The second bell tolls low across the estate, heavy as judgment. You feel it through your boots, through your ribs, as if the stone itself mourns what's about to unfold.
Outside, the world is a storm of motion: horses snorting and stamping, the clatter of hooves on cobble, the sharp commands of stablehands trying to keep order. Nobles' voices ring out—too loud, too bright—thick with laughter that doesn't quite mask the edge beneath. The air carries the scents of churned mud, leather, sweat, and smoke from the dying breakfast fires.
You and Levi move like breath, like shadow, gliding along the west hall where the light cuts low through high, narrow windows. The manor's focus is outward. No one looks inward, where its heart rots.
The servants' stairwell gapes at the end of the hall, dark and close, the air pouring from it thick with dust and old heat, as if the stone itself holds its breath.
Levi's hand brushes your arm—steady, grounding. His voice is a hush at your ear, warm against your chilled skin.
"We shouldn't do this," he murmurs. "Not like this. Not without better cover."
Your pulse drums so loud it fills your ears, but your resolve is steel. You shake your head, your voice soft but certain. "We don't have another chance."
You see the fight flicker behind his eyes, but before he can speak, you move.
The stone beneath your hands is slick with dew, cold enough to bite through your gloves. Each groove you find is worn by time, too shallow, too uncertain, but you climb. The world narrows to breath, heartbeat, the scrape of fabric on stone. You feel Levi at your back—silent, sure, his weight a promise beneath you.
The latch on the window gives, quiet as a breath.
You slip inside.
And the solar blinds you.
Light pours through the skylight, sharp and merciless. It pools on the marble, so polished it throws the sun back at you like a blade. The brass fixtures, the gilt frames—they catch the light, reflect it, multiply it, until the room feels made of flame.
There is no darkness. No refuge. The air tastes of ink and oil, of metal and old secrets.
For a single, dizzying breath, you know this place.
This is what last night felt like.
That same rawness. That same terrifying, beautiful exposure. His hands on your skin. His mouth on yours. His weight, his warmth, his breath tangled with yours. No lies. No masks. No shelter.
And like last night, this room lays you bare. Strips you of armor, of distance. Leaves you trembling in the light.
But you move anyway. Because you have to.
Your fingers tremble as you pull open drawers, lift lids, unroll parchment.
Titan schematics—spines drawn with surgical precision, joints labeled in a hand without mercy.
Injection notes, smudged and greasy, marked with failures, improvements.
Ledgers—citizens turned to numbers, shipments, codes, destinations.
Seals of houses that raised goblets to you only nights ago.
And stamped at the bottom of every order: Commander Titus.
Levi forces a drawer at the desk's base. The wood groans beneath the wedge of his blade, then yields.
Inside:
Vials, pale and cloudy, the liquid clinging slow to the glass like something alive.
Chains—small, stained, rusting.
A list folded tight, the ink faded but legible: Approved Test Subjects. Names that lived on posters, names that lived in hope, now ghosts.
Your stomach knots. The room feels too bright, too open, as if the light might burn you through.
Levi's voice is low, frayed at the edges. "It's worse than I thought."
You can't look at him. "I thought I imagined the worst." The words leave you in a breath that shakes. "I didn't."
He steps closer. His shoulder brushes yours. His shadow falls over your hands, the only shadow in the room, a shield against the glare.
"If we fail," you whisper, "if this dies with us—"
His hand covers yours, warm, solid, real. His thumb brushes over your glove, steadying. "We're not going to fail."
Your eyes meet his—dark, burning with fury, with grief, with you.
Your breath catches. "Levi..."
His jaw clenches. His thumb lingers at your wrist like he can't bear to let go. His voice drops, soft and sure. "Later. When this is done."
You nod. The weight of it presses into your bones. "Later."
Then—
The soft, slow turn of a key.
The door creaks open.
And the moment shatters.
—
The light in the solar feels colder, sharper. There's no cover, no shadow to hide you. Just that brutal, exposing sunlight.
Vaergan enters like he owns the room. His boots soft on marble, blade drawn and easy in his hand. His smile is slow, sure—the smile of a man who believes he's already won.
His eyes lock on you first. "Little butterfly," he says, voice smooth as silk over steel.
Before Levi can block him, Vaergan's hand closes like a vice on your arm. His knife lifts to your throat, cold against your skin, a breath from cutting.
Levi's blade is up, his body a coil of fury and calculation.
Vaergan leans close. His breath reeks of wine and rot. "Defect now. I could give you silk. Comfort. No more running. Or—" his blade shifts slightly, a cruel promise—"I could open you up and watch you fall."
Your heart slams against your ribs, but your voice stays steady. "You're afraid. That's why you're offering."
And that's when Levi moves.
Fast as a storm, he lunges—steel flashing, deadly.
