Athena didnt flinch when the man growled in her face, phone still held up to catch his response, it didnt matter that he was a solid foot taller than her and had more muscle than was probably necessary. She wanted him mad. The Assistant District Attorney hadn't liked it when she had flat out asked him if he got his hookers from the dark web or was he more traditional and picked them up on the corners. She was sure if they were somewhere private he would have attacked her which is exactly the reason she cornered him on the steps of the court house.
The woman didnt flinch, didnt back down, didnt move. She waited. The mans eyes flicked behind her and his snarl faltered before he quicklt turned, calling her a wanna be reporter as he left. Athena sighed, there went her stories ending. She turned, already talking.
"Azreal. I told you, stop following-oh. Yoojin, hi. Sorry. Friends worry for my safety all the time and I have no idea why. What brings you down here?"
His wrists were still chained to the floor. It’d have bothered him more if there was even any point in standing. When he was alone, Delta laid almost totally motionless on the floor. On his stomach, the only position which did not irritate the still-healing whip marks. He was grateful for the blanket, now seeing its utility. It wasn’t thick enough to provide any padding, could not ever be called soft, but it did shield him from the cold metal floor. It had stopped his shivering.
He had braided his hair back, then unbraided it, then braided it again. They’d let him shower, but they could not afford his hair routine even if they’d allowed him it. He tied another knot at the end.
He was bored. He preferred boredom to the beatings, which had thankfully fallen off ever since his surrender. And yet, with nothing else to do, he occasionally brushed his fingers against the flesh of his arm to ignite little sparks upon it. Little shocks. Something to keep his mind busy. He didn’t want to ask for anything else.
He had gotten through every organism of the Abyssopelagic zone in alphabetical order, through every machine gun he could name, all the state capitals and each palace he’d ever stepped foot in. He was halfway through all natural poisons when he heard the door open.
Marston, the lieutenant, came to retrieve him. Tablet in one hand, she swung the door ajar and entered with heavy booted steps. Taser clipped to her utility belt, earpiece buzzing in her ear, she was hoping this would be another quick and drama-free transport. It had been every time so far, but she stayed prepared, just in case today was the day Delta decided to give them trouble.
“They want you out on the ground today,” she said, unlocking Delta’s cell door and sliding the metal cage open. “She said to tell you it’s bright out there. Like, really bright. I guess this planet is pretty close to its star. Anyway.”
She knelt to unlock delta’s cuffs from the floor, still keeping his wrists chained together. “Are you gonna need like, sunscreen or whatever?” She didn’t know much about blue-skinned races. Delta was the first one she’d even seen up close. His glowing eyes were fascinating in a way that neared on unsettling.
Delta sat up. The impulse was to kneel, typically. He would've. But his leg was still injured and unwilling to accommodate much pressure—he avoided moving it whenever possible.
It was hard for him to parse which questions he was meant to nod passively to and which ones he was meant to actually answer.
"...It depends on how long we're out, sir?" he responded. It wasn't something he'd bothered with much in Empire, but in Empire all his clothes had been light and long, protecting him from the sun's rays. With his skin exposed the way it was now, the sunburn stood out as more of a concern. He knew that it would hurt more if he was hit.
It made him nervous to ask for anything directly.
“Your skin can burn, then, I’m assuming? I’ll make sure they take care of it. Give you something more than that flimsy thing.” She gestured to the old shirt Delta wore. It wasn’t dirty, they’d let him swap them out for clean ones whenever he took a shower, but they were old clothes, spares collected over the years. A bit tattered yet freshly laundered, occasional holes. The current shirt Delta was wearing was a bit baggy on him, scooping low on his chest.
“Yeah, sunscreen or something longer,” she mumbled into her earpiece. “Uh-huh. He burns too.”
She hauled Delta up with a hand on his bicep. It wasn’t necessarily gentle, but she was trying not to be rough with him. When he was standing, Marston looped her fingers around the ring between his cuffs and led him out of the cell. She’d thought of letting him walk on his own before, but the flash thought of the prisoner garroting her from behind with a pair of handcuffs was all it took to chuck that idea.
