Visionless

Edward Terikson didn't like violence. He had done it—many times, in fact—but never once did he enjoy it. Violence was a means to an end, a bitter necessity forced upon him by circumstance. In another life, perhaps, he could've been different. Born into a kinder world, to gentler parents, with opportunities untainted by desperation, Edward might've been a man of peace.

But that wasn't this life.

Here and now, Edward Terikson was a man who killed because he had to. And tonight, he had to. The boy—the wretched, thieving, stupid boy—had dared to touch what was his. That kid had almost destroyed everything, his years of careful planning brought to the brink of ruin in an instant. No, Edward wouldn't let this go. He couldn't.

And so, he would kill.

"You're dead, kid! You hear me? Dead!" Edward roared, his voice cracking with the force of his fury. His boots thudded against the rooftops as he sprinted after the boy, who was scrambling ahead like a terrified rabbit. The gap between them was closing, Edward's longer strides and unrelenting anger fueling his pursuit.

"I'll rip your heart out of your back!" he bellowed, his voice echoing into the night. He could see the boy's shoulders tense, his small frame twisting desperately as he leapt over gaps between buildings. Edward's outstretched hand was inches away, so close he could practically feel the satisfaction of grabbing the kid by the neck—

Thwack.

Something wet and slimy splattered against Edward's face, blinding him. He stumbled, clawing at his eyes. The world turned into a blur of red haze and sticky warmth.

"AHHHH! I'll kill you!" he screamed, his voice raw and ragged with rage. The boy didn't stop; in fact, the little bastard ran even faster. Edward could hear the scuffle of hurried feet, the faint, panicked breaths of his prey.

Wiping his face with the sleeve of his coat, Edward shook off the substance—a splash of some foul gutter sludge the kid must've thrown—and forced his eyes open. The chase was on again.

Edward's heartbeat thundered in his ears as they neared the end of the rooftop. He watched the boy slow for half a moment, hesitate, and then—

He jumped.

Edward's breath hitched. The boy flung himself off the edge of the building, arms flailing, and caught hold of a rusted gutter pipe. It creaked ominously under his weight as he scrambled, hands and feet working in frantic rhythm, until he hauled himself up onto the next rooftop.

Edward didn't stop to think.

He leapt.

The wind whipped past his face, his hands outstretched. His boots found the gutter, his momentum slamming his body into the wall with a jarring thud. But pain didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

"I'll kill you, I'll kill you, I'll kill you," Edward hissed under his breath, the mantra repeating in his head, pounding like a drumbeat. His bloodshot eyes burned with hatred as he hauled himself upward, his knuckles scraping against the rough metal of the gutter.

The boy was running again, but Edward didn't care.

He would catch him.

He would.

Because Edward Terikson, a man who hated violence, would kill tonight.

The boy was fast—desperation fueled his steps—but Edward could see it: he was slowing down. Exhaustion crept into the kid's movements, each stride less sure than the last.

Good, Edward thought grimly, his breath coming in hot, ragged bursts. This will end soon.

His eyes locked onto the object strapped to the boy's back: his crossbow. His beloved crossbow. And it wasn't just stolen—that alone would've been enough to enrage him—but tampered with.

Edward's blood boiled, rage surging through his veins like molten fire. His gaze burned into the back of the boy's head, his thoughts a storm of fury.

I'll kill him. Forget the strings. Forget the smugglers. Forget everything.

A whisper of doubt brushed against his anger, faint and fleeting. Let it go, it said. It's just an item. It can be replaced.

But another voice—louder, sharper, and drenched in sorrow—shouted it down.

No. It's not just an item. It's the last thing. The only thing.

That crossbow was the final gift from his little brother, the last tangible memory of someone Edward had failed to save. The voice clawed at him, bitter and relentless.

It's all because of you, it hissed. You couldn't get enough gold. You couldn't ascend to Copper rank in the guild. You didn't know anything but how to fight. You lost your last chance when Blackclaw was killed. And now your brother's gone—locked in a bed, a hollow shell, because you couldn't afford to save him.

Edward's chest heaved as a low growl escaped his throat, animalistic and raw. His feet pounded against the rooftop with reckless speed, the pain in his lungs and legs fading into nothing. All that mattered was the boy.

