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addiessblack · 4 months ago

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NO SAINTS TONIGHT

Chapter 18

Synopsis: In a world ruled by power, lies, and the ghosts of the past, Anja Christ thought she had buried Aaron forever. But when the boy she once loved—and lost—returns as the ruthless heir to Thunder Bay, obsession ignites into something far more dangerous. Trapped in his web, Anja must decide: fight for freedom or surrender to the madness of a love that refuses to die.

The City Was Different Now

Thunder Bay had always been a fortress.

A city built on blood and steel, wrapped in towering walls and locked gates. The kind of place that had never known softness, where survival was currency and power was the only thing that mattered. But in the wake of war, it had changed. It had been torn apart and stitched back together, and now it stood on uneasy ground, neither wholly broken nor truly healed.

For the first time in years, it was not Ever’s iron grip that ruled the streets. The old government had fallen, and in its place, something new had risen. A coalition of survivors, rebels, and those who had clawed their way to power in the chaos. They promised peace. Stability. A future where Thunder Bay could be more than a battlefield.

But Anja had lived long enough to know that nothing truly changed.

At a glance, things looked better.

The military checkpoints were fewer, no longer stationed at every major intersection like sentries of a dying empire. The banners of Ever had been torn down, replaced with something less ominous—new symbols of governance, freshly painted over old scars. The streets were busier, humming with life that had once been too afraid to flourish.

People moved with something that almost resembled ease.

Almost.

Beneath the surface, that same tension still simmered. A hunger, a restlessness, a sharp edge that had not dulled despite the promises of a new world. The wounds Ever left behind did not simply vanish. Power had shifted hands, but it had not disappeared. The city’s underbelly still thrived, still whispered, still waited for the moment to sink its teeth into something soft and unsuspecting.

Anja knew better than to be unsuspecting.

She stood on the highest rooftop of the Lunar Hunters Institute, the wind carving cold fingers through her hair, the city stretched out below like a living, breathing thing. The Institute loomed behind her, its dark stone walls absorbing the moonlight instead of reflecting it. It was a home for people like her—those who did not belong anywhere else.

The Academy was behind them now. She and Indie had graduated, closing the chapter of their lives that had once consumed them. But instead of returning home, Anja had chosen something else. The Lunar Hunters Institute stood like a monolith, its black stone walls absorbing the light rather than reflecting it. A haven for those who refused to be tamed by ordinary lives. It wasn’t just a place to train, to live, to exist—it was a battleground for those who had nowhere else to go.

Most of them had fought in the war. Most of them bore the scars, seen and unseen, of a time when survival had been uncertain. Now, they moved with the quiet understanding of those who had been forced to kill before they had been old enough to truly live.

The ones who had survived.

The ones who could not settle.

The ones who had been forged in fire and did not know how to stop burning.

Here, they trained. They sharpened themselves into weapons that might never be needed again, but no one dared to grow dull. Because Thunder Bay had changed, but it had not softened.

Not truly.

Below her, the city pulsed.

A different kind of war waged in the streets now—not one fought with bullets and blood, but with neon lights and fevered laughter, with the sharp thrill of rebellion against a future no one fully trusted. The underground scene had exploded in the aftermath of war, transforming into something more than just a place to drink and forget.

It was a statement.

A declaration that they had survived.

That they refused to be broken.

Anja had been to a few of the parties. Never to lose herself in them. Never to drown in the chaos the way others did. But to watch. From the edges, from the rooftops, from places where she could exist without being seen.

She heard the music from here, the deep bass reverberating through the bones of the city like a second heartbeat. Laughter echoed from the streets below, wild and unhinged, the sound of people desperately chasing the feeling of being alive.

Somewhere down the block, an engine revved, a motorcycle tearing through the night, reckless and free.

She saw them—the ones who belonged to this new world.

The boys with blood under their nails, their sharp grins flashing in the dark as they pulled girls closer, whispering things meant to be forgotten by morning. The girls with dark lipstick and glassy eyes, draped in stolen leather jackets, their bodies moving like sirens in the flickering glow of club lights.

There was something almost violent about their joy.

Like they laughed because if they didn’t, they would remember all the ways they had been close to dying.

Anja understood that.

She had recognized people at these parties before. Some from the Academy. Some from the war. Some from another life entirely, when things had been simpler.

She had watched them change their names. Reinvent themselves. Slip into new skins as if shedding the past could be as easy as that.

She had never bothered pretending.

She knew who she was.

She knew what she had done.

The ones who didn’t want to drown in the chaos below found their own places above it.

Perched on the edges of buildings, their feet dangling over the abyss, cigarettes burning between their fingers, sharing stolen bottles of something strong enough to make them forget.

She had sat with them before.

Not talking. Not sharing in their half-drunken philosophies about life and death and whatever came after. But simply existing beside them, silent, as if that could be enough.

Tonight, she stayed alone.

Her gaze drifted across the skyline, tracing the familiar jagged edges of the city she had once called home. She had not been here in months. Had not let herself get close.

But she had seen him once.

Not up close. Not in a way that mattered.

But she had been watching from a rooftop much like this one, and she had seen him move through the crowd below, his presence cutting through the chaos like a knife through silk.

Aaron.

He hadn’t looked for her. Or maybe he had, and he had chosen not to acknowledge it.

She didn’t know which possibility haunted her .

The fireworks started sometime after midnight.

They weren’t official. They never were.

But someone, somewhere, always managed to get their hands on them. A leftover instinct from the war, maybe—a need to set the sky on fire, to make something explode just to prove they still could.

The first one shot up, a trail of silver light splitting the darkness. A moment later, it detonated, a burst of gold spilling across the sky like a wound torn open.

She didn’t flinch.

Somewhere in the streets below, people cheered.

More fireworks followed. Crimson, violet, electric blue. The sky erupted in light, painting the skyline in colors too bright, too artificial, too temporary.

She wondered if this was what victory was supposed to feel like.

Or if they were just celebrating the fact that they had survived long enough to see another night.

The wind howled through the empty spaces between buildings, cold and sharp, but she barely felt it.

The city burned with light, and Anja stood at the edge of it all.

Watching.

Waiting.

As if the night might reveal something she had not yet found.

Anja woke before dawn.

Not because she had to. There were no blaring alarms, no strict wake-up calls like at the Academy. The Institute expected you to have discipline. No one would drag you out of bed. But if you weren’t ready by training, you would regret it.

She sat up in her bed, stretching out the stiffness in her muscles. The room around her was dimly lit, bathed in the soft glow of the city’s distant lights filtering through her windows.

It was nothing like the Academy dorms.

There, she had shared a cramped space with other girls, the beds lined in perfect rows, personal items kept to a strict minimum. At the Institute? She had her own quarters.

It was spacious, elegant in a way that wasn’t ostentatious—dark stone walls, a massive four-poster bed, a sleek desk covered in scattered books and maps. A tall wardrobe lined one wall, filled with both combat gear and formal attire. A weapons rack stood beside it, her twin blades hanging on display. The Institute was not just a school—it was a way of life.

She pulled on her training gear—a fitted black suit designed for movement, reinforced with lightweight armor at the joints—and laced up her boots before heading down the hall.

The halls of the Institute were quiet at this hour, but she knew she wasn’t the only one awake. Others were already moving, heading toward the training rooms.

The training hall was a masterpiece of design—sprawling and vast, lined with reinforced glass and illuminated by cold, white light. The floor could shift, reconfiguring itself to mimic different battle terrains: forests, rooftops, shifting sands. The walls were lined with weapons—blades, staffs, whips, even firearms for those who preferred them.

At the Academy, training had been precise, controlled. At the Institute? It was war.

Anja stepped into the sparring ring, rolling her shoulders as she faced her opponent. No instructors monitored them. No referees stopped the fights. You fought until one of you yielded. Or until you couldn’t stand.

Her opponent—a tall, dark-haired boy named Rian—grinned at her as he spun a dagger between his fingers. “Don’t hold back, Christ.”

She didn’t.

The fight was fast, brutal, a blur of strikes and counterstrikes. He was good, but she was better. She moved like a shadow, her blade catching his just before it could slice into her ribs, twisting it free from his grip and bringing him down in one smooth motion.

His breath came out in a sharp exhale as he hit the floor, her knee pressing into his chest.

“Yield,” she said.

Rian laughed breathlessly. “Fuck, remind me never to piss you off.”

She smirked, standing and offering him a hand. He took it. There was no shame in losing here—only in not improving.

After training, she made her way to the weapons hall.

It was one of her favorite places in the Institute—a massive, cathedral-like chamber filled with every kind of weapon imaginable. Blades lined the walls, their edges gleaming under the golden light. Bows, crossbows, firearms, energy-infused weapons. Some recruits were smithing their own blades, testing new enhancements.

Anja ran her fingers over the hilt of a newly forged dagger, its surface etched with runes that pulsed faintly under her touch.

“Thinking of upgrading?”

She turned to see Indie, leaning against one of the stone pillars, her arms crossed.

“I don’t need an upgrade,” Anja said, picking up the blade and testing its weight. “But it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

Indie smirked. “That’s why you fit in here.”

They walked together through the halls, passing by the library.

Unlike the Academy’s pristine, formal archives, the Institute’s library was vast, labyrinthine—a maze of ancient texts, classified records, and books that should not exist. Some recruits spent hours here, researching old battle strategies, forgotten histories. Anja had seen things in this library that made her question everything she thought she knew.

And deep within the lower levels? Secrets were buried.

The Institute was not just a place of training. It was an active force.

Missions were assigned daily—tracking rogue threats, investigating disturbances, recovering stolen artifacts. Some were minor, training exercises meant to prepare recruits for the real thing. Others? Life or death.

Anja stood before the Mission Board, scanning the list of assignments.

Reconnaissance in Old Town – Sightings of hostile Evols. Confirm and report.

Secure the Artifact – A stolen relic believed to have fallen into the underground market. Retrieve it.

Hunting Assignment – Unknown entity spotted near the outer perimeter. Eliminate if necessary.

Her fingers hovered over the second mission.

She wasn’t the only one looking at it.

“Thinking about taking it?”

She glanced over to see Damen, one of the senior recruits. Tall, broad-shouldered, his gaze sharp.

“Maybe,” she said.

“Take it with me,” he suggested. “Two hunters are better than one.”

She considered. Then nodded.

“Fine. But I take point.”

Damen grinned. “Wouldn’t dream of taking that from you.”

After missions, after training, after the exhaustion settled into her bones, there was still life in the Institute.

The kitchens were filled with recruits grabbing meals—homemade, unlike the rationed, regulated food at the Academy. Fresh bread, steaming stews, roasted meats. Anja sat with Indie and a few others, eating in silence, listening to the murmur of conversation around her.

Some recruits laughed, some discussed strategy. Others sat quietly, lost in their own thoughts.

The Institute was not just a school. It was a home. A sanctuary.

And at night, when the halls dimmed and the city lights gleamed through the windows, Anja sat on the highest balcony, looking over Thunder Bay.

She was no longer a student.

She was a hunter.

And the night belonged to her.

Anja had barely finished training when the summons came.

She was still in her combat gear, the sweat on her skin barely cooled, when a young runner intercepted her in the hallway. He was out of breath, a sure sign he had been looking for her for a while.

“Commander Hawthorne wants to see you.”

Anja exhaled sharply, running a hand through her damp hair. “Now?”

The boy nodded.

She rolled her shoulders, the ache settling deep in her bones. Morning drills had gone on longer than usual, and the last thing she wanted was to sit through a conversation in the Commander’s office when she could be running the rooftop circuit or hitting the weapons room.

But Lysandra Hawthorne didn’t summon people for no reason.

So, she went.

The corridors were quiet at this hour, most Hunters either out on assignment or deep in training sessions. The scent of steel and smoke still lingered from the morning’s exercises, mingling with the ever-present smell of books and old parchment from the library wings. She passed the great hall, the arching windows flooding the space with silver-blue light from the late afternoon sun.

She didn’t pause.

She had no reason to.

When she reached Lysandra’s office, she pushed the doors open without knocking.

The Commander was at her desk, skimming through a stack of reports. As always, she looked impossibly composed, her silver-streaked hair neatly tied back, her uniform crisp despite the long hours she undoubtedly worked.

Anja stepped forward, letting the door swing shut behind her. “You called?”

Lysandra barely glanced up. “Sit.”

Anja did, stretching her legs out in front of her. “If this is about the sparring match earlier—”

“It’s not.”

That was… unexpected.

Lysandra set down the report she had been reading and finally gave Anja her full attention. There was something measured in her gaze, something that set Anja’s instincts on edge.

She knew this look.

She had seen it before, years ago, when her world had first begun to crack apart.

She braced herself.

“You need to go home,” Lysandra said.

Anja blinked.

A sharp silence stretched between them.

“…What?”

Lysandra leaned back in her chair. “The Institute is undergoing renovations. Reinforcing the lower levels, restructuring the training halls, upgrading security. It’s going to take months, and we can’t keep everyone here while it happens.”

Anja stiffened.

“There are other Institutes,” she said carefully.

“There are.” Lysandra nodded. “But I’m not transferring you to one.”

Anja’s pulse kicked up.

She had spent so long making this place her home. Training here, living here, belonging here. And now, just like that, she was being sent away?

Lysandra studied her for a long moment.

“I’m not going to throw you into a different Institute just to keep you busy,” she continued. “You have a home outside of here, Anja. A real one.”

Anja clenched her fists against her thighs. “I’ve been fine here.”

“I know.” Lysandra’s voice was steady. “But the work we do—it wears people down. I won’t let that happen to you.”

Anja looked away, jaw tight.

She should have known this was coming.

The others—**Indie, Cato, even some of the newer Hunters—**they had all been talking about it. The changes, the shifts, the adjustments being made to the Institute’s structure. She had just assumed she would work through it.

Not be pushed out of the way.

Lysandra must have seen the tension in her, because she sighed.

“This isn’t a punishment,” she said. “You’re still taking assignments. Small ones, nothing long-term, but enough to keep you from going insane. You’ll still be active.”

Anja scoffed. “You’re sending me away to ‘rest.’”

Lysandra lifted a brow. “I’m giving you a chance to breathe. There’s a difference.”

Anja said nothing.

She didn’t want to argue—not with Lysandra, not when the woman had been family in some way for as long as she could remember—but the idea of going home…

It twisted something sharp in her chest.

Because home wasn’t just one thing.

It was Rika and Michael, her adoptive parents, who had raised her with fierce love and unwavering loyalty. It was Aaron, the brother she had spent years mourning only to have him crash back into her life in a way that still didn’t feel real. It was the **Horsemen, old and new—**her family not by blood, but by bond.

She had a place there.

She just wasn’t sure she was ready to step into it again.

Lysandra’s voice softened.

“Anja, I know this isn’t what you want,” she said. “But trust me on this. You won’t lose your place here. The Institute will still be standing when you return.”

Anja swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

It wasn’t about the Institute.

It wasn’t even about the missions.

It was about going back.

About facing the ghosts that still lingered in the halls of her home.

Lysandra slid a sealed envelope across the desk. “Your official leave orders. Transport leaves tomorrow morning.”

Tomorrow.

Anja curled her fingers around the envelope, the paper crinkling under her grip.

Lysandra watched her carefully.

“I know you don’t like being told what to do,” she said. “But for once, just—let yourself rest.”

Anja let out a slow breath.

She didn’t promise anything.

She just stood, took the envelope, and walked out of the office.

The rhythmic clatter of the train against the tracks was the only sound filling the silence between them.

Indie had fallen asleep minutes ago, her head tilted against the cool glass of the window, strands of dark hair spilling across her cheek.

Anja wasn’t so lucky.

She had been staring out the window since they left the Institute, watching as the sprawling metallic structures of the city blurred into rolling hills, then dense forests. The further they traveled, the closer she got to home.

Home.

The word sat heavy in her chest.

Her fingers drummed idly against the armrest, the envelope Lysandra had given her still tucked into her bag. She hadn’t opened it again since she left the office, as if ignoring it would change the fact that she wasn’t on this train by choice.

Her parents had been overjoyed when she told them she was coming home.

Michael had demanded every detail of her arrival, planning a grand welcome that she hadn’t had the heart to talk him out of. And Rika—Rika had been so happy, her voice warm with excitement in a way that made Anja’s chest ache.

She hadn’t told them she was being forced to leave.

Couldn’t.

Not when she could hear the relief in their voices, the way they missed her.

Because the truth was—so had she.

She missed Michael’s booming laugh, Rika’s quiet but steady presence, the warmth of their home. She missed the old Horsemen, their sharp edges softened only for those they considered their own. She missed the new generation, the people she had grown up alongside, the ones who had become her family.

And Aaron.

Anja’s stomach tightened.

She would see him again.

Her fingers curled into her palm.

Their last meeting had been—complicated.

Seeing him alive after all these years, after mourning him, breaking because of him—it had shattered something in her. The boy she had loved, the boy she had lost, had come back to her as something new, something more dangerous.

And now she would be under the same roof as him.

Anja exhaled sharply, shifting in her seat.

She wasn’t sure if she was ready for that.

“Stop thinking so loudly.”

She blinked.

Indie’s voice was thick with sleep, her eyes still half-closed as she stretched her arms over her head.

“I’m not thinking loudly,” Anja muttered.

Indie gave her a pointed look. “You are.”

Anja rolled her eyes and turned back toward the window.

Indie watched her for a moment before sighing. “You know, most people would be excited about going home.”

Anja’s jaw tensed.

“I am.”

Indie hummed, unconvinced. “Sure. That’s why you’ve been staring out the window like you’re heading toward an execution.”

Anja didn’t respond.

Because wasn’t that what this felt like?

Going back meant facing everything she had left behind. The people, the memories, the truths she had buried beneath the weight of survival.

Indie nudged her. “It’s not going to be as bad as you think.”

Anja raised a brow. “Oh? Are you psychic now?”

“No, but I do have basic logic.” Indie smirked. “You’ve got people who love you waiting for you. And no matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, you love them too.”

Anja swallowed hard.

She did.

That was the problem.

Because love meant vulnerability. And vulnerability could ruin her.

Indie must have sensed the shift in her mood because she sighed and stretched again.

“Well, whatever happens, at least I’ll be there.”

Anja glanced at her, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “What, to protect me?”

Indie grinned. “No, to watch the chaos unfold.”

Anja huffed a laugh, shaking her head.

The train rocked gently, the hum of the engine steady beneath them.

They were getting closer.

Closer to home.

The sun dipped low, casting a warm, golden hue over the sprawling estate as the train pulled into the familiar station. Anja stepped onto the platform, the scent of blooming jasmine and freshly turned earth enveloping her, evoking a flood of memories.

Indie followed closely, her eyes wide with curiosity, taking in the picturesque surroundings.

The estate was exactly as she remembered.

Sprawling gardens stretched toward the horizon, the grand mansion rising in the distance, its dark stone bathed in the fading amber glow of the setting sun. The gates had opened the moment the train arrived, and now the car rumbled over the gravel path, the scent of blooming jasmine and freshly cut grass drifting through the open windows.

Anja had spent the entire ride preparing herself, but the moment the house came into view, her chest tightened. She gripped the edge of the seat, forcing her breath to stay even.

Home.

She should have been relieved. She should have felt safe. Instead, the anticipation coiled in her stomach, thick and suffocating.

Indie shot her a look. "Nervous?"

Anja exhaled slowly. "A little."

Indie snorted. "They’re your family. They’re obsessed with you. What’s there to be nervous about?"

Everything.

The car stopped. The front doors burst open.

Anja barely had time to step out before Rika was there, her mother’s arms wrapping around her in a fierce, breath-stealing hug.

"Oh, my love," Rika whispered, burying her face in Anja’s shoulder. "You’re home."

Something in Anja's chest cracked. She hadn't realized how much she had needed this until now. She gripped Rika just as tightly, letting herself sink into the embrace.

Michael was next, his expression softer than usual, though his voice still carried its usual dry humor. "Didn’t think we’d ever get you back."

Anja managed a small smile as he pulled her in, his hug firm and grounding. "Neither did I."

And then, they were all there.

The new generation. The old Horsemen. Their partners. The family that had been built over decades of war and survival, standing on the steps of the estate, waiting for her.

The first person to reach her was Damon.

"About time, kid," he drawled, his usual smirk in place, though his eyes softened as he looked at her. He didn’t do sentimental—none of them did—but the way he ruffled her hair before pulling her into a half-hug said more than words ever could.

Emory wasn’t far behind, his expression unreadable. He studied her for a long moment before finally giving a slow nod. "You good?"

Anja met his gaze and knew the question carried weight. Are you still standing? Did you make it through?

She nodded back. "Yeah."

Emory gave a rare smile, clapping a hand on her shoulder.

She barely had a moment to breathe before the others crowded around her, voices overlapping, arms wrapping around her in quick, fierce embraces. Will IV nearly tackled her, Octavia gave her one of his rare, warm smiles, and even Ivarsen —who rarely showed affection—bumped his fist lightly against her arm.

The celebration was already in full swing. A bonfire crackled in the courtyard, long tables overflowing with food and wine. Lanterns hung from the trees, casting everything in a soft, golden glow. Laughter and conversation filled the air, the kind of ease that only existed in places untouched by war.

Anja let herself get pulled into it, let herself be passed from one person to the next, drinking in their warmth, their presence, their life.

But she felt him before she saw him.

A dark presence just at the edge of the crowd.

Her stomach clenched, but she didn’t turn her head. She already knew.

Aaron stood off to the side, leaning against one of the stone pillars, untouched by the noise and chaos. His posture was casual—arms crossed, expression unreadable—but his eyes...

His eyes were on her.

Watching. Waiting.

Even from across the courtyard, she could feel the weight of his gaze. Dark. Intense. Claiming.

Anja forced herself to ignore it.

She focused on the others, on the warmth of her mother’s hand as Rika pulled her toward the table, on the way Damon was already pouring her a drink. She let herself be swept up in their laughter, their stories, their presence.

But Aaron never moved.

He never approached.

He just watched.

And no matter how hard she tried to ignore him, she could feel his smirk pressing against her skin like a whisper of a touch, like a silent promise.

You can pretend all you want, Anja.

But you’ll never escape me.

And deep down, in the place she refused to acknowledge, she knew he was right.

The celebration was in full swing. The courtyard buzzed with laughter and music, the scent of roasted meat and spiced wine thick in the air. Anja had barely sat down since arriving, caught in the endless cycle of greetings, conversations, and memories that threatened to drown her.

She was seated between Damon and Will, the latter watching her a little too closely, his gaze lingering longer than it should. It was always the same with Will—silent devotion, quiet longing. He had never said the words, never dared to voice what they both knew, but it was in the way he looked at her, in the way his fingers occasionally brushed against hers, as if he couldn’t help himself.

"You seem… different," Will said, voice low enough that only she could hear.

Anja raised an eyebrow. "Different how?"

His lips pressed together like he was searching for the right words. "Tired."

She exhaled sharply. "Well, I am tired. But thanks for pointing it out."

A small smirk tugged at his lips. "You know that’s not what I meant."

She did. She knew what he meant.

She wasn’t the same girl she had been before she left. The months away had changed her, sharpened her edges, buried parts of her she wasn’t sure she’d ever get back. She wasn’t just tired—she was worn, bruised, still bleeding from wounds no one could see.

But she didn’t say any of that. Instead, she gave him a half-hearted smirk and rose from her seat. "I need another drink."

Will watched her go but didn’t follow.

She slipped through the crowd, heading toward the kitchen where the extra bottles of wine were kept. The moment she stepped inside, the noise of the party dulled, replaced by the hum of the refrigerator and the soft crackle of the fireplace in the adjacent room.

She had just grabbed a bottle from the counter when she felt it.

A shift in the air. A presence too familiar, too suffocating.

Her fingers tightened around the bottle as the door clicked shut.

Slowly, she turned.

Aaron leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable—except for his eyes.

Dark. Unyielding. Hungry.

Anja swallowed hard, keeping her face blank. "I was wondering when you’d finally stop watching and do something."

His smirk was slow, lazy. "You noticed?"

She scoffed. "You’re not exactly subtle."

Aaron pushed off the doorframe, moving toward her with the kind of deliberate ease that made her heart hammer against her ribs.

She took a step back.

He kept coming.

Another step back.

Her spine hit the counter.

His hands came up, caging her in on either side, palms pressed against the marble.

Aaron was close. Too close. His scent wrapped around her—clean, crisp, laced with something darker underneath. His breath was warm against her skin as he leaned in, his nose ghosting along her jaw.

"You’ve been ignoring me," he murmured.

Her hands curled into fists. "I’ve been busy."

He hummed, dragging his nose up the column of her throat, inhaling deeply. "I haven't been busy. I’ve had all the time in the world to think about you. About us."

Her jaw clenched. "There is no us."

Aaron chuckled, low and knowing. "Funny. That’s not what you used to say when you were in my bed."

Her breath hitched, and he felt it, his smirk widening against her skin.

He pressed closer, his body a wall of heat against hers. "You know, I almost forgot how good you smell." His lips brushed the hollow of her throat. "Almost."

Anja fought to keep her expression neutral, fought to keep her body from betraying her.

This was what he did. This was who he was.

A manipulator. A liar. A wolf who knew exactly how to bare his teeth in a way that made you want to step closer instead of running away.

She wasn’t stupid enough to fall for it again.

"You should let me go," she said, her voice even.

Aaron pulled back slightly, just enough to meet her gaze.

His eyes weren’t smirking anymore.

No, they were something else entirely—raw.

Like he had spent every moment apart from her teetering on the edge of something dangerous. Like he had missed her more than he would ever admit.

"You know what’s funny?" he mused, voice deceptively light. "I thought being apart from you would make it easier. That time and distance would dull it."

His fingers brushed her waist, his touch featherlight, as if testing how much she would let him get away with.

"It didn’t," he whispered. "It only made it worse."

Anja’s throat tightened.

She hated him for this. Hated how he could turn his obsession into something that almost felt real.

"You need help," she said, voice quiet but firm. "This isn’t normal, Aaron."

He tilted his head, considering her words, before smirking. "Maybe not. But you and I were never normal, were we?"

She said nothing.

Aaron leaned in again, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

"We’re going to be close to each other again," he murmured, his tone almost sweet. "Maybe not in the same house. But close enough. Just like the old days."

His teeth grazed her jaw. "Did you miss me, Anja?"

She didn’t answer.

Aaron pulled back just enough to look at her, waiting.

When she still didn’t speak, his smirk returned.

"You don’t have to say it." He reached up, trailing his fingers down her arm before stepping back entirely. "I already know."

Then, just like that, he was gone.

Leaving Anja alone in the dimly lit kitchen, heart pounding, breath unsteady, and the taste of his presence still lingering on her skin.

She was home again...

#devil's night #lads caleb #love and deepspace #caleb x reader #damon torrance #fanfic #kai mori #lads #rika fane #will grayson iii #dark romance #no saints tonight #winter ashby #emory scott #nikova banks #love and deepspace caleb #caleb

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addiessblack · 4 months ago

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NO SAINTS TONIGHT MASTERLIST

⚠ Content Warnings:

This story contains dark themes, including but not limited to:

✦ Explicit smut (18+)

✦ Graphic violence & gore

✦ Psychological manipulation & mind control

✦ Toxic relationships & obsession

✦ Step-cest (Aaron & Anja are adoptive siblings)

✦ Death, trauma, and grief

✦ Dystopian themes (oppression, experimentation, war)

Reader discretion is advised.

Synopsis:

No saints. No rules. Only the bond that can't be broken.

In a futuristic Thunder Bay, where Evol powers define the elite, Anja Christ stands as an enigma. Adopted by the legendary Michael and Rika Christ, she lives in the shadow of the Horsemen's legacy. But her life has always revolved around one constant-Aaron Christ, her adoptive brother. Brilliant, magnetic, and dangerous, Aaron's love for her is both her salvation and her curse.

Aaron's Evol-the power to manipulate minds-has always set him apart. But it's his possessive, all-consuming devotion to Anja that binds them together in a way no one else can understand. To the world, their connection is taboo, but to Aaron, it's unshakable, and to Anja, it's inevitable.

When Aaron is called to war, Anja's world shatters. Left to grapple with her own burgeoning Evol-a volatile mix of Empathic Resonance and Energy Manipulation-she spirals into grief. But in a world of lies, betrayal, and shadows, not everything is as it seems.

As Anja fights to find her place in a legacy of chaos and power, she discovers the truth about Aaron's death may be more complex-and far darker-than she ever imagined. The line between love and obsession, between salvation and destruction, blurs as she confronts the depth of Aaron's sacrifices and her own destiny.

This is a story of forbidden love, dark desires, and the unbreakable bond that defies all odds. Because in a world of masks and mirrors, some bonds are eternal-and some nights are meant for no saints.

------

fanfiction about devil's night new generation inspired by love and deepspace (especially Caleb's new story)

Aesthetics:

Chapters:

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

Extras

✦ Playlist: [No Saints Tonight on Spotify]

✦ Au of Anja and Aaron (to be added)

#devil's night #lads caleb #love and deepspace #caleb x reader #damon torrance #fanfic #kai mori #lads #rika fane #will grayson iii #shadowhunters #dystopia #dark romance #no saints tonight

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addiessblack · 4 months ago

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NO SAINTS TONIGHT

Chapter 17

A dull beeping. The scent of antiseptic. A crushing weight in her chest.

Anja's first thought was that she was drowning.

She gasped, lungs burning, fingers twitching against soft sheets, and the room around her wavered in a blur of bright lights and indistinct shapes. For a moment, she wasn't sure if she was still trapped in the visions-the endless cycle of different lives, of seeing Aaron in places and times that didn't exist. But then, the voices came.

"Anja?" A soft, choked whisper.

Her head lolled to the side, eyes struggling to focus. The weight on her body wasn't water, wasn't chains-it was exhaustion. Her body ached, the aftermath of something enormous.

"Anja, sweetheart, you're awake-oh my God-"

Rika's hands were on her face, smoothing back her hair, her voice cracking. Next to her, Michael was still, his hand gripping hers tightly, his expression taut, almost unreadable. Relief, yes. But something else too.

Anja blinked, swallowing. Her throat was raw. "Wha-" Her voice failed, and a glass was pressed to her lips. The cool water soothed the burn.

"You scared the hell out of us," Michael murmured, squeezing her hand a little too hard, as if testing to make sure she was real.

She let out a weak chuckle-or maybe just a breath. "Not... my best plan."

Rika made a watery sound between a laugh and a sob, pressing a kiss to her temple. "You were out for four days. We didn't know if you were going to wake up."

Four days.

Flashes came back-Ever's base, the chaos, Aaron bleeding, the overwhelming power surging out of her. The pain.

And then the visions. The endless, impossible worlds where she and Aaron existed in different forms, different stories.

Her fingers twitched against the sheets.

Her parents were here. But there was someone else.

A shadow in the corner of the room.

She turned her head, her breath catching in her throat.

Aaron.

He was standing there, silent, unmoving, watching her like a ghost who wasn't sure if he had permission to be here. His uniform was gone-just a black shirt, dark pants, the usual sharpness of his appearance dulled by exhaustion. His hands were in his pockets, but his eyes-God, his eyes.

They were the same. Always the same. Intense, unyielding, something dangerous simmering beneath the surface.

But now, there was something else. Something raw.

He looked-wrecked.

Anja's fingers curled into the blanket.

She wanted to say something. Wanted to ask what the hell he was doing here, why he hadn't disappeared into the shadows like he always did.

But no words came.

Instead, they just stared at each other.

Four days. And he'd been here.

Watching. Waiting.

Like he always did.

"Anja," he said, finally, voice low, hesitant.

She swallowed hard, her body still too weak to move properly. But she forced herself to hold his gaze.

The last time she saw him, she had been slipping into darkness, power tearing through her veins.

The last thing she remembered was his voice. Calling her name.

Her parents were still there, still touching her, but Aaron was across the room, a distance between them that felt heavier than it should.

She didn't know if she wanted to reach for him or tell him to leave.

Maybe both.

Her throat felt tight. "You stayed?"

Aaron's jaw tensed, and he looked away for half a second before fixing those impossible eyes back on hers. "Of course."

It was so simple. Like it was never a question.

Like it never would be.

She exhaled shakily, exhaustion still pulling at her limbs.

"Rest," Rika murmured, brushing her fingers over Anja's hair. "We'll talk later, okay? You're safe now."

Safe.

Anja didn't know if that word existed anymore.

Her eyes flickered back to Aaron, still standing there, still silent.

She didn't know what she was supposed to feel.

All she knew was that when she finally let her eyes close again, his presence lingered-like a shadow that had never truly left.

The air smelled of rain and stone, of freshly turned earth where the names of the dead would soon be carved. Anja's boots scuffed against the gravel path, her steps slow and deliberate, but not from physical pain. That had dulled to an ache, a whisper beneath her skin. What weighed heavier was something else. A hollowness in her chest that no amount of healing could fix.

Michael walked beside her, hands behind his back, shoulders squared, ever the warrior. But there was no battlefield here. Only the gardens, the quiet wind rustling the golden leaves above them, the sunset bleeding through the branches.

They had walked this path many times before. When she was younger, her small hand wrapped in his much larger one, chattering about something she had read, something she had learned. When she had been just his daughter-not a soldier. Not a warrior. Just Anja.

Now, the silence stretched between them.

"Did anyone else make it out?" she asked at last.

She didn't look at him when she spoke. She wasn't sure she could bear it.

Michael hesitated.

It was only for a second-but it was enough.

Then, in that low, steady voice that had guided her through childhood, through war, he gave her the answer she already knew.

"No."

The word landed like a stone in her stomach. Heavy. Cold.

Anja stopped walking.

Her breath left her in a sharp exhale, her fists clenching at her sides. She had known. Of course, she had known. But hearing it aloud made it real in a way she wasn't ready for.

Cassian. Elara. The others.

All gone.

Michael stopped too, watching her carefully. His expression barely shifted, but she could see it-the exhaustion in his face, the grief buried beneath years of control. He had seen this before. Lived this before. But this was different.

This was her.

"You're sure?" she asked, even though she knew he wouldn't say it if it weren't true.

His jaw tightened slightly. "I'm sure."

A slow breath in. A slower breath out.

She nodded, but it wasn't really acceptance. Just acknowledgment. Just something to keep herself standing.

"They were just kids," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Michael's gaze didn't waver.

"So were you."

She let out a hollow laugh, shaking her head. Not anymore. The Academy had stripped that from her. The war had burned away anything that remained.

When she finally met his eyes, she saw it there-something raw, something unspoken.

His princess. His only daughter.

The one thing in this world he would raze entire cities to protect.

And he had almost lost her.

Again.

"I should've-" she started, but Michael cut her off.

"No." His voice was firm, but not unkind. "You did everything you could."

Her throat tightened.

But it wasn't enough. It was never enough.

Michael stepped closer, his presence steady, unwavering. He didn't pull her into a hug-not here, not like this-but his hand found her shoulder, warm and grounding. A father's touch.

"I know it doesn't feel like it now, but you were never going to save them all," he said softly. "That's not how war works."

She looked up at him, her vision blurring for a split second before she forced it back.

She would not cry.

"Then what's the point?" she whispered.

Michael exhaled, glancing toward the sky as the sun dipped further beyond the horizon, casting everything in deep orange and violet hues.

"The point is that you're still here," he said at last. "That you fought. That you made it." His grip on her shoulder tightened, just slightly. "And tomorrow, we honor those who didn't."

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, she would stand among the survivors.

Tomorrow, she would name the fallen.

Tomorrow, she would watch the banners of the dead burn, their names whispered into the wind as the flames swallowed them whole.

She had been to too many of these.

She could already picture it-the flickering light against the stone walls, the way the smoke would curl into the night sky, carrying the weight of their sacrifice with it.

Their sigils would be placed at the center of the ceremonial pyre. The Order would stand in silence, their expressions unreadable, but their grief a tangible thing.

And she-she would stand at the front, beside her father.

The daughter of a Horseman. The prodigy of the Academy.

The girl who lived.

She would keep her head high, her expression blank, her spine straight.

And she would not cry.

Not for Cassian, with his cocky grin and sharp wit.

Not for Elara, with her quiet kindness and gentle hands.

Not for the dozens of others whose faces were already starting to blur in her memory, because there were too many, too many-

"Anja."

Michael's voice pulled her back, anchoring her.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and forced herself to nod.

"I know," she said.

Michael studied her for a long moment. Then, finally, his hand fell away.

"You should get some rest," he said quietly. "Tomorrow will be difficult."

She knew what he really meant.