Delta was unfazed by both the being lifted and the being led. Again, he thought the precautions they were taking were extreme, but he recognized that from their perspective they must have seemed reasonable. It was just odd. He preferred being led by the cuffs to being dragged by the collar. The only impediment to the movement was the still-present limp of his left leg. Even this did little to actually slow him. It just made his gait awkward and painful.
He was led to an elevator, down another hallway. He was silent and obedient through the duration of the walk, moving where he was indicated. He was long past finding the silence awkward. He recognized that the majority of the time, he was not being invited to speak.
They reached another elevator, and descended until they finally hit the landing deck. The very bottom of the ship. The drophatch was already open, and Marston could feel the heat on her face the moment the elevator doors parted. It felt oppressive and dense. She squinted at the light that emanated from the gleaming sand through the open hatch.
She led Delta across the large room, where another few team members were setting up. They’d prepared light linen cloth coverings for the team's crew. She plucked a set for herself, and set for Delta. She pointed next to the pile of cloth, “There’s a bin of Anti-UV glasses, I’m assuming—” she cut herself off, answering her own question in her head and promptly snatching up two pairs of those too.
She shoved the pile of linen into Delta’s hands, momentarily forgetting the state of him. He stared blankly back at her. He just held it without saying anything.
Clad in only army cargo pants and a black tank top, Marston hurried to ready herself, wrapping a long piece of light sage-green linen around her shoulders before draping the rest over her head. It covered her head, shoulders, chest and upper arms—like a cloak. It would be just enough to protect her from the star’s burning rays. She tucked the UV glasses into her belt and turned towards Delta, eye twitching with annoyance when she saw he hadn’t moved an inch.
“Put it—“ She stopped when she remembered the cuffs.
“Right,” she said, mostly to herself. But she couldn’t just uncuff him now. Then what would have been the point?
Marston picked up the light blue cloth in Delta’s hands, wrapping it around his head and shoulders like she had done with herself. She raised a second smaller piece to his face to tie into a kerchief around his mouth and nose.
Delta flinched, inevitably, as the cloth was wrapped around his face. He thought he was being gagged. He wouldn’t put it past them. As it was tied back and neither his air nor speech were cut off, he relaxed.
“For the dust,” she said, before pulling the makeshift hood back up.
Marston clipped an earpiece onto the fin of Delta’s ear. “I think they’ve tested this one before on you, so it should work but, uh, let me know if you can’t hear anything.” She clicked it on, and Amira’s voice came over the other end.
“This is the channel we’re using,” Marston directed, “She’s probably not talking to you unless you hear your name, but just. Keep listening.”
He nodded as the earpiece was clipped in — not speaking, not wanting to broadcast without meaning to. It was routine. He could manage.
Marston secured her own cloth dust mask behind her head and led Delta down a long ramp by a not-too-tight grip on his arm. He followed her without an issue, descending into the dusty expanse below.
The ship’s ramp gave way to the planet’s surface and they set foot on rocky sand. A large off-road vehicle waited for them. Engine humming low—its exhaust was hotter than the air itself, bursting in thick clouds against its dusty dark green finish.
Marston led Delta by the bicep again towards the open door of the backseat. He followed. It was a hassle, moving where he was pushed, climbing and maneuvering. But he followed, dutifully.
He was shoved in the back, next to a familiar but not so friendly face.
"Ayyyee,” Yoojin drawled, "Can't play ball without our mascot!" He clapped Delta on the back harder than necessary.
Delta did nothing to conceal the glower he leveled at Yoojin, more obvious now that only his eyes were visible. It dropped away into a wince as Yoojin hit him on the back, right over the marks the whip had left. He did not reply.
A young woman wearing a long black ponytail sat in the driver's seat. The passenger seat was filled entirely by a very tall man—he nearly had to slouch to not hit the ceiling.
"Hey there, sparky himself," the driver said, craning her head around. "I'm Jackie," she filled the silence while Marston buckled in.