The boy who had stolen the only piece of his brother he had left.

Edward's vision blurred, not from exhaustion, but from the tears he refused to acknowledge. His hands clenched into fists so tight that his nails bit into his palms. He wasn't chasing for the crossbow anymore. He was chasing for revenge.

I'll find you, Little Brother. I'll tell you that Big Bro got the bastard who stole your gift. I'll make it right.

But revenge twisted Edward into something less than a man.

He wasn't aware of the smoke curling up from his coat, the faint crackling of fabric beginning to burn. The boy had done something—thrown something, maybe, or set a trap. It didn't matter. Edward didn't notice the fire creeping up his body, the acrid stench of burning cloth filling the air.

All he knew was rage. All he knew was pain.

The boy's tired steps faltered again, and Edward surged forward, his roar splitting the night.

He wasn't Edward Terikson anymore.

He was a monster.

Edward caught the kid by the back of the head and slammed him down onto the rooftop with all his strength, once, twice, and then again. Each impact echoed with a sickening thud. He flipped the boy over, staring down at the bloodied face beneath him. The kid's nose was broken, crimson streaking down his face, mingling with tears of pain and fear.

"I'll kill you!" Edward roared, his voice cracking as he wrapped his hands around the boy's throat. His grip was iron, unyielding, and full of fury. He wanted to ensure that this boy—this monster—would never forget him. He wanted his face burned into the boy's mind, so when they met in hell, Edward could do this all over again.

Tears streamed from Edward's eyes—at first silent, bitter drops, but as the tears ran dry, blood took their place. Crimson streaks traced paths down his cheeks, but he didn't care. He couldn't stop now. He wouldn't stop. His vision blurred, but he refused to blink. At least this way, he wouldn't see his brother's tear-streaked face anymore.

The boy beneath him squirmed, his hands clawing desperately at Edward's grip. His lips moved, trying to form words, but no sound escaped. In a final act of desperation, the boy reached for something around his neck. His body tensed as he pushed upward, but Edward didn't care.

Edward's mind was far away, locked in memories. His brother's laughter echoed in his ears, brighter days when the world wasn't so cruel. Then something in his periphery caught his attention—a glint of light, sliding away.

His brother's gift.

The crossbow, the last connection to the only family he had left, was slipping away, sliding across the rooftop.

"No!" Edward's scream tore through the night as he released the boy without hesitation, lunging for the crossbow. His body moved instinctively, fueled by fear and desperation.

The memories came rushing back as his hand closed around the weapon.

"Ahahaha, you made this for me? You made it for me?! My little brother is a genius!" Edward's voice cracked with manic laughter, a shadow of the joy he once felt. "I'll use it every day, Murph. When I'm a legendary adventurer, everyone will know your name—they'll boast about your skills in crafting."

But his words grew harder to understand, his mouth filling with blood as crimson tears streamed down his face. His vision dimmed, but he clung to the crossbow with everything he had.

Then he realized his momentum hadn't stopped.

Edward fell.

His hand shot out instinctively, catching the edge of the roof. His body dangled in the void, the weight of the crossbow threatening to pull him down. But he didn't care. He cradled the weapon like it was his brother himself, holding it close.

His grip on the ledge weakened, fingers trembling. He could feel it—soon, he wouldn't be able to hold on.

Soon, I'll see Murph again.

The thought brought a strange calm, a bittersweet acceptance. He just hoped his brother would end up somewhere better than him when this was over.

Edward's hand slipped—

And was caught.

The boy.

The thief.

The monster who had taken everything from him.

Edward looked up, his vision blurred with blood and tears, and snarled, "You'll take this from me too, you fucking monster! I'll kill you!"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" the boy shouted, his voice raw with frustration. He gritted his teeth as he strained to pull Edward up. "TELL ME AFTER I GET YOU BACK UP!"

Edward thrashed, but the boy didn't let go.

"YOU'VE GOT SOMEONE TO LIVE FOR, DON'T YOU?" the boy yelled, his voice cracking. "WELL, I DID TOO, AND GUESS FUCKING WHAT? THEY'RE ALL DEAD! AND I'M STILL HERE!" His hands tightened their grip as he heaved with everything he had.