Tomorrow will be a reminder of everything you've lost.

She gave him a small, tight nod, turning away slightly.

He hesitated, as if considering whether to say something else.

And then-gently, carefully-he reached out, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

Just like he used to when she was small.

When she was just his daughter.

"I'll see you in the morning," he murmured.

And then he was gone, leaving her alone in the fading light.

Anja exhaled slowly, tilting her head back to look at the darkening sky.

Tomorrow, she would stand before the pyre.

Tomorrow, she would watch the flames rise.

Tomorrow, she would burn their names into her memory.

And then-

Then, she would move forward.

Because that was what was expected.

Because that was what she had to do.

Because there was nothing else left.

The sky was painted in hues of ash and crimson, streaks of orange bleeding into a deepening violet, as if the heavens themselves bore witness to both the tragedy and triumph of the day. The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting elongated shadows over the sprawling courtyard of the Lunar Hunter Academy, where rows of ceremonial pyres stood like solemn sentinels. Each was meticulously stacked with wood and wrapped in cloth marked by the insignias of the fallen, their names etched onto small plaques fastened to the base-a futile attempt to immortalize lives already gone.

The Academy had never looked more immaculate, its towering obsidian walls gleaming under the twilight, banners of the Northern Coalition and Southern Commonwealth draped in perfect symmetry. The insignia of the Lunar Hunters-a crescent moon pierced by an upward sword-fluttered proudly, catching the dying light. The stone pathways, once trodden by eager cadets, were now lined with wreaths of white lilies and violet hyacinths, their fragrance mingling with the acrid sting of burning incense and the faint trace of ash that seemed woven into the very air.

The courtyard, where countless drills and graduation ceremonies had taken place, now transformed into a vast sea of black uniforms. Soldiers stood in rigid formations, their expressions solemn, medals gleaming against their chests. Families of the fallen filled the stands on either side, their faces painted with grief and pride, some clutching to one another, others staring blankly ahead as if refusing to believe their loved ones were truly gone.

At the center of it all stood Anja.

She was a shadow carved in flesh, clad in the formal black ceremonial uniform of the Lunar Hunters. The sharp lines of the jacket cut against her slim frame, the polished silver trim reflecting the flicker of torchlight. Across her chest gleamed the newly awarded insignia-a silver crescent moon entwined with a sword, denoting her as a Lunar Warden, the highest honor within the Lunar Hunters. But the medal felt like a stone pressed against her heart, cold, heavy, and meaningless. It couldn't bring back what had been lost.

To her right, Indie stood tall, her posture textbook perfect, but the brittle set of her jaw and the glassy sheen in her amber eyes betrayed the grief she fought to contain. Her fingers twitched at her sides, as if resisting the urge to wipe away the tears she refused to let fall. Behind Indie stood her family-parents with faces drawn tight, siblings clutching one another's hands. They had each other to lean on.

To Anja's left-Aaron.

He was an immovable force beside her, his uniform pristine, the sharp lines of authority emphasized by the silver insignia on his chest, denoting his rank as Colonel of Ever's Fleet-a title he'd retained even after the fall of Ever. The black of his uniform contrasted sharply with the gleam of the polished metal. But it wasn't his uniform that commanded attention-it was him. His presence was magnetic, intense, yet the only thing that seemed to tether him to this ceremony was Anja. His gaze never left her. Not once. Through the speeches, the chants, the flames-his focus remained solely on her. His anchor. His undoing.

The ceremony began with the low, resonant toll of the Bell of Remembrance, its deep, mournful chime echoing across the courtyard. Each strike reverberated through Anja's chest like the aftershock of a wound freshly reopened. The bell tolled thirteen times-one for each major battle lost and won in the war against Ever.

After the final toll faded into silence, the Master of Ceremonies, an elder council member with a voice carved from gravel and authority, stepped forward. His ceremonial robes, embroidered with threads of silver and deep violet, swept the ground as he took his place behind the obsidian podium. His voice, amplified by unseen technology woven into the stone structures, rolled over the gathered crowd.

"Today, we stand on the ashes of the past-not as broken survivors, but as victors who carried the weight of hope through the darkest nights."

The crowd remained silent, their grief and pride woven together like threads in a frayed tapestry.

"We gather not only to mourn but to honor. To remember the names of those who fought not for glory, but for the fragile, precious thing we now hold: freedom."

His words were eloquent, crafted with the precision of a blade, meant to inspire. But to Anja, they felt hollow, echoes in the vast emptiness that had taken root inside her.

The ceremony shifted to the Reading of the Fallen.

The names began-each one spoken aloud a dagger to the heart. A steady, unrelenting rhythm of loss.

"Cassian Voss."

Anja's chest tightened, her vision blurring for a heartbeat. Cassian's crooked grin flashed in her mind-the boy who'd taught her how to cheat at cards, whose laughter had filled the barracks like sunlight.

"Elara Dren."

Elara's sharp wit, the glint in her eyes when she outmaneuvered opponents, the warmth of her friendship-gone. Reduced to a name floating on the wind.

Her fingers curled into fists, nails biting into her palms. She didn't cry. She couldn't. The grief was too vast, too embedded, a stone lodged in her chest.

When the final name was read, a moment of silence fell over the crowd, the quiet so profound it felt deafening. Then came the torches-symbols of life passed on, of memories burning bright even in death.

Anja accepted hers with numb fingers, the flame flickering violently against the cool evening breeze. Aaron and Indie flanked her as they stepped forward, the weight of hundreds of eyes pressing down. She stood before Cassian and Elara's pyres, their bodies wrapped in ceremonial cloths marked with their Lunar Hunter insignias.

She lit the fire.

The flames roared to life, devouring the wood, the fabric, the fragile illusion that any of this was okay. The heat licked at her skin, but she felt nothing. Just emptiness.

The pyres burned, crackling with a ferocity that seemed to mock the stillness of those left behind. Families wept openly now, the dam of restraint shattered. But Anja remained frozen, her face an unyielding mask.

When the flames began to die down, attention shifted to the grand stage, where the leaders of the Northern Coalition and Southern Commonwealth stood beneath towering banners. The crowd surged forward, but Anja felt like she was drifting further away.

The Supreme Chancellor of the Coalition, a statuesque woman with steel-gray hair pulled into a severe knot, stepped to the podium. Her voice was sharp, cutting through the hush like a blade.

"Today, we mark the end of an era defined by fear-and the dawn of one shaped by courage."

The crowd erupted into applause, the sound crashing over Anja like a wave she couldn't feel.

"The war against Ever's tyranny has ended-not solely through the might of our armies, but through the indomitable will of those who refused to bow."

The Chancellor spoke of victory, of unity. She outlined the formation of the Coalition Council, how Ever would be rebuilt, no longer a force of oppression but a beacon of shared governance. The Eastern Dominions were formally denounced, their betrayal etched into the annals of history.

But Anja heard none of it. Her mind drifted, caught in memories of laughter that would never return.

Then her name was called.

She moved mechanically, her feet heavy as stone as she ascended the steps. Indie and Aaron flanked her, their presence grounding yet distant, like shadows she couldn't grasp.

Indie's medal was presented first-Lunar Warden, the highest rank within the Lunar Hunters. Her family's cheers broke through the solemnity, pride and grief mingling on their faces.

Aaron was next, his commendation for tactical brilliance met with thunderous applause. His promotion to Colonel of Ever's Fleet was solidified with ceremonial words, but his expression remained unchanged, his gaze never leaving Anja.

Then it was her turn.

The medal was pinned to her chest, cold and unyielding. The Chancellor's words were full of praise:

"Anja Christ-Lunar Warden, symbol of resilience, heart of the Lunar Hunters. A beacon in our darkest hour."

But to Anja, they were just noise.

She glanced sideways-Aaron's eyes met hers.

No pride. No celebration. Just understanding. A mirror of her emptiness, her grief, her loss.

As the ceremony concluded and the crowd dispersed, Indie was swept into her family's embrace, surrounded by warmth and love. Aaron stood beside Anja, silent, his presence the only thing anchoring her to reality.

When the fires had burned down to embers, and the sky had surrendered to darkness, Anja whispered into the void, her voice barely more than a breath:

"We won the war, but I lost everything."

Aaron's hand brushed against hers, a silent promise in the dark.

But even his warmth couldn't fill the void.

Not yet.

The gardens of the Coalition stronghold glimmered under strings of pale lights, delicate bulbs flickering like captive stars. Music drifted through the air, something light and melodic-an unfamiliar tune, too sweet, too untouched by grief. The scent of freshly cut flowers mixed with the metallic tang of polished medals, mingling with the faint trace of gunpowder still buried in Anja's memory.

Laughter spilled like water over cracked stone, effortless and bright. People danced, their faces flushed with wine and victory, their voices lifted in songs that didn't belong to the dead. Soldiers she'd fought beside just few months ago in important missions clinked glasses, their uniforms crisp, medals gleaming against dark fabric, as if blood had never stained them. As if the echoes of screams didn't still rattle in her ears.

Anja stood apart from it all, a shadow stitched to the edges of the celebration. The silver crescent of her Lunar Warden insignia felt heavier than the medal resting against her chest, pressing into the fabric like it wanted to carve itself into her skin. She ran her fingers over it absently, tracing the cool metal, trying to ground herself, but the numbness was deeper than flesh.

How could they smile like this?

How could they pretend?

She watched a young soldier-barely older than a boy-spin a girl in a clumsy circle, both of them laughing breathlessly. He'd been there in the trenches, hadn't he? She remembered his face smeared with ash and blood, eyes wild with terror on her last mission before she infiltrated Ever's fleet. Now he grinned like none of it had happened. Like the world hadn't cracked open and swallowed people whole.

The music swelled, and Anja felt the edges of her control fray.

She could still see them. The ones who didn't make it. Their faces etched behind her eyelids, flickering like ghosts. Dunja's hand slipping from hers, Mihajlo's voice swallowed by gunfire, bodies crumpled in the dust, nameless and forgotten beneath the weight of "victory."

Her throat felt tight, like she was drowning in air.

Someone brushed past her-Indie's voice, happy and smooth, cutting through the haze. She didn't turn. She was laughing, too. Her smile carved sharp against the golden glow of the lights as she charmed a group of high ranked officials, her presence magnetic as always.

She could pretend, too.

Anja's hands curled into fists at her sides, nails biting into her palms. The fabric of her ceremonial jacket felt too tight, the insignia like a brand. She wanted to rip it off, to scream, to shatter the fragile glass of this illusion they'd all agreed to live in.

But she didn't.

Instead, she stood there, a statue among the living, drowning in the noise of people who'd already decided to forget.

Because that's what survivors did, wasn't it?

They celebrated.

They danced.

They laughed.

And Anja Christ stood alone, wondering if she'd ever feel human enough to join them.

The celebration blurred into a haze of flickering lights, distorted laughter, and the distant hum of music-an echo of joy she couldn't reach. Anja remained rooted near the edge of the garden, her shadow long against the trimmed hedges, cast by lanterns strung like constellations overhead. She stared ahead, not really seeing the people who danced, their movements too bright, too alive, while she felt like a relic carved from ash.

She sensed him before she saw him.

Aaron.

His presence slid into her awareness like a blade slipping between ribs-silent, precise, impossible to ignore. She didn't turn, but she knew he was there, his steps deliberate as he crossed the distance that no one else dared to breach. The air grew heavier with each footfall, not from the weight of the night but from the gravity that was *him*.

When he finally stopped beside her, there was no polite pretense, no fragile smiles like the ones traded among the crowd. Just silence. Thick and suffocating.

Anja kept her gaze fixed ahead, jaw tight. She could feel his eyes on her, burning with the same intensity she'd grown to despise-and fear. That same feverish devotion, threaded with darkness, the kind of love that didn't ask for permission.

Aaron spoke first, his voice low, curling around her like smoke.

*"They look ridiculous, don't they?"* he said, his tone deceptively soft, almost amused. *"Dancing over graves they'll forget by morning."*

Anja's chest tightened. She didn't answer. She didn't have to.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him tilt his head slightly, studying her like she was something fragile and volatile all at once. His uniform was flawless, every detail sharp-silver insignias gleaming under the lantern light. But his eyes told a different story.

There was no celebration in them.

No peace.

Just her.

Always her.

*"You think I don't feel it too?"* he murmured, his voice quieter now, meant only for her. *"The emptiness? The ache?"*

Anja's fingers twitched at her sides, nails digging into the soft flesh of her palms. She didn't want this-didn't want *him* to crack the fragile barrier she'd built around her grief.

*"They'll forget,"* Aaron continued, stepping closer, his shoulder brushing against hers. It was deliberate. He wanted her to feel it. His proximity. His presence. His claim. *"But not me. I can't. I won't."*

His words coiled around her like chains.

She finally turned to look at him.

His face was carved from shadows and sharp lines, too beautiful in that dangerous, untouchable way. But it was his eyes that made her breath catch-not because they were soft, but because they weren't. They were fierce, hungry, a storm bottled up and aimed solely at her.

*"They're celebrating because they can,"* he said, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper, raw and unguarded. *"But you and I? We're not like them. We're not *meant* to be."*

Anja's jaw clenched. *"You think that makes it better?"* she snapped, her voice sharp, cutting through the fake joy around them. *"That we're broken in the same way? It doesn't."*

Aaron's smile was a ghost-bitter, thin.

*"I don't want it to be better,"* he breathed. *"I just want it to be *real*."*

His hand lifted, slow and deliberate, fingers brushing against the edge of her sleeve, a touch so light it was almost nothing. But she felt it like a brand.

*"You can hate me, Anja,"* he whispered, his gaze burning into hers. *"You can fight me, curse me, wish I was dead. But don't pretend you don't feel it too. This-"* his hand curled slightly, fist tightening as if gripping something invisible between them-*"-this isn't something you can bury. Not with medals. Not with wars. Not even with time."*

Anja's breath came fast, shallow. She wanted to shove him away, to scream, to drown out the truth threaded through his words. But the ache in her chest wasn't just grief. It was *him*, tangled in the same place where her heart used to be.

She hated him for it.

And she hated herself more.

Without thinking, she hissed through clenched teeth, *"You ruined me."*

Aaron's smile vanished, replaced by something darker-satisfaction laced with pain.

*"No,"* he whispered, stepping even closer, his forehead nearly brushing hers now. *"I *made* you."*

Anja's heart thundered in her chest, loud enough to drown out the music.

And when he finally pulled back, leaving her standing there with nothing but the echo of his words, the garden felt emptier than before.

---

Music flowed like liquid gold through the air, sweet and effervescent, rising above the laughter, the clinking of glasses, the rhythmic shuffle of feet on cobblestone. The scent of crushed grass, spiced wine, and late-blooming flowers filled the air-a sensory tapestry woven to celebrate victory.

But to Anja, it was deafening. Suffocating.

She stood at the edge of the crowd, her figure carved in shadow, the silver crescent of her Lunar Warden insignia catching stray glimmers of light. It felt heavy against her chest-not with pride, but with the unbearable weight of everything it represented. Victory. Survival. Loss.

How can they laugh?

Her gaze drifted over the crowd. Dignitaries with flushed faces, soldiers with their medals gleaming, friends reunited in tight embraces, families holding each other like they'd never let go again. She watched Indie's family gathered near the center, their joy infectious, their laughter spilling into the night like something sacred. Indie herself was the brightest star in the constellation-her smile wide, her amber eyes warm. She looked alive.

Anja didn't.

She felt like a ghost, her edges blurred, her heart untethered from the rhythm of the world around her. The music, the voices, the celebration-they didn't reach her. She stood among the living, but she wasn't one of them. Not really.

The garden's beauty only sharpened the contrast of her emptiness. The flickering lanterns, the rich colors of flowing fabrics, the warmth in the air-it was like standing in a painting, one she couldn't step into.

She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms, desperate to feel something other than this vast, aching void. But there was nothing. Just the echo of things she'd lost.

That's when Indie found her.

"Anja!"

Her name burst through the haze, bright and full of life. Indie wove through the crowd, her hair catching the lantern light like strands of molten gold. Without hesitation, she reached for Anja's hand, her grip warm and grounding.

"Come on, don't just stand here." Indie's voice was soft, coaxing. "You should be with us."

Us.

The word hit like a stone dropped into a well, the ripples fading fast.

Anja's legs moved before her mind could protest. Indie pulled her through the crowd, weaving between dancing bodies, tables overflowing with food, faces painted with joy. Every laugh felt like an intrusion, every cheer a blade against her skin. She kept her gaze low, afraid of meeting eyes that might look at her like she was a hero when she felt like nothing at all.

They reached the heart of the gathering.

Her family was there. A perfect picture framed by flickering lights and soft music. Her mother's smile radiant, her father's proud posture, their faces open and full of emotion.

And then-him.

Aaron.

He stood just beyond her family, silent and still, a shadow draped in the crisp lines of his uniform. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes-*God,* his eyes-were locked on her with the intensity of gravity itself. There was no warmth in his gaze, no softness. Just that relentless pull, that invisible thread binding them together, taut and unbreakable.

Indie slipped an arm around Anja's shoulders, grounding her once more.

*"Isn't this nice? Just us. Family."* Indie's voice was soft, like she was afraid of shattering the fragile peace Anja was barely holding onto.

*Family.*

The word echoed in Anja's mind, hollow and sharp.

She looked at them-her family, Indie, the people who loved her-and felt... nothing. No warmth, no connection. Just the stark realization that she was standing in the middle of everything she was supposed to cherish, and she couldn't feel any of it.

Her heart was a locked door, and she'd lost the key.

She swallowed hard, her throat tight. Her chest ached, not with grief but with the absence of it. A numbness that had rooted itself so deeply she couldn't remember what it felt like to be *whole.*

She glanced at Aaron again.

He knew. She could see it in the way he looked at her-not with pity, but with understanding. A mirror reflecting the same emptiness back at her. He wasn't celebrating either. Not truly. His body was here, but his mind... it was with her. Always with her.

The realization was suffocating.

Without a word, Anja stepped out from under Indie's arm. The movement was small, but it felt monumental. Like cutting a thread. She didn't say goodbye. She couldn't. Her feet carried her away, soft steps against the grass, her shadow stretching long and thin in the flickering light.

No one stopped her.

Except him.

Aaron didn't move, but his eyes followed her, searing into her back like a brand. He didn't need to chase her. He was already inside her skin, woven into the fabric of her very being.

She reached the edge of the garden, where the music faded into a distant hum and the lanterns couldn't chase away the darkness. She stopped, her breath sharp in the cool night air, and looked up.

The sky stretched above her, vast and indifferent, the stars scattered like fragments of something broken. She used to love the stars. They made her feel small in a comforting way, part of something bigger.

Now, they just felt distant.

She closed her eyes, willing herself to feel *anything*-grief, anger, relief-but there was nothing. Just the hollow ache of absence.

Why can't I feel it?

The question echoed inside her, unanswered.

She turned slightly, her gaze drifting back one last time.

Aaron was still there, standing at the edge of the celebration, his face carved from stone, his eyes a wildfire barely contained. Their eyes met across the distance-no words, no gestures. Just that unbearable, undeniable connection.

She wondered if this was what it meant to be truly lost-not when you're alone, but when you're surrounded by everything you're supposed to love and feel nothing.

A bitter wind picked up, carrying the faint strains of laughter and music. It felt like an insult.

So she turned away.

Her footsteps were silent as she walked into the darkness, leaving behind the warmth, the noise, the people who would never understand.

Aaron didn't follow.

But he didn't have to.

#devil's night #lads caleb #love and deepspace #caleb x reader #damon torrance #fanfic #kai mori #lads #rika fane #will grayson iii #dark romance #emory scott #winter ashby #nikova banks #love and deepspace caleb #caleb #no saints tonight

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addiessblack · 4 months ago

Text

NO SAINTS TONIGHT

Chapter 16

The air was thick with the stench of blood and smoke, even though the battlefield was miles behind them. The transport ship hummed steadily beneath them, but it wasn't enough to drown out the ringing silence between the four of them.

Anja lay motionless on the cot, her skin pale, her breath too shallow. A medical IV was inserted into her arm, but it wasn't enough. Not after what she had done.

Aaron sat next to her, his fingers curled into fists, his elbows braced on his knees. His uniform was torn, darkened with soot and blood, but his knuckles were clean-he had wiped them obsessively, as if scrubbing away the memory of his failure.

Will IV sat against the opposite wall, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might snap. Indie was curled up next to him, her knees pulled to her chest, staring at Anja with wide, unblinking eyes. No one spoke.

The ship shuddered as it finally descended toward the Institute.

As the doors opened, the bright floodlights of the landing pad washed over them, and voices echoed outside. Footsteps pounded against the ground as figures rushed toward them.

Rika and Michael were the first ones there.

Michael grabbed the side of the stretcher, his face carved from stone, but his hands shook. Rika let out a sharp breath, her eyes wild as she took in the state of her daughter. When she looked at Aaron, there was no accusation, just a deep, unbearable grief.

"She's alive," Indie whispered hoarsely, as if needing to say it aloud. "But she hasn't woken up since-"

Rika didn't wait. She brushed past everyone, kneeling beside Anja, her hands hovering over her daughter's as if afraid to touch her.

Then came the others.

Kai. Banks. Damon. Winter. Will Grayson III. Emory.

They all stopped in their tracks, taking in the four of them-bloodied, hollow-eyed, only half of the team that had left.

"Where are the others?" Banks asked, her voice barely audible.

No one answered.

Will IV looked away first, his throat working as he swallowed thickly. Indie closed her eyes.

And Aaron-Aaron didn't move at all.

Silence stretched for an unbearable moment. Then Michael exhaled sharply, gripping the stretcher tighter. "Get her inside. Now."

Rika was already moving, brushing past the others, her expression unreadable. The medics stepped forward, lifting the stretcher with careful hands.

Aaron followed automatically, his body tense, his eyes locked on Anja as they carried her into the Institute.

Then a hand grabbed his arm.

Damon.

Aaron turned slowly, and when their eyes met, there was something lethal in the older man's gaze. Something sharp and cutting.

"What the hell happened?" Damon asked, voice low.

Aaron just looked at him, unable to answer.

Because how was he supposed to say it?

That they had won the battle, but lost too much. That Anja had nearly destroyed herself to save them. That she had saved him-even after everything.

And now she was unconscious, trapped in the dark, and there was nothing he could do to bring her back.

Aaron wrenched his arm free and walked past him without another word.

Because none of it mattered.

Not unless she woke up.

---

The halls of the Institute had never been so suffocating.

The sterile scent of antiseptic clung to the air, mixing with the faint coppery tang of dried blood. The med ward was eerily quiet, save for the rhythmic beeping of machines beyond the heavy doors-the only sign that Anja was still alive.

But for how long?

Michael paced the length of the waiting room like a caged animal. His movements were sharp, restless. Every time his boots hit the polished floor, the sound echoed through the hollow silence. His hands fisted at his sides, then flexed open again, his jaw clenching and unclenching as though he wanted to hit something but had nothing solid to strike.

Rika sat with her arms wrapped around herself, her usually poised frame trembling. Her eyes, red-rimmed and glassy, never left the doors that led to the operating room. Her fingers twitched as if wanting to reach for her daughter, to pull her out of whatever hell she was trapped in. She had barely spoken since they arrived. Every time she opened her mouth, it was as if she couldn't find the words.

Aaron sat on the opposite side of the room, silent and unmoving. His uniform was still stained with blood-hers and his own. His hands, usually so steady, rested on his knees, but his fingers were curled inward, nails biting into his palms. His golden-green eyes were fixed on the floor, but his expression was unreadable. Cold. Detached.

But those who knew him best saw the truth.

That stillness wasn't calm.

It was the kind of silence that came before a storm.

Indie sat beside Will IV, curled into herself, her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles had gone white. She had stopped crying an hour ago, but the devastation was still raw on her face.

They had been in here for nearly five hours.

Five hours of waiting.

Five hours of silence, of tension, of unbearable dread suffocating the air.

Every second felt like a lifetime.

Then the doors swung open.

A senior medic stepped out, their expression grim.

Everyone snapped to attention.

Michael was on him in an instant. "How is she?" His voice was sharp, but beneath it was something raw. Something desperate.

The medic hesitated.

Too long.

Too damn long.

Michael's eyes darkened, his entire body coiling with barely restrained anger. "How is my daughter?"

"Sir, the surgery, uh there were complications" the medic said carefully.

Everyone froze.

"There was extensive internal damage, and a lot of internal bleeding . We managed to stop it but for now her condition is unstable

" Micheal started heading towards him fists cleanched .

,,Sir " doctor panicked,, please calm down i-"

Michael cut him off, his voice cracking. "That's my little girl in there! How do you expect me to calm down?"

His voice rang through the hall, sharp and unrelenting.

The medic flinched, but before he could respond, Kai stepped forward, placing a steadying hand on Michael's shoulder. "Let them work," he said, his tone firm but understanding. "She's strong, Michael."

Michael exhaled sharply, his fists trembling at his sides. He turned away, raking a hand through his hair, trying to pull himself together. But it was clear-he was unraveling.

Rika's shoulders shook. She pressed a hand over her mouth, suppressing the sob threatening to break free. Damon stood beside her, silent, his usually mocking expression grim.

The medic hesitated again, then spoke quietly. "She's fighting."

Rika let out a choked breath.

Aaron didn't move.

Not a single muscle twitched, but there was a shift in the air around him. The kind of cold that seeped into your bones.

"Can we see her?" Will IV asked, his voice unusually quiet.

The medic shook his head. "Not yet. She's still under." A pause. "We'll update you when-"

"When?" Aaron's voice cut through the room like a blade. Low. Lethal.

The medic swallowed. "When we know if she's stable."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

The medic glanced around the room, then quickly excused himself, disappearing back behind the doors.

For a long moment, no one moved.

Then Michael exhaled sharply and slumped into a chair, his hands covering his face. Rika clutched his arm, pressing her forehead against his shoulder, her silent tears soaking into his uniform.

Indie curled into herself even more. Will IV rested his elbows on his knees, rubbing his face.

Aaron just sat there.

Still.

Frozen.

Staring at the floor like he could will her back through sheer force alone.

No one spoke.

No one knew what to say.

Because they didn't know if Anja would wake up.

---

Inside the Institute, the med ward was quiet except for the steady beep of Anja's heart monitor. She lay in the center of the room, looking impossibly fragile for someone who had just torn apart Ever's leaders with nothing but her own power.

Michael stood at the foot of the bed, his expression unreadable. Rika sat beside Anja, brushing her fingers through her daughter's hair, whispering something too soft to hear.

Aaron stood at the doorway. He didn't move. He barely breathed.

Then Will IV walked past him, stepping closer to the bed. He exhaled, looking down at Anja before rubbing a hand down his face. "She's going to wake up," he said, like he was trying to convince himself as much as the others.

No one answered.

Indie pulled a chair closer and sat down, looking small, her shoulders curled inward. "I should have-" She cut herself off, clenching her fists. "I should have done more."

"You did do more," Will said quietly. "You all did."

Aaron turned away from them, his jaw clenched.

He had done nothing.

Nothing but bring this upon her.

Nothing but stand there as she burned herself out trying to save them.

He should have stopped her.

He should have-

Aaron exhaled sharply and forced himself to step inside. The others barely reacted as he approached the bed. Rika's eyes flickered up to him for the briefest moment, then she looked away.

He knelt beside the bed, staring at Anja's face. Her lips were pale, her lashes dark against her skin. Her breathing was so faint it was barely there.

His fingers curled around the edge of the mattress.

Then, so softly no one else could hear, he whispered, "I found you once, Anja. I'll find you again."

And for the first time in years, he prayed she would come back to him.

---

The med ward was quieter at night. The low hum of machines filled the air, steady and rhythmic, a stark contrast to the chaos that had brought her here. The lights were dimmed, casting long, ghostly shadows against the sterile white walls. Outside, the moon hung heavy in the sky, spilling silver light through the high windows.

Most of them had left, at least for a little while.

Michael and Rika had resisted, but exhaustion had won. They needed sleep-just an hour, just enough to stay sharp. Rika hadn't wanted to leave, but Michael had convinced her, his arm tight around her shoulders, guiding her out of the ward with promises that they would be back soon.

Kai had gone to check on security. Damon had muttered something about needing a goddamn drink, his voice tight with frustration. Will IV had left with Indie, neither of them saying much, both hollowed out by grief.

Aaron stayed.

He hadn't moved from the chair beside Anja's bed. He hadn't spoken, hadn't so much as blinked when the others filtered out of the room. His hands rested on his knees, fingers curled in, nails pressing hard against his palms.

His uniform was still stained-her blood, his own. His hair was disheveled, golden strands falling into his eyes, but he hadn't brushed them away. His eyes were open, staring at her like he was afraid to look anywhere else.

Like if he looked away, she might disappear.

She was so still.

Too still.

The only sign that she was alive was the rise and fall of her chest, slow and shallow beneath the thin hospital blanket. The machines beeped in time with her heartbeat, but it wasn't enough. It didn't feel real.

She had lost too much blood. The fight had drained her. He had nearly lost her.

No, he had lost her. Years ago.

And now here she was, back in his grasp, slipping through his fingers again.

Aaron exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face.

He should have known this would happen. He should have planned better, should have anticipated every possible outcome. He should have been there to stop this before it had even begun.

He had kept his distance for so long. Watching. Waiting. Letting her believe he was gone.

He had told himself it was for the best.

But if he had been there-really been there-she wouldn't be lying here now.

His jaw clenched. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, staring at her.

"You always have to make things difficult, don't you?" His voice was quiet, rough. "You couldn't just stay out of it. You had to throw yourself in headfirst, just like always."

She didn't respond, of course.

She didn't even stir.

Aaron exhaled through his nose, dragging a hand through his hair.

Then, slowly, he reached out.

His fingers hovered just above hers, hesitant, before he finally brushed the back of his hand against hers. Her skin was warm, but there was no reaction. No flicker of awareness.

She had always been stubborn. Always reckless. Always willing to throw herself into danger without thinking about the consequences.

But this-this was different.

This wasn't a childhood game. This wasn't some petty mission.

This was war.

And she had nearly died.

The thought sent something sharp and dark twisting inside of him.

Aaron's hand curled into a fist against his knee.

He had been patient. He had waited.

But now?

Now, all bets were off.

He wasn't letting her go again.

Meanwhile...

There was no pain. No sound. Only darkness, vast and endless, swallowing her whole.

Then-light. A faint glow, flickering like the first spark of a wand tip.

Lumos.

The world snapped into focus.

She was standing in the middle of an ancient, dimly lit corridor. The stone walls were cold under her fingertips, lined with flickering torches casting long, dancing shadows. The faint hum of magic vibrated beneath her skin, as familiar as her own heartbeat, yet alien. She was dressed in Hogwarts robes-crimson and gold stitched into the fabric over her heart.

Gryffindor.

Her fingers brushed over the emblem as if it would ground her, remind her who she was. But her name-it didn't feel right. Not Anja Christ.

She was Anja Gryffindor, brave and stubborn, her heart beating like a war drum.

A voice sliced through the silence.

"You shouldn't be here."

She turned sharply, her hand instinctively reaching for the wand tucked into her robe. Standing at the end of the corridor, leaning against the cold stone, was Aaron.

But not the Aaron she knew. His dark Slytherin robes flowed like ink, the green and silver crest glinting under the torchlight. His tie was loosened, his wand lazily dangling between his fingers, but his posture screamed control. Power. His eyes-those same storm-grey eyes-held something darker, something colder.

"You're not supposed to be in this part of the castle," he said softly, his voice a velvet threat, as if danger was something he wore like a second skin.

"And since when do you follow the rules?" she shot back, her grip tightening on her wand. She didn't know why, but her heart raced-not from fear, but something sharper. Hotter.

He stepped closer, his boots echoing against the stone floor. "Since it became my job to enforce them."

Her jaw clenched. She knew who he was. Not just Aaron from Slytherin. No, here he was something worse-a follower of the Dark Lord, whispered about in hushed voices, feared even by the fearless.

But none of that mattered when he stood this close.

"They say you sold your soul for power," she whispered, the words tasting like ash on her tongue.

A ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. "And what did you sell yours for, Gryffindor? Glory? Righteousness?" He tilted his head, stepping into her space until she could feel the coldness radiating off him. "Or are you just pretending to be better than me?"

Her heart hammered, not from the threat of his wand but from the proximity, the tension coiled so tightly between them it felt like it could snap with a single breath.

"I'm nothing like you," she spat, even though her body betrayed her, leaning in slightly, drawn to him like gravity itself had shifted.

"Aren't you?" His hand moved-not to his wand, but to her face, fingertips grazing her jaw with infuriating gentleness. "Tell me, Anja, does it scare you? That part of you that isn't afraid of me at all?"

She wanted to curse him. To hex him into oblivion.

Instead, she did the most foolish thing imaginable.

She kissed him.

It was violent, messy, a clash of teeth and defiance, fueled by hatred and something darker-desire twisted into a weapon. His hands gripped her waist, pulling her closer as if he could consume her, own her. Her fingers tangled in his robes, desperate, furious.

But just as quickly as it started-the world shattered.

The stone corridor cracked like glass, the torches extinguished, and the ground crumbled beneath her feet.

She was falling.

---

She was falling-through darkness, through fragments of memories not her own. The world twisted, reshaped itself, until the sharp bite of cold air hit her skin like a slap.

When Anja opened her eyes, she wasn't in Hogwarts anymore.

She was standing in the middle of a dense forest, the trees towering like ancient sentinels. The sky above was a bruised gray, choked with clouds that threatened rain. The ground beneath her boots was rough, covered in ash and scattered leaves. She could feel the weight of dirt and grime on her skin, the metallic tang of blood-not hers- lingering in the air.

She was wearing a leather jacket, patched and worn from too many battles. A makeshift knife was strapped to her thigh, and a faint, faded symbol was painted on her arm.

She wasn't Anja Christ.

Not anymore.

She was just Anja, one of the hundred criminals sent down from the Ark to survive on Earth.

"Move!" a voice barked from behind her.

She spun around, her heart stuttering in her chest.

Aaron.

But not the Aaron she knew. This Aaron looked like he'd been carved from the earth itself-dirt streaked across his jaw, blood dried at his temple, dark curls wild from days without rest. His eyes, still that same piercing gray, were sharp with command, his expression a mask of ruthless determination. A rifle hung from his shoulder, and a blade was gripped tightly in his hand.

He wasn't a boy here.

He was a leader.

Their leader.

"What the hell are you doing just standing there?" he snapped, stalking toward her with heavy steps. The others-strangers whose faces flickered like shadows-followed his orders without question, moving in a line, weapons drawn.

But Anja couldn't move. Her body felt like it belonged here, but her heart screamed that it didn't.

"I-"

"Don't waste my time," he cut her off, his face inches from hers now. His voice was low, furious, but underneath it was something else-concern. "You want to die out here? Because that's exactly what's gonna happen if you don't pull it together."

She swallowed hard, trying to match the fire in his gaze. "I don't take orders from you."

Wrong thing to say.

His jaw clenched, his hand shooting out to grab her wrist, yanking her closer. Their faces were so close she could see the flecks of silver in his eyes, the way his pupils dilated-not from anger, but something else.

"You're part of this group because I say you are," he growled. "And out here, that means you live because I say you do."

Her heart was a drumbeat in her chest, her breath shallow.

"Then maybe you should just let me die," she hissed, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

His grip tightened, not enough to hurt, but enough to make her feel it. To make sure she couldn't ignore him.

"You think I'd let that happen?" His voice dropped, softer but deadlier. "I'd burn this entire goddamn forest to the ground before I let you die."

The world seemed to still around them. The distant shouts of the others faded, the sounds of the forest muffled. It was just them-two people tethered by something stronger than survival.

Without thinking, she surged forward.

The kiss was rough, desperate, fueled by rage and fear and everything left unsaid. His hands tangled in her hair, pulling her closer like he could anchor himself with her. She gripped his jacket, fingers curling into the leather as if letting go would mean falling apart.

But then-gunfire.

A scream.

The illusion shattered like glass under pressure, and Anja was falling again.

---

She was falling again.

Through shadows, through echoes of lives that weren't hers, through the hollow spaces where time didn't exist. Until-

Fire.

The roar of flames filled her ears, the suffocating heat pressing against her skin. But it didn't burn. No, it felt like it belonged to her, as much a part of her as the blood in her veins.

When her eyes snapped open, the world was bathed in gold and red. A sky streaked with the setting sun, the horizon alive with smoke from distant fires. She stood on the balcony of a towering stone castle-Dragonstone, though she'd never been here before. The air smelled of salt and ash, the sea crashing against jagged cliffs far below.