Delta didn’t reply to the driver, either, nor did he find much humor in the joke. There was no part of this he enjoyed.
"Training zone's not far,” Jackie said. “Just, try not to go flying through the windshield, ‘kay?"
Jackie cracked a smile and shifted gears. Instantly, the engine revved forward, careening down a dirt path through the rocky desert.
They drove for several minutes, before Jackie pulled off, seemingly randomly, onto another, smaller dirt road. Vehicles and temporary tenting could be seen up ahead, little fragments impeding the horizon.
A few more minutes, and Jackie pulled up near some other vehicles, Marston opened the door and dragged Delta out of the car. They approached the site, a large semi-circle of tents overlooking a vast low stretch of brush.
This was all off-road, Delta thought, all visibly scrapped up and together. They are broke, he realized. It wasn’t a comforting thought. He could not give himself away to these people. His confidence was at an all time low.
Marston marched Delta to the center-point, where a large marking had been sprayed into the sand.
He almost wanted to tell Marston that she did not need to pull him, that he knew where to walk. He couldn’t bring himself to. It wasn’t a good hill to die on. Not now.
"Several targets have been set up in the distance," Amira's voice sounded over the channel. "Delta, your job will be to eliminate the correct target on my command. Should be pretty simple. Do you copy?"
“Yeah,” he muttered over the airway, “Uh, yes, sir.”
It was rare that he had to play the role of both the obedient servant and the psychic war machine. Most of the time it was just one or the other. It was visible, the way some tension left him as he eyed up the targets. His focus was somewhere else, no longer dedicated to the formalities. For a second, he seemed like a different person. There was a confidence in him that wasn’t there before.
Amira watched from afar as Delta's demeanor changed. He seemed to stand up straighter. His feet parted slightly. She could not see his face but could feel her own burn with excitement.
“Delta,” her voice sounded in his earpiece, "Your first target is the scrap heap at 2:00. I'm lowering the collar's power, confirm for me when you see it."
He could see everything. From far away, he could almost feel her gaze on him. He could feel the looks of the others. He thought he should feel stage fright. But this too was already so far beyond him.
He had visuals on every target. It was almost trivially easy. This test was more about control than anything else. He felt eager. He could’ve crushed them all at once if he wanted.
Their coaching left a lot to be desired. He was fundamentally on his own.
“I see it, sir,” he confirmed. His voice was low. Bored.
“Only that one. On my count. 3. 2. Fire.”
It was instantaneous, almost before she even got through the final word. The radius only covered the metal itself, the feelers able to identify where the material ended and the soft sand began. It was tight, controlled, seamless. His hand twitched slightly, squeezing one claw into his palm. No other reaction.
The sound echoed across the valley, bouncing off the tall rock formations with the force of a banging drum. It hung in the air, a huge mushroom-shaped dust cloud forming above the site that was once a pile of junk metal, now reduced to ash.
"Jimenez, can I get a visual?" Amira buzzed over the mic.
"Target eliminated, sir."
"Copy that."
She ordered Delta to destroy the next one. A large pile of broken-down monster trucks, in different states of disrepair, lay in the distance—about 100 yards further out than the first.
"Fire."
Next, several large freight containers, each big enough to fit an entire house, sat in the horizon at 10:00—another 200 yards further from the first target. She sent him for that one too.
Soon, three large mushroom clouds covered the sun-filled sky in a thick layer of dust and ash. Marston watched from the tents, grateful she'd handed Delta those glasses. And grabbed a pair for herself.
Delta sighed quietly, into the cloth. He wanted to ask where they'd even found these targets, who had set them up. The visual of any of them driving those monster trucks out to pasture tickled him slightly. He could have moved it for them, if they'd asked.
He felt like he was scraping up against something. Rust›y, somehow. All of this was still far below what he was used to, the kind of drills he used to run when he was twelve. Too easy. Not that he would complain. This was so much better than being worked to the bone with it. He was holding back. They couldn't tell, but he was holding back. He wanted painlessness, selfishly. He wouldn't tell them what he could really do.