Vaergan's knife strikes first.
The blade plunges into your side, brutal and deep, angled to maim.
Pain bursts through you—white-hot, breath-stealing. You feel it tear flesh, feel the blood rush out, hot and fast. But you don't fall. You won't fall.
Levi's strike connects, knocking Vaergan back, but not down.
You gasp, hand clamped to your side, blood slick beneath your fingers. The world narrows, but you stand. You fight.
Vaergan snarls and comes at you both—wild now, no more taunts, just fury.
And you and Levi answer.
Steel meets steel. The room rings with it—sharp, brutal, echoing in the high ceiling.
Levi drives him back with precision strikes, every blow meant to end it. You circle, blade drawn, pain burning but adrenaline pushing you forward.
Vaergan slashes, grazing Levi's arm. Levi doesn't flinch, counters hard—his blade opening a line of red across Vaergan's shoulder.
You see your opening. You lunge, your blade scoring across Vaergan's side—shallow, but it earns a roar of rage.
The clash feels endless, breathless. Boots scrape marble slick with blood. The light blinds, the air burns in your lungs.
And then—shouts. Boots. The guards are coming.
Vaergan curses, retreats toward the door, bleeding, panting, smiling like the devil.
"This isn't over."
And he's gone—slipping out as his men storm the hall.
Levi spins to you as Vaergan flees, catching you before you can lose your footing. His hands are firm at your waist, blood slick between you, his breath ragged against your cheek. His palm covers yours at your side, trying to stem the flood.
His voice breaks through the chaos—low, urgent, wrecked:
"Can you stand?"
You nod—sharp, breathless—even as the room tilts, even as your blood pools warm beneath your fingers.
"I'm standing."
His eyes burn, too much behind them—fury at Vaergan, terror for you, the crack of guilt already starting to form at the edges of his voice.
"Stay with me," he breathes. "We're getting out. I swear it. Just stay."
And you do. You stand. You burn. You bleed. But you stand.
—
The hall erupts behind you—boots slamming down, voices rising like a wave.
Levi pulls you toward the stairwell, arm tight around your waist, trying to protect your side from each jolt. The pain is white-hot, a roar under your skin, but you force your legs to move. Your boots slip on the blood-slick marble, but you stay on your feet.
"Stay with me," Levi mutters, almost to himself, almost like a prayer. His grip steadies you. His breath is ragged, his fury barely leashed.
The stairwell is dark and narrow. The air tastes of stone, iron, and blood. You hear the pound of boots above, the snap of orders barked.
At the base—Marla.
Her face is pale but set with steel. She has the hidden door open already.
"This way—move!"
She drags you through into the narrow servant's passage. The door slams shut behind.
Levi throws the bolt. His breath is loud in the crush of dark.
But behind that door—the pounding starts. First fists, then the butt of a musket.
"They'll break through," Marla gasps, and you see it in her eyes. She already knows what she has to do.
"No—Marla—don't—" you rasp, but the words taste of blood.
She's already stepping back to the door, drawing a dagger from her apron, setting her shoulders.
"GO. Now. Don't waste it."
Levi's torn between you and her—his fury, his grief, his helplessness all burning in his eyes. "Marla—"
Her smile is small and sad. "You got this far. Now finish it."
The door shudders—the outer door giving way.
Levi grabs you, pulls you down the passage. The last thing you hear before the tunnel swallows you is the crash of wood, the clash of steel, and Marla's cry of defiance.
—
The passage twists and narrows, breath stolen by stone and dark and the copper tang of your own blood. Levi keeps his arm firm around you, half-supporting, half-dragging, guiding by memory, by instinct.
You break into the daylight on the edge of the grounds, behind the outbuildings, the forest beyond calling you with its promise of cover.
But you stumble. The world tilts. The blood loss is catching up—your legs are heavy, your vision edged with dark.
Levi catches you again, lowers you to one knee, his hand pressed hard to your side. His palm is slick with your blood, his gloves stained red.
"Y/n," he breathes, voice wrecked. He's too pale. Too scared. "Don't close your eyes."
You want to. Gods, you want to. But you don't.
His forehead rests against yours, his voice a thread tying you to him.
"Don't take your attention off me. Stay awake. Stay with me."
The shouts are farther behind now, but you're not safe. Not yet.
Levi's hands won't stop shaking as he tries to slow the bleeding, as he tries to figure how to carry you without losing precious time. His voice drops to a whisper, fierce, desperate:
"I'm not letting this be it. You hear me? You're staying awake. You're staying with me."
And you try. You fix your gaze on him—those storm-dark eyes, that blood-spattered face. You breathe him in. You hold on.
Levi lifts you, steady now despite the tremor in his jaw. The forest is close. Salvation is close. But so is the danger.
And still—you stay.