"You don't see me crying like you," the boy growled, "not when they told me they were gone, not when I lost everything, not even when I tried offing myself!" His words hit like punches, unrelenting. "If whoever you care about is still around, THEN FUCKING LIVE, GODDAMMIT!"

The boy's voice rose to a furious crescendo.

"If it's that important, WAIT UNTIL THEY'RE DEAD FIRST, ASSHOLE! DON'T YOU HAVE ANY FUCKING ETIQUETTE?"

Edward froze, stunned into silence. The boy's words cut deeper than any blade.

Edward didn't notice it at first, but the boy's face twisted into an expression eerily similar to his own—a mask of fury and pain, painted with blood and the weight of their pasts.

Somehow, the boy managed to pull Edward up inch by inch. Edward's hand found the ledge, and instinct drove him to help lift himself. His anger swelled, an inferno reignited, consuming every other thought.

"AHHHH! What the fuck do you know?!" Edward bellowed, his voice raw. He climbed over the edge, his breath ragged. "You're just a kid! Just a fucking thief who stole my little brother from me!" His grip tightened on the crossbow, the distinction between it and his brother blurring completely. This weapon was the last fragile thread keeping him sane, tethering him to the world.

The boy's face twisted, his own anger spilling over. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, DUDE? I BARELY KNOW YOU!" he shouted back, his voice cracking. "If you care about that stupid bow so much, THEN FUCKING HAVE IT! I DON'T EVEN WANT THE DAMN THING! It was just there when I mugged you!" His words poured out in a flood, unfiltered, unrestrained. "Hell, it's your fault for being a dumbass and following me back then! FUCK YOU!"

Edward's rage boiled over. "MY FAULT?! YOU SHIT-FUCKER!" he roared, stepping closer. His chest heaved with every breath. "You're the one who stole my coins! You're the one who threw a goddamn rock at me—the one I saved up to buy a gift for my little brother, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!" His voice cracked with a mixture of fury and despair. "I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!"

"OH, WELL EXCUSE ME!" the boy fired back, his face as red as Edward's. "GUESS YOU SHOULDA NOT BEEN A CRIMINAL, MY GUY! NOT MY FAULT YOU TURNED TO CRIME!" The boy pointed at Edward, his hand shaking with emotion. "Actually, you know what? If it hadn't been for Blackclaw, I wouldn't even know you existed, so maybe blame him, NOT ME!" His voice softened for a split second before flaring again. "I KNOW I'M JUST DEFLECTING, BUT STILL—FUCK YOU! You tried to kill me, you bastard! That shit hurts!"

The rooftop filled with their screaming, each shouting over the other, their words blending into a cacophony of anger, grief, and bitterness.

"YOU THINK YOU HAD IT BAD?!" Edward spat, his voice hoarse. "My parents died and left me with a sick little brother! I spent my whole life taking care of someone who could fucking die if you sneezed on him! You don't know how hard that is!"

"WELL, I DON'T!" the boy yelled back, his voice cracking. "I'M AN ONLY CHILD, SO NO, I DON'T KNOW! BUT THAT SOUNDS REALLY FUCKING HARD, YOU AMAZING, SHITTY BIG BROTHER!"

Edward froze for a moment, startled by the sudden, awkward compliment. But the boy wasn't done.

"And guess what?!" the boy continued, his voice breaking. "My parents didn't just leave me—no, they left me with debt. Huge debt! I worked for three years with barely any food, and it still wasn't enough to pay it off! I was a kid! A fucking kid!"

"Oh, yeah?!" Edward shot back, his voice trembling with rage and tears. "I was homeless for so long after I lost everything to debt collectors! YEARS of sleeping in gutters and alleyways because my family's death left me with nothing! And then, my only hope, Blackclaw, was killed!" His voice cracked under the weight of his words. "I'd have to work for twenty years just to get back to where I was!"

Their anger burned out slowly, like a fire running out of fuel. At some point, the shouting devolved into nonsensical rants, less about hurting each other and more about venting their pain.