So it wasn't the powers that were burning him up. As he started to get dizzy, he realized it was simply the sun. He was hotter now, not helped by the dust he'd kicked up with all the demolition. He pushed the glasses off his face, rubbing his eyes. He was starting to white out. Without thinking about it, mostly base instinct, he squatted down to the ground to try and get more blood circulating through his brain. He covered his eyes to keep the light out.
They had one last drill to go when Amira saw Delta crouch down suddenly. "Delta,” her voice was stern over the speaker. "Do you copy." It was more of a statement. She was almost finished and this was going perfectly. She did not need anything to mess this up now, not at the last second.
"Do you copy," came her voice again.
Her voice registered now as an irritant, some insect buzzing in his ear. The voice without presence did little to intimidate him. His vision was still white around the edges.
“Yes, sir?” he responded with forced patience, forced politeness. He rested his forehead against his palm, trying to massage out the tension headache building up within it. This did almost nothing to help. It was still way too fucking hot.
She took his affirmative as a go-ahead. “Final target. At about 300 meters, 12:00. Without harming anyone here, I want this as big as you can make it. Do you copy,” came the order.
“…Sir?” he ventured nervously. “That would easily come up to the edge of the camp. Is there a space you want to partition?”
He didn’t want to venture too close to any of them; he knew that playing cute would not be received kindly.
The distance between himself and the target was still a fraction of what he could actually encompass. He didn’t want to give them all he had. He knew that if he showed it, they would come to expect it. He was holding out on them. He would continue to do so for as long as he was able.
Amira nodded. "Leave a 50 meter radius at least. Between us and the blast. Copy?" She was glad he had confirmed. She wanted this to be smooth. Better to be efficient than to fly too close to the sun too quickly. Speaking of the sun, she was starting to sweat through her linen covering.
Oh shit. He was going to go for like, 10 meters. He was glad he clarified.
“Yes, sir,” he confirmed again. Still dizzy. Still not loving the way the heat was creeping up on him.
He raised his chained wrists, forming a window with his fingers through which to view the target. It was an old trick, but he found it was still helpful after all these years.
“Do I count myself off?” he asked, hearing the bated silence on the other end.
She was just awaiting his confirmation. Just waiting to make sure he wasn't entirely withering in the heat. They hadn't been able to recover much information about his species. She was glad this was the last.
"I'll do it. 3. 2. Fire."
There was a halo of light that emanated from the target, hovering there a second before it ballooned up to cover the whole horizon. It was like a nightmare, bright and bloodless. Amira could feel the blood pulsing in her own ears. It was beautiful.
It was too far. Delta had been scraping against it before, but now he full-on collided. He’d overestimated just how hard he could push himself at this point, in this climate. The light burned and burned and burned as he held it, eliminating everything within it. All smolders.
He felt a blood vessel burst in his eye, several more along his sinuses. Too. Fucking. Hot.
He collapsed onto his hands and knees as the light died.
"Jimenez—Jackie—Go get him," Amira ordered the moment Delta hit the sand.
Several soldiers rushed from the tents, two carrying a stretcher. They'd been preparing for something like this in the training exercises, but it was looking like they'd finally be needing it.
Delta raised one hand up, warning them to hold back. It was a remarkably self-assured gesture, impossible to imagine him pulling out under any other circumstances. But he was the authority on his powers. Amira had said it herself. He knew it better than them and this — this was nothing. This was a nosebleed.
He folded back onto his knees, wincing as the pain in the dead leg reigned from the pressure. There was not a single position he could get into without reigniting the injuries that they had given him. They hurt worse than the headache, worse than the heat. How did she have the nerve to act concerned?
“Lightheaded. It’s fine,” he called out. The radio wasn’t on anymore. His hands had moved up to the handkerchief covering his face. He tore it off, dabbing at the blood that now poured from his nose.
He spat. What was typically a mixture of blood and saliva was now mostly blood, almost no water left in his body to dilute it. It left a salty, copper taste in his mouth. His vision was still brighter than it should have been.
“Can I just have some water, please?”