She was dressed in black and crimson, the colors of her house. House Targaryen.

A heavy, intricate cloak draped over her shoulders, the fabric lined with dragon-scale patterns. Her hair-longer, paler, almost silver-fell in waves down her back, braided in the Valyrian style of royalty. A thin, ornate dagger hung at her hip, the hilt shaped like a dragon's claw.

She wasn't Anja Christ.

She was Princess Anja Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne.

"You should be inside."

She turned sharply, her hand instinctively brushing the dagger at her side.

Aaron.

But not the Aaron she knew. This Aaron wore black armor, polished yet battle-worn, the red three-headed dragon of Targaryen emblazoned across his chest. A sword hung at his hip, Valyrian steel glinting faintly under the dying light. His hair was tousled from flight-or battle-and his eyes burned like molten silver, sharp with something both familiar and ancient.

Prince Aeryon Targaryen.

Her uncle.

Her protector.

Her curse.

"I needed air," she replied curtly, turning back to the horizon, refusing to let him see how his presence twisted something inside her.

He stepped closer, his boots echoing softly against the stone. "Air won't save you from what's coming."

"And what is coming, Aeryon? Another war? Another betrayal?" She laughed bitterly, gripping the cold stone railing until her knuckles turned white. "Or are you here to remind me that I am nothing but a pawn in your game?"

His jaw clenched. In two quick steps, he was beside her, his hand shooting out to grip her arm-not harshly, but firmly, as if anchoring her to the moment.

"You think this is a game to me?" His voice was low, dangerous, like a dragon's growl just before it breathes fire. "You are not a pawn. You're the only thing in this cursed world I'd burn kingdoms for."

Her heart stuttered.

"You've already burned kingdoms," she whispered, not pulling away.

"Not for them," he shot back. "Only for you."

The space between them felt too small, suffocating, filled with unspoken words and the weight of a dynasty crumbling under the force of their forbidden bond. She hated him. She needed him. She'd kill for him. She'd die because of him.

"You can't have me," she breathed, her voice trembling despite herself.

His hand slid from her arm to her face, fingers brushing over her cheek, gentle where the world had never been. His touch was fire, but she didn't flinch.

"I already do," he murmured.

And when he kissed her, it wasn't gentle. It was fierce, desperate, as if trying to consume the very soul of her. Their bloodlines may have been tangled, but it was their hearts that were cursed. His mouth tasted of salt and ash, of wars lost and won, of history written in blood.

But just as her knees buckled, lost in the pull of him-

A dragon's roar.

Not distant. Not real.

The world cracked. Shattered.

She was falling again.

---

Darkness again.

Then-

A blinding flash of light.

A deafening roar.

The taste of ash and blood on her tongue.

When her eyes adjusted, she wasn't in Vesteros anymore. She stood in the middle of a vast, desolate arena, surrounded by towering trees stripped bare like skeletal fingers reaching toward a sky choked with gray clouds. The ground beneath her boots was cracked and dry, stained with something dark-blood or mud, she couldn't tell.

She was dressed in simple, practical clothing: dark cargo pants, a fitted jacket, combat boots laced tightly. A bow was slung across her back, a quiver of arrows brushing against her shoulder blades. Her fingers felt raw, blistered, calloused from survival.

A number was stitched over her heart.

Tribute #17.

The air was thick with tension, the faint sound of distant cannon fire echoing like a death knell.

She spun around, heart racing, scanning the twisted landscape for threats-when a figure stepped out from the shadows.

Aaron.

But he wasn't the Aaron she knew. His dark hair was messy, dusted with ash, sweat glistening on his skin under the harsh light. He wore black tactical gear with hints of crimson stitched into the seams, armor plates strapped over his chest, his posture radiating the kind of dangerous authority that couldn't be taught.

A golden emblem was pinned to his chest-the mark of the Capitol's elite.

Not a tribute.

Not prey.

A predator.

Aaron Christ, the Capitol's Champion.

The boy who'd never had to fight to survive because the world was already his. The boy who hunted for sport, not survival.

"You're a long way from your little hiding spot, Anja," he drawled, his voice rough, dripping with mockery-but beneath it was something darker, something hungry. *"Did you miss me?"

Her jaw clenched. She reached for her bow instinctively, fingers brushing the smooth wood, but she didn't draw it. Not yet.

"I'd rather die than miss you," she spat.

A crooked smile curled his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. Those cold, sharp eyes that seemed to pierce straight through her.

"You've been trying to die since the Games started," he said, taking a slow, deliberate step closer. "But you're still here. Funny how that works."

She could feel her heart pounding, adrenaline flooding her veins. She hated how easily he got under her skin, how his presence felt like both a threat and a tether.

"What do you want?" she snapped, tightening her grip on the bow.

Another step closer.

Another heartbeat lost.

"You." His answer was simple, brutal, undeniable. "Alive."

She didn't expect that.

*"Why?"* Her voice was a whisper now, shaky with something she couldn't name-fear or fury or something worse.

Aaron's expression darkened, the playful facade slipping just enough to reveal the obsession lurking beneath.

"Because if you die, I'll have nothing left to hunt."

In one swift motion, she raised her bow, arrow nocked, aimed straight at his heart.

"Then stop following me."

But he didn't flinch. Didn't even move. He just stared at her with that same maddening intensity, like the arrow meant nothing. Like she meant everything.

"Go ahead," he whispered. "Kill me."

Her fingers trembled.

Not from fear.

From the weight of wanting to do it-and the unbearable truth that she couldn't.

Her arrow dropped.

Before she could react, he closed the distance between them, knocking the bow from her hands, his fingers gripping her jaw roughly, forcing her to look at him. His face was inches from hers, their breaths mingling, heated and ragged.

"You can't kill me," he murmured, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip, smearing dirt and blood like it was a mark only he was allowed to leave. "Because you hate me too much to live without me."

She hated him.

She hated how right he was.

With a strangled cry, she shoved him back, her fist connecting with his cheek, splitting his lip. He stumbled, wiping the blood away with a twisted grin.

"See?" he whispered, tasting the blood like it was a victory. "I'm in your veins."

The world around them began to fracture. The sky splintered like glass, the arena dissolving into fragments of memory and pain.

She was falling again.

---

The scent of blood and ash filled the air.

Anja stood on the edge of a battlefield, her black cloak whipping in the bitter wind, stained with dust and something darker. The sky was a sickly gray, clouds swirling like the heavens themselves were waging war above her. Fires burned in the distance, their smoke curling into twisted shapes against the dying light.

She could feel the magic humming beneath her skin-wild, untamed, as if it were trying to claw its way out. Her fingers burned with residual power, the aftermath of a spell cast too quickly, too carelessly. But that was the thing about chaos magic-it didn't care for rules.

Her breath hitched as she saw him.

Aaron.

Emerging from the haze like a phantom, a silver sword strapped to his back, dark armor slick with blood-some of it his, most of it not. His yellow, cat-like eyes gleamed beneath the shadow of his hood, a mark of what he was.

A Witcher.

A mutated monster hunter.

A man carved from steel and scar tissue, created to feel nothing.

But he felt something when he looked at her.

He always did.

"You shouldn't be here," his voice was rough, threaded with exhaustion and something sharper-anger? Worry? She couldn't tell. He always hid it well.

Anja smirked, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Neither should you."

He approached slowly, his steps deliberate, like she was just another monster he'd been paid to slay. But she knew better. His sword was still sheathed.

"This isn't your fight, Anja," Aaron growled, stopping just a few feet from her, his gaze burning into hers.

"It is when they're hunting people like me." She lifted her chin defiantly, her fingers twitching with the urge to summon fire-or maybe just to feel something other than this ache. "Sorceresses don't get to walk away, remember?"

His jaw clenched, and for a heartbeat, she thought he'd say something that mattered. But instead, he gave her that look-the one that always came before he did something reckless.

"You'll get yourself killed."

"Then why do you care?" she snapped, her voice sharper than the dagger hidden in her boot.

Silence.

The kind that felt louder than any battle cry.

Then, without warning, he closed the distance between them, his hand shooting out to grab her wrist, fingers pressing against her pulse like he needed proof she was still alive.

"Because I do." His voice was a whisper now, raw and exposed.

Her heart stuttered. She hated him for it. Hated herself more for how it made her feel.

"Let go," she breathed, though she didn't pull away.

"No." His grip tightened, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind her who he was-what he was. "I've killed monsters for less."

"Then maybe you should've started with me."

His eyes darkened, the line between rage and desire blurring like blood in water. And before she could summon another bitter retort, his mouth was on hers-violent, desperate, like he was trying to steal her breath along with her words.

She kissed him back.

Because hate was easy.

But this-

This was survival.

When they finally broke apart, gasping, he rested his forehead against hers, his hand still wrapped around her wrist like he was afraid she'd disappear if he let go.

"I should've left you to die," he murmured.

"You still can," she whispered back.

But he didn't.

He never would.

The battlefield faded, swallowed by darkness again-

And Anja was falling.

---

The world smelled like rain.

Not the sharp, metallic scent of storms over Thunder Bay, but the soft, clean aroma of pavement after a drizzle. Neon lights reflected off puddles, casting streaks of pink, blue, and gold across the wet streets. Cars hissed by, their tires cutting through the thin sheets of water, the hum of engines blending with distant laughter and muffled music from some late-night café.

Anja stood beneath a flickering streetlamp, her breath visible in the crisp evening air. She wore ripped black jeans, an oversized leather jacket hanging off her shoulders, and scuffed combat boots. A cigarette dangled from her fingers-not lit, just something to hold, something to ground her.

She wasn't a soldier here.

Not a rebel.

Not a sorceress.

Just Anja.

A girl who felt too much and pretended she didn't.

The city buzzed around her, indifferent to her existence. She liked it that way.

Until she saw him.

Aaron leaned against a sleek black motorcycle parked under the neon glow of a liquor store sign, his dark hoodie pulled up, shadows clinging to him like they were part of his skin. He looked like trouble-the kind you don't survive, the kind you don't want to survive.

He was scrolling through his phone lazily, but the moment his eyes lifted and met hers, it was like the universe hit pause.

Same eyes.

Same intensity.

Different world.

Her heart didn't get the memo. It still skipped the way it always did.

"You're late," he said, shoving his phone into his pocket and striding toward her, all casual arrogance wrapped in denim and leather.

"I wasn't coming," she shot back, even though her feet had brought her here anyway.

A crooked grin tugged at his mouth. "And yet-here you are."

She rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the way her pulse betrayed her. "Must've taken a wrong turn."

"Yeah?" He stopped in front of her, so close she could see the faint scar on his jaw, the one he always claimed was from a fight but probably wasn't. "Funny how you always get lost around me."

She hated how right he was.

"What do you want, Aaron?" she sighed, crossing her arms like it could shield her from him.

"Same thing I always want," he murmured, his voice dropping lower, softer. Dangerous. "You."

Her throat tightened.

He reached out, his fingers brushing a strand of damp hair from her face. She flinched-not because she was afraid, but because she wasn't.

"You ruin everything," she whispered, her voice cracking like glass.

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

And then he kissed her.

Not like it was a question.

Not like it was an apology.

But like it was a fact-inevitable and unchangeable, written into the fabric of every universe they'd ever touch.

Her hands fisted in his jacket before she could stop herself, pulling him closer, because it was easier to drown in him than to admit she'd never really wanted to come up for air.

When they finally broke apart, breathless and reckless, he rested his forehead against hers, just like he always did.

"You're toxic," she whispered.

"I know," he breathed. "But you'd die without me."

Maybe she would.

The city blurred, melting into shadows and light, and Anja was falling again-

This time, she wasn't afraid.

---

The fall ended in silence.

Not the absence of sound, but something deeper-an emptiness that pressed against her chest like the weight of forgotten memories. The darkness around her wasn't cold or suffocating. It was... gentle. Soft, like velvet draped over the edges of reality.

She didn't know if she was floating or falling. There was no pain. No fear. Just the overwhelming sense that something had been left behind. Something important.

Then-light.

It started as a flicker, distant and faint, like the glow of a dying star. But with every heartbeat, it grew brighter, stretching across the darkness until it surrounded her. Warm, golden, and endless.

From the light, a figure emerged.

Not human. Not exactly. Their form shifted, like they couldn't decide what shape to wear. Sometimes male, sometimes female, sometimes both-or neither. Their skin shimmered like glass reflecting a thousand sunsets, and their eyes... their eyes were infinite. Galaxies spun within them, vast and ancient, holding the weight of every life ever lived. Wings stretched behind them-not feathered, but woven from threads of light and shadow, as if night and day had been braided together.

Anja didn't need to ask who-or what-they were.

She knew.

"Am I dead?" Her voice was a fragile echo, not spoken aloud but carried on the thread of thought itself.

The being tilted their head slightly, studying her-not with pity, not with judgment, just... understanding.

"Not yet," they answered, their voice layered, as if a thousand voices whispered in unison. "But you stand at the edge."

Anja swallowed, though she had no body here. Just consciousness-raw, untethered.

"Why am I here?"

"Because your soul is deciding."

She felt a shiver ripple through the emptiness. A memory? No, something deeper. The explosion of power, the blinding light, the way her body crumbled under the weight of it. She'd fought to save them-Aaron, Indie, Will IV. She remembered that much.

"I was trying to save them," she whispered, her voice thin against the vastness.

"And now you must decide if you want to save yourself."

The words sank into her like cold water. She didn't know how to answer. What was left of her to save?

"I'm so tired," she confessed, her voice breaking like fragile glass.

The being stepped closer, their presence filling the space around her-not heavy, but grounding, like gravity itself.

"That's why you were shown the visions," they said softly.

Anja blinked-or at least, the idea of blinking-confused. "Visions?"

"Of you. Of him."

Images flickered around her like reflections on water, him and her in all these different universes.

Each version burned into her soul, sharp as glass, soft as silk.

"Different universes," the being explained gently. "Different versions of the same connection. Across worlds, across time-your souls find each other."

Anja's chest-if she had one-tightened. It was always him. No matter the world. No matter the story.

"But why?" she rasped.

The being's gaze softened, galaxies shifting in their eyes. "Because some threads are woven too tightly into the fabric of existence to ever be undone."

Tears prickled at the edges of her consciousness. "But it hurts."

"Love always does."

The warmth of the light grew stronger, cradling her like a memory of safety she never knew she needed.

"You have a choice," the being said. "You can stay, or you can go back."

"What's here?" she asked quietly.

"Peace. No pain. No fear." Their voice was kind but unwavering. "But no love, either."

She thought of Aaron-not just the versions in the visions, but her Aaron. His fury. His devotion. His hands shaking as he reached for her, even when he pretended he was untouchable. She thought of Indie's laughter, sharp and bright, and Will IV's quiet strength beneath his sarcasm. She thought of the fight still unfinished, the story still unwritten.

"Will it hurt?" she whispered.

"Yes," the being answered.

She closed her eyes-or whatever was left of them-and let the silence stretch.

Then she opened them again.

And said the only thing that mattered:

"I want to live."

The days bled together.

Aaron remained at her side, unmoving, unyielding, as though his sheer willpower alone could bring her back to him.

The med ward saw a constant cycle of people-her family, her friends, all drifting in and out, each bringing their own quiet grief and whispered hopes. Michael came with his sharp, protective gaze, standing over her bed like he could guard her even in sleep. Rika brought books, setting them down beside her pillow, as if expecting Anja to wake up and reach for them immediately. Indie would sit for hours, sometimes talking, sometimes just staring, waiting.

But Aaron never left.

He barely slept. When he did, it was in short, restless increments, his head slumped against the side of her bed, fingers still curled around hers like an anchor. His mother brought him food, meals that went cold on the tray beside him, barely touched. She would kneel beside him, brush the hair out of his face, whisper things he didn't quite hear.

"Aaron," Rika had murmured on the third day, her voice soft but firm. "You need to rest."

He had only shaken his head, his grip tightening on Anja's hand.

"I'm not leaving her."

They had all tried, at some point, to get him to step away, even if only for a moment. But he couldn't. He wouldn't.

Because what if she woke up and he wasn't there?

What if she slipped away again?

So he sat there, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest, listening to the rhythmic beep of the machines, waiting for something-anything.

Waiting for her.

---

The fourth night, the exhaustion caught up to him.

His body sagged against the chair, limbs heavy, mind clouded. His eyes burned from lack of sleep, but he refused to close them. His grip on her hand loosened just slightly as he leaned his forehead against her arm, the warmth of her skin grounding him.

"Anja," he murmured, voice hoarse.

It was a prayer, a plea.

She didn't respond.

Of course she didn't.

Aaron exhaled shakily, fingers pressing into her wrist.

"You're cruel, you know that?" he whispered. "You come back just to throw yourself into danger again. Just to make me watch."

His throat tightened, something raw clawing its way up his chest.

He hadn't let himself break. Not when he first saw her again. Not when he dragged her away. Not even when she collapsed, blood soaking into the ground beneath her.

But now, in the quiet, with nothing but the steady hum of machines and the unbearable silence stretching between them, he felt something in him fracture.

His free hand curled into a fist against his knee.

"You don't get to do this," he muttered. "You don't get to leave me again."

The words felt like an oath, like a demand.

And then-

A twitch.

A small, almost imperceptible movement beneath his fingers.

Aaron froze, his breath catching.

Then it happened again. The slightest shift of her fingers against his own, a ghost of sensation, weak but unmistakable.

His head snapped up.

Her breathing had changed, no longer the slow, automatic rhythm of unconsciousness. Her lips parted slightly, her brow furrowing just the smallest amount.

Aaron's heart slammed against his ribs.

"Anja?" His voice was barely above a whisper, rough with disbelief.

Her fingers twitched again. A slow inhale. A flicker of her eyelids.

And then-

Green eyes, heavy-lidded and unfocused, blinked open.

Aaron's entire world stopped.

For the first time in years, he felt like he could breathe again.

#devil's night #lads caleb #love and deepspace #caleb x reader #damon torrance #fanfic #kai mori #lads #rika fane #will grayson iii #dark romance #love and deepspace caleb #caleb #winter ashby #nikova banks #emory scott #no saints tonight

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addiessblack · 4 months ago

Text

NO SAINTS TONIGHT

Chapter 15

The sky was a muted gray, the horizon lined with streaks of gold as the sun attempted to break through the thick storm clouds. The air was cold, sharp, and unyielding, biting against Anja's skin as she stood near the hangar, staring at the fleet of Order ships lined up in the docking bay. The scent of metal, oil, and damp earth filled her lungs, grounding her in the present. This was it. The morning they were leaving for battle.

A thick, suffocating silence hung over the base, only broken by the sound of boots against the pavement, hushed whispers between soldiers, and the occasional distant rumble of an aircraft lifting off. Everyone knew what today meant. What it could mean. Some of them would not return.

Indie stood beside her, arms wrapped around her own body as she rocked slightly on her feet. The tension between them was palpable. Last night in the greenhouse had unraveled something between her and Aaron, something raw and bleeding, but there was no time to process it now. They had a war to fight.

"Well," Indie suddenly spoke, her voice breaking the quiet but laced with an edge of humor, "just in case we don't survive this-"

"Indie," Anja cut in, her tone sharp, but Indie ignored her.

"No, seriously," she continued, spinning to face the group that had gathered near the entrance to the aircraft. "If we die today, I want you all to know that I love you guys. Even you, Riven," she smirked at the tall, brooding soldier standing near the ship's loading ramp. He rolled his eyes but didn't reply.

Anja swallowed the lump in her throat. They had trained for this. They had spent years preparing for war, but now that it was here, it was impossible to ignore the gnawing feeling in her gut that something was going to go wrong.

She wasn't the only one who felt it.

Across the docking bay, she caught sight of Aaron standing near the command deck, deep in conversation with one of the generals. His uniform was pristine, the long black coat hanging off his shoulders like a dark omen. He looked every bit the commanding officer he had become in her absence-powerful, controlled, untouchable. And yet, she could still feel the weight of last night in his gaze when it flickered to her, just for a second.

"You okay?" Indie nudged her.

Anja forced out a breath. "Yeah. Just thinking."

"About him?" Indie asked knowingly.

Anja didn't answer.

Across the landing strip, the other recruits-her team-were assembling. Cassian, the reckless one, was tightening the straps on his weapons belt, checking the knives he had strapped to his arms. Elara, who was usually calm and collected, had her fingers wrapped around a small pendant at her neck, whispering something under her breath. A prayer, maybe.

"Alright, listen up!" The voice of one of the higher-ranking officers cut through the morning air, drawing everyone's attention. "We have exactly twenty minutes before takeoff. Final gear check, then get to your designated ships. No mistakes. You all know what's at stake."

The tension doubled, an invisible weight pressing down on them all.

Anja glanced at the bag slung over her shoulder, fingers tightening around the strap. This wasn't like the training simulations. This wasn't a mission where they could afford mistakes. This was real, and people were going to die.

She looked back at Aaron, expecting him to already be heading toward his own ship, but instead, he was staring right at her. His expression was unreadable, but the intensity in his gaze sent a shiver down her spine.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he turned and disappeared up the ramp of his aircraft.

Anja forced herself to breathe.

"Alright," Indie exhaled, clapping her hands together. "One last check-in before we do this. Anyone having a total breakdown yet?"

"Give it five minutes," Cassian muttered, adjusting the gloves on his hands.

Elara managed a small smile. "I think we're all too numb for breakdowns."

"Speak for yourself," Indie said. "I'm already planning my dramatic death speech in case I get fatally wounded."

Anja shook her head. "No one's dying today."

"Bold of you to assume that's up to us," Cassian muttered.

The silence that followed was heavy.

"Alright," Indie finally said, softer this time. "No matter what happens out there, we stick to the plan. We fight smart. We come back."

Anja nodded, her grip tightening around the hilt of the dagger at her thigh. "We come back."

With one final glance toward the sky, toward the fleet waiting to take them into battle, they all stepped forward. Together.

The hum of the ship was almost hypnotic, a steady pulse of energy vibrating through the floor as the Order's strike team sat in tense silence. They were in the warship Nyx, one of the Order's best stealth vessels, and its dark interior was lit only by the soft glow of control panels and the occasional flicker of red emergency lights. Outside the reinforced windows, the vast expanse of the Outlands stretched endlessly-a graveyard of forgotten cities and barren wastelands, now claimed by Ever's military forces.

Anja sat rigid in her seat, her hands clenched into fists on her lap. The last twenty-four hours had felt like a fever dream. Aaron was alive. He was here, on this ship, with them.

He sat across from her, barely a few feet away, his posture deceptively relaxed. But she knew better. His hands rested on the arms of his chair, fingers tapping a slow, rhythmic beat against the metal. His eyes-sharp, assessing, impossibly gold in the dim light-were locked onto her, though he hadn't said a word since they boarded.

Everyone else seemed unaware of the battle waging between them in the silence.

Indie sat next to Anja, her knee bouncing anxiously, hands fidgeting with the straps of her weapons harness. "I can't believe we're actually doing this," she muttered under her breath, voice hushed. "Breaking into Ever's main facility. Feels like a suicide mission."

"It probably is," said Will IV dryly from his seat beside her, double-checking the charge on his plasma rifle. Ivarsen and Mads were also there just on the ship behind them with other soldiers. Unfortunatelly their parents were forbidden from going having too big of a rank in the order to risk their lives. So it was only them. Pigs for slaughter.

"Comforting," Indie shot back, but there was a faint smirk on her lips.

Across from them, the two other recruits who had joined the Order with them-Cassian and Elara-were silent. Cassian was sharpening one of his blades, the rhythmic scrape against the whetstone almost soothing in the quiet, while Elara simply stared out the window, her expression unreadable.

A soft chime echoed through the ship, and a voice crackled through the comms system.

"We're approaching the perimeter of Ever's force field. Engaging cloaking now."

Anja's breath hitched as she felt a shift in the ship's energy. The Nyx was built with a cloaking system far more advanced than what most fleets had access to, rendering it completely invisible to enemy radar. The hull shimmered, the metal darkening as it bent light around itself, disappearing from all detection systems.

"Cloak is holding," their pilot confirmed. "However, once we pass through the force field, we'll only have a few minutes before their internal sensors pick up movement."

Aaron exhaled through his nose, finally breaking his silence. "That's more than enough time."

His voice sent a shiver down Anja's spine. She had spent years mourning him, hating him for leaving, and now he was here, acting like nothing had changed. Like she wasn't breaking apart inside.

She refused to look at him, keeping her focus on the approaching force field. It was barely visible from this distance-just a faint ripple in the air, as if the sky itself had been folded. The field was nearly impenetrable, created using advanced energy technology stolen from rogue Morbus scientists. But the Nyx had something Ever didn't: a key.

Damon had spent years collecting stolen access codes, and tonight, they were about to use one.

The ship trembled slightly as the key was activated, sending a frequency through the air that temporarily opened a small gap in the force field. The ripple expanded, an invisible door forming just long enough for them to slip through.

Then-darkness.

For a few long moments, all external sensors went offline as the ship passed through the field. No sound. No light. Just the suffocating weight of the unknown.

Then they were through.

Anja let out a slow breath as the screens flickered back to life, revealing the ominous sight before them.

Ever's hidden base was massive, spanning across miles of wasteland, a city of steel and glass rising from the ashes of the old world. Towering walls lined the perimeter, patrolled by sentries in black armor. The landing bays were filled with warships-some small and sleek, others massive behemoths capable of leveling entire cities. Floodlights swept the landscape, illuminating the ruins of what had once been civilization.

"We can't land too close," the pilot warned. "They'll notice an unauthorized ship appearing out of nowhere. We'll set down a few miles out."

"Fine," Anja said, her voice colder than she intended.

The ship dipped lower, the engines humming as they approached their landing point. The tension in the cabin thickened. Weapons were checked, strategies whispered, last-minute prayers muttered under breaths.

As the ship touched down on the cracked earth, the hum of the engines faded, replaced by an eerie silence.

"This is it," Will IV murmured.

Anja rose from her seat, gripping her weapon tightly. The others followed suit, stepping into the airlock. The door hissed open, and the first thing that hit them was the cold-sharp and unforgiving, carrying the scent of scorched earth and distant smoke.

They stepped out, the ground crunching beneath their boots. Above them, the sky was endless and black, broken only by the distant glow of the base.

Aaron moved to stand beside Anja, his presence overwhelming, suffocating. She could feel his gaze burning into her, but she refused to meet it.

"You're tense," he murmured, his voice barely audible.

She clenched her jaw. "I wonder why."

A ghost of a smirk touched his lips, but there was something in his expression-something almost regretful. "Don't die tonight, Anja."

She scoffed, turning away before he could see the way his words affected her.

With one last glance at each other, the team set off toward the looming fortress, their shadows swallowed by the night.

The city stretched before them like a graveyard, skeletons of buildings clawing at the sky, their bones stripped of glass and steel. The once-thriving metropolis had been reduced to rubble, dust swirling in the dim glow of broken street lamps. Shadows stretched unnaturally long across the cracked pavement, creeping like ghosts of the past. The air was thick with the scent of decay and ash, a silent testament to the lives lost here.

Anja stepped over a fallen beam, her breath steady but her heart hammering in her chest. This place-it wasn't just ruins. It was a reminder. A mirror of what she had lost.

A charred storefront stood to her left, its sign long faded, its glass shattered. She could still picture the way this street had looked before-before the war, before the destruction. Before she had to learn how to kill to survive.

She exhaled sharply, forcing her mind to stay rooted in the present. Not now. Not here.

Behind her, Indie moved quietly, her sharp gaze scanning the alleyways for movement. The other recruits followed closely, their faces tight with tension. The streets were too quiet. Too still. It was the kind of silence that warned of unseen threats lurking in the darkness.

Anja's boots scraped against the cracked concrete as they pushed forward. In the wreckage, remnants of old lives lay scattered-half-burnt photographs, broken furniture, a child's toy abandoned in the dirt. A doll with missing limbs stared up at her with empty eyes.

She swallowed hard.

Her chest ached, but no tears came.

She wasn't that girl anymore.

She had learned long ago that grief didn't serve you in war.

Grief got you killed .

The marketplace had been alive once-brightly colored awnings stretching over the streets, vendors shouting their prices, the scent of food and spices thick in the air. She used to walk these streets hand-in-hand with her mother, her laughter mixing with the bustling noise of the crowd.

Her mother had ruffled her hair one afternoon, pressing a sweet into her palm. "You've been good today, little one. Enjoy it."

The memory curled in her chest like a dying ember, warm but painful.

Now, the marketplace was nothing but ruins. Crumbling stone. Collapsed buildings. The echoes of a life that no longer existed.

She clenched her jaw and forced herself to focus. The past was dead.

She couldn't afford to dwell in it.

They moved carefully, weaving between the abandoned buildings, their boots crunching over loose rubble. The deeper they ventured into the ruins, the more suffocating the silence became.

A rusted street sign dangled overhead, barely clinging to its post. The words were faded, but she could still make them out.

West District.

Anja's stomach twisted.

She had lived here.

Once.

"Anja."

Indie's voice cut through her thoughts, steady but urgent.

She turned sharply, scanning Indie's expression.

"What?"

Indie tilted her head toward an alleyway just ahead.

"We're not alone."

A flicker of movement-barely perceptible-caught Anja's eye. The shadows shifted unnaturally, something slithering between the wreckage.

She stilled, her fingers inching toward her weapon.

Then-

A blur of motion.

A shot rang out, and Anja barely managed to shove Indie out of the way as a figure lunged from the darkness, a blade gleaming in the dim light.

Chaos erupted.

Anja twisted, slamming her elbow into her attacker's ribs before kicking them back. Indie had already drawn her weapon, firing at the figures closing in from the alleyways. The recruits scrambled for cover, returning fire.

The silence of the ruins shattered into an explosion of violence.

Anja's mind snapped into focus. This wasn't just an ambush.

It was a trap.

She pivoted sharply, grabbing a fallen steel pipe and using it to deflect an incoming blade. Sparks flew as metal clashed against metal.

She ducked, spun, and drove her knee into her opponent's gut before shoving them back against the crumbling wall.

Their mask cracked, revealing a glimpse of their face.

A child.

Not much younger than she had been when she had lost everything.

Anja hesitated-just for a second.

And that second almost got her killed.

The boy lunged, his blade flashing toward her throat.

A gunshot rang out, and the boy crumpled.

Aaron's arm was still raised, his expression grim.

"Don't hesitate," he murmured.

Anja exhaled shakily, nodding.

They had to keep moving.

The air was thick with dust and the scent of blood.

The attack had passed, but the ruins still felt suffocating.

Anja leaned against a broken pillar, her hands trembling slightly.

She looked down at the boy's lifeless body, something hollow settling in her chest.

She was tired.

Tired of the fighting. Tired of the war. Tired of watching people die.

But there was no stopping now.

She straightened, exhaling slowly.

"We need to move," she said, her voice steady.

Indie nodded, wiping blood off her blade. "Are you okay?"

Anja forced a smirk, the weight in her chest pressing down hard.

"Always."

She wasn't.

Anja saw Aaron raise a brow as if mocking her but stay quiet.

She wanted to snap at him for acting like he still knew her.

But there was no time for that.

They had a mission to finish.

And the war wasn't over yet.

The Outlands stretched before them, an unforgiving wasteland of jagged rock formations and shifting dunes of ash and sand. It was a graveyard of old wars, a land where nothing lived except the ghosts of those who had died here long ago.

The air smelled of iron and dust, the wind howling as if mourning the fallen.

Ahead, barely visibe against the desolate landscape, lay the entrance to Ever's secret facility-one of its most well-guarded bases, buried deep underground beneath thewasteland. Unlike the towering citadels and fleet strongholds of Ever's military, this was a place that wasn't meant to be seen, wasn't meant to exist.

But Anja was here to prove otherwise.

She tugged at the frayed cuffs of her sleeves, the worn-out restraints biting into her wrists. Her clothes were torn and streaked with dust and fake blood, the result of the elaborate illusion they had created. Her bottom lip was split, a trickle of red staining her chin. Everything about her appearance screamed prisoner. She kept her head low, shoulders slumped, playing the part of someone captured and broken.

Next to her, Aaron was unrecognizable.

He wore a long, battle-worn coat over tactical gear, his sleeves rolled up just enough to show the dark tattoos curling along his forearms. His blod hair was slightly disheveled, messier than usual, and a jagged scar ran along his cheekbone-a fabricated detail to match his current alias. His presence was commanding, his steps deliberate, exuding the kind of silent threat that made others think twice before crossing him.

They were being escorted by two Ever officers, their uniforms crisp and weapons holstered but ready. Aaron had assumed the identity of a high-ranking mercenary, one of the many who made a living selling prisoners and information to Ever. Anja was the prize he was delivering.

She felt his gaze on her, even as he remained silent.

She didn't look at him. Didn't need to. She could feel the weight of his presence, the way his fingers twitched at his side, as if resisting the urge to grab her. As if she would slip away the moment he let his guard down.

She bit back the thought.

They were led toward the entrance of the facility-a massive steel gate embedded into the rock, flanked by watchtowers and automated sentries. Beyond it, the tunnels stretched deep underground, leading to the heart of Ever's darkest experiments.

Anja's stomach tightened.

This was the place where soldiers were made. Where war wasn't just fought-it was engineered.

As they approached the checkpoint, one of the officers glanced at Aaron, eyes narrowing.

"We don't normally take prisoners without prior approval," the man said, looking between him and Anja.

Aaron didn't hesitate. "Your commander will want to see this one."

His voice was calm, authoritative. Undeniable.

The officer hesitated, then checked his communicator. A moment passed. Then the gate creaked open.

They were in.

Inside Ever's Stronghold

The corridors were sleek and sterile, illuminated by cold, artificial light. The scent of antiseptic clung to the air, mixing with the faint hum of machinery. Anja kept her head down as they walked, but she couldn't help noticing the glass-walled rooms lining the hallways-training chambers filled with young soldiers, labs where scientists worked in silence, their faces blank as they analyzed data on glowing screens.

Her hands clenched into fists.

These weren't just soldiers. They were creations. Some barely looked human anymore.

Aaron noticed her lingering gaze.

"Don't react," he murmured under his breath. "You're supposed to be broken, remember?"

She didn't turn to look at him. "I don't need you telling me how to do my job."

His jaw tightened, but he said nothing more.

Ahead, the officers leading them paused at an intersection. One of them turned, his expression unreadable.

"We'll process your prisoner soon. Wait here."

The moment they stepped away, Aaron tilted his head slightly-a silent signal to the rest of their team.

Anja felt the shift immediately.

The metallic corridors of Ever's base were a labyrinth of cold steel and flickering lights, the faint hum of distant machinery vibrating beneath their feet like a pulse-steady, unrelenting. The air was sterile, tinged with the faint scent of chemicals and something colder, sharper-fear. Anja's wrists burned from the tight restraints that bound them, a cruel but necessary part of the disguise. She could feel the faint thrum of her Evol beneath her skin, coiled like a serpent, waiting.

They moved in formation, a line of shadows slipping through the veins of the fortress. Anja walked at the front, flanked by Aaron and Indie, their faces masked with the practiced indifference of prisoners resigned to their fate. Behind them, Will IV and the others played the part of Ever soldiers with disturbing ease, their stolen uniforms fitting like second skins.

Aaron's hand brushed against hers for the briefest second, a silent signal. She didn't look at him. Couldn't. The echoes of their greenhouse conversation from the night before still lingered in the fragile space between them, unspoken but heavy.

They approached a set of reinforced doors, their dark surfaces marked with Ever's insignia-a serpent coiled around a sword, the symbol of control and dominance. This was it. The room where Ever kept the super soldiers-those cursed with forced Evol enhancements, stripped of humanity and rebuilt as weapons.

Will IV moved ahead, his stolen keycard sliding through the scanner with a quiet beep. The doors hissed open, revealing a sterile chamber bathed in harsh white light. Rows of cryo-chambers lined the walls, each containing a figure suspended in eerie stillness. Their faces were obscured by breathing masks, their bodies riddled with IV lines and monitoring devices.

Anja's heart clenched. They weren't soldiers. They were victims.

She stepped forward, the plan unfolding in her mind like a blueprint-disable the security systems, extract the data, and sabotage the chambers to prevent Ever from releasing them. Simple. Clean. But plans rarely survived reality.

A sharp, mechanical hiss echoed through the room.

Before anyone could react, metal shutters slammed down over the doors, locking them inside. Red emergency lights flared to life, bathing the room in a crimson glow.

It was a trap.

Aaron spun around, his Evol already flickering beneath the surface, his eyes sharp with instinctive calculation. "We're compromised."