"And this one time," the boy muttered between heavy breaths, "some asshole at work asked me to take his shift, and I said, 'No, fuck you!' Like, seriously, what kind of jerk does that?"

"Wow," Edward replied, his voice dripping with exhausted sarcasm. "That guy sounds like a real piece of shit."

There was a pause.

"How old are you, anyway?" Edward asked suddenly.

"Me?" The boy shrugged, his face still streaked with drying blood. "Like, 26. I think. At least, before this shit happened and I got turned into a kid for some fucking reason. Shit sucks, by the way."

Edward blinked, unsure how to process that.

The boy shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the crossbow still clutched in Edward's hands. "Your brother... he's still alive, right?" he asked hesitantly. "I might be able to help him. At least, you know... make his final moments happy."

Edward clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around the weapon. "Tsk. I don't need your help," he growled. His voice was cold, but the crack in it betrayed him. "Just because we're talking now doesn't mean I don't hate your guts. You're still a monster to me."

"Fair," the boy admitted, brushing blood from his face. He hesitated, then extended a hand toward Edward. "But tell me one thing. How much do you love your brother? Is it enough to shake a devil's hand?"

Edward stared at the bloodied hand in front of him, his own trembling with hesitation. Finally, he spat blood onto the ground, his lips curling into a snarl.

"After this, we're enemies for good," Edward growled. "The next time I see you, I'll kill you. Got it?"

"Got it," the boy replied, his voice firm.

Edward grasped his hand, his grip ironclad. "Now," he said through gritted teeth, "how are you going to help me?"

________________________________

Queen Leah leaned back in her chair, her amber eyes scanning the battered group before her. The room was suffused with the metallic tang of dried blood and the lingering tension of a mission that had gone catastrophically wrong. Her gaze finally rested on a boy whose nose was broken and swollen, blood crusted beneath it.

"Remind me again," she began, her voice cutting through the silence, "why exactly are you here? Didn't I tell Ligh to take you back home?" Her tone sharpened as she turned toward Ligh, the woman standing at the far end of the room.

Ligh glanced away, rubbing her temple with her uninjured hand, the other one tightly bound in a makeshift sling. Despite being mute, her face carried a vivid story of embarrassment and guilt.

The queen sighed deeply, breaking her usual regal composure. "It's always something with you lot, isn't it?" Her voice softened, exhaustion seeping through her words. Before she could press further, a hesitant voice interrupted.

"Um… Ms. Leah, can I talk to you for a second? It's important."

Leah turned to the young boy, her sharp gaze softening into curiosity. "Very well," she said with a nod. She gestured for the others to continue their report, listening with half an ear as the bedraggled crew recounted their narrow victory.

The story was worse than she'd anticipated. Reinforcements had arrived far beyond what anyone had imagined, with undercover paladins from the Church supporting the smugglers. Paladins. Whatever was in those crates had to be something monumental.

When the report concluded, she rubbed her temples and waved them off, dismissing the group to rest. Once the room was empty save for the boy, she stood, her demeanor shifting from exasperation to measured curiosity.

"Now, what is it you wanted to tell me?" she asked, folding her arms.

The boy fidgeted nervously but met her gaze. "...I want you to help someone. A member of the smugglers."

Her expression froze, a mix of confusion and disbelief etched into her features. "Let me get this straight," she said slowly. "You want me to help a member of the enemy? Why in the world would I do that?"

The boy held his ground, his tone firm. "Because they might be useful to you."

Leah tilted her head, studying him carefully. Just what was this child's plan? "And why should I trust that this low-ranking smuggler could change the tide in my favor?" Her skepticism was clear, though a part of her was intrigued.

He didn't falter. "You don't have to trust them yet. But I think you'll see what I mean if you meet them yourself."

Leah exhaled sharply, her amber eyes narrowing as she considered his words. "Fine. Take me to them. But I'll decide whether they're trustworthy or not."

The boy nodded quickly. "Yeah, sure. Just follow me."

As he walked out, Leah signaled to one of her servants in the hall. "Prepare a carriage. Nothing elaborate. Just get something ready immediately."