Jackie heard him, and, rather than try and run back to one of the tents, hurried forward with her own canteen in hand, lid twisted open. She rushed to Delta's side, pressing the freshly filled canteen into his hands.
He received it gratefully, mindful of the chains. The urgency caught him off guard. They really…didn’t know him. They didn’t know how much was too much, what was nothing at all. The pendulum kept swinging, never on-time.
But he was grateful for the water now. He thanked her for it, drinking all that was left. He passed it back empty. The dizziness was still there, but it was receding. When he looked up, it was still too bright to even see the damage he’d done.
Amira surveyed the scene before her, from her position high up in the passenger seat of a land cruiser.
"We're done for today," was all she said into the headset, and the crew began to pack up. Marston marched out to the clearing, to the painted symbol in the heated sand, to retrieve what was left of Delta, dizzy and heated as he was.
She gripped his arm, though not as firmly as before, ready to lead him back to the backseat of the dark green SUV.
The trampling of boots, the dismantling of equipment, and a caravan of vehicles kicked up even more dust. Barely able to view the road in front of them, they set off back towards the ship.
He stood up, briefly dropped back down, then stood up again. He followed where she dragged him. He didn’t bother putting the cloth back on, wrapping the bloodied remnants around his wrist in case he needed to stop the bleeding again.
“Um. I’m sorry. Can I have more water?”
Marston gripped his arm tighter, jerking him a bit. "No," she said gruffly, "In the car, maybe. We have to go."
She dragged him towards the open mouth of Jackie's Jeep. Yoojin's crooked smile met him inside. Another middle seat trip for the barely conscious Delta.
He didn’t argue, nor was he really put off by the rebuff. He clambered back into the car. He didn’t bother glaring at Yoojin, no longer having the strength, not even quite catching the smile he was greeted with. Delta collapsed back into the middle seat. He leaned forward, holding his head in his hands.
Jackie cranked the steering wheel and peeled out abruptly, jostling Delta and knocking him into Yoojin’s lap for the duration of the sharp turn.
Yoojin swerved his shoulders to the side, making a big show of it, "Woah there! Buy me dinner first," he sneered, letting Delta's head fall into his lap and conveniently raising his hands in a mock position of innocence.
The lapse of consciousness was short-lived, not even lasting the duration of the car ride. Dreamless, depth-less. The nausea came in waves. Delta was too dehydrated to do anything about it. He pushed himself back upright, barely conscious, but even in the subdued state he reflexively cringed away from Yoojin. He already had that trained into him.
He peeked up at the ship through the car's dusted windshield. Out of the sun. Back to his cell, he guessed.
Yoojin cringed back when he saw Delta's reaction. "What's your problem, god damn..' he mumbled to himself when Delta didn't respond, likely still with decent knowledge of what Delta's problem probably was. Enough to peace it together.
He didn't know what his problem was. He wished he did.
"You wanted water right?" came Marston's voice, holding a fresh canteen out to Delta's cuffed hands.
"Oh," he muttered sleepily. "Thank you, sir."
He barely remembered asking, so he was surprised that she'd remembered to follow through. He wasted no time in finishing it off. Better now, definitely. He still needed to be away from the sun and the dust, but he'd had enough history with them both to tolerate it a while longer. He'd been beaten senseless in the desert before, if memory served.
As fast as it had arrived, the SUV sped off down the desert road, the looming ship grew larger in the distance.
At some point, Yoojin elbowed Delta in the side. "So, how does it feel? To really, I mean, just fucking send something into smithereens like that." His eyes beamed with a sort of wide admiration for the carnage, for the blast, for the dust and for the destruction. "How did it feel?"
Delta winced away from the touch. His ribs were still sore from where Yoojin had kicked them in not too long ago, still painful from where he'd fucking shocked him. Delta bit his lip.
"It doesn't feel like anything, sir," he answered. He knew it was a banal and unsatisfying answer, but it was also true. All the novelty had faded away. The only other answers he could offer were bad and painful. For some reason, he didn't think that would fly.
