, too. Of the subtle pressure beginning to gather beneath the line of his trousers—not yet insistent, not yet betraying, but present enough to demand attention. Something he could still manage, still disguise with a shift of fabric or posture if he had to. If circumstance required him to stand, it would be inconvenient, perhaps, but not impossible to hide. A warning, not a crisis.

And he knows, with unsettling clarity, that whatever just shifted between you is not one-sided.

“What’s funny?” he asks at last.

His voice is even, composed, but there’s a new depth to it now—careful, restrained, the sound of someone choosing not to press too hard.

You hesitate. He watches the calculation flicker across your face, the weighing of whether to keep skating over the surface or risk dipping beneath it. Against your better judgement, you answer.

“It’s stupid,” you say. “Just—there’s this game I play. And a guy in it said something kind of similar once. It just… caught me off guard for a second.”

“A game,” he repeats, slowly.

You nod, already half-regretting it.

“What did he say?” Caleb asks.

The question comes too quickly. Too sharp. His mind is already rifling through memories with something approaching urgency, though he has no clear idea what he is searching for, only that whatever it is feels suddenly important.

You should stop there.

Instead, you step closer.

It is just a game, you tell yourself. Just a character. Just pixels and voice lines and code. Even if this tells on you a little, reveals to him the kind of game it is, it doesn’t matter. It’s harmless. Silly.

Caleb is seated, long legs comfortably spread. Not careless, just natural. Without fully committing to the decision, you move into the space between them.

He stills completely.

“Can I…?” you murmur, gesturing vaguely, already leaning in.

He swallows. “You don’t have to—”

But you do.

You step closer still, close enough that his knees bracket your thighs, close enough that he can feel the heat of you. You bend down, bringing your mouth near his ear, your voice dropping into the register you know too well.

And you say it.

Exactly as you’ve heard it before. The same cadence. The same quiet certainty. Every syllable placed with surgical precision.

“You think I can’t handle you?”

The effect is immediate and absolute.

Caleb’s breath stutters, sharp and involuntary, his body answering before he has the chance to stop it. The warning pressure he’d been managing tips decisively into something far more urgent, far more difficult to disguise. The realisation lands with clinical clarity: this would be a problem now. Not later. Now. If he had to move, if your name were called, if anything disrupted this moment, concealment would be… challenging at best.

"…fuck," he mutters under his breath, the word torn from him before he can stop it.

You straighten quickly, pulse racing, suddenly aware of how close you are, of what you’ve just done. You take a half-step back, eyes wide.

His jaw tightens as he looks away, focusing on the far wall, on the floor, on anything that isn’t you standing there with that look on your face. He drags in a slow, measured breath, gathering himself with visible effort.

“That,” he says finally, voice low and carefully controlled, “was… not helpful.”

You swallow. “I’m sorry. I just—”

He exhales and turns back to you. His gaze flicks over you: not down, not openly, but with an intent that tracks lines and distances, the subtle calculus of proximity and necessity. Whatever he sees there settles something in him.

His hands slide to your waist.

The contact is firm, sure, unhesitating. He draws you closer and down, guiding you to sit on one of his thighs with deliberate care, positioning you so that your weight shields him from view, so that you are, very specifically, exactly where you need to be.

You look at him, startled, questioning.

Caleb ducks his head, resting it briefly against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin.

“Stay,” he murmurs there, quiet and close. “Please.”

A pause. Another controlled breath.

“I just—I’m gonna need a minute.”

You feel it then, not through contact so much as proximity. The undeniable press, the reality of what your words have done, contained only by fabric and restraint and the fact that you are now sitting exactly where you are.

“…Oh,” you manage.

“…Yeah,” Caleb replies, a touch dry, unmistakably apologetic. “Sorry.”

For a moment, neither of you moves.

Another audible exhale escapes him, slow and resigned, faintly amused in the way of someone conceding to inevitability, and shifts just enough to help you stand again without spectacle. His hand lingers at your waist for half a heartbeat longer than necessary, steadying rather than indulgent.

Somewhere behind you, the hostess calls another name.

Not yours.

Caleb glances toward the stand, then back to you. There’s a look there now, quiet, resolved, unmistakably altered. He reaches for his coat, rising with care, posture precise, control reasserted by will alone.

“Can we… come back another night?” he asks, mild, as though it’s a small logistical adjustment rather than a quiet re-routing of the evening.

You nod, too quickly.

Neither of you asks the other where you’re going.

You’re already moving together, slipping out into the cooler night air before your names are ever called. The restaurant recedes behind you, unfinished, forgotten, while the spark between you tightens into something no longer content to wait.