Elsewhere

Edward knelt by the small, frail figure lying motionless on the narrow cot. His brother's face was pale, his chest barely rising and falling with each shallow breath. Edward's trembling hand reached out, brushing a stray hair from his brother's forehead.

"Hey, Murphy… I'm back," Edward whispered. His voice cracked, the words barely audible. "Can you hear me? Big bro got into a fight, but... he might finally be able to help you."

Silence.

Edward bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. His throat burned as he forced a smile, one his brother couldn't see. "When you're better… I'll take you all over the world, okay? To make up for all the time we lost. How does that sound?"

Tears welled up in his eyes, but he didn't let them fall. He didn't dare hope. The devil he'd made a deal with—Adam—was unpredictable. He'd promised help, but Edward wasn't sure he'd show up.

A knock shattered the quiet. Edward's heart leapt.

"Come in," he called, his voice dark and wary. "If you're here to kill me… just don't do it in front of him."

The door creaked open, and Adam stepped inside, his sharp eyes immediately scanning the room before landing on the boy in the bed. His expression shifted, softening with something like pity.

Edward bristled, leaping to his feet. "Oi! Who said you could look at him?!" he snarled, his voice filled with venom.

Adam blinked in surprise but didn't react to the hostility. Instead, another voice rang out behind him, smooth and commanding.

"What's with the foul language?"

Edward froze as a figure entered the room—a woman with a regal bearing and fiery eyes that seemed to pierce through him.

Queen Leah.

His knees buckled, and he dropped into a clumsy bow. "Y-Your Majesty? What… what are you doing here?"

Leah waved a dismissive hand. "Enough with the formalities. Where's the person who needs help?"

Adam pointed to the cot behind Edward. "Right there. That's him."

Edward's teeth clenched. "Don't talk like we're close, you bastard!"

The queen sighed, her patience already thin. "Edward, is it? Do you work for the Church?"

Edward's blood ran cold. "I… I don't," he stammered.

Her eyes narrowed. "But you smuggled goods for them, didn't you? Start talking. Tell me everything you know about their operations. Depending on what you can offer… I'll help your brother."

Edward's legs gave out, and he fell to his knees. "I don't work for them!" he cried desperately. "But I know who does. They're dangerous—call themselves the Court of Strings. They ordered me to smuggle the crates, but I don't know what's inside. If you give me time… I can find out. Just… please." His voice cracked, and tears streamed down his face. "Kill me if you have to, but please… help my brother!"

The room was silent save for his quiet sobs.

Leah's gaze softened, just slightly. "That's enough," she said. She turned to her butler, a man with horns curling from his temples and silver-gray hair. "Take the boy to my physician. Make sure he receives whatever treatment is necessary."

"Yes, Your Highness," the butler replied smoothly. He stepped forward, lifting Murphy with surprising gentleness and carrying him out.

Edward looked up, tears staining his bloodied face. "Your Majesty… I'll never betray you. I swear it. I'll do anything, even if it kills me. I'll repay your kindness."

Leah's lips pressed into a thin line. "See that you do, Edward. Because if you betray me…"

"I won't," he interrupted, his voice steady despite his tears. "I owe you everything."

Leah nodded curtly, turning on her heel. "Good. Let's hope you prove it."

(Wait... QUEEN?!? SHE'S A FUCKING QUEEN?! I TALKED ALL CASUALLY WITH THE QUEEN?! OH, I'M SO DEAD.)

Adam's thoughts raced as he walked behind the Queen, the weight of his casual conversation with a literal monarch sinking in. The realization made his stomach twist uncomfortably. What the hell was I thinking?

As they made their way down the corridor, Adam couldn't stop mentally replaying every word he'd said to Queen Leah—how he had bantered with her, how he'd acted like it was just another chat between acquaintances. And now here he was, following her like some lowly servant.

Oh, please don't change your mind about letting me stay with you for now... Adam thought, running a hand through his messy hair. I swear, I'll get better at magic—

But then his gaze flicked back to Edward, who was still kneeling in front of the Queen, his body a broken mess, his face full of exhaustion. He seemed so young—hell, younger than Adam had been when he was on Earth. That realization made Adam's heart ache. The kid had been through more than anyone his age should've. At least, now, he could finally rest.