The walls shifted. Panels slid open, revealing hidden turrets and armed guards emerging from concealed doors. A voice crackled through the intercom, cold and familiar.

"Well, well. Did you really think it would be that easy?"

Director Voss.

Anja's pulse thundered in her ears. She scanned the room, her mind racing. There were too many guards, too many angles. They were boxed in, outnumbered, outgunned.

But not outmatched.

Aaron moved first, his Evol exploding outward like a tidal wave. The guards faltered, clutching their heads as he invaded their minds with brutal precision. Anja didn't hesitate. She shattered her restraints with a surge of energy, the cuffs falling to the floor in twisted metal. Her powers roared to life, tendrils of raw force lashing out, slamming into the nearest guards with bone-crushing impact.

Will and Indie followed, their own Evols turning the sterile room into a warzone. Bullets ricocheted off barriers of psychic energy, cries of pain drowned beneath the chaos.

But the soldiers kept coming.

Anja darted toward the central console, her fingers flying over the controls, trying to override the lockdown. "I need time!" she shouted over the din.

Aaron was a shadow beside her, his body a blur as he intercepted a guard, his knife flashing silver before it found its mark. His face was a mask of fury, but his eyes kept flickering to her, tethering himself to her presence amidst the violence.

A sudden scream tore through the room-Indie.

Anja's head snapped up in time to see her friend go down, blood blooming across her side. Rage surged, sharp and blinding. She abandoned the console, her Evol flaring like wildfire as she threw herself into the fray, her body moving on instinct.

She didn't feel the exhaustion setting in. Didn't register the ache in her muscles or the sting of fresh cuts. There was only the fight-the desperate, relentless need to survive.

But they were losing.

The last thing Anja saw before everything went black was Aaron's face-blood-smeared, eyes wild with fear-as he screamed her name.

Darkness ebbed slowly, peeling away like layers of smoke as Anja drifted back into consciousness. Her head throbbed, sharp pulses of pain beating in time with her racing heart. The sterile tang of antiseptics mixed with metal filled her senses, grounding her in reality before her eyes fully opened.

She was slumped on the cold, hard floor, her wrists bound tightly behind her back with Evol-suppressing cuffs-slick, obsidian bands laced with faint blue lines that pulsed like veins. The familiar hum of her powers was gone, hollowed out as if a part of her had been surgically removed. She felt... empty.

The room around her was vast and sterile, its high ceilings vanishing into shadows above, illuminated only by cold, artificial lights embedded into the steel walls. The symbol of Ever-a serpent coiled around a sword-loomed large on the far wall, carved into polished metal like an ever-watchful eye.

Across from her, Aaron sat, his head bowed, blood caked along the sharp line of his jaw and smeared across the collar of his black shirt. The cuffs around his wrists glinted under the harsh lights, identical to hers. Even without his Evol, he radiated something dangerous-coiled tension beneath the surface, a storm waiting to break.

To her left, Will IV slouched against a metal pillar, his face swollen with bruises, a cut bleeding sluggishly above his brow. Indie sat beside him, breathing heavily, her lip split, dried blood crusted along her chin. Their defiance hadn't been beaten out of them-but it had been tested.

The faint sound of footsteps echoed, growing louder with each deliberate stride until a group of Ever's leaders emerged from the shadows. Director Voss led them, his sharp, angular face etched with arrogance and cold calculation. His tailored suit was pristine, a stark contrast to the blood and grime staining Anja and her friends.

"Well," Voss drawled, his voice a serpent's hiss slithering through the tense air. "The infamous rebels awake at last."

Anja tried to sit straighter, her body screaming in protest. "If you wanted to meet us so badly, you could've sent an invitation." Her voice was rough, threaded with exhaustion and defiance.

Voss smiled thinly. "Ah, Anja Christ. The Order's precious prodigy." He took slow, measured steps until he stood directly before her, his shadow swallowing her whole. "You've caused quite a bit of trouble."

Anja met his gaze without flinching. "Not nearly enough, apparently."

A sharp slap cracked across her face, the force snapping her head to the side. Pain bloomed, but she didn't cry out. She tasted blood, copper and bitter on her tongue.

Aaron's reaction was immediate. He surged forward instinctively, a snarl ripping from his throat-only to be yanked back by the guards holding his restraints. His muscles strained, veins bulging with effort, but the cuffs rendered him powerless.

"Touch her again," Aaron growled, his voice low, lethal despite the circumstances, "and I'll kill you. Evol or not."

Voss turned to him, his smile widening, amused by Aaron's fury. "Still so protective, even in chains. How touching." He crouched slightly, bringing himself to Aaron's eye level. "But your threats mean nothing here, Aaron Christ. You're not a god. Just a boy stripped of his toys."

Aaron's jaw clenched, his breathing ragged with rage, but he said nothing.

Voss straightened, pacing slowly before them. "You know why you're here. You infiltrated our base, attempted to sabotage years of work, and conspired against Ever." His gaze flicked between them like a predator sizing up its prey. "But we're not here to talk about that. We want information-details about the Order, their plans, their weaknesses."

Silence answered him.

Voss's expression darkened. He signaled to one of the guards, who stepped forward and drove a brutal kick into Will's side. Will gasped, his body folding with the impact, but he didn't scream. Indie shifted toward him instinctively, her face twisted in fury.

Anja's pulse thundered. She couldn't do anything. Couldn't stop them.

Voss crouched beside Anja again, his voice soft now, almost gentle. "You can end this, Anja. Just tell me what I need to know."

Anja's lip curled. "Go to hell."

The mask of politeness slipped, revealing the venom beneath. Voss stood and nodded to the guards. "Fine. Then maybe this will loosen your tongue."

The guards yanked Aaron to his feet, dragging him to the center of the room. He stumbled slightly but found his balance, his chin lifting with defiant pride. His eyes found Anja's across the room, a flicker of something raw and unspoken passing between them.

Voss stepped closer to Aaron. "Aaron Christ, traitor to Ever, enemy of the state-you are hereby sentenced to death."

Anja's heart stopped.

"No," she breathed, her voice trembling despite herself. "You can't-"

Voss didn't even look at her. "The execution will take place tonight. Consider it... an example."

Aaron didn't react-not outwardly. His face was carved from stone, but Anja saw it in his eyes. A flicker of fear buried beneath layers of rage and pride.

The guards dragged him back toward the others, shoving him roughly to the ground beside Anja. Their shoulders brushed, a fragile point of contact in the vast, empty space between despair and defiance.

As they were hauled to their feet again, marched toward the cells, Anja's fingers grazed Aaron's briefly. Not enough to be noticed. Just enough to feel.

She didn't look at him. She couldn't.

----

The metallic clang of boots against steel floors echoed through the dimly lit corridor as Anja, Aaron, Will IV, and Indie were dragged away from the sterile expanse of Ever's main chamber. Their hands were still bound tightly behind them with Evol-suppressing cuffs, the cold metal biting into their skin. The guards' grips were merciless, fingers digging into bruised arms as they shoved them forward, indifferent to the exhaustion and injuries that slowed their steps.

But Anja wasn't slow.

She fought.

Every muscle in her body burned with rage, her heart pounding like a war drum inside her chest. She twisted violently against the guards holding her, her feet skidding across the polished floor as they forced her forward.

"Let me go!" she snarled, her voice raw and fierce, echoing off the walls like gunfire.

The guards didn't respond. They simply tightened their grips, dragging her along with brute strength.

But Anja didn't stop. She couldn't.

"You're cowards!" she spat, struggling harder, her face flushed with fury. "You think this makes you powerful? Chaining people up? Threatening executions? You're nothing but scared little men hiding behind your guns and walls!"

One of the guards yanked her back by the collar, jerking her off balance. She stumbled but didn't fall. The fire in her chest only grew hotter.

"Shut up," the guard barked, shoving her hard against the corridor wall.

The impact stole her breath, but not her fight. She shoved back with her shoulder, teeth bared like an animal cornered. "Or what? You'll kill me too? Go ahead!" Her voice cracked with fury. "At least I won't die a coward like you!"

Aaron twisted in the guards' grip ahead of her, his eyes blazing. "Don't touch her," he growled, his voice low and venomous, even through clenched teeth. His face was bruised, blood crusted along his temple, but nothing dimmed the lethal edge in his gaze.

The guards dragged him forward roughly, slamming him against the opposite wall, but Aaron barely flinched. His eyes never left Anja.

Anja thrashed harder, adrenaline surging through her veins like wildfire. She could feel the cuffs burning against her wrists, the absence of her powers like an ache beneath her skin, but she didn't care. She needed to do something-anything. She couldn't just be dragged away while Aaron's death sentence hung in the air like a guillotine's blade.

"Fight me, you bastards!" she screamed, her voice ragged with fury. "Fight me without these cuffs if you're so brave!"

A guard struck her across the face with the butt of his rifle.

The sharp crack echoed through the hall. Anja's head snapped to the side, blood spilling from a fresh cut on her cheek. For a second, the world tilted, her vision blurring at the edges-but she didn't fall.

Aaron lost it.

He lunged with everything he had, his roar of rage ripping through the corridor like a feral beast. The guards struggled to hold him back, grunting with effort as he thrashed against them, his body fueled by pure fury despite the suppressing cuffs.

"Touch her again, and I'll kill you!" he roared, his voice like thunder crashing through steel. "I swear to God, I'll rip you apart with my bare hands!"

The guards wrestled him back, slamming him to the ground with brutal force. His knees hit the metal floor hard, but he kept fighting, like his rage alone could break the cuffs.

Anja's chest heaved with ragged breaths, her face stinging, blood dripping down her neck. But her eyes met Aaron's-wild, burning, alive.

And that connection, that unspoken tether between them, was stronger than any chain.

The guards finally forced them forward, dragging them down the corridor until they reached a row of cold, metal cells. The doors groaned as they opened, the sound screeching like nails on glass.

They shoved Anja inside first, her body hitting the ground hard. She coughed, tasting blood, but immediately pushed herself up, crawling to the bars just as they threw Aaron into the cell opposite hers.

He hit the floor with a grunt, his chest heaving, face twisted with fury and exhaustion.

Anja gripped the bars, her knuckles white. "Aaron," she whispered, her voice softer now but trembling with everything she couldn't say.

Aaron rolled onto his side, lifting his head just enough to meet her gaze. Despite the blood, the bruises, the hopelessness of it all-his eyes were still the same. That sharp, burning blue that had always seen right through her.

And for the first time since they were captured, silence settled between them. Heavy. Unspoken.

They weren't done yet.

The execution chamber was a sterile, cavernous room-metallic walls stretching high, reflecting cold, fluorescent lights that buzzed faintly above. The space smelled of bleach and iron, sharp and sterile, like it was trying to mask the stench of death soaked into its foundations.

At the center stood a raised platform, just high enough to force everyone to look up at whoever knelt there. It wasn't designed for justice. It was designed for humiliation.

Aaron was dragged onto that platform, wrists bound with thick Evol-suppressing cuffs, blood dripping from his split lip. His shirt was torn, revealing bruises mottled purple and blue like an artist's rage splattered across his skin. But his posture-rigid, head held high-was untouchable. No whip, no fist, no threat had managed to steal the arrogance etched into his bones.

Anja stumbled in after him, flanked by guards who shoved her forward with the barrels of their rifles. Her own cuffs burned against her skin, a cruel reminder of how powerless she was. She caught herself just before falling to her knees, her legs shaking from exhaustion, but she forced herself to stand.

Her eyes met Aaron's.

For a second, everything else disappeared-the guards, the leaders seated in self-important rows, the hollow voices reciting charges of treason and betrayal. It was just the two of them, drowning in a silent conversation. His gaze was defiant, yes, but beneath that defiance was something raw, something fragile. Not fear. Never fear.

Acceptance.

No.

The word roared in her head, but her voice wouldn't work. She felt like she was trapped behind glass, watching it all unfold, powerless to stop it.

Will IV and Indie were dragged in next, their faces bruised but burning with fury. Indie cursed, fighting against the guards even as blood trickled down from a gash on her forehead. Will's jaw was clenched so tight it looked like it might shatter. They were both forced to their knees beside Anja.

She didn't feel them.

She didn't feel anything except the crushing weight in her chest, like her heart was being ripped apart, vein by vein.

The Ever commander stepped forward, voice echoing through the chamber, reading Aaron's sentence with robotic detachment. "For crimes against Ever, for betrayal of Dominion, and for aiding the rebellion-you are hereby sentenced to death. The execution will be carried out immediately."

A collective murmur rippled through the room. Some faces watched with satisfaction, others with indifference. No one seemed to care that they were about to extinguish a life like it was nothing more than snuffing out a flame.

The guards forced Aaron to his knees.

That's when Anja's world cracked.

She lunged forward instinctively, screaming his name. "AARON!"

Guards grabbed her, yanking her back so hard she felt her shoulders nearly dislocate. She thrashed against them, her screams raw, animalistic-no words anymore, just sound, just *grief* spilling from her lungs like she could scream him back to life before they even killed him.

Aaron turned his head slightly, just enough to meet her eyes one last time.

He didn't smile.

He didn't have to.

His gaze softened-not with fear, not with regret-but with something more dangerous. Something that undid her completely.

*Love.*

And then the executioner stepped forward, weapon drawn, aimed directly at his heart.

Something inside Anja snapped.

The cuffs weren't enough to contain what broke free.

*CRACK.*

A sharp, metallic snap echoed through the chamber as the cuffs shattered, shards of metal flying outward like shrapnel. The sudden burst of energy knocked the guards around her off their feet, their bodies flung back like rag dolls.

Anja didn't notice.

She was burning.

Crimson and gold light exploded from her chest, veins glowing beneath her skin like molten rivers. The air grew thick, vibrating with a low hum that grew louder, deeper, until it became a roar-a sound with no origin, like the Earth itself was screaming with her.

The ground splintered beneath her feet, cracks spider-webbing outward with each pulse of her Evol. The lights overhead burst, raining down shards of glass that hovered mid-air, suspended in the gravity-defying pull of her power.

Guards tried to raise their weapons, but their arms refused to obey. Blood trickled from their noses, ears, eyes-their minds collapsing under the weight of her grief-fueled rage. One by one, they crumpled, their bodies twisted into unnatural shapes, faces frozen in expressions of terror.

The leaders of Ever scrambled from their thrones, but there was nowhere to run. The walls themselves seemed to close in, bending, warping under the invisible force that poured from Anja like a tidal wave.

The super soldiers-the mindless, hollow weapons Dominion had created-staggered, clutching their heads. The compulsion controlling them cracked like glass under a hammer, shattering with an invisible snap that reverberated through the room. They collapsed-not dead, but free.

Aaron wasn't immune.

The sheer force of her Evol pressed against him, suffocating and electric. He could feel her-inside his head, his chest-her grief wrapping around his heart like vines of fire. His vision blurred, ears ringing with the deafening sound of her power.

But he fought against it.

Not because he was stronger.

Because he had to.

"Anja!" he choked out, his voice raw, trying to push himself up despite the crushing weight pressing him down. His legs trembled, his body screaming in protest, but he forced himself forward. Inch by inch.

She didn't hear him.

Her eyes were distant, glassy-gone. She wasn't here anymore. She was lost somewhere inside her own mind, drowning in a storm of her own making.

"A-N-J-A!" he roared, his voice hoarse, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.

Nothing.

His knees buckled, but he crawled-crawled through the debris, the bodies, shards of glass slicing into his palms. He reached her just as her power hit its peak, the light blinding, the air vibrating so violently it felt like the world was splitting in two.

Aaron grabbed her face with both hands, ignoring the searing heat of her skin.

"Look at me!" he begged, his thumbs brushing her cheeks, smearing blood and tears together. "Anja, please-come back. I'm right here. I'm right here."

Her eyes flickered.

Just for a second.

But it was enough.

The light dimmed, the roaring silence breaking like a wave receding from the shore. The shards of glass clattered to the floor. The walls groaned but didn't collapse. The air grew still, heavy with ash and smoke.

Anja's knees buckled, her body folding into his as the last of her power drained away.

"Aaron..." she whispered, her voice fragile, barely audible.

His arms wrapped around her instinctively, pulling her against his chest, his heart racing so violently it felt like it might break through his ribs.

But she was slipping.

Her body grew limp, her head lolling against his shoulder.

"No, no, no-" Aaron's voice cracked as he cradled her, rocking slightly, his fingers tangling in her hair like he could tether her to this world through sheer will. "Stay with me. Please. Stay with me."

Her eyes closed.

And the world went quiet.

#devil's night #lads caleb #love and deepspace #caleb x reader #damon torrance #fanfic #kai mori #lads #rika fane #will grayson iii #dark romance #winter ashby #nikova banks #no saints tonight #love and deepspace caleb #caleb #emory scott

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addiessblack · 4 months ago

Text

NO SAINTS TONIGHT

Chapter 14

Synopsis:In a world ruled by power, lies, and the ghosts of the past, Anja Christ thought she had buried Aaron forever. But when the boy she once loved—and lost—returns as the ruthless heir to Thunder Bay, obsession ignites into something far more dangerous. Trapped in his web, Anja must decide: fight for freedom or surrender to the madness of a love that refuses to die.

The city blurred past her, a sea of neon and concrete, but Anja barely saw it.

Her fingers clenched around the strap of her bag, the weight of it solid against her side. The chip was in there-the information she had fought for, bled for. The proof she had risked everything to get.

She should feel victorious.

She didn't.

There was something else sitting in her chest, something heavy and wrong.

It had started the moment she left him.

The moment the door shut behind her, cutting off the sound of his voice, the presence of his eyes on her.

She exhaled sharply, shaking the feeling off.

This was what she wanted.

She was free.

Wasn't she?

The cold air bit at her skin as she rounded a quiet corner, far from the eyes of the Horsemen's city. Here, the streets were emptier, the sounds of Thunder Bay distant.

It was only then, with no one around, that she finally let herself breathe.

Anja slipped her bag off her shoulder, unzipping it just enough to check inside.

The chip was still there, glinting faintly in the dim light.

Her fingers brushed against it-

-and then they caught on something else.

Something soft.

Something old.

A piece of folded paper, edges worn, crinkled with time.

Her brows pulled together.

She didn't remember putting this in here.

Slowly, she pulled it out, unfolding it with careful hands.

The breath left her lungs.

It wasn't just any piece of paper.

It was a forgiveness check.

Her forgiveness check.

A stupid, childish thing she had made for him when they were little.

Aaron had always been reckless. Impulsive. He had always done things without thinking, always pushed her, always gone too far. And Anja-Anja had been stubborn. When he made her mad, she could hold a grudge like no one else.

So he had found a solution.

He had begged her to make this. A check-like a real one-written out in his name, redeemable whenever he needed it. A way for him to buy her forgiveness when words weren't enough.

She had laughed when she made it. Had thought it was a joke.

A childish thing.

Something he'd forget about.

But he hadn't.

He had kept it.

All these years.

Even after everything-after the lies, after the betrayal, after she had spent years thinking he was dead-

He had still kept it.

And now...

Now, he had given it back to her.

The world tilted.

Anja's throat closed around a lump that refused to go away.

Her fingers trembled as she ran them over the faded ink, over her own handwriting, over the ridiculous words that suddenly felt like a knife in her ribs.

"Redeemable for one forgiveness. No expiration date."

A sound clawed at her throat.

A sob-or a laugh.

She didn't know which.

Didn't know what to do with the sharp, aching thing in her chest, the way it felt like something was cracking inside her, something she had spent years keeping buried.

She had been so sure.

So sure she had let him go.

That she had buried him with the rest of her past.

But he had never let go of her.

Not once.

Even after all these years.

Even after she left him.

He had still carried this stupid, childish promise with him.

As if some part of him had always believed she would come back.

As if he thought-

As if he thought she could forgive him.

The realization struck like a blade between her ribs, twisting deep.

Because the worst part-the absolute worst part-

Was that she didn't know if she could.

Her hands clenched around the paper, her breath coming uneven.

She should throw it away.

She should crumple it up, toss it to the wind, let it disappear like everything else between them.

But she didn't.

Instead, she folded it carefully, gently, as if it were something precious.

And then-without thinking, without allowing herself to understand why-

She tucked it back into her bag.

And kept walking.

The corridors of the Order's headquarters were too bright. Too clean. Too sterile.

Anja walked them like a ghost, her boots dragging slightly, her uniform stiff with sweat and dust from the mission. The journey back had been a blur. A long, suffocating haze of silence and the rhythmic hum of the transport's engines.

Her fingers twitched. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him.

Aaron.

The name throbbed inside her like an old wound ripped open. He had been there, in the flesh, standing before her, speaking to her in that low, unreadable voice. And she had felt-God, she had felt everything. The years, the longing, the anger, the unbearable weight of grief she had forced herself to carry. And now, after everything, it turned out her grief had been for nothing.

Because Aaron had never been dead.

She curled her fists to keep them from shaking as she reached the heavy steel doors of the war room. A deep breath in. A steadying exhale out. She had done what she came to do. She had retrieved the information, she had secured her mission, and now she had to report back.

Just a few more minutes. Just hold it together a little longer.

The doors slid open with a low mechanical hiss, revealing the assembled leaders of the Order-powerful figures seated around the grand circular table, their expressions severe. The air crackled with tension.

Michael and Rika sat at the head, their gazes sharp the moment they saw her. Beside them, Will Grayson III leaned forward, studying her with quiet intensity. Kai and Banks, Damon and Winter, and the other senior members of the Order flanked them.

Every eye in the room locked onto her.

"You're late."

The voice came from the principal, his tone clipped.

Anja forced herself forward. "I have what we needed."

Her own voice sounded foreign. Rough, exhausted.

Michael's gaze darkened. "Report."

She moved to the center of the room, her movements deliberate. Calculated. "I infiltrated Ever's fleet base. I retrieved the data. The location of their primary stronghold."

There was a beat of silence. And then, the questions came.

"What else did you see?"

"Were you compromised?"

"Did Ever suspect anything?"

Her responses were automatic, mechanical. She answered with precision, listing every relevant detail, every possible angle of concern.

And then, finally-

"Did you find any sign of our informant?"

Something inside her clenched.

The room seemed smaller.

Her pulse roared in her ears.

She swallowed. Her throat felt raw.

A pause. Just a fraction of a second too long.

Then-

"Yes," she said.

A ripple of reaction, the tension spiking.

"Who?" Kai asked, leaning forward. "Did they make contact?"

Anja's nails dug into her palms. The words burned like acid in her throat.

"He's alive."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Confusion flickered across their faces.

Rika frowned. "Who?"

Anja could hear her own heartbeat, the erratic rhythm thrumming against her ribs.

The pressure in her chest grew unbearable.

And then, she said it.

"Aaron."

The moment shattered.

Michael stood so quickly his chair scraped against the floor. "That's not possible."

Rika's face had gone pale, her fingers gripping the table so tightly they turned white.

Will's expression barely shifted, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him.

The others-Damon, Kai, Banks, Winter-stared at her, the disbelief tangible in the air.

A part of her wanted them to tell her she was wrong. That she had imagined it. That she had finally snapped under the weight of grief and war.

But she hadn't.

Aaron Christ was alive.

"I saw him," she continued, voice unsteady. "I spoke to him."

Michael's jaw clenched. "That doesn't make any sense. We saw his body."

"No." Her voice was sharp, unyielding. "We saw a burned corpse they told us was his. We never confirmed it ourselves."

She saw the flicker of realization in his eyes.

Doubt.

And that doubt was the crack that let the truth sink in.

"How?" Rika whispered. She looked stricken, barely breathing. "How is this possible?"

Anja let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "I don't know. I don't know how he survived or why he didn't tell us. I don't even know what the hell he's been doing all this time. But I do know this-" She lifted her gaze, steel-cold and unflinching. "He's been the informant. For years."

A sharp, collective intake of breath.

Banks swore under her breath.

Damon leaned back, exhaling harshly. "Shit."

Winter covered her mouth with her hands, eyes wide.

Anja pressed on. "He was feeding us intel. But something happened. He stopped."

Michael ran a hand down his face, looking for the first time like he didn't know what to do. "And when you saw him...?"

Anja hesitated.

How was she supposed to explain it?

How was she supposed to put into words the way he had looked at her, like she was something holy and forbidden all at once? The way his voice had softened only for her, even when it was laced with steel? The way she had wanted to claw at him, scream at him, hold him-

Her fingers trembled.

"He let me go."

It was all she could manage.

The weight of the revelation crashed over the room like a tidal wave. No one spoke.

And then-

Anja felt it break inside her.

Her composure. Her walls. The fragile dam holding back years of grief and rage and exhaustion.

Her knees buckled.

A sharp gasp echoed through the chamber.

Before she hit the floor, strong arms caught her.

Michael.

Her father held her against his chest, his grip unshakable, solid, safe. Like he could shield her from the weight of this truth.

And then Rika was there too, her hands tangling in Anja's hair, her voice a soft, broken whisper.

"Baby, it's okay."

But it wasn't okay.

Nothing was okay.

Anja trembled violently, fists twisting into her father's coat. "I tried," she choked out. "I tried to hate him."

Michael's arms tightened around her.

"I know," he murmured.

But he didn't know.

No one did.

No one knew what it was like to stand in front of a ghost and realize he had never been a ghost at all.

No one knew what it was like to look into his eyes and still-still-feel like she was his.

Tears slipped down her face, and she let them.

Let herself fall apart, just for this moment.

Because after this, there would be no time to break.

Aaron Christ was alive.

And the war had just changed forever.

The Training Room

The rhythmic sound of fists striking reinforced fabric filled the dimly lit training room. Anja's knuckles were raw, split in places, but she didn't stop. Pain was grounding. It was real. The dummies the Order provided were built to withstand brutal hits, but under her relentless assault, the material was beginning to tear.

It didn't matter.

Nothing felt like it mattered anymore.

She had been through wars, had infiltrated dangerous places, had stood over bodies she had been forced to kill. But nothing-nothing-had broken her quite like last night.

Like him.

Anja struck the dummy again, harder this time, feeling the shock travel through her bones.

Aaron Christ was alive.

The thought sent another rush of rage and something dangerously close to grief through her. Her stomach twisted violently, but she kept hitting, each punch laced with memories she wanted to erase.

Indie's voice, a whisper filled with something like betrayal:

"You knew, didn't you?"

Anja had shaken her head, but deep down, hadn't she felt it? Hadn't she sensed something lurking in the shadows, in the way her dreams had twisted into something too vivid, too familiar? Hadn't there always been a part of her that refused to accept his death?

She let out a sharp breath, steadying herself, but the images kept coming.

Aaron standing above her, his piercing green eyes gleaming under the dim lights of the interrogation room. The amused curl of his lips as he had whispered, "Do you know how predictable you are?"

The way he had caught her so effortlessly, fingers clamping around her wrist like an iron shackle.

The way she had lashed out, her words sharp and bitter, cutting deep enough to make something flicker in his expression-pain, anger, regret? She didn't know.

But then came the needle. The sharp sting of betrayal sinking into her skin, the darkness swallowing her whole.

Anja let out a shaky breath, stepping back.

Her body ached, but her heart ached worse.

She should have cried. Maybe if she cried, she would feel lighter. Maybe if she sobbed, the crushing weight of all this wouldn't be so suffocating.

But there were no tears left.

She was tired of mourning someone who refused to stay dead.

The door creaked open behind her.

She didn't turn, already knowing who it was.

Rika Christ stepped inside, her presence commanding but quiet. She didn't speak right away, just observed, her blue eyes scanning Anja with a careful precision.

Anja wiped the sweat from her brow and scoffed. "If you're here to tell me to take a break, don't bother."

"I'm not."

Anja glanced at her then, expecting some kind of lecture, but Rika's expression was unreadable.

Instead, she took another step forward and said, "The Order has been in contact with Aaron."

A cold weight settled in Anja's chest.

Rika watched her carefully. "He's coming."

Silence.

The words rang in her head like a deafening alarm.

Anja let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Of course, he is."

Rika's expression didn't change. "He's bringing his most trusted men. The Order has called for an urgent meeting. They want you there."

Anja clenched her jaw. She turned away, staring at the ruined dummy in front of her as if it could give her answers.

"So, what?" she muttered. "He gets to walk back in like nothing happened? Like he didn't-"

She stopped herself, inhaling deeply.

Rika took another step forward, lowering her voice. "You don't have to go."

Anja let out a sharp exhale, a humorless laugh escaping her. "You really think I have a choice?"

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, Rika did something unexpected.

She reached out, brushing a damp strand of hair from Anja's face like she had when she was younger, when she would come home bruised from training and pretend it didn't hurt.

Anja tensed but didn't pull away.

"You don't have to pretend you're not hurting," Rika said softly.

Something inside Anja cracked.

She swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to push back the burn behind her eyes.

"I'm fine," she said stiffly.

"You're not fine, Anja."

The words hit her harder than any punch she had thrown tonight.

She sucked in a sharp breath, chest tight.

Rika didn't push. She simply stood there, waiting.

And for the first time in a long time, Anja wished she could break.

But she couldn't.

Not yet.

Not when Aaron Christ was walking back into her life like a ghost dragging all her worst nightmares with him.

The Order's main hall was buzzing with restless energy, a rare sight in a place usually cloaked in solemn discipline. The towering steel walls-lined with banners bearing the insignia of the Northern Coalition and the Order-seemed to hum under the weight of anticipation. Soldiers and officials stood in clusters, murmuring amongst themselves, eyes flickering toward the massive steel doors that led into the main chamber.

Because tonight was not just another night.

He was coming.

Anja stood near the back, her arms crossed tightly, her expression carefully blank despite the storm churning beneath her skin.

Aaron Christ was alive.

Three days ago, she had stood inside his apartment, breathing the same air as him, seeing him-touching him. She had felt the undeniable proof of his existence in the way his fingers had gripped her wrist before letting her go.

Three days, and she still hadn't fully processed it.

Now, she would have to face him again-but this time, not in secret. This time, in front of everyone.

Indie shifted beside her, her fidgeting betraying her nerves. Unlike the others in the hall, their anxiety didn't stem from excitement. The return of Aaron Christ should have been a miracle, a cause for celebration. But for Anja, it was something else entirely.

The weight of expectation pressed down on her, heavy and suffocating.

She wanted this over with.

She wanted to see him, to confirm with her own eyes that the ghost of Aaron Christ was, in fact, real. That he was standing in the flesh-not just in her mind, not just in her nightmares.

The massive steel doors creaked open.

A breathless silence swept through the hall.

And then he walked in.

Aaron Christ.

He moved with the same quiet authority he had always possessed, but there was something different now-something sharper, heavier. He carried himself like a man who had lived lifetimes in the shadows, who had clawed his way through the dark and made it his home.

His Ever military uniform-black, crisp, adorned with silver insignias-did nothing to soften the lethal presence he exuded. Colonel Christ.

He had always been striking, but now he was something else entirely.

Her stomach twisted violently.

Aaron's gaze never wavered from her, as if the rest of the world had disappeared in that instant.

Anja could feel the weight of his stare, like invisible hands pressing against her skin, seeking purchase, demanding something she refused to give.

The hall erupted into movement.

People surged forward.

Michael and Rika reached him first, breaking the silence.

Rika clutched Aaron's face between her hands, her eyes glistening. "You're really here," she whispered, voice shaking, as if afraid that speaking would shatter the moment.

Michael stood beside them, his usual stoicism broken by the raw relief in his gaze. His grip on Aaron's shoulder was tight, as though anchoring himself to reality. "You should have told us," he muttered, his voice rough, edged with something unspoken.

Kai was next, pulling Aaron into a firm embrace, gripping the back of his head before stepping back to let Banks take his place. Damon clapped him on the back, his usual smirk absent, replaced with something softer. Winter hugged him fiercely, her smaller frame dwarfed by his.

Will hesitated only a second before gripping Aaron's arms, his hands shaking slightly, like he still wasn't sure this was real.

Emory lingered near the side, his silver eyes narrowed as he studied Aaron, not moving forward like the others. Anja saw the tension in his posture, the same quiet assessment that mirrored her own.

And then Indie-stubborn, reckless Indie-stepped forward without hesitation and threw her arms around him.

"Took you long enough, asshole," she muttered, her voice hoarse.

Aaron let out a breath of something close to amusement, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. But still-his gaze never left Anja.

She felt it like a brand against her skin.

Even as his family embraced him, as hands reached for him, as voices murmured his name like a prayer-he was still watching her.

She clenched her hands into fists.

He shouldn't be looking at her like that.

Not after everything.

Not after what he had done.

The weight in her chest pressed tighter, an unbearable pressure.

She had spent years mourning him.

Years trying to live without him.

And now he was here.

Like nothing had changed.

She needed to leave.

Needed air.

Her body moved before she could stop it. She stepped forward, breaking through the sea of reunion, stopping just a few feet away.

A hush fell over the room, an eerie shift in the air as everyone turned toward her.

Aaron straightened subtly, his head tilting as he regarded her, his expression unreadable.

She swallowed past the lump in her throat.

"We shouldn't keep the Order waiting. The time is of great importance."

The warmth of the moment turned to ice.

The air grew thick.

Michael and Rika stiffened.

Indie's eyes flickered between them, wary.

The others-the ones who had welcomed him so eagerly-stilled, confusion flickering across their faces.

Aaron, however, didn't look surprised.

If anything, he looked like he had expected this.

He let out a slow breath, his lips curving in the barest hint of amusement.

"If the princess is so eager," he murmured, voice low, smooth, "then let's not keep her waiting."

His words sent something sharp through her chest, but she refused to flinch.

She turned without another word, leading the way toward the main chamber.

Aaron followed, his footsteps steady, unhurried.

And just as he passed her, his fingers curled slightly.

A subtle movement.

A silent gesture.

One she knew too well.

Wait for me.

Her heart lurched.

But she clenched her jaw.

No.

Not this time.

She had waited for him before.

Had died waiting for him.

But she wouldn't wait anymore.

Not for a ghost.

Not for Aaron Christ.

Not for the man who had let her believe he was dead.

The war table was cold beneath Anja's palms as she stood beside it, her shoulders squared, her expression impassive. Around her, the Order's top strategists, high-ranking warriors, and commanders filled the grand chamber, the dim lighting casting long shadows on the stone walls. A heavy silence hung in the air, thick with urgency, as a holomap flickered to life in the center of the table.

The meeting chamber was vast, the walls lined with old banners of past victories, reminders of what the Order had endured. The flickering blue projections from the holomap cast sharp glows against the faces of those present. They were warriors, hardened by war, tempered by loss. Every individual in this room had suffered-had bled, had lost, had clawed their way back to fight again.

At the head of the table sat Commander Alistair Vex, the de facto leader of the Order's military operations. His stern, battle-worn face was unreadable, but the tension in his clenched jaw spoke volumes. A man who had seen too much, lost too much, and had vowed never to let the world crumble under Ever's reign.

He exhaled sharply before addressing the room.

"We finally have confirmation," he said, his voice gravelly, cutting through the hush like a blade. "Ever's central base of operations, the one we've been searching for-their main research facility-is located deep within the Outlands. Right where the disease first began."

A murmur spread through the room.

The Outlands.

A desolate wasteland. A graveyard of failed experiments, forgotten people, and horrors too monstrous to be spoken of. A place so twisted by Ever's genetic experiments that even the strongest warriors hesitated to step foot in it.

Alistair's hand hovered over the holomap, and with a flick of his wrist, the projection zoomed in on the decayed landscape, revealing a sprawling underground facility embedded within the ruins of an old metropolis.

"We've also confirmed," he continued, his gaze flicking across the room, "that in three days, Ever plans to unleash their newest wave of super soldiers-genetically and Evol-enhanced war machines, stronger and faster than anything we've faced before. Their target?"

He clicked a button, and a section of the holomap zoomed in on Thunder Bay.

Anja felt something tighten in her chest.

Home.

"If we don't stop them," Alistair said gravely, "the city will fall within hours."

The weight of the words settled over the room like a suffocating blanket.

Anja inhaled slowly, steadying herself. This was it. The moment she had trained for, fought for. There was no fear in her heart-only the burning, icy resolve that had carried her through years of war.

"I want a position on the front lines," she said firmly.

A voice, deep and authoritative, sliced through the room.

"Absolutely not."

Her breath hitched.

Aaron.

His presence had been a shadow at the edge of the table, silent, calculating. But now, as he straightened in his seat, his golden-green eyes gleamed with something sharp, something unyielding.

He had always been like this. A force of nature, immovable when he decided something.

Anja clenched her jaw. "I wasn't asking for permission."

"And I wasn't giving you a choice."