Yoojin turned his head, scowling. “Fine, suit yourself, cupcake. But I know it feels amazing to smash the fuck out all that stuff. To make explosions like that.” He understood that he couldn’t make Delta tell him, at least not right now, but he still wanted to know. Wanted to make it known that he didn’t fucking believe him.
Delta took another shaky sigh. Cupcake. Yoojin said it with a harshness, but he found it too lighthearted to even take offense to it. All of it was giving him whiplash. He wanted to lay down again. He took another sip of water.
Yoojin didn’t like Delta’s silence. He took the opportunity to jab him again with another elbow to the ribs. “You’re not gonna tell me, huh?” He jabbed him again. “We’ve got a couple more miles, you know, better make the best of it while you can right?”
"...Just feels like pressure," he mumbled, looking down. "I don't know how to describe it to you."
Truthfully, so few people had ever asked. It wasn't something he'd ever had to articulate. He buried his head in his hands again.
"Feels like a migraine."
He didn't realize how exhausted he was, how cavalier he was and should not have been. He tended to match the tone of who he spoke to when he wasn't careful - and ended up mirroring Yoojin's own.
“Oh. Okay, well. Whatever,” Yoojin said, kicking his feet a little in the seat. He was done trying to get answers out of Delta.
After a minute or so of dull boredom, Yoojin smiled to himself, “She’s not gonna be happy with you, you know,” he teased, his elbow nudging Delta’s ribs a third time. Amusement laced his words, “You kinda fucked up at the end there, huh?”
Delta’s eyes flickered to the side, not that it was really visible through the impenetrable blue of his sclera. His instinct said not to believe Yoojin on anything, but the thought still made him nervous. He was scared of Amira. He was scared of both of them. He didn't think that he'd fucked up.
He wished Yoojin would stop elbowing him. He knew it was bruising beneath the cloak.
He didn't respond.
Yoojin frowned when Delta refused to entertain him again. “You’re no fucking fun at all, are you. What were you, like, aboutta pass the fuck out? Wanted to fall asleep in my lap or some shit too, right?”
It was literally like Yoojin was making it as hard as possible not to punch him. The most irritating way of interacting possible. All things considered, especially.
Luckily, Delta had a lot of patience for this. A lot of practice in dealing with difficult people. He found Yoojin harder to navigate than most, never sure exactly what he was supposed to say to that. He was annoyed by Delta's silence, annoyed just as much by his responses.
Never in a million years would it occur to him to hurt Yoojin. His survival instinct was far too strong, and his training far too concrete to ever even risk it.
The SUV pulled up to the landing zone, and stuttered to a halt. Jackie and the large man—Jimenez—leapt out, followed by Yoojin and Marston, on either side of Delta. Marston had his arm though, leading him out through the right side of the vehicle. His shoes hit sand again, and he was dragged once more towards the large ramp that led up to the ship.
Marston kept her hand gripped firmly around his arm the whole time, her orders not to let him go unrestrained, apart from the time he was supervised within the center of the tent circle during training.
He was brought back to the landing deck where Amira waited, sure she would catch him on his way in and be able to deal with him as soon as she caught his eye again.
He stumbled slightly. As the day went on, he was getting worse about following along. Not out of malignancy or any real intention to disobey. Just out of sheer exhaustion, the heat was getting the better of him. He felt…homesick, almost. It was an odd thing to say. He never would’ve thought it when he was actually within Empire. But he was. He missed what was familiar, the bounds he spent his whole life learning to navigate.
He did not notice Amira even when she came into view. He was caught up in his own thoughts, as he often was these days. Too much time spent in a barren cell tended to do that.
Amira met Delta again at the upper level of the landing deck. Marston had dragged him there, her grip ever stronger around his bicep. She shoved him down to his knees when Amira approached.
He squeaked slightly as he was forced down again. The gesture was not unusual, not even close, but the pain in his leg was still there and made everything else hard to concentrate on.
Amira loomed over him, arms crossed across her waist, irritated.
