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Chapter 67

Conflict (2)

…He rubbed his eyes, pushing away the heaviness in his skull as he shook off the lingering thoughts. The water still dripped from his shoulders, trailing down his back in slow dance as he stepped out of the shower. With practiced care, he removed the dark, snug-fitting shower cap—a custom piece Raj had made for him after a quiet request. It protected his locs, whether in sleep or under a spray of water, and IAM took pride in that care.

He shook it out gently, folded it once, then tucked it under his towel. A small thing, but necessary.

After drying himself off, he stepped into his clothes with slow movements. Not out of laziness—but out of thought. His mind was somewhere else. Again. It always was.

He left the facility quietly, his bare feet sliding into his worn boots just outside the threshold. He didn't look back. His thoughts were already elsewhere.

...

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the Hold, Ryan lay stretched out on his bunk, the top one, of course. His body was perfectly still—almost too still. One leg bent slightly, one arm under his head, his green eyes staring up at the canvas ceiling of the tent above, his expression unreadable.

He had only just returned from another mission.

This one, like many before it, had been aimed at clearing out a group of spawnlings. Routine, really. And things had gone well. Everything had gone almost too well. Clean. Efficient. Exactly by the book.

But Ryan was not the kind of person who let success distract him from the deeper picture. And there were things on his mind—things clawing at the edges of what should have been satisfaction.

The real shift had come a few days ago, when Regina Carlos had approached him.

That name alone made his jaw tighten slightly. She was a cold one. Distant. Commanding. Difficult to read and even more difficult to approach.

At first, he had tried.

Tried to maneuver closer to her. To win her over. To get within her orbit and use her rank—her influence—as a stepping stone for his own plans. But Regina was not someone you could easily win over with smiles and charm. Her coldness was not a front—it was a wall. And after digging around a little, after asking a few questions and given what he discovered … he had dropped the effort entirely.

He had backed off.

Told himself it wasn't worth the energy.

Until she came to him.

Unexpected. Direct. And bearing news that carried weight.

His group—the loose faction he'd built from the ground up—had finally been made official.

And he was named the leader.

No formal authority within the Hold, of course. No rank. No special treatment from command.

But titles had power.

And Ryan knew how to use them.

He'd spent weeks crafting this faction—putting himself at the center of a small but growing community. Through declarations or speeches,steady presence. Consistency. Reliability. He'd made himself approachable to people, especially those from Hope's End. He was always there. Always helpful. Always appearing to have things under control.

He hadn't ruled over them. He'd led them. Quietly. From among them.

Now, his efforts had been recognized.

Officially.

It was a win. A major one.

The loose, scattered group of misfits who hadn't joined his faction—those who kept to themselves or resisted the growing tide—no longer felt like a threat. Not like before. Especially since many of them had started to calm down. Started participating more with the others. Interacting with the wider Hold. Some had even begun showing signs of being folded into the system. Not his system—but the Hold's system.

That pleased Ryan more than he cared to admit.

Regina's approval had given him a powerful tool. And he intended to use it to its fullest.

But…

Not everything was smooth.

There was one problem.

A flaw in his long-term plan.

His second-in-command—the co-leader of the faction—was making things difficult.

The man wasn't doing it openly. There were no arguments. No confrontations. But his presence interfered with Ryan's deeper goal: to take full control of the group quietly, from the shadows, while also getting close to the faction leader. Not to undermine her. But to guide her. To support her. To be seen as someone who could never be a threat.

That plan had been working.

Until it wasn't.

He hadn't expected the old man to harbor feelings for her. He hadn't accounted for that.

He hadn't expected him to go behind his back, either—to tell her about Ryan's strategy to use her as bait during the devilborn mission.

It had been a calculated risk.

A tactic.

Smart. Necessary. And above all—successful.

But the fact that it was revealed at all...

Ryan had been forced to cover it. Smooth it over. Reframe the story.

He had done a decent job of it, too. Told her it was a field decision made in the heat of the moment. That it had no malice behind it. That the result had saved lives. That everyone walked away in one piece.

And that was true.

The plan had worked.

But the damage had already been done.

Even if she didn't say anything, even if no accusations were made, the tension was there now. Hanging in the air between them. Hanging between him and the co-leader. Hanging between him and the rest of the group.

Like a small crack running across a perfect pane of glass.

It was enough to be dangerous.

Ryan exhaled through his nose, the breath sharp. Irritated.

He kissed his teeth.

This had to be dealt with.

This was not just a petty rivalry or a bump in the road.

This was a blemish.

And a blemish on his image was unacceptable.

Because Ryan had worked too hard for this. He had poured everything into his role—into becoming someone others relied on. Someone they admired. Someone they looked to.

He was the image of justice.

And justice did not stumble.

His green eyes opened slowly, glowing faintly in the half-dark of the bunk.

They gleamed cold.

Focused.

Resolute.

This obstacle—this tension—this flaw in his faction...

It would be handled.

Carefully.

Quietly.

And completely.

Because Ryan did not lose control.

Not now.

Not ever.