His voice was low, even, but there was something in the way he spoke that sent a chill down her spine. A dangerous edge. A command.

Anja turned fully to face him, her voice steady despite the storm building inside her. "I'm one of the strongest Evols in this room. I belong in this fight."

Aaron scoffed softly, shaking his head. "This isn't about strength, Anja. You don't understand what's waiting for us out there. Ever's laboratory isn't just a research facility-it's a slaughterhouse. You set foot in that place, and you won't walk out."

"Then I'll crawl out," she snapped. "But I'm going."

His jaw tensed. His fingers tapped against the table, a slow, methodical rhythm-a sign that he was trying, barely, to keep his temper in check.

"You're not thinking straight," he said, his voice quieter now, more dangerous. "You're too reckless. Too emotional."

She bristled. "You of all people don't get to tell me that."

His expression darkened, his gaze boring into hers with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. "I know exactly what you're doing, Anja. You think throwing yourself into the line of fire will erase what you feel." His voice was softer now, almost a whisper. "It won't."

Her hands curled into fists. The room had gone silent, all eyes locked onto them, but she didn't care.

"And you think keeping me caged will erase what you did?" she shot back, stepping toward him, defiance burning in her veins. "It won't."

Something flickered in his eyes-pain, guilt, longing, all of it buried beneath his perfect, unreadable mask.

Alistair cleared his throat loudly. "Enough."

The tension in the room shattered, but the electricity between them remained, crackling and raw.

"Anja is going," Alistair said, leaving no room for argument. "She's one of our strongest assets. We need her on this mission."

Aaron's jaw locked, his fingers tightening against the edge of the table.

"Fine," he said, his voice eerily calm. "But if anything happens to her, it's on all of you."

And then, in a voice so low only she could hear-"Not that I'll let anything happen to you anyway."

She exhaled shakily, forcing herself to hold his gaze.

This wasn't over.

Not even close.

The heavy doors of the Order's hall slammed shut behind her, the echo ricocheting off the stone walls like the final note of a song she never wanted to hear again. It was almost funny, really-how easy it was to leave a room full of people and still feel like she was the one being left behind. The faint hum of laughter and voices bled into the distance as Anja's footsteps grew quicker, sharper, each one striking the polished floors like brittle glass shattering beneath her.

The academy's towering corridors stretched out before her, all sharp angles and sterile lighting, their endless halls carved from stone that felt too cold, too indifferent. She could still hear them-the others-their voices a low murmur in the back of her mind. They clung to Aaron's words like vines, wrapping themselves around him, thriving off his light. As if he hadn't been gone for years. As if he hadn't left her behind.

She didn't know what she hated more: that they welcomed him back so easily-or that a part of her wanted to do the same.

Her chest tightened, a hollow ache blooming behind her ribs, one she couldn't shake. She needed to get out. To find space wide enough to hold the mess unraveling inside her.

Her feet moved on instinct, muscle memory guiding her through twisting hallways, past towering windows that framed the city bathed in fading light. She didn't stop, didn't even slow, until her hand collided with the cool metal of a forgotten stairwell handle. The sensation grounded her for a heartbeat-just long enough to remember why she always came here when the walls felt like they were closing in.

She shoved the door open without hesitation, the rusted hinges groaning in protest. The stairwell greeted her with dim lights flickering overhead, casting fractured shadows on the cracked concrete steps. She took the stairs two at a time, her heart pounding-not from the exertion, but from something deeper, something she couldn't name without it tasting like grief.

Up and up, past forgotten maintenance doors and exposed pipes, until the recycled air grew colder, sharper. She pushed through the final door with her shoulder, the metallic screech swallowed by the vastness of the open sky.

The rooftop greeted her like an old friend.

The city stretched out below, a patchwork of fractured lights and endless shadows. Thunder Bay's jagged skyline rose like broken teeth against the horizon, catching the last embers of the dying sun. The sky was a masterpiece of bruised purples and molten gold, streaked with the faintest trace of crimson-like the sky itself had been carved open, bleeding out the day.

Anja crossed the rooftop slowly, her boots scuffing against the cracked concrete, each step echoing louder than the last. The wind met her halfway, sharp and unapologetic, tugging at the strands of her dark hair, biting at the exposed skin of her face. She welcomed the sting.

This was her place. A sliver of sky untouched by memories, unclaimed by ghosts. No walls. No shadows. Just the horizon stretching out like a promise she never believed in.

She found her usual spot near the rusted edge of the guardrail, sinking down with her knees drawn to her chest. The metal was cold beneath her fingertips as she gripped it absently, grounding herself in the here and now. Her gaze drifted to the horizon, where the sun seemed to hesitate for a breathless moment before surrendering to the night.

It was strange how easily she could slip back into that feeling-the one she thought she'd outgrown. That quiet ache buried deep beneath her skin, like marrow in her bones. The invisible weight of being Anja Christ, a name stitched together by someone else's story.

She'd been just a shadow trailing after his light.

Aaron was the star. The prodigy. The boy with the perfect smile and the kind of gravity that pulled people in without even trying. Even as a kid, he'd been larger than life, his presence filling every room like wildfire. People didn't just notice him-they remembered him. They carved out spaces in their hearts just to say they knew him.

And Anja?

She'd been there, a step behind, not because she had to be-but because she wanted to be.

Back then, it had been enough.

She had Aaron. She had Indie.

That had been her whole world, small but full.

She let her head fall back against the cold metal, the sky stretching above her like an ocean she couldn't drown in, no matter how much she wanted to. The wind tangled her hair, cold against her flushed skin, but she didn't care. She needed the cold. Needed to feel something that wasn't this empty ache clawing at her chest.

She remembered the way Aaron's shadow used to fall over her-long and comforting, like a shield. She'd been content living in it because it meant she was close to him. Close enough to hear his laughter, to feel his presence anchoring her when the world felt too big.

She never minded being "Aaron's little sister."

It was an identity that fit like second skin, woven into her without question.

But now...

Now she hated it.

Because today, when he walked into that room, it was like nothing had changed. The way people's faces lit up when they saw him. The awe in their voices. The way they leaned in, desperate to catch every word like he was something sacred instead of the boy who left her with nothing but questions and grief.

They didn't see her. They never had.

Not really.

She was still just the afterthought. The shadow.

The background noise to Aaron's triumphant return.

Her fingers curled around the guardrail until her knuckles ached, the cold metal biting into her skin. She stared out at the horizon, her vision blurring-not from tears, but from the sharp edge of bitterness rising in her throat.

You were never more than his shadow, whispered the cruel voice in her mind.

She thought she'd buried that voice.

But it had just been waiting.

Waiting for him to come back.

She dragged in a shaky breath, her chest tight, her heart heavier than it had been in years. She thought she'd built herself from the ruins he left behind. Thought she'd learned how to stand without him. But now, with him back, it felt like all those pieces were nothing more than glass-fragile and sharp, one wrong step away from shattering.

She didn't know who she was without him.

Without his absence defining her.

And maybe that was the worst part.

Because she wasn't just angry at him.

She was angry at herself.

For missing him.

For needing him.

For still feeling like that eight-year-old girl trailing behind, hoping he'd look back.

But he never did.

Not really.

The wind picked up, colder now as the sun finally disappeared, leaving only the faint glow of city lights below. She tilted her head back, staring up at the darkening sky, the stars faint and distant. She wondered if they ever got tired of being looked at-if they ever hated existing only to be admired from afar.

Maybe that's what she'd been all along.

Something people only noticed in relation to someone else's light.

Her breath came out shaky, clouding in the cold air. She didn't wipe the tears that blurred her vision. She let them fall, silent and unnoticed, like they didn't matter.

Because maybe they didn't.

But up here, no one could see her.

No one could remind her of who she was supposed to be.

She was just Anja.

And for now, that was enough.

Because shadows didn't need the sun to exist.

They thrived in the dark

The private quarters of the Christ family at the Academy were nothing like the sterile elegance of their penthouse in Thunder Bay. This space was carved into the heart of the institution, tucked away behind reinforced doors, soundproof walls, and layers of security. It wasn't meant for show. It was meant for isolation, for control, for the kind of conversations that couldn't survive the fragile glass of polite society.

The dining room was dimly lit, the flickering glow of candles casting long shadows against dark stone walls. Heavy velvet curtains were drawn tight over tall windows, shutting out the neon veins of the city beyond. The room was designed for power, not comfort-a long, obsidian table stretching like a scar down the center, flanked by high-backed chairs with sharp edges and colder intentions. A symbol of authority, of legacy.

But tonight, it felt like a mausoleum.

Aaron sat at the head of the table, his posture rigid, hands resting on the arms of the chair like a king seated on a throne he never wanted. The seat to his right was empty-meant for her. The delicate curve of the chair's back, the glass set perfectly beside an untouched plate... everything screamed her absence louder than if it had been bare.

She was supposed to be here.

But of course, she wasn't.

Aaron's jaw clenched as he stared at the untouched glass of wine positioned where she should've been. The dark liquid gleamed like blood under the candlelight, mocking him with its stillness. His fingers twitched with the urge to throw it-shatter it against the cold, unyielding walls. But he didn't. Instead, he sat there, the silence pressing against his skull like iron bands, suffocating and relentless.

Across from him, Rika sat with the kind of elegance that wasn't effortless but crafted, carved out of discipline and years of suppressing anything that resembled weakness. Her posture was perfect, her expression unreadable-but tonight, there was a faint fracture in her polished exterior, something brittle beneath the surface. Michael was beside her, a shadow of authority, his broad frame leaning slightly back, fingers tapping rhythmically against the table like a man trying to measure time through the echo of his own pulse.

The room was too quiet. The kind of quiet that wasn't peaceful but oppressive. A vacuum where all the things unsaid screamed the loudest.

Aaron's voice broke the silence, sharp and low.

"She's not coming."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement drenched in disappointment and something darker-something possessive, like the absence itself was an act of betrayal.

Rika sighed softly, but even that sound felt too loud here. "No. She's not."

Aaron's fingers curled around the edge of the table, knuckles whitening. He didn't ask why. He already knew. She was punishing him-again. A ghost haunting the spaces she refused to fill.

He leaned back, dragging his gaze from the empty seat to his mother. "How is she?"

The question slipped out like venom wrapped in silk. He hated how casual he tried to make it sound, as if it didn't claw at him every second of every day. But his voice betrayed him, rough around the edges, frayed with something raw and unhinged beneath the surface.

Rika hesitated, her carefully crafted mask faltering for the briefest moment. She glanced at Michael as if seeking an anchor, but he didn't offer one. His expression was distant, carved from stone, but his jaw tightened-a tell Aaron didn't miss.

"She's... not the same," Rika finally whispered, her voice brittle like glass on the verge of shattering. She swirled the wine in her glass, staring into it like it held answers she didn't want to give.

Aaron's breath hitched, his grip tightening on the chair's arms. Not the same. He repeated the words in his mind, dissecting them, tasting them like ash on his tongue.

Rika's eyes glistened under the dim light, her walls slipping just enough for Aaron to see the guilt buried underneath. "When you were gone... she unraveled."

Aaron's heart twisted, an ache blooming sharp and immediate. He'd imagined it before-her missing him, crying maybe, grieving. But hearing it was different. It wasn't some fantasy he could control. It was real. Tangible. A wound he'd left bleeding in his absence.

Rika's voice grew softer, like she was afraid of the truth it carried. "She was angry. At us. At herself. At the world. But mostly at you. Even if she didn't know it."

Michael's hand stilled on the table, his voice rough when he spoke. "There were days we thought we'd lost her too."

The words hit Aaron like a blade, carving deep and clean through the armor he wore like second skin. His chest felt too tight, the walls closing in, suffocating him with truths he didn't want to hear.

"She wouldn't eat," Rika continued, her voice trembling. "Wouldn't sleep. She'd disappear for hours, sometimes days. We'd find her in the old districts, picking fights she couldn't win, like she was trying to feel something-anything."

Aaron's hands shook now, but he didn't move. Didn't speak. His mind was a reel of images he didn't want-Anja's face hollow with grief, her eyes dead and empty, her body bruised not from battle but from surviving.

Rika's voice grew distant, lost in the haze of Aaron's spiraling thoughts.

"She stopped dancing."

Those three words landed harder than the rest, heavier, sharper. Because Anja's dancing wasn't just a talent. It was her anchor, her pulse. To stop dancing was to stop breathing, and Aaron felt like he couldn't breathe either.

"She'd lock herself in the old practice room," Rika whispered. "The mirrors were shattered. The floor was stained with blood from where she'd danced until her feet bled, as if pain was the only thing that reminded her she was still alive."

Aaron stood abruptly, the chair scraping harshly against the floor. His breathing was uneven, rage and guilt twisting together until he couldn't tell them apart. He paced to the edge of the room, his reflection fractured in the dark glass of the covered windows.

And then, without turning back, he spoke.

"I never saw her as a sister."

The words were quiet, but they filled the room like a scream.

Rika's breath hitched, her hand frozen around her glass. Michael didn't react at first, but Aaron could feel the tension ripple through the room like a pulse.

After a long, suffocating pause, Rika's voice broke the silence. "We suspected."

Aaron turned then, his eyes burning, not with shame but with the fury of truths buried too long.

"Then why didn't you say anything?" His voice was sharp, venomous, filled with the frustration of years spent pretending.

Michael finally looked at him, his expression unreadable. "Because neither of you did."

Aaron laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. "What was I supposed to say? That the only person I ever cared about-the only person who mattered-was someone I was supposed to see as my sister?"

His confession bled into the space, staining it with something dark and twisted.

Rika's eyes softened, her walls crumbling just enough to let empathy through. "You loved her."

"No," Aaron snapped, shaking his head. "I still love her. Not like a brother. Not like family. Like she's mine."

The possessiveness in his voice was palpable, thick enough to choke on. He didn't care. It was the truth, and he was done burying it.

Michael exhaled slowly, his gaze steady. "Feelings aren't wrong, Aaron. They just are."

Aaron's jaw clenched, his heart racing like it was trying to escape the cage of his ribs. "But what if they are?"

Rika stood then, crossing the room to him. She placed a hand on his arm, her touch grounding. "The only thing wrong is pretending they don't exist."

Aaron's eyes darkened, his thoughts spiraling. He wasn't pretending anymore. He couldn't. Anja was out there, living in the aftermath of his absence, and all he could think about was how to fix it. How to make her his again.

Whatever it took.

Because she wasn't just someone he loved.

She was his

The Academy was unnervingly quiet, a brittle stillness settled over its towering walls like the world itself was holding its breath. The usual hum of voices, the echo of hurried footsteps, the distant laughter from students lingering in the halls-all gone. Replaced by the weight of anticipation, by the knowledge that tomorrow could be the last day for many of them.

Anja's footsteps were soft against the marble floors as she made her way through the dim corridors, her shadow flickering under the faint glow of wall sconces. The air felt heavier tonight, thick with unspoken fears and restless thoughts. She found herself drawn to the one place that still felt untouched by all of it-a fragile pocket of life amidst the looming threat of death.

The greenhouse was tucked away on the Academy's eastern wing, hidden behind iron doors that creaked softly as she pushed them open. A wave of warmth greeted her, the faint scent of damp earth and blooming flowers wrapping around her like an old friend. The glass ceiling above reflected the fractured light of Thunder Bay's distant neon skyline, casting soft blues and purples against the lush greenery below.

She stepped inside, letting the door click shut behind her. The silence here was different-not oppressive like it was in the rest of the Academy. It was peaceful, like the world beyond the glass didn't exist. The only sounds were the faint rustle of leaves and the gentle drip of condensation sliding down the panes.

Anja moved between the rows of plants, her fingers brushing against the soft petals of unfamiliar flowers-some genetically engineered, others relics of a world long gone. She had promised Mr. Novak, the elderly gardener, that she'd water them while he recovered from his illness. It was a small task, something she'd normally save for Fridays.

But she didn't know if she'd be here tomorrow.

That thought settled over her like a shadow. She gripped the watering can tighter, her throat constricting. She wasn't afraid of dying-at least, that's what she told herself. But the idea of leaving without closure, without the chance to say the things she'd buried deep inside-that terrified her more than any enemy could.

She reached a row of delicate white flowers, their petals glowing faintly in the moonlight streaming through the glass. She tilted the watering can, watching as the water trickled down, soaking into the rich soil.

"Couldn't sleep either?"

A quiet creak of the door broke through the stillness.

She tensed.

Her fingers twitched at her sides, instinct demanding she reach for a weapon.

But she already knew who it was.

She felt him before she saw him.

The same way she always had.

Aaron stepped inside, his presence filling the space like a storm waiting to break. Tall, broad-shouldered, impossibly familiar.

His uniform was still on, dark and sharp, the insignia of Ever's military gleaming against the fabric. It made her sick.

She didn't turn. Didn't move.

"I figured I'd find you here," he murmured.

His voice sent something painful through her chest. Like a knife sliding between her ribs.

She clenched her jaw. "Congratulations."

Aaron exhaled, slow and measured. "Anja."

She squeezed her eyes shut. Don't say my name like that.

Like it was something precious. Like it still meant something to him.

Like he hadn't ruined her.

"I have nothing to say to you." Her voice came out colder than she meant it to. Good.

Silence stretched between them.

Aaron moved closer. She heard it. Felt it.

The way his boots barely made a sound against the stone floor, the way his breath hitched ever so slightly when he got too close. Like he was afraid to get near her.

Like she was the one who could destroy him now.

He stopped a few feet away. Close enough that she could feel his warmth.

"Maybe." His voice was soft. "But I have things to say to you."

Anja scoffed, finally turning. Finally looking at him.

Her chest tightened.

He was... different.

Not just older. Not just harder.

He looked tired. Like the war had carved him into something else. Something jagged.

But beneath it-beneath the uniform, beneath the sharp edges-he was still Aaron.

The boy who had watched over her since childhood. The boy who had always been hers.

And now?

Now, he was the man who had let her grieve him.

The man who had let her suffer.

Her hands curled into fists. "Do you have any idea what you did to me?"

Aaron flinched. A real flinch.

It should have felt like a victory.

It didn't.

She took a slow step forward, invading his space now, forcing him to see her.

"To us," she spat. "To your family. Do you even care? Or did you just-" Her breath hitched. "Did you just decide we weren't worth it?"

His jaw clenched.

"I had to do it," he said again.

"You didn't." Her voice cracked. "You didn't have to do this to me."

Aaron took a breath, slow and shuddering. "I never wanted to hurt you."

Anja let out a humorless laugh. "Well, congratulations. You did."

Silence.

He swallowed.

"Anja, I-"

"I don't care." Lie.

She turned away, arms folding over her chest, gaze burning into the flowers instead of him.

"I used to come here sometimes," she murmured. "When I couldn't sleep. When I wanted to feel close to you again."

Aaron was so, so quiet.

She let out a small, bitter laugh. "Pathetic, isn't it?"

A beat.

"Not pathetic."

His voice was barely above a whisper.

Anja swallowed against the lump in her throat. Why did he have to say it like that?

Like it hurt him, too.

Like any of this hurt him the way it had hurt her.

She felt him move behind her. Felt his presence like gravity.

His next words made her breath catch.

"I missed you."

Her fingers twitched.

Aaron took another step closer. Like he was being drawn to her despite himself.

"Every day. Every hour. I thought about you until I couldn't breathe." His voice turned raw. Desperate. "I thought you'd hate me."

Anja exhaled sharply.

"I do."

The words should have made him flinch.

Instead, he just smiled.

A small, knowing smile.

"No, you don't."

Her stomach twisted.

She turned- ready to tell him how wrong he was, ready to throw all of her grief and anger and agony into his face-

But then she met his eyes.

And everything stopped.

His gaze burned.

Not cruel. Not arrogant.

Devoted.

Completely, devastatingly devoted to her.

Her breath stuttered.

Aaron's lips parted, like he wanted to say something-then hesitated.

Finally, he spoke, voice impossibly low.

"Remember when I told you I'd never seen an angel in person?"

Anja froze.

No.

He wouldn't-

But then he smiled, the kind of soft, rueful smile that belonged to a boy, not a soldier.

"I lied."

She staggered back.

The room felt too small. Too tight.

The air burned in her lungs.

Because she understood exactly what he meant.

What he had always meant.

A choked sound escaped her throat. "Aaron..."

But he was already stepping back. Like he had said too much.

Like if he stayed too close, he wouldn't be able to stop himself.

She should leave.

She needed to leave.

Because if she stayed, she wouldn't be able to hate him anymore.

And she wasn't ready for that.

"I won't ask you to forgive me," Aaron murmured. His voice shook. "I won't even ask you to understand. But just for tonight..." His throat bobbed. "Just for tonight, can we stay here?"

Anja looked at him.

At the boy who had once been her home.

At the man who had destroyed her beyond repair.

And despite everything, despite the fire and the rage and the grief-she wanted to say yes.

She wanted to pretend, just for a little while, that they could still be them.

But she wasn't that girl anymore.

Anja inhaled sharply, forcing steel into her spine. Forcing herself to be stronger than the part of her that still ached for him.

"I can't," she whispered.

And then she walked away.

Leaving Aaron standing alone in the moonlit greenhouse, surrounded by flowers-watching his angel slip further and further away.

#devil's night #lads caleb #love and deepspace #caleb x reader #damon torrance #fanfic #kai mori #lads #rika fane #will grayson iii #winter ashby #nikova banks #emory scott #love and deepspace caleb #caleb #dark romance #no saints tonight

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addiessblack · 4 months ago

Text

NO SAINTS TONIGHT

Chapter 13:

The penthouse became a ticking time bomb. Every second she lingered was a risk-a risk of him returning too soon, of security tightening, of her body betraying her with hesitation. But she had no choice.

Anja sat on the bed, running through the plan in her head. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't even good. But perfection wasn't an option. The only thing that mattered was getting out.

She slipped off the silk robe Aaron had given her and pulled on the clothes she had hidden beneath the mattress the night before-dark leggings and a fitted long-sleeve shirt. They were hers, remnants of the past he'd stolen and tucked away in this gilded prison. She doubted he'd notice them missing anytime soon.

Padding silently to the door, she pressed her ear against the cool metal. The penthouse had state-of-the-art didn't rely on techn ity, but Aaron alone-he relied on control on fear Guards patrolled outside just far enough away that she wasn't under direct surveillance, but close enough that leaving wasn't as simple as walking out.

She took a steadying breath. Move.

Slipping out into the dimly lit hallway, she moved fast, heart pounding in her throat. She had mapped out their routine the night before-how often they passed by, when their backs were turned, where the cameras were positioned.

The elevator was out of the question. Too many eyes. The stairwell, however, had a single guard stationed outside, one she had seen checking his communicator more than he checked his surroundings. He was perfect.

Anja stayed in the shadows as she neared him, her movements swift and silent. He didn't notice her at first, too absorbed in whatever message he was reading.

That was his mistake.

In one fluid motion, she surged forward, grabbed him by the collar, and slammed him into the wall. The impact sent his communicator clattering to the floor. He grunted, trying to push her off, but she was faster. She drove her knee into his ribs, knocking the air out of his lungs, then grabbed the back of his head and slammed it into the wall.

He slumped to the floor, unconscious.

She exhaled, chest rising and falling rapidly.

There was no time for mistakes. No time for guilt.

Quickly, she stripped the guard of his uniform, pulling the heavy jacket over her own clothes. It smelled like sweat and stale cologne, but it would serve its purpose. She secured the cap over her hair, tucking the strands away, then pocketed his keycard before dragging his body into near by storage room and locking it.

It wouldn't hold forever. If she was lucky, she had twenty minutes before someone noticed he was missing.

Move. Move. Move.

She stepped into the stairwell, moving like she belonged there. Each step took her farther from Aaron's cage, farther from the twisted warmth of his obsession. The weight of his presence still lingered on her skin, in her bones, but she ignored it.

She had a mission. And she wasn't going to fail.

The lower she descended, the more her nerves sharpened. Every guard she passed was another opportunity for failure. But none of them looked at her twice. To them, she was just another nameless soldier.

Reaching the lower levels, she swiped thestolen keycard against the exit scanner. A small beep, a flash of green, and the door clicked open.

She stepped outside.

The city stretched before her, cold and indifferent. Thunder Bay had been home once. Now, it was a battlefield.

And she was running out of time.

The air inside the server room was sterile, humming with quiet menace.

Anja worked fast, her fingers flying over the keyboard, inputting the stolen access codes she had memorized. Every second counted. The dim glow of the screen cast sharp shadows across her face, sweat slicking her spine despite the cold bite of the room.

The encrypted files were massive-layers of security piled on top of each other like fortresses of code. But she wasn't here for everything. Just one file. One truth.

Her hands were steady, despite the thunder of her heartbeat. The drive Aaron had unknowingly left in her possession slotted neatly into the port. The screen flickered. She held her breath as the data transfer began.

Three percent. Five. Ten.

Too slow. Too damn slow.

She didn't know what was worse-the fact that she had to do this at all, or the fact that, deep down, some part of her had expected it. Expected him to lie. Expected the world he built to be riddled with shadows.

Thirty percent. Forty. Fifty.

The building hummed around her, a living thing, and for the first time since escaping, she felt it. The pull. The invisible thread, tightening, as if the walls themselves knew she was trespassing.

She gritted her teeth, glaring at the loading bar. Sixty percent. Seventy.

Move. Move.

Her hands tightened into fists. She couldn't let herself think. Couldn't let herself feel.

Because if she did-

Eighty percent.

A cold ripple slid down her spine.

She froze.

Something was wrong.

The air shifted. The faintest whisper of movement behind her.

A chill that wasn't just the room's temperature.

She had enough time to turn halfway before a hand wrapped around her throat.

A steel grip, unyielding, dragging her back against a broad chest. A familiar scent-clean, dark, something richer beneath it.

Aaron.

Her pulse spiked violently, her entire body snapping into fight mode. She lashed out, twisting sharply, but his hold was immovable, his fingers pressing just enough to remind her he could snap her neck if he wanted to.

But he wouldn't.

She knew it.

And he knew that she knew it.

"You never learn, do you, love?" His voice was silk-drenched steel, amusement curling at the edges, but underneath it-something darker. Something unraveling.

Her nails dug into his wrist. "Let me go."

Aaron ignored her. His free hand reached past her, his fingers brushing the keyboard before he exhaled a soft, humorless laugh. "You always did have a talent for getting yourself into trouble."

She kicked back, aiming for his shin, but he anticipated it, sidestepping smoothly.

Ninety percent.

Almost there. Just a little more time-

Aaron yanked the drive from the port.

The screen flickered. A notification flashed red.

Transfer interrupted.

No.

White-hot frustration lashed through her. "You son of a-"

He shoved her against the console, his body caging hers in, the glow of the monitor illuminating the sharp cut of his jaw, the storm in his gaze.

"Tell me," he murmured, "what exactly were you looking for?"

Anja bared her teeth. "Like you don't already know."

His grip on her loosened, just slightly, but it was worse than before. Because now he was studying her. Like he was unraveling her piece by piece, stripping her down until there was nothing left but raw, exposed truth.

"You never stop fighting me," he mused, his voice almost... fond. "Even when you know you've already lost."

She forced herself to hold his gaze. Forced herself not to flinch. "If you think I've lost, then you don't know me at all."

His smile was slow, predatory. "Oh, love. That's where you're wrong."

She shoved against his chest, trying to twist away, but he caught her wrists, his grip bruising.

"You don't get it, do you?" he murmured. "You could run halfway across the world, claw your way through hell, and it still wouldn't change anything." His head tilted, his lips ghosting the shell of her ear. "I will always find you."

Anja swallowed hard, her pulse hammering. "Then maybe I should make sure you don't get back up next time."

His smile didn't falter. If anything, it sharpened.

But then she said it.

"It's pathetic, Aaron."

Something in his expression cracked.

She pressed on. "You're pathetic."

His fingers twitched against her skin.

She drove the knife in deeper. "You act like you're in control, like you're some untouchable force, but you're just a coward with a god complex. You don't know how to live without me, and you hate that." She leaned in, her voice like a razor's edge. "You hate that I will always be the one thing you can't control."

The words barely left her mouth before she felt it.

The shift. The snap.

Aaron's mask didn't just slip-it shattered.

A dark, dangerous silence swallowed the space between them.

And then-

Pain.

Sharp, bright, exploding through her shoulder.

Her breath hitched. She barely had time to process the sting before the world tilted.

A syringe.

She barely caught a glimpse of it before her limbs started to weaken.

The cold burn of the drug spread through her veins, sluggish and heavy.

Her knees buckled.

Aaron caught her before she hit the ground, one arm locking around her waist, the other brushing her hair away from her face.

"Shh, love," he murmured, his voice velvet-soft. "I warned you."

Her vision blurred. The room swayed, slipping sideways.

She fought it. Fought him. Fought the weight dragging her under.

Aaron exhaled, his lips grazing her temple. "You were never leaving me."

Darkness swallowed her whole.

The first thing Anja felt when she woke up was rage.

It came before the nausea, before the heaviness in her limbs, before the pounding in her skull that told her she had been drugged. Again.

Her eyes snapped open to darkness, broken only by the dim city lights filtering through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. The penthouse. Aaron's penthouse.

Her breath hitched, and a fresh wave of fury crashed into her. She tried to move, but her limbs were sluggish, like her own body was betraying her. She recognized this feeling-the slow, creeping weight of sedation, the kind designed to keep her weak, pliable.

He had caught her.

The mission-was it ruined? Did she get the data in time?

Anja forced herself to sit up, shoving the silk sheets off her body. Her boots were gone. Her jacket, too. But the black leggings and fitted shirt she had worn remained. He hadn't undressed her, but that didn't mean he hadn't crossed a line.

The realization clawed at her, a fresh kind of disgust curling in her stomach.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, pressing her bare feet into the cold floor, grounding herself. Think. Move.

The door.

She pushed herself up, swaying for only a moment before forcing her body steady. She took a step toward the exit-

And then the handle turned.

The door opened.

And there he was.

Aaron stepped inside, his movements slow, deliberate. His black shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. The dried smudges of blood near his wrist-hers, probably-hadn't been cleaned. His gaze flickered over her, taking in every detail: the way she stood, her fists clenched at her sides, the barely suppressed rage in her posture.

Something unreadable flashed through his expression.

"You're awake," he murmured.

Her nails dug into her palms.

"You drugged me." Her voice was raw, hoarse from disuse, but sharp enough to cut.

Aaron exhaled through his nose, stepping further inside, closing the door behind him. "You left me no choice."

Anja laughed. A sharp, bitter sound.

"No choice?" she echoed, eyes burning. "You always have a choice, Aaron. You just don't like when I make mine."

Aaron's jaw tightened, but his voice remained calm. "You were putting yourself in danger."

She took a step forward, her fury a live wire beneath her skin. "You don't get to decide that."

His gaze darkened. "I do when you refuse to take care of yourself."

She shoved him.

It wasn't enough to knock him back, but enough to make her point.

His face didn't change. He simply absorbed her anger, like it was something he had expected, something he had already accounted for.

She hated that.

She hated him.

"You think I want this?" she spat, shaking with rage. "You think I want to be trapped here? That I chose this?"

His lips parted slightly, but he didn't respond.

So she kept going.

"You lied to me." Her voice trembled, but she didn't care. "You let me believe you were dead for years. You let me break for you. I mourned you, Aaron. I grieved you." Her throat burned. "And the worst part? I still feel like I lost you. Because this-" she gestured wildly between them, between the suffocating space that still tied them together, "-is not the boy I knew."

Aaron flinched.

It was the smallest thing-the barest movement, a flicker of something raw behind his eyes-but she saw it.

For a moment, just a moment, he looked wounded.

But then his expression hardened, locking her out completely.

"You're wrong," he said quietly.

Her pulse hammered in her ears.

"No, Aaron." Her voice cracked, but she didn't stop. "You did this. You left me to suffer. You let me think I was the one who failed you. You let me live in hell for years while you watched from the shadows like a coward."

His entire body went still.

The air shifted.

Dangerous.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he murmured.

Anja scoffed. "Oh, really? Because I remember exactly what you told me, Aaron. You watched me. You watched me grieve. And you let me. You let me drown in my own misery while you stood there and did nothing."

Silence.

Aaron's chest rose and fell with slow, controlled breaths. But the tension in his shoulders, the sharpness in his eyes-it was the only proof she needed that her words had hit their mark.

Anja shook her head. "You're not protecting me. You never were. This isn't about me, Aaron. This is about you. About your obsession, your need to keep me here, to make sure I never leave you again. Well, newsflash-I'm not yours."

His expression snapped.

In an instant, he was in front of her, too fast, too close.

His fingers curled around her wrist-not painful, but firm, unrelenting. His breath fanned against her face, his voice low, razor-sharp.

"Say it again."

Her throat tightened.

"Say it again, Anja." His grip on her wrist didn't tighten, but she could feel the restraint, the violent tension thrumming beneath his skin.

She met his gaze, eyes burning.

And then, with all the venom she had, she whispered-

"I don't love you."

Silence.

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

His fingers released her wrist like she had scorched him.

She should have felt victorious. She should have felt free.

But all she felt was the aching, hollow weight of the lie.

Aaron stepped back, his expression eerily blank.

A metallic click echoed through the room.

Anja stiffened.

She turned sharply-too sharply-and saw what he had done.

The door.

Locked.

Her stomach lurched.

"You can't be serious," she whispered.

Aaron didn't look at her.

His back was already turned, his posture unnaturally stiff, his fingers flexing at his sides as if trying to hold something in.

"You brought this on yourself," he said, voice void of emotion.

Her pulse spiked. "Aaron-"

He stepped out of the room.

The door closed.

And this time, when the lock clicked into place, it wasn't just a door.

It was a sentence.

A prison.

A cage she might never escape.

The first thing Anja felt when she woke up was rage. Again.

It didn't creep in like an afterthought, didn't come slowly, didn't allow her a single second of peace.

No-it slammed into her, full-force, choking, suffocating, burning through her veins like a wildfire she couldn't contain.

The world around her was blurred at first, but as her mind sharpened, memories surged back, vivid and relentless.

Breaking into the facility. Finding the files. Aaron catching her. His voice, smooth as silk, sharp as a blade, curling around her like a noose.

"Did you really think I wouldn't find you?"

Then the syringe. The sharp, cold sting of it piercing her skin.

And now-this.

Anja's eyes snapped open, breath catching in her throat.

The ceiling above her was unfamiliar, but she knew where she was.

The penthouse.

His cage.

The air smelled of him-sandalwood, smoke, something darker, richer, something that had once been home.

Now, it was a noose around her throat.

She swallowed hard, forcing down the nausea curling in her stomach.

Her limbs felt heavy, her muscles sluggish, her mind still clawing its way free from the last traces of the drug he had used on her. But her rage was razor-sharp.

Aaron had drugged her.

Taken her choice.

Again.

Her hands curled into fists as she shoved the blankets aside and forced herself upright. The sheets were too soft, the mattress too comfortable, and the realization sent a sick wave of fury curling through her chest.

He had put her here.

He had planned for this.

Every breath she took felt like an intrusion, like she was inhaling the remnants of a dream that wasn't hers.

She pushed herself off the bed, unsteady but determined. The cool air against her skin sent a shiver down her spine, waking her further. Her gaze darted to the door.

She already knew what she'd find.

But she tried anyway.

She strode toward it, fingers curling around the handle, and yanked.

Locked.

Of course.

A muscle in her jaw twitched as she inhaled sharply.

Then she did it again. And again.

The metal handle rattled under her grip, but it didn't budge. Her breathing sharpened, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow bursts.

"Aaron," she snarled, slamming her fist against the door. "Open this fucking door!"

Silence.

She banged on it again, harder this time, the impact sending a dull ache up her arm.

Nothing.

Her pulse pounded in her ears.

Her throat was tight, her vision blurred at the edges, but she gritted her teeth and clenched her fists, forcing the burning in her eyes to disappear.

He wasn't here.

Not just gone-he had left her locked inside and walked away.

The realization sent a fresh wave of fury crashing into her, drowning out everything else.

She had spent years believing he was dead. Had spent years drowning in the grief of it, forcing herself to live in a world where he no longer existed.

And now, after everything-after finally seeing him again, after feeling his hands on her, his lips against her skin, after all the pain and fury and tangled devotion-he had still managed to take everything from her.

A bitter laugh clawed its way up her throat.

She had been ready for a fight. Had been ready to tear into him, to rip him apart with words sharper than knives, to hurt him the way he had hurt her.

But instead, he had left.

As if she wasn't worth fighting with.

As if this was already over.

As if he had already won.