_____________________

This boy was no prince, Leah thought to herself, leaning back against the carriage's cushioned seat as it rattled along the uneven road. Just what was he? Adam—if that was even his true name—was proving to be far more than the scrappy, sharp-tongued urchin he appeared to be.

He had unraveled a third faction behind this operation—a faction far more dangerous than the Church itself—at a glance, no less. Without the resources, connections, or intelligence networks she relied on, he had uncovered a name: The Court of Strings. An ominous title, woven with the suggestion of manipulation, control, and shadows operating just beyond the veil of her understanding.

And then, almost effortlessly, he had managed to break one of their pawns. Not merely by force but through an intricate dance of survival and raw charisma. He'd drawn this Edward character into his orbit, making the man yield his most vulnerable secret: his sickly brother. And he had delivered it all to her—Edward, the brother, and a fragment of the enemy's web—wrapped up in a neat package as though he were presenting her with some casual gift.

Here's a treat, his actions seemed to say. As if it were nothing.

Leah scoffed softly, unable to stop a smirk from tugging at her lips. How infuriatingly arrogant. How recklessly bold. How brilliant.

Adam. The name felt too simple for someone of his apparent complexity. A figure who could move seamlessly between the roles of a desperate, dirt-streaked thief and a shadowed puppet master. A boy—no, a man—who had been shrewd enough to play both sides of a dangerous game and emerge unscathed. And, like a true performer, he had worn the mask of a child so convincingly that even she had been tempted to dismiss him at first.

She glanced out the carriage window, her fingers tapping thoughtfully against her knee. "Interesting" didn't even begin to cover it. She had initially thought Adam little more than an opportunist with a silver tongue, but now? Now she saw the faint outlines of something far grander.

A rival? No, not yet. Not unless he was far more dangerous than even she suspected. A tool? Perhaps—for now. But tools that could think for themselves were always perilous to wield.

And his motives… What were they? He had handed over Edward and his secrets with disarming ease. Was it loyalty? No, unlikely. A thirst for vengeance? Perhaps. But even that seemed too simple. There was something almost calculated in his actions, as though every move was part of a larger game only he could see.

The Court of Strings…

Her smirk widened, curling into something sharper, more dangerous. So, there was yet another player in the shadows, pulling strings where she couldn't yet reach. She'd crush them, of course—every last one of them. But just how far did their web stretch? And how many other factions and secrets lay tangled within it?

She leaned forward, resting her chin on her interlocked fingers as the carriage bounced along. The Court of Strings. The Church. The smugglers. And Adam himself.

Perhaps he wasn't just another piece on the board. Perhaps he was the hand that moved them, or the force behind the game itself. Or perhaps—she thought with a flicker of amusement—he was just an ambitious little upstart with more luck than sense, trying to climb out of his station.

Either way, she would learn the truth. And when she did? She would use him or destroy him, depending on where his loyalties lay.

Leah chuckled softly under her breath, her voice carrying a low, predatory edge. "Adam, you're far more fascinating than I ever imagined. But mark my words—if you're playing me, you'll find there are no strings strong enough to bind a queen."

___________________________

"MAN, what the fuck is my luck, bro!" Adam exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air as he flopped onto the rickety wooden bench inside the shabby little safehouse. His face was smeared with soot and scratches, his clothes torn, and the faint smell of singed hair lingered around him.

Ren, seated awkwardly on the other side of the room, stared at him with wide, horrified eyes. His thoughts were a chaotic blur.

(This kid… no, this thing… has befriended the queen. THE QUEEN. Not just talked to her, but is now working with her. This is so far beyond me…)

Adam didn't seem to notice Ren's internal meltdown. Instead, he pointed to his battered clothes with a disgruntled pout. "Can you believe someone tried to assassinate me today? Like, do I look important enough to assassinate? No! I don't even have a fancy hat!"

Ren's hands twitched nervously, but he remained silent, his mind racing. (This kid is insane. Is he a prince? A noble in disguise? A secret mage? He has to be something like that. Maybe I should break off this little team-up before he drags me into whatever mess he's tangled in. Cut my losses and go our separate ways before it's too late.)

