“What I'm saying is that it's easy to take the high road so long as there aren't any stakes. But the minute you've got something to lose, a man'll do all sorts of things.” ― David Joy (The Line That Held Us)

  * * * *

  The soft creak of the old wooden door was the only sound to break the suffocating silence in the infirmary cabin, save for the steady, ragged rhythm of Lucas’s breathing.

  The single window above the headboard let in a meagre amount of pale sunlight, filtered through clouds heavy with the stench of war and the ash of what used to be order.

  The modest space, once used for triage in a place long thought forgotten, was now the beating heart of Ashenridge’s fledgling attempt at a sanctuary, a hospital by necessity, not design.

  Lucas sat propped up on a pile of firm pillows, shirtless from the waist up, his torso and shoulders laced with fresh bruises, contusions, and bandaged gashes. His raven-black hair, usually pulled back neatly, hung loose and sweat-matted against his cheek and brow.

  The fight with Zest had been brief, but merciless. And the medic tending to him—an older woman with weathered hands and sharp eyes, made no effort to hide her displeasure as she finished taping off the last bandage on his ribs.

  “Will he be all right?” Misha wanted to know, though even he shot his brother an annoyed look.

  “He’ll live,” The medic said at last, her voice clipped, no-nonsense, and echoing faint judgment. “Just superficial wounds. Zest held back on you.”

  She rose from the side of the cot, gathering the bloodied gauze and bandage wrappers into a metal basin, the metallic clang echoing in the quiet room. “But if I may give you a word of advice?” she added, turning her sharp gaze on Misha, who stood beside the bed with crossed arms and a dark shadow in his eyes. “If you know what’s good for you, don’t antagonise Zest. Not unless you’re tired of living. He didn’t earn the moniker of the ‘Black Demon’ by being soft. Get some rest. I’ll be back in the evening to check on you.”

  She left before any of them could respond, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving only the sound of the fire crackling from a metal stove in the far corner, and the strained silence of six former ESA agents who had seen too much in too little time.

  No one said anything for a few long moments.

  Then Taylor broke the silence with the most sibling-appropriate combination of exasperation and fury she could muster.

  “Why did you have to start something with Zest?” she demanded, stepping forward, her hands clenched at her sides. Her voice trembled. Not with fear, but with barely restrained rage and disbelief. “You know what he’s capable of. And you thought for a second that you’d get the better of him? The second-in-command of Blade? The Black Demon? One of the two people in all of Eldario that had a flee-on-sight order by the hunters? Are you tired of living or just stupid?”

  Lucas didn’t respond right away. He couldn’t. His throat felt tight, and his chest ached. Not just from the bruises and fractured rib, but from something deeper, more difficult to explain.

  He knew he stands no chance against Zest from the beginning. The other man was much more lethal, dangerous, and much more skilled than Lucas is, despite Zest being a Normal.

  Lucas didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. He couldn’t look at Taylor, or Elijah, or even Misha. Their expressions were heavy with concern and disappointment, layered over fatigue. Exhaustion seeped through every corner of the room. They’d barely had time to process one horror before the next bled into the fold.

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  “I didn’t mean to,” Lucas said at last, his voice hoarse, as though the words themselves hurt more than the pain of broken ribs. “I just… I got so mad.” He drew in a shaky breath, his eyes fixed on the pale wood of the cabin ceiling. “Everyone in the ESA is dead. The director… The Eldario Council… All of them. We all heard Bryan’s last words. His scream before the comm cut out. And now… Now we hear we can’t even strike back. That we have to sit here, licking our wounds while the hunters roam free, killing whoever they want. And I just… I got so damn mad…”

  “That’s not the whole truth, and you know it.”

  The quiet, cutting voice came from Misha. All eyes turned to him.

  Misha’s expression was unreadable, but the tension in his jaw, and the subtle shake in his clenched fist, spoke volumes. He stood with one shoulder pressed against the wall, looking not at Lucas, but at the worn wooden floor as though the answers were carved into it.

  “I know you, Lucas,” he said, his tone quiet, but deliberate. “You’ve never been the kind to act without thinking. Never been the type to pick fights, especially ones you know you can’t win. This… This wasn’t about the hunters. You and I both know that this wasn’t about the hunters destroying ESA headquarters and the Council building. Not entirely. This was about Zest. And it was about Sera. Am I wrong?” He challenged.

  Lucas closed his eyes. He didn’t deny it. Couldn’t.

  The silence was thick and suffocating.