A raw, choked sound crawled up her throat. She hated him. Hated him for doing this to her. Hated him for still knowing her better than anyone else. Hated him for knowing that this-his silence, his absence-would break her more than any fight ever could.

Something inside her snapped.

Without thinking, she grabbed the closest thing-a glass on the nightstand-and hurled it at the wall. The sharp crash echoed through the room as shards rained onto the floor, glittering in the dim light like tiny daggers.

Not enough.

She turned to the bookshelf.

Her books.

Books she used to love, books that once brought her comfort, now tainted by his hands. By his obsession.

She ripped them down. One by one. Tearing them from the shelves, throwing them across the room, sending them crashing onto the floor in a mess of broken bindings and scattered pages.

Still not enough.

She moved to the desk next, yanking open the drawers, shoving their contents onto the floor. Perfume bottles, notebooks, delicate trinkets that weren't just similar to hers-they were hers.

Aaron had kept everything.

Her hands shook as she picked up a small, familiar object. A locket.

She had lost it years ago. Had thought it was gone forever.

But no.

Aaron had taken it.

Saved it.

Kept it like a trophy.

A broken sob tore from her throat as she hurled it across the room, watching it disappear into the wreckage.

Her knees buckled, and before she could stop herself, she collapsed onto the floor, fingers tangling in her hair, chest heaving.

This was his victory.

Not the drugs, not the locked door, not even her capture.

This.

The fact that no matter how much she destroyed, no matter how much she fought, he still had her.

Her body, her mind, her memories.

Her heart.

She had spent years trying to hate him. Years convincing herself that she had moved on, that she had learned how to breathe without him.

And yet, here she was.

Caged.

Trapped.

Still his.

A bitter, twisted smile curled on her lips.

Fine.

If Aaron thought this was over, he was wrong.

Because the next time she looked him in the eye, it wouldn't be from a place of helplessness.

It would be from the other side of his locked door.

And when that moment came, she wouldn't hesitate.

She would burn his world to the ground.

Aaron had never wanted to leave her.

Not for a second.

Every fiber of his being screamed at him to turn around, to go back, to fix it. To hold her, to make her see, make her understand, make her stay.

But she was already his.

She just didn't know it yet.

So he left.

Because she needed to break.

Because she needed to understand.

And yet-

Aaron sat in his office, his fingers clasped together, his jaw clenched tight as the screen in front of him flickered to life.

The penthouse.

Her.

A perfect, shattered storm in the center of their home, her body coiled with fury, her eyes burning with hatred.

His little doll. His heart.

His, his, his.

And she was destroying everything.

Aaron barely breathed as he watched her move, raw and unchained, tearing through the space he had created for her.

For them.

He had expected rage. Expected her to fight. Expected her to scream, to claw at the walls, to throw herself at the door in a desperate attempt to run.

But this-this was worse.

His gaze stayed locked on the screen as she ripped books from the shelves, sent them crashing to the floor, tore through the memories he had so carefully kept.

He had built that room for her.

Every detail, every inch, designed to remind her, to welcome her, to keep her.

And now she was wrecking it.

His chest tightened as she reached the desk, yanking open drawers, sending their contents flying.

Then she found it.

The locket.

A tiny thing. Insignificant to anyone else. But to her-it had meant everything.

He remembered the night she lost it.

She had searched for hours, voice tight with frustration, eyes shining with unshed tears. He had found it before she did. Had tucked it away before she could see. Had kept it.

Because he had known-**even then, even before everything, before she had been ripped from him-**she was already his.

Her fingers clenched around it now, knuckles white, shoulders shaking.

He knew what was coming before it happened.

Knew the exact moment her breath hitched, the exact moment her body betrayed her, the exact moment her anger cracked and something rawer, something deeper, something more dangerous bled through.

Pain.

A choked sound tore from her throat.

And then-she threw it.

The locket disappeared into the wreckage, swallowed by the mess she had made, and she collapsed.

Aaron's stomach twisted.

Anja didn't break easily.

She fought. She burned.

But now, on that screen, she was nothing but a trembling shadow of herself, knees pressed to the floor, fingers tangled in her hair, breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps.

And he-

He had done this to her.

His fingers curled into fists, nails biting into his palms as he forced himself to watch.

He had known she would resist. Had known she would rage. Had wanted it.

Because anger was easier than grief.

Because if she fought, she wasn't gone.

Because if she hated him, she was still his.

But now-

She wasn't fighting.

She was breaking.

And **fuck-**it felt like a knife twisting deep, deep into his chest.

Aaron leaned forward, elbows on the desk, eyes locked onto the screen, drinking in every tremor, every uneven breath, every crack in her armor.

She thought this was a prison.

But he had given her everything.

Had built a world where she could be safe. Had saved her.

She didn't understand.

Didn't see that this was love.

Didn't see that the only thing worse than him locking her inside-was letting her leave.

A sharp knock at his door tore through the silence.

Aaron's head snapped up, fury sparking in his eyes.

It was one of his men.

"Sir," the guard hesitated, shifting under the weight of Aaron's gaze. "The council is waiting."

Aaron exhaled slowly through his nose, his grip on the desk tightening.

He should go.

He had obligations. A kingdom to control. A world balanced on the edge of his fingertips.

But the screen in front of him flickered again, shifting angles-showing her curled on the floor, broken and silent.

And fuck.

He couldn't breathe.

"Sir?"

Aaron's hands flexed against the wood.

One order. That's all it would take.

One word, and he could be on his way back to her, back to the penthouse, back to that room, to her.

Could scoop her into his arms, hold her the way he used to, force her to see, force her to understand.

Could whisper in her ear, tell her the truth, tell her that this-this suffering, this pain, this destruction-was her fault too.

Because she had left him first.

Because she had been the one to believe the lie.

Because she had mourned him like he was dead while he had watched over her, unable to touch, unable to breathe, unable to exist without her.

She had done this.

She had made this necessary.

Aaron closed his eyes for half a second, jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

Then, he pushed himself to his feet, smoothing out the sleeves of his jacket, his face carefully blank.

"Let them wait," he said, voice sharp as a blade.

The guard hesitated.

Aaron turned his head, slowly, eyes glacial.

"I said-let them wait."

The man swallowed hard and nodded before slipping out of the room.

Aaron exhaled sharply through his nose, gaze shifting back to the screen.

Anja hadn't moved.

Hadn't fought the way he wanted her to.

Not yet.

But she would.

She would pull herself together. Would find the fire buried beneath the wreckage. Would come for him.

And when she did-

When she finally understood-

He would be waiting.

Because he had already won.

Because she was already his.

She just needed to accept it.

Even if it meant letting her think shes free for a bit.

Three days.

Seventy-two hours of silence.

Aaron had locked her in the penthouse, but he hadn't gone back.

Not once.

He had watched. Of course, he had.

Through the cameras, through the screens, through the pulse of his own obsession that never seemed to fade.

He had watched her pace like a caged animal, watched her curl up on the couch at night, facing the windows, her back to the bedroom she refused to sleep in.

He had watched her go through every stage of defiance-rage, silence, exhaustion.

She had screamed. She had thrown things. She had tested every exit, pried at every lock, searched for weaknesses in a place that had none.

And yet-

She had never begged.

Not to him.

She had shattered glass, had pressed her forehead against the cold walls like they might somehow bend beneath her will, had stood at the window for hours, staring at the city below as if she could force herself to disappear into it.

But she had never, not once, pleaded.

That was the part that had driven him insane.

Now, it was over.

Or at least, it had to be.

Aaron stood at the dining table, hands braced on the polished wood, staring at the single, untouched meal set before him.

One last request.

One last night.

And then, he would let her go.

His grip tightened around the back of the chair as he heard the lock disengage.

The door swung open.

Anja stepped in.

Her stance was rigid, her jaw clenched tight, her eyes dark with a storm he couldn't name.

She didn't look at him. Not right away.

She saw the table first. The food. The empty seat waiting for her.

Then-her gaze snapped to him.

"You're letting me go," she said, voice flat.

Aaron didn't move.

He pushed a small, silver chip across the table.

"Everything you came for. Every file, every encrypted message, every answer you wanted." His voice was unreadable, but his eyes never left hers. Never. "No tricks."

She hesitated. Just for a second.

Then she reached out and took it.

Her fingers curled around the chip like a lifeline.

"Why?" she asked, and for the first time in three days, her voice cracked-just a little.

Aaron's lips twitched into something that wasn't quite a smirk.

"Because I can."

She didn't trust him.

She never would.

Her fingers tightened around the chip, knuckles going white.

"Then I'm leaving."

Aaron finally exhaled, slow and measured, running a hand over his jaw as if her words weren't tearing him apart.

"Stay for dinner."

It wasn't an order.

Not this time.

It wasn't a demand, or a threat, or a trick.

It was a request.

One last chance.

Anja finally looked at the table-the two plates, the carefully prepared meal, the single empty seat.

Her face hardened.

"No."

Aaron barely moved.

But inside-inside, he felt something snap.

Not in anger.

No, anger was easy. Anger was simple.

This was something deeper.

Something aching.

He had spent years waiting for her, watching her, planning for her, building a world where she would always have a place beside him.

But she didn't want it.

She had chosen to leave him.

Even when he gave her a choice-even then.

She turned, walking toward the door, her steps careful, measured.

She wasn't running.

She knew she had won.

Aaron clenched his jaw, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves, forcing his breathing to stay steady.

Fine.

She could leave.

But he wasn't going to let her go without reminding her exactly who had been watching over her all these years.

Just as her hand reached for the door, his voice cut through the silence, smooth and sharp as a blade.

"Tell your informant," he murmured, "that he's well enough. He just hasn't been responding because he's been looking after a little dove."

Anja froze.

A breath.

A second.

A hesitation so small, so fleeting, but Aaron saw it. He saw everything.

She didn't turn around.

Didn't let him see whatever expression had flickered across her face.

She just-left.

The door shut behind her with a quiet finality that made his ribs feel like they were caving in.

Aaron exhaled, slow and measured, his hands pressing into the table, his head dipping forward.

The meal remained untouched.

She was gone.

For now.

But she'd be back.

She always came back

#devil's night #lads caleb #love and deepspace #caleb x reader #damon torrance #fanfic #kai mori #lads #rika fane #will grayson iii #love and deepspace caleb #caleb #winter ashby #nikova banks #emory scott #dark romance #no saints tonight

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addiessblack · 4 months ago

Text

NO SAINTS TONIGHT

Chapter 12

Anja was still in shock.

The moment Aaron had dragged her away from the landing zone, her mind had gone blank. She had barely registered the murmurs of the soldiers around her, the silent, knowing looks exchanged, as if no one dared to intervene. As if they all understood that the Colonel-their Colonel-had claimed her the moment he set eyes on her.

She should have fought back. She should have screamed, struggled, called for help, done something-but she hadn't.

Because how could she?

Aaron was alive.

Aaron, the boy she had mourned, the ghost who haunted her dreams, the phantom whose voice she had started hearing even when she was awake-he was real. Flesh and blood. Breathing. Standing in front of her. Touching her.

And now, she was here.

In a cold, dimly lit interrogation room, seated in an iron chair, wrists bound to its arms. Across from her, Aaron leaned against the table, his piercing green eyes fixed on her, studying her like she was something fragile, something sacred-like a man seeing the sun after years of darkness.

"Do you have any idea," he murmured, voice low, almost reverent, "how long I've waited for this moment?"

Anja's jaw clenched, every muscle in her body wound tight. The weight of his gaze made her feel suffocated, but she refused to look away.

"I should be the one asking that," she bit out. "You're supposed to be dead."

Aaron didn't flinch. If anything, his expression softened, like she had just said something adorable.

"Supposed to be," he echoed. He took a step forward. Then another. He was so close now that she could feel the warmth of his body against the chill of the room. "Is that what they told you? That I died?"

Her throat was dry. "You didn't?"

Aaron tilted his head slightly. Then, to her horror, he smiled. "No, sweetheart."

The word hit her like a physical blow.

Sweetheart.

The same name he used to call her, whisper against her ear when they were younger, when they still belonged to the same world. But he wasn't that Aaron anymore. That Aaron had been protective, possessive, but he had loved her-had wanted the best for her.

This Aaron?

This Aaron was unreadable. Darker. Colder. And yet, the way he was looking at her-like he could devour her whole-it was the same. It was worse.

She forced herself to breathe. "You lied to me."

Aaron's smile didn't waver. "Did I?" He reached out, tilting her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Or did I save you?"

Her pulse stuttered. "Save me?"

"If you knew the truth back then, do you really think you'd still be alive?" His fingers traced lightly down the side of her face, his touch featherlight. "If I had let you come with me, you would have been a target. And I can't have that, sweetheart."

Anja's entire body tensed. She yanked her chin away from his grip, eyes burning with fury. "Don't call me that."

Aaron's expression darkened, but he didn't argue. Instead, he exhaled softly, taking a step back. "I didn't want to do this, but you're not making this easy for me."

Before she could demand what he meant, he pulled something from his coat pocket. A small vial filled with a shimmering, translucent liquid.

Her stomach dropped.

"Don't you dare."

Aaron's gaze never wavered. "You leave me no choice."

He uncorked the vial, tilting it toward her lips. She thrashed, but he was faster, slipping a hand behind her head, forcing her still.

"Shh," he murmured, voice almost soothing. "Just let it happen."

The liquid slid past her lips before she could stop it. A second later, a numbing warmth spread through her veins, sinking into her bones.

Her heart pounded. She knew what this was.

A truth serum.

She could already feel the fog settling in her mind, forcing her lips to part, coaxing her into surrender.

Aaron crouched in front of her, resting his forearms on his knees, his face inches from hers. "Now," he said softly. "Tell me why you're here, sweetheart."

She clenched her teeth, trying to resist, but the words forced their way out.

"To retrieve vital information for the Order."

Aaron hummed, dragging a finger down her wrist where she was bound. "And what information is that?"

Anja's nails dug into her palm. "The location of Ever's main secret base."

Something flickered in Aaron's eyes. He knew exactly what she was talking about.

"And what will the Order do with this information?"

Anja's breath hitched. "Destroy it."

Aaron let out a quiet chuckle, but there was no amusement in it. "Of course they will." His voice dipped lower, his fingers now brushing against her knuckles. "And what will you do, Anja? Will you stand by and let them burn everything down?"

She tried to shake her head, but the serum pulled the truth from her lips before she could stop it.

"If it means stopping Ever's corruption-yes."

The silence between them was thick. Suffocating.

Aaron studied her for a long moment before exhaling, his hand rising to her face once more. His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth, lingering there.

"I should be furious with you," he murmured. "I should be locking you away right now."

Her breath stuttered. "Then why aren't you?"

His gaze flickered to her lips, then back to her eyes. "Because, sweetheart," he whispered, "you're mine."

She hated the way her heart clenched. The way his voice-low and possessive-sent a sharp, unbidden shiver down her spine.

She hated that some part of her-some stupid, weak part of her-believed him.

Aaron straightened, stepping back. His gaze lingered on her for a long, heavy moment before he turned to the door.

"Three days."

Anja blinked. "What?"

"You'll stay here for three days." His voice was final. "After that, if you still want to leave, I'll let you go."

Her stomach twisted. "You're locking me in?"

Aaron's lips curled, but there was no humor in it. "I told you-I should be furious. I should be handing you over." He tilted his head. "But I won't."

Her breath came fast. "Why?"

Aaron took a step forward, bending slightly so his lips were level with her ear. His breath was warm against her skin, his voice a whisper of something dark and dangerous.

"Because I can't let you go yet, sweetheart."

Anja squeezed her eyes shut. "I hate you."

Aaron just smiled. "I know."

And with that, he turned, walking toward the door.

He left her there, tied to the chair, burning with fury.

Burning with something worse.

Because no matter how much she hated him, no matter how much she wanted to fight-

She wasn't sure she could.

Not against Aaron Christ.

Not against him.

The apartment was cold.

Not in temperature, but in feeling. In atmosphere.

Everything was pristine, untouched, suffocating in its perfection. The furniture was sleek, modern, and impersonal-glass, black marble, dark leather, clean lines that lacked warmth. It was a home, but it wasn't lived in. It was a cage. A controlled, calculated space that reflected the man who owned it.

Aaron Christ stood by the window, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of whiskey. The golden liquid caught the dim light, but his eyes-the color of sunlight through green glass-remained unreadable, locked on the cityscape beyond.

He hadn't spoken since they arrived.

Anja hadn't either.

She was still standing near the doorway, her breath uneven, heart hammering so hard she could feel it in her throat. She felt like she was drowning, her head barely breaking the surface, air scraping through her lungs like knives.

He was here.

He was alive.

And he had taken her. Again.

The silence pressed down on her, unbearable, suffocating. Her hands trembled at her sides, curling into fists as she tried to ground herself.

Then, finally- finally-he spoke.

"You're quiet," Aaron mused, his voice smooth, calm, maddeningly casual. He turned to face her, his golden-green eyes locking onto hers. Predatory. Unshaken. "That's rare for you."

Anja's vision blurred with rage.

Her pulse pounded.

Every nerve in her body screamed at her to run. To fight. To hurt him.

Her fingers curled so tightly into her palms that her nails bit into her skin, but she barely felt it.

Then she breathed, sharp and unsteady, and forced the word out through clenched teeth.

"You."

Aaron raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable, but something flickered in his gaze-something dangerous.

Anja's throat tightened, her voice trembling with rage. "You're alive."

A pause. A beat. Then-

"Of course I am."

That was it.

No apology. No explanation.

Just of course I am.

A hollow, bitter laugh ripped from her throat, sharp and jagged like broken glass. "Of course. Of course you are." She took a step forward, her body trembling, fists shaking. "Because why the hell wouldn't you be? Why wouldn't you fake your own death? Why wouldn't you let me grieve for you? Let me think I had lost you forever-"

Her voice broke, but she pushed through it, her breath ragged.

"You knew what that did to me."

Aaron watched her, silent, unreadable.

Then, softly-too softly-he said, "It wasn't my choice."

Anja's body snapped.

Her hand flew out before she could stop herself. The slap echoed through the room, sharp, violent, the sting in her palm barely registering through the white-hot fury flooding her veins.

Aaron's head barely turned. He didn't stumble. He didn't flinch.

He just slowly turned back to her, golden-green eyes locking onto hers.

Calm. Dangerous. Unmoved.

"Feel better?" he asked.

Anja wanted to scream.

Her breaths came too fast, too sharp. Her chest ached from how hard she was breathing, but it wasn't enough-it would never be enough.

"Bullshit," she spat. "It wasn't your choice? You expect me to believe that?"

Aaron exhaled slowly, setting the glass of whiskey down on the table. Then, in one fluid motion, he closed the distance between them.

Anja's body went rigid, her heart slamming against her ribs.

"I had to," he said, his voice lower now, rougher. "You don't understand."

She shoved him. Hard.

He barely moved.

"No. You don't understand," she snapped. "You let me think you were dead, Aaron. You let me cry for you. You let me break for you. You let me suffer."

His jaw tensed, but his expression didn't change. "You didn't break."

Anja let out a hollow laugh, shaking her head. "No thanks to you."

Aaron's gaze darkened. "I did what I had to do to protect you."

Her laugh this time was bitter, sharp like a blade. "Protect me?" Her voice rose, cracking with raw emotion. "Protect me?! You left me alone. You let me think I was going insane every time I felt you. Every time I dreamed of you."

She swallowed, her throat raw, the words tearing from her like they had been caged inside for too long. "You let me miss you so much I thought I was going to die from it."

Something flickered in his expression.

For just a second.

Then it was gone.

Aaron's gaze stayed locked on her, his voice impossibly steady. "You would have never let me go if you knew the truth."

Anja sucked in a breath.

Her hands balled into fists.

"And you think this is better?" she seethed. "You think dragging me here against my will makes anything okay?"

Aaron took a slow step forward.

Then another.

Until there was no space left between them.

Anja refused to step back.

His gaze dropped to her lips, then flicked back up to her eyes. "You have no idea what would have happened to you if I had stayed," he murmured. "I was keeping you safe."

She clenched her teeth so hard her jaw ached.

"No. You weren't keeping me safe-you were keeping me in the dark."

Aaron studied her, his eyes tracing every feature of her face, slow and deliberate.

Then, softly-almost gently-he said, "I would do it again."

Anja's stomach twisted violently.

His voice was quiet but firm. "Every single thing. If it meant you were safe, I'd do it all over."

She stared at him, her breath ragged, her entire body trembling.

And then, before she could stop herself-before she could think-she said it.

"I wish you had really died."

Aaron stilled.

The air between them shifted.

Something dangerous, something sharp and unbearable settled between them like a slow-burning fire.

For the first time, something cracked in Aaron's expression.

Something raw.

Something wounded.

But then, like a blade sliding back into its sheath, the mask returned.

"Is that so?" he murmured.

Anja clenched her jaw. Refused to back down.

Aaron lifted a hand, tracing his fingers over the curve of her jaw-so light it barely felt like a touch.

Her breath hitched.

"You can hate me all you want," he said, voice soft, almost tender. "But you're here now."

She swallowed against the lump in her throat.

Aaron tilted his head, studying her like he was memorizing her.

"You'll understand, Anja," he whispered. "Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But one day, you will."

She wanted to scream. To break something.

But instead, all she could do was stare into those golden-green eyes and hate how much they still made her heart ache.

Aaron finally stepped back.

"You should get some rest," he murmured.

Anja let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

She didn't move.

Neither did he.

And in that quiet, agonizing moment, she realized something terrifying.

No matter how much she fought it-no matter how much she wanted to hate him-

Aaron Christ still owned her heart.

And she hated him for it.

The moment Aaron left her alone, the suffocating silence of the apartment closed in.

Anja stood in the middle of the dimly lit living space, her breath still uneven from the fight, her mind reeling. The interrogation room had been sterile, clinical-this was worse. This space bore his mark, his presence woven into every corner.

This wasn't a prison. It was a home.

Her home.

She turned slowly, trying to find something-anything-to anchor herself in reality, but everything around her felt like a dream she wasn't ready to wake up from. The scent of the apartment, clean but familiar, twisted something deep inside her. Faint traces of sandalwood, a hint of something darker, richer-him. It was the same scent that clung to his hoodie when he used to wrap it around her shoulders on cold Thunder Bay nights. The same scent that had haunted her dreams for years.

Her throat tightened.

No. No, this was a trick, a carefully orchestrated manipulation.

She forced herself to move, her boots echoing against the sleek floors as she scanned for an exit, a weakness in the fortress he had dragged her into. But as her fingers ghosted over the surfaces, something gnawed at her, something more terrifying than her captivity.

Everything here was deliberate.

The bookshelves weren't empty, but filled with titles she recognized, books she loved. The furniture wasn't impersonal, but arranged with an intimate sort of intention, like someone had imagined where she would sit, where she would sleep, where she would exist. The kitchen wasn't barren, but stocked-not just with necessities, but with her favorites. She recognized the tea on the counter, the brand of chocolate she always kept stashed away, the exact type of honey she used to mix into her drinks when she was sick.

A lump formed in her throat, but she shoved it down, swallowing against the suffocating weight in her chest.

She moved blindly, her fingers trailing over the walls, searching for something-anything-that wasn't him. That wasn't a reminder of what he had been to her.

Then she saw it.

A door slightly ajar.

Anja hesitated, her breath shallow.

No.

But she was already moving.

Her hand trembled as she pushed it open, the soft creak of the hinges slicing through the silence.

And then-her world stopped.

It was a bedroom.

But not just any bedroom.

It was hers.

Or at least, it was meant to be.

Her heart pounded violently against her ribs as she took a step inside, her pulse thrumming in her ears.

Everything was there.

Her favorite books lined the shelves, their spines worn, as if someone had traced their edges too many times. A plush blanket, the exact shade of midnight blue she liked, was neatly draped over the bed. On the desk, a notebook lay open, a pen resting on its pages, waiting for her.

The scent in the air was unmistakable-vanilla and something faintly floral. Her perfume.

It was as if time had bent, as if the universe had folded in on itself and created a space where she had never left him, where she had always belonged here.

Her knees buckled before she realized she was falling.

She caught herself against the edge of the bed, fingers digging into the fabric, her breathing ragged.

This wasn't real.

This couldn't be real.

Aaron had done this.

For her.

Even after everything.

Even after all these years, after the lies, after the betrayal, after the way he had shattered her, he had still been thinking of her. Still preparing for her. As if he had never once considered a life where she wasn't by his side.

A choked sound escaped her lips, something between a laugh and a sob.

She wanted to destroy it.

She wanted to tear the room apart, to rip the books from the shelves, to throw the blanket across the floor and set the entire place on fire. She wanted to leave nothing of his devotion standing.

But she couldn't.

Because beneath the rage, beneath the pain and betrayal, there was something worse.

Something unshakable.

Something she had spent years trying to bury.

She belonged here.

No-no, she didn't.

She pressed her forehead against the bed, shaking, willing herself to pull herself together.

How dare he?

How dare he still know her this well?

How dare he prepare a place for her, as if he had never doubted she would come back?

She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms.

She didn't want this.

Didn't want to feel the warmth that spread through her chest despite everything.

Didn't want to remember the way he had always understood her in ways no one else had.

Didn't want to face the horrifying truth clawing at her insides.

She hated him.

She loved him.

And worst of all-deep down, beneath all the anger and pain and betrayal-she knew.

She had been waiting for this.

For him.

For the moment she would be his again.

Even if she never forgave him.

Even if she hated him until her dying breath.

She would always belong to him.

And that was the cruelest part of all.

The room was silent except for the soft rhythm of Anja's breathing, uneven but slowing. She lay curled on the bed, her body turned away from the door, swallowed in the aftermath of exhaustion. Strands of dark hair clung to her damp cheeks, her lashes heavy from the tears she had cried herself into unconsciousness. The room smelled faintly of her-of warmth, of something familiar and distant, like a memory trying to claw its way back into reality.

Aaron stood in the doorway for a long moment, watching.

His fingers twitched at his sides, his breath steady despite the storm inside him. There was no satisfaction in seeing her like this, no twisted sense of victory. He never wanted her to cry. But if she had to break, then let it be in his arms. Let it be here, in this place that he had built to keep her, where she would be safe from the world-safe from everything except him.

Aaron stepped forward, slow and soundless, like a predator approaching something fragile. He knelt beside the bed, eyes never leaving her face, tracing the delicate lines of her expression even in sleep. His Anja. His girl.

She had always been his.

She had fought him tonight, her words sharp as a blade pressed to his throat, her anger raw and shaking. She hated him now, he knew that. And still, she was here. Still, she had let herself fall apart where only he could catch her.

His hand moved before he could stop himself, fingers ghosting over her cheek. He barely touched her, but he felt the warmth of her skin like a brand against his palm. His chest ached with something primal, something deep and endless that had been festering for years.

"You cry so beautifully," he murmured, his voice low, reverent.

His thumb traced the faintest streak left behind by her tears. She didn't stir.

"I would've stopped them, you know." His lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile, something softer, something broken. "Anyone who hurt you. I would've ripped them apart with my bare hands. I still will."

The thought burned inside him. How many times had he imagined it? How many nights had he spent thinking about all the people who had tried to touch her, to own her, to make her believe she belonged anywhere that wasn't with him? They didn't understand. They never could.

She had always been his. Even when she thought he was dead. Even when she had tried to forget.

Aaron exhaled, leaning closer. His breath ghosted over her temple, and he had to close his eyes, had to force himself to keep from pressing his lips to her skin. He wanted too much. He always had.

"You don't have to love me," he whispered, the words slipping from his tongue like a secret, like something forbidden. His fingers found her wrist, wrapping around it gently, thumb resting against her pulse. Slow. Steady. Alive. His.

"You can hate me, fight me, run from me if it makes you feel better. But you'll never get away."

He lifted her hand, pressing it against his chest, against the steady thrum of his heartbeat. Did she feel it, even in sleep? Did some part of her recognize him the way he had always recognized her?

"You can scream," he murmured, his voice almost wistful. "You can call me a monster." His lips brushed against her knuckles, a ghost of a kiss. "But I'll never let you go."

His fingers tightened around hers, just for a moment, before he let her hand fall gently back onto the bed.

He reached for the blanket at the foot of the mattress, pulling it over her with careful hands, tucking it around her frame. His gaze softened, something possessive and painfully tender flickering behind his eyes.

"I would've burned the whole world down to find you," he admitted, voice barely audible. "And if you ever leave me again, I will."

Aaron lingered there, staring at her for a long time, before finally standing. His jaw clenched as he exhaled, his body tense with everything he wanted, everything he couldn't take.

Not yet.

But soon.

Because she was his, and she always would be.

Aaron moved through the darkened halls like a ghost, silent, predatory. The scent of Anja still clung to his skin, to the fabric of his clothes, as if her presence had seeped into him. He could still hear her breath in his head, steady, slow, the sound of a girl exhausted from fighting.

He should go back. Stay by her side. Keep watch.

But there was something else clawing at him, a gnawing sickness deep in his ribs, a thing with sharp teeth and hungry hands. It burned inside him, made his fingers twitch.

He needed to see.

The room he had taken for himself-no, for them-was filled with her things. Trinkets, scraps of a life she had tried to build without him. He had gathered everything he could, things she had left behind when she had fled, things he had stolen before she could even realize they were missing. A shrine to her, built in the quiet spaces of his obsession.

His fingers brushed over a worn leather jacket draped over the chair, the one she used to wear on cold nights in the training yard, the scent of her still lingering in the fabric. His gaze moved to a pair of old boots, scuffed and torn from years of fighting, discarded near the dresser. He had memorized every detail of these things, let them anchor him through the years, through the loneliness, through the rage.

But tonight, he wasn't looking for relics.

Tonight, he wanted something new.

His eyes landed on the desk, where he had placed the most recent pieces of her life-the things she had carried with her before he took her back. A knife. A worn notebook filled with her messy scrawl. A ring that wasn't hers but that she had kept anyway. And then-

His fingers stilled.

The phone.

It sat there, dark and silent, a device that connected her to a world that wasn't him.

Aaron picked it up, flipping it in his hands, his reflection distorted in the sleek black screen. He knew he shouldn't. Knew it would only make the sickness worse. But the need gnawed at him, relentless.

His thumb brushed over the power button.

The screen blinked to life.

And his stomach twisted.

The lock screen was a photo. A group shot, grainy and dimly lit, but the figures in it were unmistakable.

Indie Grayson. Will Grayson III's daughter, Anja's best friend, the closest thing she had to a sister.

Cassian and Elena. Hunters. Fighters. Part of her Order. People she trusted. People who stood beside her when he wasn't there.

They were all laughing in the photo, arms slung over each other's shoulders, eyes bright with a kind of happiness that he had never been able to give her.

Aaron's grip tightened.

His gaze locked onto Anja in the picture, standing in the middle, caught mid-laugh. She looked different-lighter, freer, as if the weight she carried had been momentarily lifted.

That wasn't how she looked with him.

With him, she was guarded. Wary.

With them, she glowed.

A raw, ugly heat churned in his stomach.

He hated that he hadn't been there to see that laugh in real time. Hated that they got to witness parts of her he never did.

His jaw clenched as he swiped up on the screen, navigating through her phone with the ease of someone who knew her. The messages app opened, and immediately, the sickness in his chest spread.

Indie:

Where the hell are you? It's been too long, Anja.

Please tell me you're okay.

Cassian:

Any updates?

Did you find anything?

Elena:

You better still be alive.

And then-messages from their parents. People who had no right to care about her like he did.

Mom:

Report in when you can, kid.

Dad:

We're waiting on your word. How's the mission?

Mission.

As if she was one of them. As if she belonged to some greater cause instead of him.

His fingers trembled as he scrolled, reading the constant stream of concern, of worry, of people trying to reach her. People who thought they had a claim to her.

People who didn't understand.

Aaron's breath came sharp and uneven, his grip on the phone tightening. They thought they had the right to her. To check on her. To demand answers. To think she was still theirs.

But she wasn't.

She was his.

Always.

The phone screen blurred as rage surged through him, burning, seething, a wildfire behind his ribs. The world outside of him and Anja had always been an intrusion, a parasite feeding on something that didn't belong to it. These people-her so-called friends, her family-they were nothing but thieves.

He had waited for her.

Hunted for her.

Died for her.

And she still let them have pieces of her.

The sickness inside him reached its peak, and before he could stop himself-

CRACK.

The phone shattered in his grip, the screen splintering into a spiderweb of glass and broken light.

His breath came fast, sharp, his hands aching with the force of it. He watched as tiny shards fell to the floor, catching the dim glow of the overhead light like fractured stars.

His reflection stared back at him in the broken glass. A stranger. A monster.

But he didn't regret it.

Didn't feel guilty.

They didn't deserve a way to reach her.

Didn't deserve to know her thoughts, her plans, the sound of her voice.

She didn't need them.

She had him.

Aaron exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders, forcing himself to breathe through the suffocating heat. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to steady the shaking rage beneath his skin.

It would be fine.

She would be fine.

When she woke up, she wouldn't have anyone else to turn to. No distractions. No interruptions. Just him.

The way it was always meant to be.

A slow, cold smile curled at the edges of his lips.

Maybe she wouldn't realize it right away. Maybe she would be angry. Maybe she would scream.

But that was okay.

Because she was his.

And she wasn't going anywhere.

3 notes · View notes

addiessblack · 4 months ago

Text

NO SAINTS TONIGHT

Chapter 11

Anja sat in front of the mirror, hands resting in her lap, as Rika ran a brush through her long, dark hair. The warm glow of the vanity lights softened the sharp angles of her reflection, casting a quiet intimacy over the room. The gentle pull of the brush, the rhythmic strokes, felt almost hypnotic, grounding her in a way she hadn't realized she needed.

She wasn’t sure how to feel.

Graduation.

The word sat heavy in her chest, tangled somewhere between pride and exhaustion. She had spent years fighting for this moment, clawing her way through sleepless nights, bruised knuckles, and the constant weight of expectation. And yet, standing at the edge of it now, she wasn’t sure what was left of the girl who had entered the Academy all those years ago.

Rika hummed softly as she worked through a stubborn tangle, her fingers gentle but firm. "You're quiet tonight," she observed.

Anja forced a small smile. "Just thinking."

Rika gave a knowing hum, sectioning off a portion of her hair. “About tomorrow?”

Anja nodded.

Rika’s hands moved with practiced ease, weaving strands together with quiet precision. The familiarity of it, the simplicity of sitting here while her mother did her hair, felt like something she had lost a long time ago. It was a small thing—a normal thing.

But normal had slipped through her fingers long ago.

"You should be proud of yourself," Rika said softly. "You've come so far."

Anja swallowed, nodding again.

Pride.

She knew people expected her to feel it. She had survived the Academy, pushed past every impossible limit, every grueling test, every moment that should have broken her. She had earned her place in the Order, and tomorrow, she would stand among her peers as a soldier—not a recruit.

But all she felt was tired.

Rika’s voice turned even softer. "He would be proud of you, you know."

Anja's breath caught.

She didn’t have to ask who.

Aaron.

The name crashed through her, sending a sharp ache through her ribs.

She stared at herself in the mirror, at the way her expression tightened, at the way her fingers curled into the fabric of her pants.

Proud.

Would he be?

He wasn’t here to see it.

He had promised he would always be there, and then he had left her—just like that.

A lump rose in her throat, thick and suffocating, but she forced herself to swallow it down. She wouldn't cry.

She couldn’t cry.

She hadn’t cried when she stood at his funeral, surrounded by people whispering about his legacy, about the hero he had been, about how he had given his life for something greater.

She hadn’t cried when she had sworn herself to the Order, when she had channeled all the pain, all the rage, all the emptiness into making herself stronger, sharper, untouchable.

And she wouldn't cry now.

Rika was still braiding her hair, fingers light against her scalp. "He always believed in you," she murmured. "More than anyone."

Anja shut her eyes for a fraction of a second.

She wanted to tell her mother that believing in her had never been Aaron’s problem. That Aaron’s belief in her had consumed her. That it had wrapped itself around her like an iron chain, binding her even now, years after his death.

She wanted to say that she had spent every moment since his funeral trying to become the version of herself he had seen, the one he had wanted so desperately for her to be.

Instead, she forced herself to nod, the movement small, barely there.

She wouldn’t let herself break.

Not here.

Not in front of Rika.

Her mother smoothed her fingers over Anja’s shoulders, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of her head. “You’ve come so far, my love,” she whispered. “Tomorrow, you start something new.”

Anja swallowed past the tightness in her throat.