Adam, blissfully oblivious to the existential crisis unraveling across the room, leaned forward, his enthusiasm undiminished. "Anyway! Ren, listen—now that I've got Ms. Leah on board, maybe she can help you find that girl you're looking for!"

Ren froze, his face blanching. (Help… from the queen. THE QUEEN. He's mad. Certifiably mad. This is dangerous—no, this is terrifying.)

He swallowed hard, his mind spiraling further into paranoia. (Wait… is he trying to make me indebted to him? Oh gods, he is! He's setting up some elaborate scheme to make me work under him or something. That's why he's helping me. Is this how he operates? Was he planning this from the moment we met? Has this all been an act?)

Ren felt a cold sweat break out as he glanced at Adam, who was now examining a fresh tear in his sleeve, muttering about how he just patched it yesterday.

"Man," Adam said suddenly, snapping Ren out of his spiraling thoughts, "you're a good friend, you know that? I hope we can stay like that in the future."

He smiled—wide, genuine, utterly oblivious to the sheer existential dread he was instilling in the other man.

Ren's hands gripped his knees tightly as his mind screamed. (Good friend? I'm a hostage! If I say no, I might not make it out of here alive. The kid's too nice. Too calculating. Too… scary!)

His mouth moved before his brain could stop it. "Y-y-yeah, man! That sounds great. Whatever you say, bro."

Adam grinned, giving Ren a hearty slap on the back that nearly sent him tumbling off the bench. "Awesome! Glad we're on the same page. Now, help me figure out what this stain is on my shirt. Blood? No, wait… could it be sauce?!"

Ren stared at him in stunned silence, his heart pounding in his chest. (I'm trapped. I'm absolutely, completely trapped. And the worst part is…) He glanced at Adam's beaming face, somehow managing to feel both comforted and terrified at the same time. (…I think I might actually like him.)

"Anyways, Ren, why are you here?" Adam asked, his voice casual as he tossed a boot on the table and plopped down into a chair. "Did we run out of money? Or gold? I can pay if you want."

Ren froze, his eyes darting around the room. What do I say? The truth? That he couldn't stand the thought of staying at the hotel where everything felt so temporary, like it could crumble down at any moment? That the bed, no matter how soft, never felt like home?

"N-no, it's fine. The hotel still has a few days left before we run out. No need to do anything… bro," Ren stammered, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably. He could feel the tension creeping into his voice, a mixture of nerves and guilt.

Adam leaned back in his chair with a dramatic sigh, the kind only someone who truly wasn't worried about money could pull off. "Great. You're amazing, Ren. Really. I hope I can repay you one day for all this."

Ren's mind raced. Repay me? Repay me for what? I'm just trying to keep it together, not ask for anything in return... But the sincerity in Adam's voice caught him off guard. It felt… genuine. Maybe this kid wasn't the manipulative genius he sometimes thought he was.

"Don't worry about it," Ren muttered, shrugging as if it didn't matter. But deep down, he couldn't shake the feeling that somehow, Adam's promise wasn't just about the gold or the help. There was something bigger at play here. Something Ren was either too scared to face—or too naive to see coming.

"Anyway, I'm just here because I don't know, bro," Ren continued, his words trailing off. "Sometimes I feel like being at that hotel makes everything feel… too safe. Like I can't breathe."

Adam tilted his head, giving him a long look, but he didn't pry. He just nodded. "I get it. It's not really home, is it? You're doing alright though, right?"

Ren almost smiled at the sincerity in Adam's voice. It was… unexpected, but not unwelcome. "Yeah," he replied, quieter now, his gaze dropping. "I'm doing alright. I think."

Adam leaned forward suddenly, his hands resting on his knees, his expression softening. "Well, you've got me, Ren. No matter what, you're not alone in this. I'll make sure of it. That much, I can promise."

Ren swallowed hard. There it was again, that unsettling mixture of reassurance and a creeping sense of something deeper. He forced a smile, not trusting his own voice for the moment. "Thanks, man. I appreciate it."

Adam grinned back, his usual cocky energy returning in full force. "No problem, bro. You're stuck with me now."

Ren didn't know whether to laugh or panic.