“You have a lot of explaining to do for today,” Amira’s voice was smooth and sharp, cutting through the air like an arrow. She paused, squinting, letting her head cock in invitation. Inviting him to argue. Seeing whether he would agree. Whatever he’d have to say, he had her to answer to.
In the haze, Amira’s words only served to confuse him. He responded more to the tone than the content.
“I’m sorry?” he asked quietly. It was an apology, in part, but it was mostly a question. The confusion shone through. He didn’t know what she was talking about. He’d done as she asked.
Amira frowned. “You eliminated the targets as I asked. Yes. You didn’t blow us all up. Are you asking for praise for doing the bare minimum expected?”
She stepped closer. “I expect you to remember your place. Not to outright disrespect me in front of everyone like you just did. Are you going to pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about?”
When Delta gave her silence, she kept talking.
“I could understand a slip of the tongue in an extreme emergency. A routine drill like this was no such situation.”
She was closer now, boots mere inches from Delta’s folded knees.
“You are not to get insolent with me. You think this is above you, don’t you. Because we don’t have you blowing up enemy bases yet? Because we don’t have you killing anyone? Is that it? You think if there’s no bloodshed—no cities being destroyed—then this isn’t even worth your time?”
Her voice was rising now, nearing a ranting tone.
“You waved off my medical team when you were clearly experiencing side effects. How are we to determine your operability if you refuse to let us examine you? You need to understand it is not up to you.”
She sighted and took a step back, recentering her voice.
“We are trying to test your capabilities, since you tend to volunteer so little, we must leave it up to experimentation. This is only the beginning. I have many theories I’d like to test. But this cannot happen if I can’t rely on you. If I have to expect an attitude, to work around your insolence.”
He blinked. He’d done everything she had asked without hesitation. He felt, distantly, that the language — that the affect — was not the thing of importance at the moment.
But much more present than that, and much more viscerally, he felt shock and shame and fear. It struck him with a vengeance. What he thought was reasonable would never supersede the orders he’d been given. He knew this. He hadn’t honored it. He’d made her angry with him.
It was remarkable just how fast his expression changed. All lost and distant, then abruptly centered — in the moment without escape. His body language changed too. Not quite shrinking away, not pulling back, but visibly surrendering. He ducked his head down, gently clasping his own wrist. Any defiance — or even irritation — completely bled out of him.
He was quiet for the duration of it. A soft glow had risen up to his face. There was a light that followed him everywhere, in a million different forms. This time, it came as a blush. The scolding embarrassed him. His own behavior embarrassed him. He knew better — he was as hard on himself in that moment as she was.
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir,” he answered quickly. “…I didn’t mean any disrespect, sir.”
The shock in his expression was visible. He clearly hadn’t meant anything by it. The contrition was just as evident.
He was clearly expecting to be hit.
Amira was a bit taken aback. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, more insolence, perhaps, a less-than-enthusiastic forced apology. What she got was sincerity. She could see it on his face, in the way his shoulders slumped and the way his brows seemed to unfurl, his lips less tight. He looked remorseful.
He must’ve apologized to her a hundred times before, but this time it seemed to actually sink in, in some way.
She decided she didn’t need to punish him further for today. The look in his eyes seemed pained enough.
She crossed her arms, studying the curve in his spine, the dip in his head. “We’re on to a new site in two days. I expect you to be on your best behavior. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir,” he agreed readily. The confidence he’d had on the field completely vanished. He’d shifted gears again. All compliance now. Pacification. He was good enough at that, keeping his head down, proving he didn’t want to fight. He could behave.
His eyes flickered up to meet her with some mild surprise. He was still tense, still expecting something. But she made no move to hit him. He stayed still and quiet in case he had misread her — in case she changed her mind.
Amira reflected how quickly his demeanor had changed. She was somewhat surprised at the way his attitude had flipped so quickly, but took it as progress that a stern warning seemed enough, in this instance.
"Good. You're dismissed," she said, eyes flicking over to Marston. "Escort him back."
༻✧༺
Finally getting around to posting more of the chapters we wrote last year! more is coming! get ready for more violenceeeeeeee <3333