Rika hesitated for a moment longer, as if she could sense the storm raging beneath Anja’s carefully composed expression. Then, finally, she stepped back, smoothing her dress. "Try to get some rest," she said gently. "Tomorrow is a big day."

Anja nodded, her grip tightening on the fabric of her pants.

The soft click of the door closing behind Rika left her alone in the dim glow of the vanity lights.

Silence wrapped around her.

She stared at herself in the mirror, at the tightness in her jaw, at the weight in her posture.

Aaron’s voice echoed in her mind.

"You’re stronger than you think."

Her throat clenched.

"Not without you," she wanted to say.

She reached up, fingers brushing over the braid woven into her hair. Rika had done it just the way she used to when Anja was younger, before everything had changed.

A breath shuddered through her.

She knew Aaron wouldn’t have wanted her to be like this. He wouldn’t have wanted her to be hollow, to be stuck in a loop of grief and exhaustion.

But he wasn’t here to pull her out of it.

She had learned how to survive without him.

She just wasn’t sure she had learned how to live.

Anja let out a slow, measured breath, staring at her own reflection.

Tomorrow, she would graduate.

Tomorrow, she would step into the world as a soldier, an Order member, someone who had earned her place.

And tomorrow, she would stand there with the ghost of Aaron’s absence pressing against her ribs, heavy and suffocating.

But she wouldn’t break.

She never did.

The Hall of Ascension was bathed in golden light, the glow of countless lanterns flickering against the vast marble walls. Rows of students stood at attention, their black ceremonial robes a striking contrast against the ivory stone. Tonight was their night—the night they shed their titles as students and became warriors, leaders, protectors.

It was supposed to feel monumental.

For Anja, it felt hollow.

She stood at the center of it all, hands clasped in front of her, posture perfect. The weight of her family name, of everything she had fought through, pressed down on her shoulders like an iron brand. And yet, despite the eyes watching, despite the hushed reverence of the ceremony, all she could think about was him.

Aaron should have been here.

He had never known about the Academy.

He had died before she ever set foot inside these halls, before she even knew this place existed. And yet, she could feel him—his absence a gaping wound that no amount of ceremony or recognition could fill.

Would he have been proud of her?

Or would he have hated that she had followed this path?

Her fingers twitched at her sides, but she forced them still.

Now was not the time to fall apart.

The Grandmaster of the Academy, an imposing man draped in ceremonial white and gold, stepped forward. The hall fell into a hush, the weight of tradition pressing down on every graduate in attendance.

“You stand here today, not as children, but as warriors.” His voice echoed through the chamber, firm and unwavering. “You have endured trials that tested your strength, your discipline, and your resolve. You have given your blood, your sweat, and your years to this Academy. And now, you stand before us, ready to take your place among those who came before you.”

A ripple of quiet murmurs swept through the crowd, but Anja barely registered them.

She had heard words like these before.

She had lived them.

But nothing could shake the emptiness pressing against her ribs.

Some of her classmates would go on to military divisions, others to high-ranking political roles within the Northern Coalition. And then there were those like her—whose futures were already set in stone.

She shifted her gaze slightly, catching a glimpse of Indie a few feet away. Indie’s face was carefully blank, but Anja knew her well enough to see the tension in her shoulders, the way she stood just a bit too rigid.

They had spent years together, fought side by side, survived things most people would never understand. And now, they were on the brink of something new.

It should have felt like an achievement.

Instead, it felt like another loss.

The Grandmaster’s gaze swept over the gathered graduates, then settled on the first row. One by one, names were called, their achievements acknowledged.

And then—

“Anja Christ.”

The name echoed in the cavernous space, ringing with authority.

Anja inhaled deeply, then stepped forward.

Her footsteps barely made a sound against the polished marble as she approached the Grandmaster. His expression was unreadable as he studied her.

“You have proven yourself in every trial set before you,” he said. “From this day forward, you bear the mark of a warrior.”

He lifted the ceremonial blade, its silver edge glowing faintly with runes of old magic.

Anja knelt.

The blade pressed against her skin.

A sharp, searing pain spread across her collarbone, but she didn’t flinch.

This wasn’t just pain.

It was power, ancient and unyielding, sinking into her bones, marking her as something more than she had been before.

She had earned this.

When it was done, she rose, her expression carefully composed.

The hall erupted into applause, but the sound barely reached her.

She stepped back into line beside Indie, feeling the faint hum of energy where the mark now lay hidden beneath her robes.

“We did it,” Indie murmured under her breath.

Anja nodded, but she didn’t speak.

Because deep down, she wasn’t sure what it even was.

The ceremony continued, more names called, more futures sealed.

But Anja remained still, fingers ghosting over the mark on her skin.

Would Aaron have understood why she had chosen this path?

Would he have approved?

She didn’t have an answer.

All she knew was that she had spent years surviving. Pushing forward. Trying to be something more than the girl left behind.

But no matter how far she went, no matter what she achieved—

He wasn’t here.

And no matter how many times she told herself she had made peace with it, the ache never faded.

The moment the ceremony concluded, the air shifted. Families surged forward, the room filling with voices and laughter.

Anja barely had time to brace herself before Rika was there, pulling her into a fierce embrace.

“My girl,” Rika whispered, voice thick with emotion. “You’ve made us so proud.”

Anja’s throat tightened.

She forced a smile. “Thanks, Mom.”

Rika pulled back, her hands cupping Anja’s face as she studied her like she was trying to memorize every detail.

“Aaron would be proud of you too.”

The words struck like a knife between her ribs.

Anja froze.

Her breath caught, but she forced herself to nod, to smile, to pretend the words didn’t shake her.

She had spent years pretending.

One more night wouldn’t kill her.

Michael was next, his expression more restrained, but she saw the pride in his eyes. “You did good, kid,” he said, his voice rougher than usual. “Just don’t lose yourself in it.”

Anja met his gaze evenly.

It was too late for that.

But she didn’t say it aloud.

Not tonight.

Not when the weight of the ceremony still pressed down on her like an iron brand.

The night stretched on, the hall alive with celebration. Voices rose in laughter, in triumph.

Anja stood among them, letting it all wash over her.

She had made it.

She had done everything she was supposed to do.

And yet, as the night wore on, as congratulations blurred into meaningless words, as people clapped her on the back and wished her well—

She felt him.

A whisper in the air.

A flicker of warmth.

A shadow at the edge of her vision.

"Miss me?"

Her stomach twisted.

She turned sharply, scanning the crowd.

Nothing.

Just the ghosts she carried with her.

Her breath came shallow, fingers curling into fists.

For years, she had been haunted by his absence.

And now—

Now, she was beginning to wonder if she was haunted by something else entirely.

Tomorrow, she would begin her new life.

But tonight, she let herself grieve the one she had lost.

The day after her graduation, Anja awoke to a rare moment of silence. No drills. No urgent calls to action. Just the quiet hum of the academy settling into its usual rhythm. But her reprieve was short-lived.

A formal summons had arrived at dawn, sealed with the Order’s emblem.

She was expected at the armory.

Indie had shot her a knowing look when she read it. "It’s time," she’d said simply.

Anja had felt the weight of those words. Choosing a weapon wasn’t just about combat—it was a final initiation. A mark of identity. A warrior’s soul made tangible. The Order’s weapons were not forged in mundane fire but created with a purpose, waiting for the right hand to claim them.

By the time she reached the underground armory, hidden beneath the academy, she was composed. The chamber was vast, the stone walls lined with weapons of every shape and origin. Some gleamed with a polished sheen, others pulsed with dormant power.

At the center of the room stood a man Anja had only seen a handful of times—Master Voss, the Order’s weapons master. He was built like a relic of war, his face lined with scars, his eyes the color of storm clouds. He studied her with an unreadable expression before speaking.

“You already know why you’re here.” His voice was rough, like steel being sharpened. “The weapon that chooses you will be yours until your last breath. It will be an extension of you. A reflection of you. Step forward.”

Anja obeyed, her boots echoing against the stone.

Master Voss gestured to the weapons around her. "You won’t pick one. It will pick you. Walk the circle. Let them see you."

She took a slow, measured breath and began to move.

Each weapon had its own presence. A pair of serrated daggers hummed as she passed, but they fell silent just as quickly. A spiked chain rattled faintly before settling. Even the heavier war axes, lined with runes, remained indifferent.

She exhaled, tension curling in her stomach.

And then—

A whisper.

It wasn’t a sound. Not exactly. It was a pull, a shift in the air. Something at the far end of the room stirred.

Anja turned, drawn toward it before she even realized she was moving.

There, resting on an obsidian pedestal, was something she hadn't noticed before. It was unlike the other weapons—not a blade, not a staff, not any conventional tool of war.

It was a whip.

Not just any whip. The handle was wrapped in darkened leather, fitted perfectly for her grip, but the cord itself—if it could even be called that—was made of something else entirely. Midnight strands, woven together with a faint, almost imperceptible shimmer, as if they absorbed the very light around them.

A shadow whip.

She stepped closer. The whisper turned into a thrumming sensation in her chest.

Master Voss watched her carefully. “It’s been here for years. No one has ever managed to wield it.”

Anja reached out. The moment her fingers closed around the handle, the entire chamber dimmed. Shadows curled at her feet, rising and twisting like living things. The whip unfurled in her hand, the strands shifting between tangible form and pure darkness.

She could feel it—responding to her, waiting. It wasn’t just a weapon. It was alive.

The connection was instant.

She flicked her wrist instinctively. The whip cracked through the air, and the shadows surged forward, latching onto the stone wall before retracting just as fast.

A weapon made of darkness itself.

A whisper slithered through her mind. Mine.

Master Voss exhaled, nodding slowly. “It seems you’ve been chosen.”

Anja stared at the weapon in her hand, feeling its weight—or lack thereof. It moved as easily as her own limbs, responding to her thoughts before she even commanded it.

Indie, who had entered at some point, whistled from behind. “That is so unfair.”

Anja turned the whip over in her hands, watching the way the darkness coiled and uncoiled.

She should have been excited. Thrilled. This was power.

Instead, she only felt one thing.

Aaron should have been here to see it.

Anja had barely settled into the rhythm of life after graduation when the summons came. She was no longer a student of the academy, yet stepping into the grand, dimly lit chamber of the Order’s meeting hall still sent a chill down her spine. The scent of old books and burning embers filled the air, the flickering torches casting elongated shadows along the stone walls.

She stood at attention, her expression impassive as she faced the three high-ranking members seated before her. Grand Master Alden, an older man with sharp, piercing eyes, sat in the center. To his left was Commander Sienna, a woman with silver-streaked hair and a quiet yet commanding presence. On the right was General Kade, a man infamous for his brutal efficiency in war.

They had called her here for something important. Anja could feel the weight in the air, the way the Order members standing along the walls were unusually silent, their gazes heavy with unspoken words.

“Anja,” Alden’s voice finally broke the silence, his tone as steady as the stone walls around them. “You’ve proven yourself. You are no longer a student of the Academy but a fully-fledged member of the Order. And with that comes responsibility.”

Anja remained silent, nodding once, her hands clasped behind her back.

Sienna leaned forward slightly. “We have a mission for you. One of extreme importance. We’ve been receiving intelligence from inside Ever’s fleet for years now—valuable information that has shaped our strategy in this war.”

Her brows furrowed. “A spy?”

“A highly-placed informant,” Kade corrected. “Someone who has managed to feed us crucial details without being detected.”

She swallowed, nodding again.

“But recently, they’ve gone silent.” Alden’s eyes were sharp on her. “No reports. No transmissions. Nothing.”

Silence stretched between them. Anja’s pulse thrummed in her ears. If this informant was as important as they made it sound, their disappearance was a devastating blow.

“We believe something has happened,” Sienna continued. “Either they’ve been discovered, or they’ve lost the ability to communicate. Either way, it leaves us at a disadvantage. And that is where you come in.”

Anja’s chest tightened slightly. “You want me to infiltrate Ever’s fleet.”

Alden nodded. “Exactly. The last message we received suggested that there is one final piece of information we need—something crucial to dismantling Ever’s true agenda. This war is far from over, Anja. We need that information, and we need it before it’s too late.”

Her mind was already moving through the logistics of it. Infiltrating Ever’s fleet wasn’t impossible, but it was one of the most dangerous assignments she could be given. It wasn’t like sneaking through enemy territories or gathering intel from ground forces—Ever’s fleet was the very core of their power. It was controlled, monitored, locked down in ways few could breach.

She exhaled slowly. “You’re asking me to go into the lion’s den with no guarantee I’ll make it out.”

Kade smirked. “That’s what you trained for, isn’t it?”

She ignored him, eyes flickering back to Alden. “How am I supposed to get in?”

“We’ve arranged an alias for you.” Sienna slid a small folder across the table. “A cover identity. You’ll be posing as a technician assigned to one of their deep-space reconnaissance ships. The details are in there. Your transport leaves in three days.”

Anja took the file but didn’t open it. Instead, she met Alden’s gaze once more. “Why me?”

The room was silent for a moment. Then Alden’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Because we trust you.”

She almost laughed at that. Trust.

More likely, it was because she was new, unrecognized in the grander scope of Ever’s ranks. She had skills, intelligence, and the ability to blend in where necessary. But trust? That was not a word she associated with the Order so easily.

Still, she swallowed the bitter thought. “And the informant?” she asked, glancing down at the folder in her hand. “Who are they?”

Alden exhaled, exchanging a glance with Sienna before speaking. “That information is classified.”

Anja stiffened. “You want me to risk my life to retrieve their intel, but you won’t even tell me who they are?”

Alden’s expression didn’t change. “Knowing their identity won’t help you. What matters is the mission.”

Anja gritted her teeth. Something about the way he said it—so dismissive, so careful—sent a prickle of unease through her.

Kade leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “You don’t need to know who they are. You just need to find out what happened to them. And, if possible, retrieve whatever information they were trying to send us.”

Anja took a slow breath. She was used to the Order’s secrecy. Used to being kept in the dark, given only what was ‘necessary’ for the mission. But this felt… different.

Still, she had no choice.

She had sworn her allegiance to the Order the moment she graduated. And now, they were calling on her.

“I’ll do it,” she said, tucking the folder under her arm. “When do I leave?”

Sienna gave a small nod. “Three days. Get your affairs in order.”

The meeting was dismissed, and Anja turned sharply on her heel, walking out of the chamber with measured steps. But as she moved through the halls of the Order’s headquarters, a deep unease settled in her bones.

The informant. The mission. The secrecy surrounding it.

Something wasn’t right.

And she had the sinking feeling she was about to walk straight into a storm she wasn’t prepared for.

The Ever Fleet Headquarters was unlike anything Anja had ever seen. The air smelled of metal, smoke, and something sterile—too clean, too cold. Towering structures of dark steel and reinforced glass loomed overhead, stretching toward the sky like jagged claws. Ever’s banners draped the halls, their deep navy and silver sigil glinting under the artificial lighting. Soldiers moved through the corridors with precision, their footfalls synchronized, their faces impassive. The place was an intricate machine, a beast of war, and she had just stepped into its belly.

Anja kept her head down, adjusting the collar of her Ever-issued uniform—a sleek black jumpsuit with silver lines running along the arms and torso. It was strange, wearing something that bore the insignia of the very empire she despised. But she had played this game before. Masks upon masks. Lies woven into truth. The Order had spent months preparing her for this( whether she knew it or not) and crafting a flawless identity.

Her name was Nera Voss now—a recruit from the Northern Sector. Her backstory was simple: she had trained in the military forces before Ever scouted her for a specialty intelligence unit within the fleet. It was the perfect cover. Ever took in talented recruits constantly, seeking out those with potential and molding them into tools. It made her presence less suspicious.

Still, she felt the weight of unseen eyes.

A test. That’s what this was.

Would they believe her?

She walked into the main operations hall, an enormous space lined with control panels, holographic displays of battle strategies, and flight plans. Officers and analysts moved between stations, their voices hushed and mechanical. No wasted words. No hesitation. Everything was efficiency.

She spotted a group of new recruits standing near an instructor, their postures rigid. Her cue. Anja slipped into place at the edge of the group, schooling her expression into something neutral, alert, but not too eager.

The instructor, a middle-aged man with sharp blue eyes and a scar that cut through his lip, barely glanced at her as he spoke.

“New arrivals will be assigned to their preliminary posts today,” he said. His voice carried the weight of command. “You will be given a clearance tier based on skill and prior experience. Higher tiers grant access to classified data, but do not think that will come easily. You will prove yourselves, or you will be discarded. Ever has no place for weakness.”

The recruits stood straighter at his words. Anja kept her stance calm, not betraying any reaction.

Good. She wasn’t standing out.

“I want every recruit in the training bay within the next hour. That will be all.”

The group dispersed, but before Anja could move toward the exit, she overheard two officers talking near the command panel.

“Fleet command is reinforcing our ranks today,” one muttered. “Colonel’s coming back.”

The other scoffed. “About time. We’ve been running operations blind without him. Can’t afford that with the Outlands situation heating up.”

Anja didn’t react. Didn’t stiffen. Didn’t falter. But something cold slipped down her spine.

Colonel?

The title didn’t mean much to her yet. She had memorized Ever’s ranking system, and only the most trusted, most brutal leaders reached that position. It was rare for someone outside the High Council to command such respect.

Still, she had other things to worry about.

With careful movements, she exited the hall, blending into the flow of soldiers. The corridors stretched endlessly, each one sleek and identical, designed to disorient. But she had studied the blueprints. She knew exactly where she needed to go.

Her assigned quarters were in the lower residential wing—a small, stark room with a cot, a metal desk, and a single cabinet for personal effects. Nothing unnecessary. No warmth. Just the basics. The lights flickered on automatically when she stepped inside.

The moment the door shut behind her, she let out a slow breath.

She was in.

Now, she just had to find what she had come for.

The information.

For months, the Order had relied on a hidden informant within Ever’s fleet—someone who had been feeding them crucial intel, allowing them to stay one step ahead. But recently, the messages had stopped. Radio silence.

And silence was dangerous.

Whoever this informant was, they had been playing a long game. If they had been compromised, then Ever’s plans were accelerating. The Order couldn’t afford to wait.

She moved to the small console near her bed, inputting her clearance code. A holographic assignment log blinked to life. She scrolled through it, looking for any trace of where she’d be stationed.

Flight deck operations.

Interesting.

It was one of the more secure areas of the fleet, meaning she’d have direct access to movement schedules, fleet deployments, and even encrypted communication logs. If the informant had left any hidden messages, that would be the place to start.

A knock sounded at the door.

Anja turned, schooling her expression before she pressed the access panel.

The door slid open, revealing a man in a standard officer’s uniform. He was young, sharp-featured, his black hair cropped short. He had the look of someone who had seen war but had not yet been consumed by it.

“You’re Voss?” he asked.

She gave a curt nod. “Yes, sir.”

“I’m your assigned operations lead. You’re to report to the flight deck in thirty minutes for assessment.”

“I understand.”

His gaze lingered for a second longer than necessary. Measuring. Then he gave a slight nod and left.

Anja let out a slow breath.

One step at a time.

She was in enemy territory now, surrounded by people who would kill her without hesitation if they knew who she really was.

And somewhere out there, hidden within this very fleet, was the informant who had been helping them all along.

She just had to hope they were still alive.

And that she wasn’t already too late.

---

Meanwhile…

From the upper deck of a darkened security overlook, Aaron Christ stood motionless, his gaze fixed on the new arrivals below. He had sensed something was off the moment she walked in.

The way she moved. The way she held herself.

Familiar.

Painfully familiar.

For years, he had only seen her in stolen glimpses. From the shadows. From the edges of battles she never knew he had intervened in.

And now, here she was.

Walking straight into the wolf’s den.

A muscle in his jaw tightened.

He hadn’t been informed of this.

No one had told him she was coming.

His hand curled into a fist. The realization was slow, like cold steel pressing into his ribs.

The Order had sent her here.

And they hadn’t told her what she was walking into.

They hadn’t told her she was walking straight into him.

The air hummed with tension. The fleet’s landing dock was vast, stretching beneath the artificial glow of overhead lights, casting long, eerie shadows across the ranks of soldiers standing at attention. Anja stood among them, her uniform crisp, her posture straight, her face impassive. She had learned how to be unreadable in the past few years—grief had taught her that.

The entire base had been on edge since morning, whispers slipping through the cracks of military discipline. The colonel was coming back today.

It didn’t concern her.

She had more important things to worry about—like completing her mission and getting out of here before anyone suspected her true purpose. She was focused. She was ready. And she was certainly not concerned with the return of some high-ranking officer.

But then the ship arrived.

A sleek black vessel, cutting through the air with the kind of effortless grace that spoke of power. The engines roared, heat distorting the air as it settled onto the landing strip. The moment the hatch hissed open, the soldiers around her straightened, and she instinctively did the same.

A figure emerged.

At first, he was just a silhouette against the blinding white lights from the ship’s interior—tall, broad-shouldered, and commanding.

Then, as he stepped forward, the shadows peeled away from him.

His presence was suffocating.

He was draped in a sleek black coat, the high collar framing the sharp angles of his jaw. The fabric, embroidered with Ever’s insignia, clung to his frame, accentuating the effortless authority in the way he carried himself. His golden hair was shorter than she remembered, styled with careful precision, as if not a single strand dared disobey him. His skin was pale under the artificial lights, a stark contrast to the deep, molten green of his eyes—eyes that looked like they had been carved from raw emeralds, gleaming with something unreadable beneath the surface.

Anja could not breathe.

Her heart slammed against her ribs, a violent, painful rhythm.

No.

This wasn’t happening.

This wasn’t real.

She had buried him. She had mourned him. She had spent years clawing her way through grief, learning to live with the hollow space inside her chest where he used to be.

Yet he was here.

Alive.

The Colonel.

Aaron Christ.

Her mind screamed at her to move, to react, to do something—but her body was frozen, locked in place as the world warped around her.

Then he saw her.

The shift was instant.

His gaze, sharp and ruthless just moments before, faltered. A crack in the ice.

Something dark flickered behind his eyes, something raw and desperate. His grip on the sleek black gloves in his hand tightened just slightly, the only betrayal of emotion.

Then he moved.

Anja barely had time to blink before he was in front of her. She had spent years learning how to fight, how to react, how to prepare for anything—but nothing could have prepared her for this.

His hand wrapped around her wrist, firm and unyielding.

She barely had time to process the warmth of his skin, the way his touch sent something visceral shooting through her, before he pulled her forward.

No words. No explanations.

He simply dragged her away.

The soldiers standing nearby said nothing.

No one dared.

Because Aaron Christ was not the kind of man people questioned.

Not even when he stole away a ghost from his past.

5 notes · View notes

addiessblack · 4 months ago

Text

NO SAINTS TONIGHT

Chapter 10

The breakfast hall buzzed with its usual morning chaos—clinking plates, tired voices, the low hum of conversation. The air smelled of strong coffee and freshly baked bread, but Anja barely noticed.

She and Indie sat at their usual table near the tall windows, where early morning sunlight spilled in, illuminating the high-vaulted ceiling. The entire academy felt the same as it always did—students rushing to grab food before training, instructors pacing near the doors, the occasional loud burst of laughter from a far-off table.

And yet, nothing felt the same.

Not after last night.

Not after the Order.

Anja pushed her food around on her plate, not really hungry. Indie sat across from her, drinking coffee in slow, contemplative sips. Her eyes were slightly shadowed from lack of sleep, but her posture remained relaxed, confident. A sharp contrast to the cold, secretive weight settling in Anja’s chest.

They had agreed to this.

They had stood before the Order, looked them in the eye, and accepted what came next.

Still, the truth of it hadn’t fully sunk in.

Anja opened her mouth to say something—maybe a sarcastic remark about how this was definitely not how she imagined senior year going—when movement at the edge of her vision caught her attention.

The other two.

The last two recruits who had made the same choice they had.

A boy and a girl.

They approached their table, looking both determined and cautious.

The boy was lean and wiry, with a cocky smirk that didn’t quite reach his sharp, watchful eyes. His brown hair was slightly messy, and there was something about the way he moved—too smooth, too careful. Like someone who was used to making himself invisible.

The girl was tall and composed, her dark eyes scanning the table as if calculating something before she even sat down. Elegant, but not soft. There was a sharpness to her—a hidden blade waiting to strike.

Without asking, they slid into the seats beside them.

For a moment, none of them spoke.

Then, the boy grinned, setting his tray down with an easy confidence that didn’t quite hide the tension beneath it. “Well,” he drawled, “that was fun.”

Indie raised an eyebrow. “Fun? That’s the word you’re going with?”

He shrugged. “Would you prefer terrifying? Or maybe life-altering?” He smirked. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, the whole blood-oath-secret-society thing was dramatic as hell, but at least we get cool coats, right?”

Anja let out a short, dry laugh before sipping her coffee. “So you joined for the fashion?”

The boy placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “What, and here I thought we were all in this for the moral righteousness.”

The girl beside him sighed, exasperated. “Ignore him. He processes things through sarcasm.”

Indie gave Anja a look. “Sounds familiar.”

Anja smirked but didn’t deny it.

The girl turned her dark gaze to them, finally introducing herself. “Elara Vasquez.” Her voice was calm, measured. “That idiot next to me is Cassian Hale.”

Cassian shot her a sideways grin. “You love me.”

“I tolerate you,” she corrected.

Indie leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm. “Alright, Ronan, Lena—what did you think? You both seemed pretty sure last night, but that was a lot to take in.”

Elara’s eyes darkened slightly, but she nodded. “It was... a lot. But I meant what I said. I wouldn’t have agreed if I wasn’t serious.” She took a sip of her tea, gaze unwavering. “We all knew things were bad. We just didn’t know how bad. The Order is one of the few groups actually doing something about it.”

Anja studied her, searching for any hesitation, any cracks in her resolve. But Elara looked completely sure of herself. Unshaken.

She turned to Cassian, who was absentmindedly rolling an apple between his fingers.

He shrugged. “I mean, yeah, I’m in. It’s either this or get drafted by Ever in a year and have some politician send me off to die for their glorious cause.” His voice turned mocking at the last part. Then his smirk faded slightly, and for a moment, his usual cocky demeanor slipped. “At least this way, we have a choice.”

A choice.

Anja tapped her fingers against the table, considering that.

It didn’t feel like much of a choice at all.

Ever. The Dominion. The war. It was all spiraling faster than they could control. If they wanted to survive—if they wanted to make a difference—this was the only path forward.

“We need to watch each other’s backs,” Elara said suddenly, breaking the momentary silence. Her gaze flickered between them, serious and unwavering. “We’re in this now. Whether we like it or not.”

Indie nodded, setting her cup down. “Agreed.”

Cassian grinned. “So, what, we’re a team now?”

Anja exhaled sharply. A team.

It sounded so... simple.

Like this wasn’t a life-and-death game they had just signed up for.

Still, she glanced at Indie, at Elara's steady expression, at the way Cassian masked his unease with humor, and realized—maybe that’s exactly what they needed.

A small, sharp smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

“Yeah,” she said, lifting her coffee cup in mock toast. “We’re a team.”

The bass was so loud it rattled the glass in Anja’s hand, vibrations echoing through her chest. The club was packed—flashes of neon green and purple lights streaking across the dance floor, illuminating sweat-slicked bodies moving to the music. The air smelled of expensive perfume, alcohol, and something sharper beneath it—danger.

She leaned against the sleek black bar, dressed to blend in. A fitted black dress hugged her body, the slit at her thigh allowing for easy movement. Every inch of her screamed confidence, control. Even if her pulse was hammering.

Across the room, Indie pretended to sip a drink, playing her part as a bored socialite. The other two Order recruits—Cassian and Elara—were already moving through the crowd, scanning for their target.

Anja exhaled, adjusting the small earpiece hidden beneath her hair. "Status?"

Indie’s voice came through smoothly. "Our guy is near the VIP lounge, second level. He’s talking to a woman in red—Ever intelligence, I’d bet. Cassian’s circling around for a better look."

Anja nodded slightly, casting her gaze toward the upper level. The VIP section was separated by a sleek glass railing, dark silhouettes shifting behind it. This was where Ever’s elites gathered—politicians, informants, operatives who sold information that could change the war.

And tonight, Anja was here to take one down.

She pushed off the bar, weaving through the crowd with easy grace. She could feel the eyes on her. Some men stared too long, some women whispered as she passed. It didn’t matter. She played the role well—unbothered, untouchable.

Halfway to the stairs, a voice stopped her. Deep, smooth, laced with amusement.

"Going somewhere, sweetheart?"

She turned. A man stood in front of her—tall, dark suit tailored to perfection, his sharp blue eyes gleaming with curiosity. He was handsome in the way most dangerous men were, with a smirk that promised trouble.

Anja recognized him immediately. Soren Vale.

An informant for Ever. A man with too many secrets and not enough loyalty.

She smiled lazily, tilting her head. "That depends. Are you going to try and stop me?"

He stepped closer, gaze flicking over her as if assessing her like a puzzle he wanted to solve.

"Now, why would I do that? I like a woman with ambition." His fingers trailed lightly over the rim of his glass. "You look like you’re hunting someone."

Anja let her smile widen, slow and lethal. "And you look like someone who talks too much."

She leaned in slightly, letting the scent of her perfume wrap around him like a noose. "Tell me, Soren, do you know what happens to men who ask too many questions?"

Soren chuckled, tipping his drink toward her. "I assume it's not pleasant."

"Not for them, no."

She stepped past him, leaving him grinning in her wake.

"Elara, I’m heading up."

"Wait, Cassian just confirmed something—"

Too late. Anja was already slipping past security, making her way up the stairs.

The VIP lounge was quieter, filled with men in tailored suits and women draped in silk, whispering in low voices. At the far end, their target sat in a deep leather booth—a middle-aged man with sharp features, speaking intently to a woman in a red dress.

Anja moved toward them, calculating her next step. Then everything went to hell.

Gunfire erupted.

The glass railing shattered as bodies collided, chaos exploding all at once. People screamed, guards surged forward, and Anja dropped low, dodging a wild swing from a bouncer.

"What the hell just happened?" she hissed through the earpiece, twisting out of the way as another guard lunged for her.

Indie’s voice was sharp. "Cassian got made. Someone ID’d us. We need to get out—now."

Anja cursed, her heartbeat slamming against her ribs.

She could run. She could escape easily.

Or… she could finish the job.

The target was right there—stumbling away from the booth, eyes wide with panic.

Anja didn’t hesitate.

She lunged, tackling him to the ground. In the same motion, she pressed a knife to his throat, her voice a whisper against his ear.

"Give me the name of your contact in the Eastern Dominions. Now."

He struggled beneath her, eyes darting wildly. "I—I don’t know what you’re talking about!"

Wrong answer. She pressed the blade harder.

"Do I look like I have patience for lies?"

He whimpered. "It's—it's Veyron. Commander Veyron. He’s the one feeding us intel."

Anja barely had time to process it before strong hands yanked her off him.

She twisted, kicking a guard square in the chest, sending him tumbling over the broken glass railing.

More were coming.

Anja turned, sprinting toward the edge of the balcony.

She didn’t stop.

She jumped.

Wind rushed around her as she plummeted toward the lower level—heels hitting the sleek bar counter before she rolled off, landing in a crouch.

She shot to her feet, grabbing Indie’s arm. "Time to go."

They ran, shoving past panicked club-goers, slipping out through the back alley where Elara was already waiting in the getaway vehicle.

The moment the doors shut behind them, Anja finally let out a breath.

Indie grinned, adrenaline bright in her eyes. "That was insane."

Cassian groaned, rubbing his shoulder. "Next time, let's not get shot at, yeah?"

Anja just stared out the window, her mind racing.

Veyron.

This was bigger than they thought.

The testing chamber was silent except for the faint hum of the neural simulator as it activated. Anja stood in the center, her hands clenched at her sides, her heartbeat steady. She had faced combat, war, death. What could they possibly show her that she hadn’t already lived through?

Across from her, the instructor—a tall woman with sharp features and piercing silver eyes—watched with a neutral expression. “This is a fear simulation, not an illusion,” she said. “Your mind will believe it’s real. Your Evol, your instincts, won’t help you here. You either fight it or break.”

Anja’s lips curled in something like a smirk, but there was no amusement in her eyes. “We’ll see.”

The instructor’s expression didn’t change. She only pressed a single button on the device.

And the world around Anja shattered.

---

She was no longer in the Academy.

Smoke. Blood. Screams.

The air was thick with it, heavy and suffocating. Anja’s boots hit the scorched ground, her uniform torn, her hands trembling as she held a dagger slick with red. Bodies littered the field. Some she recognized.

Indie. Face pale, unmoving, a deep wound across her chest.

Will IV, his mask shattered, his Evol burned out.

Her parents—no, no, they weren’t supposed to be here.

Her breath hitched as she turned, looking for Aaron.

But there was no sign of him.

The battle raged on, figures darting past, blades clashing, Evol powers illuminating the darkness. She tried to move, to fight—but every step she took felt heavier, like the ground was swallowing her whole.

Then a voice.

“You could have saved them.”

Her head snapped up. The instructor stood among the bodies now, but her face was blurred, shifting, becoming something else—something colder.

“You were too weak.”

No.

Anja gritted her teeth, forcing herself forward. This isn’t real. The words pounded in her skull. None of this is real.

A sharp pain stabbed through her chest, sudden and blinding. She gasped, her hands flying to the wound—but there was nothing there. No blood, no injury.

Just pain.

Then the battlefield dissolved.

She was home.

The sight of Thunder Bay should have brought relief, but something was wrong. The streets were empty, the air thick with an eerie stillness. The Christ estate loomed ahead, dark and untouched by time.

Her breath came in short, rapid bursts.

She didn’t want to go inside.

But her body moved anyway, like a puppet on strings.

She stepped over the threshold, the familiar scent of leather-bound books and polished wood wrapping around her like a ghost. The grand hall was dimly lit, shadows curling in the corners.

And then she saw him.

Aaron.

He stood near the fireplace, but he didn’t turn. Didn’t acknowledge her.

Her heart twisted painfully.

“Aaron?” she whispered.

Slowly, he faced her.

Anja felt the air leave her lungs.

His eyes—once filled with fire, obsession, something so unbearably Aaron—were empty.

Lifeless.

It wasn’t him.

“Anja.” His voice was hollow, stripped of everything she knew. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Her hands shook. “What… what happened to you?”

He didn’t answer. He only lifted his arm, revealing the insignia of Ever etched into his wrist like a brand. A mark of ownership.

They had taken him.

They had taken his mind, his soul.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “No, no, no.”

She moved forward, reaching for him—but his Evol flared. Cold, unfeeling.

And before she could react, he lifted a gun.

Pointed it at her chest.

Fired.

The pain was instant, searing through her body like fire. She gasped, crumbling to her knees, blood blooming across her ribs.

Aaron watched with no expression.

Like she was nothing.

Like he didn’t even know her.

Her vision blurred, the world tilting. She tried to move, tried to reach for him one last time—

Then it all reset.

She was back in the hall.

Aaron stood there. Expressionless. The Ever brand gleaming on his wrist.

He turned. Lifted the gun.

Fired.

The pain.

Her own strangled sobs.

The reset.

Again.

And again.

She couldn’t stop it.

---

Anja collapsed to the floor, her body trembling, drenched in cold sweat. Her throat was raw from screaming. She hadn’t even realized she had screamed.

Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she heard the instructor’s voice. “You were supposed to fail that test.”

Anja’s breath came in ragged gasps as she pressed her shaking hands to the ground, forcing herself upright.

She blinked. The battlefield was gone. The Christ estate was gone.

She was back in the simulation chamber.

Her limbs ached, every nerve in her body screaming.

The instructor stood in front of her, watching with something unreadable in her gaze.

“You weren’t meant to break out of that on your own,” she said quietly.

Anja didn’t respond. Her hands were still shaking.

The instructor studied her for a long moment before speaking again.

“You weren’t afraid of dying.” A pause. “You were afraid of losing him.”

Anja felt her chest tighten.

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Instead, she pushed herself up, her knees threatening to buckle beneath her, and walked out without another word.

But she knew the instructor was right.

Losing Aaron had already broken her once.

And the worst part?

She wasn’t sure she’d survive it happening again.

The chandeliers cast a golden glow over the grand hall, their light refracting off the crystal glasses raised in empty toasts. The Order rarely hosted events like these, but when they did, attendance was mandatory.

Anja barely heard the hum of conversation around her. She stood near the edge of the room, fingers curled around the stem of a champagne flute she hadn't touched. The black silk of her gown clung to her form, gold embroidery trailing like veins of light over her arms. A mask of obsidian lace concealed most of her face, leaving only the sharp angles of her cheekbones and the piercing blue of her eyes visible.