  Taylor’s gaze shifted. Elijah’s eyes narrowed slightly. Leonid, Allen, and Jonan exchanged looks.

  “…Do all of you know?” Lucas asked after a long pause, the weight of the question heavy with dread.

  Elijah raised a brow. “Do we know what exactly?” he asked carefully, already suspecting what Lucas meant, but not wanting to assume.

  Lucas hesitated. Then, bitterly, “What my father did.”

  There it was. Spoken aloud. The wound that refused to heal. The shadow that had followed him for months since finding out the truth.

  Elijah didn’t look away. Nor did Taylor. Nor any of them. Jonan’s jaw tensed. Allen’s red eyes, normally bright with wry energy, dulled. Leonid stood silent by the far corner, his arms crossed over his chest, his face unreadable.

  “I don’t think there are many in the underground or the Gifted community that don’t,” Elijah said, his tone cold and blunt. “Even before Taylor and I joined the ESA, we already knew who your father was. The name ‘Gene Alescio’… It wasn’t just a name. It was a warning. A legacy drenched in blood and cruelty. I recognised it the moment I met you.”

  He paused, and there was something bitter in his gaze now, something he usually kept well-hidden beneath his calm exterior.

  “The stories about him were passed down through hunter ranks like war songs. Even amongst certain ESA circles, particularly amongst the Gifted Task Force, like it was something to be proud of. A monster who knew no mercy. And the things he did to the Gifted, some of whom were barely even children, were more than crimes. They were atrocities. And it wasn’t just the Gifted. Any Normal who got in the hunters’ way met the same fate.”

  Elijah exhaled. “So yes, I’ll bet that everyone here knew what your father had done. Anyone who had ties to the underground all knows. Many of the Gifted here were likely subjected to the hunters’ cruelty even before this entire madness begun, barely surviving by the skin of their teeth. And yet, they were also the lucky ones. Because they at least survived. Lots didn’t.”

  Lucas’s voice was raw when he spoke next. “Then why bring me here? Why let me stay? Why force everyone here to live with the reminder of what he did—what I might become?”

  The words cut deeper than anyone expected.

  Misha looked disgusted. Not with his brother, but with the question.

  “You think the people here hate you because of who Dad was?” Misha asked sharply. “Then why haven’t they turned on me, too? Rex hasn’t exiled us. No one’s put a blade to our throats. No, Lucas. It’s not about the name.”

  The door opened with a creak, and all heads turned.

  Raul Meyers stepped in.

  He was calm, like a still lake before a storm. But the look on his face—the intensity in those golden eyes, made it clear he’d heard every single word.

  “Our dislike of you doesn’t stem from you being a former ESA agent,” Raul said coolly, stepping fully into the room. “If that were the case, then the rest of them—your team, would be facing the same treatment.” He looked at each of the others in the room, acknowledging them with a short nod before turning his gaze back to Lucas.

  “No. Our issue with you is deeper than that. It’s how you spent years believing the hunters were heroes, while the rest of us bled in the streets. You defended their policies, while the rest of us were rounded up, tortured, and even murdered, despite all the evidence. You were protected, sheltered in the ESA, while we clawed to survive. You were blind, Alescio. Blind to everything around you until it slammed into your skull.”

  He stepped closer, and the firelight caught the dragonfly tattoo etched along his left cheek. “You’re not hated because of Gene Alescio. He doesn’t even factor into it at all. We’ve survived worse legacies. We hate you because, for too long, you looked away. And when you finally looked, it was already too late.”

  Lucas opened his mouth, but no words came.

  Raul’s expression didn’t soften.

  “And as for Zest? He’s just saying what most of us have thought for a long time. But know this, if you leave, then you leave, you will be on your own. We won’t risk ourselves and our people to keep you safe if you are so insistent on doing something incredibly stupid.”

  Raul glanced around the room again.

  “There’s going to be a meeting this evening. We’re deciding what to do next. Because as much as I hate to admit it, Alescio is right about one thing—we can’t ignore what’s happening anymore. We can’t ignore the fact that the hunters destroyed the ESA as well as the Eldario Council. Nicolosi and his army won’t stop until there’s nothing left but ash. And Eldario is already on fire.”

  Raul turned back to the door, then looked over his shoulder one last time.

  “If you want to be part of what comes next, you’re welcome to join.”

  He left without waiting for a reply. The door shut with a final click that echoed louder than a gunshot.

  And the room was silent again.

  The fire crackled in the corner. The weight of history, guilt, and grief sat heavy in the air.

  Lucas said nothing. No one did.

  But the silence spoke louder than any words.