She was suffocating.

These people—these soldiers, spies, officials—laughed too easily. Their movements were too smooth, their words too polished. A masquerade, in every sense of the word.

The world outside this hall was still on fire. The war was not over. But tonight, they pretended.

And she had to pretend with them.

Her grip on the glass tightened. I shouldn’t be here.

She had almost convinced herself to slip away when it happened.

A shift in the air.

A weight settling against her spine.

Someone was watching her.

A chill slid down her neck, an old instinct honed from battle. Slowly, she turned, scanning the crowd, searching for the source of the phantom pull that had suddenly wrapped itself around her throat.

Masked faces. Gilded laughter. Flickering candlelight.

And then—

A shadow.

Near the far end of the hall, half-hidden beyond the candlelit edges of the masquerade, stood a figure.

Tall. Dressed in black. His mask was sharp, intricate—silver filigree tracing delicate patterns over dark metal. But it wasn’t his mask that unsettled her.

It was the way he stood.

Still. Waiting. Watching.

A strange, unsteady pulse echoed in her ears.

No.

It couldn’t be.

She took a sharp breath, forcing herself to look again. To see him clearly. To make sense of this.

But before she could—

He moved.

Not toward her, but past her.

And as he passed, his shoulder brushed against hers. Just barely. A fleeting touch, burning through the thin silk of her gown like a brand.

Her breath caught.

And then—

A whisper.

"Miss me?"

Her heart stopped.

The voice curled around her like smoke, soft and low, an echo of a ghost she had spent years trying to bury.

The glass in her hand slipped, shattering against the marble floor.

She spun—**too fast, too desperate—**but he was gone.

The crowd swayed, the golden candlelight flickering in her periphery, but she barely saw any of it.

Her pulse thundered in her ears.

"No," she whispered, barely hearing her own voice. "No, no, no."

This wasn’t real.

It wasn’t possible.

Aaron was dead.

She had buried him.

She had held the weight of his absence in her chest for years, letting it rot her from the inside out.

But that voice—**his voice—**was unmistakable.

She backed away from the broken glass at her feet, from the warmth of the masquerade, from the stifling press of bodies around her. She needed air.

She barely noticed the way the room tilted as she shoved past the guests, ignoring the murmurs of concern. She didn’t stop until she reached the balcony doors, her breath uneven as she pushed them open and stepped into the cold night air.

The city stretched below, neon lights bleeding into the horizon.

Her hands gripped the stone railing. Steady. Breathe.

But she couldn’t.

The sound of his voice—**so real, so close—**clawed at her mind, unraveling years of carefully built walls.

"Miss me?"

She squeezed her eyes shut.

"This isn’t happening. You’re tired. You’re imagining things."

It had been a grueling year—missions, training, exhaustion gnawing at the edges of her mind. She had seen friends die, had held dying soldiers in her arms as they begged for someone to take their pain away.

Of course her mind would fracture eventually.

Of course the past would catch up to her.

But why now?

Why did he sound so real?

Why had she felt him?

The cold breeze bit against her skin, but it did nothing to settle the fever beneath it. She exhaled sharply, rubbing her hands over her face.

She had to let this go.

She had to go back inside.

But the moment she turned toward the balcony doors, her breath stalled in her chest.

A figure stood just beyond the doorway, half-hidden in shadow.

Still. Waiting. Watching.

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

It was him.

It was—

No.

She blinked.

Gone.

The doorway was empty. The flickering candlelight from the ballroom cast nothing but ordinary shadows.

Her fingers dug into the stone railing.

This wasn’t real.

This couldn’t be real.

She had survived too much, fought too hard to let ghosts haunt her now.

And yet—

"Miss me?"

The whisper of it still clung to her skin, refusing to fade.

Anja swallowed hard, shoving the feeling down.

It was just a hallucination. A trick of exhaustion.

Nothing more.

But as she walked back inside, the laughter of the masquerade suddenly felt hollow.

And the shadows behind her felt far too heavy.

Duskfell – Midnight

The rain was relentless.

It came down in heavy sheets, coating the alleyways in a silver sheen, dripping from rusted fire escapes, masking the distant hum of speeder traffic above. Anja moved like a shadow, blending with the crowd as she wove through the lower sector of Duskfell.

This city belonged to neither Ever nor the Order. It was neutral ground—a place where both sides pretended not to see each other.

But Anja knew better.

Nowhere was safe.

She kept her head down, her hood pulled low, her footsteps quiet against the slick pavement. The mission had gone smoothly. Too smoothly.

Infiltrate. Retrieve intel. Leave.

Simple.

But the feeling creeping up her spine told her this night wasn’t over yet.

A strange stillness settled over her—a shift in the air, subtle but distinct.

Someone was following her.

She didn’t turn. Didn’t react. Years of training kept her movements steady, her breathing even. Instead, she listened.

The rain should have drowned out everything.

And yet, there it was.

A footstep.

A fraction too slow. A fraction too heavy.

Whoever they were, they weren’t just watching.

They were hunting.

Anja’s pulse thrummed in her ears.

She cut down a narrow alley—a shortcut to her speeder. The towering buildings loomed overhead, suffocating the street in darkness. A perfect place to disappear.

But it was also a perfect place for an ambush.

She made it three steps before the feeling sharpened—a blade of warning slicing through her gut.

She spun, just as something moved in the shadows.

Too fast.

Too inhuman.

She barely had time to react before a glint of steel sliced through the air where she had been standing.

Anja dropped low, twisting into a roll before springing up into a defensive stance. Her Evol flared—Empathic Resonance screaming danger, Energy Manipulation already crackling at her fingertips.

And then—she saw him.

A figure stood at the alley’s mouth, cloaked in shadows.

Tall. Wrapped in dark, reinforced armor with Ever’s insignia hidden beneath a tattered cloak. But his face—

His face was wrong.

Pale, stretched tight over sharp, unnatural features. Eyes like black voids, unreadable and endless. The rain ran down his face, but he never blinked.

A slow smirk curled his lips.

"You’re good," he mused, voice smooth as silk, cold as steel. "Most don’t sense me coming."

Anja’s hands curled into fists. She didn’t speak.

He took a step forward, slow, deliberate. "But you did. That’s interesting."

She struck first.

A blur of motion—her dagger slashing for his ribs.

It should have landed.

Instead, he moved like smoke in the wind, twisting out of reach with effortless grace.

Then—pain.

A sharp, burning slice across her upper arm.

Anja hissed, jumping back.

Her fingers came away slick with blood. Too fast. He was too fast.

"You hesitate," the assassin murmured. "Too much emotion." His black eyes gleamed. "It makes you weak."

Anja’s breath steadied. Not weak enough.

She lunged—this time, aiming not for precision but for sheer speed.

And still—he dodged.

Every attack, every strike. Like he knew her every move before she made it.

Frustration burned in her ribs.

Anja wasn’t used to being outmatched.

She backpedaled, putting distance between them. "Who sent you?"

The assassin just smiled.

And then, he said something that turned her blood to ice.

"You know... I've seen ghosts before."

The way he said it—so casual, so amused— made her stomach tighten.

He wasn’t talking about just any ghost.

Anja’s fingers twitched. She tried to mask her reaction, but it was too late.

His smile widened.

"Interesting," he murmured. "You felt that, didn’t you?"

She forced her expression blank. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

A chuckle. Low. Dark.

"Don’t you?"

Her heartbeat pounded against her ribs.

The assassin tilted his head. His void-black eyes never left hers. "You must’ve loved him very much."

Her vision blurred with rage.

Anja didn’t think—she reacted.

Energy crackled through her veins, raw power surging forward. The rain froze midair, trembling as the sheer force of her Evol warped the air around them.

The assassin only laughed.

Then, he stepped back—

And vanished.

Gone.

Like he’d never been there at all.

Anja stood in the rain, chest heaving, heart pounding.

Her mind raced with his words.

"You must’ve loved him very much."

He’s dead.

Aaron is dead.

She clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms.

Then why did it feel like a lie?

The night was quiet once again.

Too quiet.

No wind stirred the trees that lined the academy’s courtyard, no voices broke the solemn stillness. Only the rhythmic sound of boots against stone as the students, instructors, and Order members gathered, their figures cloaked in black beneath

the endless expanse of the night sky. The Academy’s funeral rites were always held under the stars—silent, sacred, untouched by the chaos of war. The flames of the ceremonial pyre flickered, casting long shadows across the grieving faces.

Anja stood among them, her arms crossed over her chest, her posture stiff and unreadable. Indie was beside her, hands clenched into fists, her lips pressed into a thin line. On Anja’s other side, the two remaining members of their group—the recruits who had joined the Order alongside them—stood in rigid silence. No one spoke. No one had to.

The student they were saying goodbye to had never truly belonged in a place like this.

Lena had been softer than the rest of them. She wasn’t weak—no one who survived the academy was—but she carried something the others had lost along the way: kindness. She wasn’t hardened like the rest of them, wasn’t cruel, wasn’t callous. She had still believed in people, in the idea that war hadn’t stripped away everything good in the world.

And now she was dead.

Killed in yet another Dominion attack.

Just another body on the growing pile of casualties.

A low chant began, the deep, melodic hum of an ancient prayer that had been spoken at every Academy funeral for as long as history could remember. The words blurred together in Anja’s ears.

She should feel something.

She did feel something.

But she didn’t cry.

She was tired.

Tired of standing in this same spot, in this same courtyard, watching flames consume another fallen comrade. Tired of pretending grief had an end, when every time they buried one of their own, another name took its place on the growing list of the dead.

She thought back to the first funeral she had attended at the Academy, how she had still flinched at the grief in people’s voices, at the rawness of it. How she had told herself that if she ever lost someone she truly cared about, she wouldn’t hold back her tears.

But that was before Aaron.

Before she learned what it truly meant to lose someone.

Her throat felt tight, her chest constricted, but the tears never came.

Indie sniffed beside her, brushing a hand over her cheek.

“She didn’t deserve this,” Indie whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

None of them did.

Anja knew Indie wanted her to say something—to acknowledge it, to tell her it was okay to grieve. But what was the point? Words wouldn’t bring Lena back. Words wouldn’t stop the next death, or the one after that.

The chant faded.

A flick of a match, the gentle whoosh of fire catching.

Flames consumed the body.

The academy’s tradition dictated that no one turned away from the pyre until the fire had burned out, a final act of respect. But Anja didn’t see it as respect. She saw it as a reminder.

The war never ended.

The people who lit the pyres were just waiting their turn.

She shifted her gaze across the gathered crowd, her eyes landing on the instructors, on the high-ranking members of the Order, their faces set in grim determination. How many of them would still be here a year from now?

She glanced at Indie.

At the other two recruits.

Would they still be standing here next time?

Or would they be the ones burning?

A shiver crawled down her spine, but she forced it away.

She would survive.

She always did.

The pyre burned on.

The city stretched around them like a labyrinth of steel and neon, its towering structures slicing into the storm-heavy sky. A thin mist curled around the streets, dimming the glow of the streetlights. Rain pattered against the rooftops, sliding down the rusted metal like whispers in the dark. The air was thick with the scent of damp stone, ozone, and the ever-present hum of electricity pulsing through the wires above.

Anja crouched behind the crumbling remnants of an old ventilation system, her pulse steady, her breath measured. Beneath her, Ever’s facility sprawled out like a beast asleep, lights flickering in erratic intervals, guards pacing along the perimeter with the sluggish arrogance of men who had never faced true fear.

A simple reconnaissance mission.

Her last as a student of the Lunar Hunter Academy.

Tomorrow, she and Indie would be inducted as full-fledged members of the Order. No more instructors watching their every move, no more simulated missions—this was real. The final step before she was thrown into the war that had defined her entire life.

It should have felt exhilarating.

Instead, unease curled around her ribcage, cold and persistent.

“I don’t like this,” Indie whispered beside her, shifting slightly. Her dark eyes flickered in the low light, the tension in her shoulders mirroring Anja’s own. “Something feels off.”

Anja didn’t answer. She felt it too.

The Order had been tracking Ever’s movements for months, monitoring the way their fleet shifted like a chessboard—silent, deliberate, never without purpose. Their instructors had warned them that something big was coming. The war was shifting.

Tonight, they were here to find out why.

A metal door below hissed open.

Anja’s grip on her rifle tightened.

Figures emerged from the facility, stepping into the dim courtyard. She adjusted the scope, letting the faces sharpen through the rain-streaked lens.

Ever soldiers. Black and silver uniforms. Some with helmets, others without.

Her breath caught in her throat.

One figure stood slightly apart from the rest.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. No helmet.

Anja’s entire body went still.

For a moment, it felt like the world around her paused.

Rain dripped off the edge of her rifle, running over her gloved hands as she struggled to force her mind into logic, into reason.

It was just a soldier.

It had to be.

But then the man turned slightly, catching the light from the overhead floodlights, and Anja’s breath vanished.

No.

No, it wasn’t possible.

Her heart slammed against her ribs, so hard she thought Indie might hear it.

Because she knew that face.

She knew the sharp cut of his jaw, the storm-dark eyes, the way he carried himself like he owned the space around him.

Aaron.

Her stomach lurched violently.

She squeezed her eyes shut, inhaling sharply.

When she opened them, he was still there.

Standing. Breathing. Alive.

A part of her wanted to lunge forward, to throw herself off the rooftop and demand—scream—that he look at her.

Another part, the part that had spent the last few years learning how to live without him, told her she was hallucinating.

Aaron was dead.

He had been dead for years.

This wasn’t real.

It was just the exhaustion. Just a soldier who looked like him.

That was all.

Still, she couldn’t shake the ice crawling up her spine, the feeling that something—someone—was staring back at her through the rain.

Watching.

Indie nudged her sharply. “What is it?”

Anja forced herself to breathe, to shove the nausea back down.

She couldn’t say it.

Couldn’t even let the words form in her mind.

Because if she said it—if she acknowledged it—then it would become real.

And she couldn’t afford that.

So she swallowed the bile in her throat, steadied her voice, and said, “Nothing. Let’s finish the mission.”

Her voice was hollow. She barely recognized it.

But Indie didn’t push.

Because Anja didn’t break.

Not now.

Not over a ghost.

---

From the other side of the compound, Aaron pressed himself against the cold steel of the walkway, fingers curled into fists so tight his knuckles ached.

He could still feel the weight of her gaze.

It had been years since he had felt it, since he had known the raw sensation of being seen by her.

And for a split second, he had been weak.

Had turned too far into the light, had let her catch a glimpse of him.

He swore under his breath, jaw clenched as he tried to steady the frantic pulse beneath his skin.

He had known Anja was with the Order. Had known she had spent the last few years at the academy, honing herself into the kind of warrior the war demanded.

He had followed every report, listened to every whisper about the girl who refused to break.

He had prepared himself for the day they would meet again.

But not tonight.

Not like this.

Aaron dragged in a slow breath, his shoulders tense.

He shouldn’t have come out tonight. He had been so careful. So damn careful.

But he had allowed himself this one thing. This one slip.

Because he had wanted to see her.

And now he had almost ruined everything.

Would she have recognized him?

Would she have called his name?

Or would she have shot him?

The thought nearly made him laugh, but there was no humor in it.

Anja was dangerous now.

Not just because of what she had become, but because of what she could do to him.

Even now, standing in the dark, he could feel her like a wound he had never let heal.

And she had almost seen him.

He exhaled sharply, forcing himself deeper into the shadows.

She wasn’t ready.

Not yet.

Not until the pieces were all in place.

Aaron cast one last glance toward the rooftop where she had been.

Empty.

Gone.

Like a phantom in the rain.

He flexed his fingers, resisting the urge to chase after her.

Instead, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the dark, the ghost of her gaze still burning into his skin.

Soon.

#devil's night #lads caleb #love and deepspace #caleb x reader #damon torrance #kai mori #fanfic #lads #rika fane #will grayson iii #winter ashby #nikova banks #emory scott #dark romance #no saints tonight #love and deepspace caleb #caleb

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addiessblack · 4 months ago

Text

NO SAINTS TONIGHT

Chapter 9

Age 21

The Lunar Hunter Academy was cloaked in darkness, its ancient silhouette etched against the starless sky. Midnight had come and gone, and most of the recruits were deep in slumber. The academy was usually alive with whispers, footsteps echoing down its labyrinthine halls, or the occasional sound of weapons clashing in the training yard. But tonight, the air was unnervingly still, as though the entire institution held its breath for what was about to unfold.

Anja was dreaming, though not of anything pleasant. Even now at her third year at the academy sleep couldn't find her most nights

And when it did it was anything but pleasant. She was back at the Choosing, standing alone in the glaring light of the stage, while shadowed faces in the audience whispered and judged her. She could hear Aaron's voice-soft, reverent, calling her "his swan." The words clawed at her chest, the pain sharp enough to make her wake abruptly, a sheen of sweat on her brow.

She had no time to process the ache in her chest, though. The heavy, almost ceremonial knock on her door jolted her fully awake. The sound was unlike anything she'd heard before, reverberating with finality.

"Miss Christ," a low, commanding voice spoke from the other side. It was neither familiar nor comforting.

Anja shot a glance at the clock on her nightstand. Midnight had long passed. Recruits weren't supposed to be disturbed at this hour. Her sharp instincts immediately kicked in. Something was wrong.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her hand already under the mattress, wrapping around the hilt of the small dagger she always kept there. "Who's asking?" Her voice was steady, cold.

The door creaked open, revealing a figure clad in the academy's ceremonial black-an insignia she hadn't seen before stitched in silver across their chest. The person's face was hidden by a hood, their features swallowed by shadow.

"The Midnight Reckoning awaits," the figure said simply.

Anja's grip on the dagger tightened. Midnight Reckoning? It wasn't a term she had ever heard, and in an academy where every test was designed to break you, that wasn't a comforting realization.

"Care to elaborate?" she asked, standing but not moving closer.

The figure didn't answer, instead stepping aside to reveal the corridor outside her room. Lit only by flickering torches, it stretched out in eerie silence. Her door wasn't the only one open. Figures in black moved methodically from room to room, rousing only a select few recruits.

Her pulse quickened. This wasn't random.

Without waiting for an explanation, she quickly dressed, tucking her dagger into the sheath hidden beneath her belt. She stepped into the hallway, her sharp eyes scanning the movements of the cloaked figures. Around her, other recruits shuffled out of their rooms, some looking groggy, others alert and wary. Among them, she spotted Indie, who gave her a brief nod.

"What's this about?" Indie whispered, falling into step beside her as the group of chosen recruits was led down the hall.

"No idea," Anja murmured, her voice low. But her mind was already working. Midnight summons. Cloaked figures. A secret trial, perhaps? The academy was notorious for its unannounced tests, designed to push recruits to their limits. But this felt different-darker.

The group was led out of the main building and into the cold night air. The courtyard, usually alive with the soft glow of lanterns and the chatter of students, was shrouded in mist. Torches burned low along the perimeter, their flames casting long, flickering shadows on the ancient stone walls.

Only ten recruits stood in the courtyard, the rest of the academy seemingly oblivious to what was happening.

"Welcome," a voice rang out, cutting through the silence like a blade.

Anja turned toward the sound. A woman in a crimson coat, her hair pulled into a severe braid, stood at the center of the courtyard. Her presence was commanding, her voice cold and sharp. Behind her, two masked figures flanked her like silent sentinels.

"You stand here tonight because you are the best this academy has to offer," the woman began, her piercing gaze sweeping over the recruits. "But excellence is not enough. Potential is not enough. Tonight, you will prove your worth-or be forgotten."

Anja's expression remained impassive, but her mind was working furiously. Prove your worth. What did that mean?

The woman gestured to the fog-shrouded archway behind her. Runes etched into the stone glowed faintly, pulsing with an unnatural light. "Beyond this arch lies your trial. You will be hunted by the academy's elite. They will show you no mercy. Your task is simple: survive until dawn."

Murmurs rippled through the group, quickly silenced by the woman's sharp voice. "There are no rules, no allies. You are on your own."

Anja's sharp gaze darted to the archway. The air around it seemed to shimmer, a faint hum resonating in her ears. It wasn't just a passage-it was something more.

"Those who succeed," the woman continued, "will gain entry into a world few know exists. A secret order that operates in the shadows, combating threats greater than anything you've been trained to face. But know this: the truth you uncover may shatter you."

The tension in the air was palpable.

"Now," the woman said, stepping aside. "Run."

The recruits hesitated for a fraction of a second before the first darted through the archway, disappearing into the fog. The rest quickly followed, their movements frantic and uncoordinated. Anja hung back, her sharp eyes assessing the situation. Indie gave her a questioning look, but Anja simply shook her head.

"Let them panic," she whispered. "We'll see who's left standing."

As the last recruit vanished into the fog, Anja and Indie exchanged a brief nod before stepping through the archway together.

---

The labyrinth stretches beyond, trapping them with no light from the sky above but only the faint rune glow. This section includes long periods of tension, with slow pacing alternating between discovery of obstacles (an unseen hunter prowling just past them) and bursts of chaos. Would you like me to extend from here?

The Midnight Reckoning: Shadows Awaken (Extended)

As Anja and Indie crossed through the archway, the air shifted. The temperature dropped sharply, the cold biting through their clothes. The oppressive silence pressed against Anja's ears, broken only by the faint hum of the glowing runes etched into the ancient stone. It wasn't just a doorway-it was a threshold into something else.

The mist thickened, curling around their feet like tendrils, muffling even the faintest of sounds. The labyrinth unfolded ahead of them, walls of towering hedges and jagged stone rising high above, casting long, menacing shadows in the faint light.

Indie inhaled sharply beside her. "I don't like this," she murmured.

Anja didn't reply. She didn't like it either, but voicing that wouldn't change the fact that they were here now. The trial had begun.

A sharp cry pierced the silence somewhere deep within the maze, followed by the distant sound of hurried footsteps. Anja's hand instinctively went to the dagger she'd tucked into her belt, her senses on high alert.

"Stay close," she said, her voice low.

Indie nodded, her own hand reaching for the twin knives she always carried. The two moved cautiously, their footsteps silent against the damp ground. Every corner they turned felt like stepping into the unknown, the heavy mist distorting shapes and shadows, making it impossible to tell what was real and what wasn't.

Anja's mind raced as she took in their surroundings. The labyrinth wasn't just a test of endurance-it was designed to disorient, to strip away any semblance of control. And the Hunters waiting within? They wouldn't hesitate to exploit that.

Another scream rang out, this one much closer. Indie stiffened, her grip tightening on her knives.

"They're picking us off," Indie whispered.

Anja nodded grimly. "Good. It means they're distracted."

"Distracted? They're killing us, Anja."

"Not yet." Anja's voice was sharp, but not unkind. "They're testing us. The Hunters could have taken us all down in the courtyard if that was the goal. This is about survival. Strategy."

Indie gave her a skeptical look but didn't argue.

The two pressed on, their movements cautious and deliberate. The mist seemed to thicken with every step, the faint glow of the runes on the stone walls their only guide. Anja's sharp eyes scanned the path ahead, every flicker of shadow and rustle of leaves setting her on edge.

And then they heard it-a low, guttural growl.

Indie froze. "What the hell was that?" she whispered.

Anja didn't answer. Her gaze was fixed on the shadows ahead, her body tense. The growl came again, deeper this time, resonating through the air. It wasn't human.

"Move," Anja hissed, grabbing Indie's arm and pulling her into the nearest side path. They pressed themselves against the hedge wall, the cold leaves brushing against their skin.

A moment later, a figure emerged from the mist. It was tall, cloaked in black, its face obscured by a mask. The Hunter moved with an unnatural grace, its footsteps silent despite the weight of its armor.

Anja held her breath, her heart pounding in her chest. The Hunter paused, its head tilting as though it could sense their presence. Indie's breathing was shallow beside her, her fingers trembling slightly around the hilt of her knives.

The Hunter turned abruptly, disappearing down another path.

Anja exhaled slowly, her grip on Indie's arm loosening. "They're tracking us," she murmured.

"No kidding," Indie muttered, her voice tight.

Anja ignored her tone, her mind already working. The Hunters were faster, stronger, and better trained. If they wanted to survive, they needed to be smarter.

"We can't stay in one place for long," Anja said. "We move quickly, quietly. No lights. No sound."

Indie nodded, her usual cocky demeanor replaced by a focused intensity.

They continued through the labyrinth, their movements swift and silent. The cries of other recruits echoed faintly in the distance, each one a grim reminder of the stakes.

Anja's instincts were sharp, her every decision calculated. She led them through narrow passages and hidden alcoves, avoiding open spaces where the Hunters would have the advantage.

But the labyrinth seemed to shift around them, the paths twisting and turning in ways that defied logic. Several times, they found themselves back at the same dead end, the faint glow of the runes mocking them.

"This isn't normal," Indie muttered.

"Nothing about this is normal," Anja replied.

They rounded another corner, only to come face-to-face with a Hunter.

It happened so fast, Anja barely had time to react. The Hunter lunged, its blade flashing in the dim light. Anja ducked, her dagger coming up to deflect the strike. The force of the blow sent her staggering back, but she recovered quickly, her movements fluid and precise.

Indie darted forward, her knives slicing through the air with deadly precision. But the Hunter was faster, its movements almost inhuman. It twisted out of the way, its blade coming up to block Indie's attack.

The fight was brutal, the sound of metal clashing against metal echoing through the labyrinth. Anja moved with practiced ease, her strikes precise and calculated. But the Hunter was relentless, its strength and speed far beyond anything she'd faced before.

It wasn't until Indie managed to slip behind the Hunter, her knife finding a weak point in its armor, that they gained the upper hand. The Hunter staggered, a guttural growl escaping its lips as it crumpled to the ground.

Anja didn't wait to see if it would get back up. She grabbed Indie's arm and pulled her down the nearest path, her heart pounding in her chest.

"We can't keep doing this," Indie panted, her voice tinged with panic.

Anja didn't respond. She didn't have an answer.

They moved quickly, the sound of their footsteps muffled by the mist. The labyrinth seemed endless, its paths stretching on forever.

By the time dawn began to break, they were bloodied and exhausted, their movements sluggish. The labyrinth finally gave way to an open clearing, the mist dissipating as the first rays of sunlight pierced the sky.

Anja and Indie stumbled forward, their breaths ragged.

The woman in crimson awaited them, her expression unreadable.

"Congratulations," she said, her voice cold. "You've survived the Midnight Reckoning. Welcome to the Order."

Anja's sharp gaze met the woman's, her mind already racing. Whatever the Order was, she would find out. And whatever secrets they held, she would uncover them.

She started walking all of them following in silence.

Anja walked near the front of the group, her every step deliberate as the crimson-clad woman led them through a maze of stone corridors that delved deeper and deeper beneath the Lunar Hunter Academy.

Behind her, Indie muttered under her breath, her apprehension clear. "Why do I feel like we're walking into a trap?"

"Because we might be," Anja said flatly, though her tone was quieter than usual. Her sharp gaze flicked to the glowing runes etched into the walls. They pulsed faintly, as if alive, as if watching.

The group finally reached an enormous set of double doors, intricately carved with a mural that seemed to depict all four sectors of the Earth: the sprawling cities of the Northern Coalition, the towering spires of the Eastern Dominions, the rolling deserts of the Southern Commonwealth, and the chaotic ruins of the Outlands, the no-man's land crawling with Morbus. In the center of the mural, a figure loomed, robed and faceless, their hands outstretched as if presiding over all-a symbol of Ever, the world's ruling body.

Anja's eyes lingered on the figure. She'd grown up believing Ever was a force for peace, a unifying power meant to keep the fractured sectors from descending into chaos. But something about the figure's blank face unsettled her now. It felt less like an emblem of unity and more like a mask hiding something darker.

The crimson-clad woman gestured, and the doors groaned open, revealing a cavernous chamber bathed in cold light. A massive, circular table dominated the room, its surface engraved with a map of the Earth. Around it sat figures in dark cloaks, their faces hidden in shadow. The air hummed with an unspoken power, the kind that made your skin prickle.

"Step forward," the woman commanded, her voice sharp. The recruits hesitated but obeyed, their boots echoing on the stone floor. Anja kept her head high, her expression unreadable, though her mind churned with questions.

The woman stopped at the table and addressed the council. "These are the recruits who survived the Reckoning. They have proven their strength and loyalty. It is time they learned the truth."

One of the cloaked figures leaned forward, their voice low but resonant. "The truth is not for the faint of heart. Once you know it, there is no turning back."

Anja's pulse quickened, though her face remained impassive. She wasn't here to show fear.

The crimson-clad woman turned back to the recruits. "What do you know of the war?"

The question was met with awkward silence. Finally, one of the recruits spoke, his voice uncertain. "We know it's against the Eastern Dominions. They're trying to expand into the Northern Coalition's borders. Ever has stayed neutral because they want peace."

The woman's lips curled into something between a smile and a sneer. "Peace." She spat the word like it was a joke. "Is that what you believe? That Ever, in its infinite wisdom, has stayed out of the war because it values peace?"

The recruits exchanged uneasy glances. Indie shifted closer to Anja, whispering, "What's going on?"

Anja didn't answer. She was too focused on the cloaked figures, on the way their silence felt heavier than words.

The crimson-clad woman continued, her tone colder now. "Ever is not a force for peace. It is a force for control. And the war with the Eastern Dominions is not what it seems. It is a farce."

A ripple of disbelief spread through the recruits. Anja's jaw tightened, though she remained silent, her sharp mind racing.

"Years ago," the woman said, "Ever and the Eastern Dominions formed a secret alliance. They share a single goal: the eradication of the Morbus. But their methods... their methods are monstrous."

One of the cloaked figures spoke, their voice calm but edged with steel. "For decades, they have been conducting experiments on talented Evols-those with powers they deem exceptional. Their goal is to create the perfect weapon: mindless soldiers stripped of their humanity, capable of annihilating the Morbus without hesitation."

Anja's stomach churned, but she kept her face a mask. Around her, the other recruits were reacting with shock, anger, even fear. Indie's hand flew to her mouth. "That's... that's impossible. Ever wouldn't-"

"They would," Anja cut in quietly, her voice like a blade. "Because they think it's for the greater good."

The crimson-clad woman nodded, her expression grim. "They believe the ends justify the means. To them, the extinction of the Morbus is worth any cost-no matter how many lives they destroy in the process."

Indie shook her head, her voice trembling. "But Ever's supposed to protect us. They're supposed to keep the sectors united."

"They are united," the woman said bitterly. "United in secrecy. United in lies."

The crimson-clad woman regarded the recruits with a measured intensity, her gaze heavy with authority. Silence lingered in the chamber, broken only by the faint hum of the glowing map carved into the circular table.

"Before I ask you to make your choice, you must understand the Order's purpose, how we operate, and the cost of standing with us," she began, her voice sharp and commanding. "The Order exists to fight in the shadows where others cannot. We are the unseen force that stands against the corruption embedded in Ever and the Eastern Dominions. We expose their lies, sabotage their experiments, and strike at their power when the world isn't looking."

One of the cloaked figures leaned forward, their voice calm but resonant. "We are not affiliated with the Northern Coalition government-not officially. Our existence is not known to most of their council. Only a select few in the highest ranks know of us, and even fewer understand the full scope of our mission."

The recruits exchanged glances, unease rippling through the group.

"What about the Northern Coalition?" one of them asked, his voice hesitant. "Aren't they supposed to be fighting Ever and the Dominions, too?"

The crimson-clad woman's expression darkened. "Not all of them. Most of the Northern Coalition believe this war is what it seems: a conflict with the Eastern Dominions to protect our borders and our people. But a handful of their leaders know the truth-they know Ever's involvement and the horrors being committed. They work with us in secret, but even among them, there is a traitor. Someone is feeding information to Ever and the Dominions, ensuring their experiments continue unchecked. That is why the Order exists. We cannot rely on politics or diplomacy to end this. We must fight in ways the world would never condone."

A recruit near the back of the group shifted uncomfortably. "So, what exactly do you do? Just... attack them? Expose their secrets?"

Another cloaked figure spoke, their voice low and deliberate. "We gather intelligence. We infiltrate their facilities. We rescue those they would turn into weapons. And yes, we strike when necessary. But our ultimate goal is to dismantle Ever's control and expose their lies to the world. To do that, we must remain in the shadows. If Ever or the Dominions knew of our existence, they would crush us."

The crimson-clad woman nodded. "We operate in secrecy because that is our greatest weapon. If you join us, you will become part of a war that most of the world doesn't even know exists. You will fight battles no one will ever hear about. You will make sacrifices no one will ever recognize. And if you fall, there will be no one to mourn you."

Her words hung heavy in the air, the enormity of the situation sinking in.

"And the Morbus?" Anja asked, her voice cutting through the silence. "What about them? You said Ever and the Dominions want to wipe them out."

The woman's gaze turned to her, sharp and calculating. "The Morbus are part of this, yes. Ever and the Dominions see them as a plague that must be eradicated. They believe their experiments will create the ultimate weapon to achieve that goal-Evol-powered soldiers stripped of free will, designed to kill without hesitation or fear."

Anja's jaw tightened, but she said nothing, her mind racing.

Another cloaked figure added, their voice quiet but firm, "The Morbus are not the only ones they are willing to sacrifice. Anyone they deem expendable-anyone who stands in their way-is at risk. They see themselves as saviors, but their methods are monstrous."

The crimson-clad woman stepped closer to the recruits, her expression unyielding. "This is what you must understand. Joining the Order means more than fighting a hidden war. It means accepting the truth: that the world is far more broken than you ever realized, and that you may never live to see it repaired. It means sacrificing everything for a cause no one else will fight for."

Her gaze swept across the group, lingering on each of them in turn. "Now I ask you: who among you will stand with us? And who will walk away?"

The silence that followed her question was deafening, the weight of it pressing down on everyone in the room. The recruits shifted uneasily, their faces reflecting a range of emotions: fear, doubt, determination. The glowing map etched into the table cast ghostly light across their features, as if demanding an answer from each of them.

Indie was the first to speak, her voice tight but resolute. "What happens if we walk away?"

The crimson-clad woman turned her piercing gaze on her. "If you choose to leave, your memory of this night will be erased. You will return to your training, none the wiser, and live under the same illusions you've always known. But you will not be part of the Order. You will not know the truth, and you will not fight the battles that truly matter."

Indie's lips pressed into a thin line. Her hand brushed against Anja's arm, seeking reassurance, but Anja didn't move. Her sharp gaze was locked on the council, her expression unreadable, though her mind churned.

"And if we stay?" one of the other recruits asked, his voice trembling.

The crimson-clad woman's tone turned steely. "If you stay, you will become part of something far greater than yourself. You will know the truth, and you will fight for it. But understand this: the path ahead will not be easy. You will face danger, betrayal, and sacrifice at every turn. You may not survive. And if you are captured, no one will come for you. The Order cannot risk its existence for a single life-even yours."

The recruit paled, looking like he was about to be sick.

Indie's grip on Anja's arm tightened. "This is insane," she whispered. "How are we supposed to make a decision like this?"

Anja's jaw clenched, her sharp mind piecing together everything they had learned. Ever's lies, the experiments, the mindless super soldiers. The traitor in the Northern Coalition. It all led to one undeniable truth: the world she thought she knew was gone. There was no going back, not for her.

"I'll stay."

Her voice rang out clearly, cutting through the tension like a blade. All eyes turned to her, including Indie's, wide with shock.

"Anja, are you-"

"I'm staying," she repeated, her tone unwavering. She stepped forward, her head held high, her gaze meeting the crimson-clad woman's. "If everything you've said is true, if Ever is as corrupt as you claim, then someone has to stop them. I'm in."

The woman's expression softened, just slightly, and she nodded. "Then you will fight in the shadows, where others cannot."

Indie looked at her friend like she'd grown another head. "Are you crazy? Do you even hear what they're saying? This isn't just dangerous, Anja. It's suicide."

"Then leave," Anja said quietly, though her words stung more than she intended. "You don't have to stay, Indie. No one does. But I can't walk away from this. I won't."

Indie's mouth opened, then closed again. She hesitated, her hand clutching the pendant around her neck as if it might give her strength. Her gaze darted to the other recruits, most of whom still looked too stunned to speak, then back to Anja.

"I can't let you do this alone," she said finally, her voice trembling but resolute. She stepped forward, standing beside Anja. "I'm in, too."

A faint smile tugged at Anja's lips, though it didn't reach her eyes. She placed a hand on Indie's shoulder, grateful but worried.

One by one, the other recruits began to make their decisions. A tall boy with dark eyes and a scar across his jaw stepped forward, his expression grim. "If Ever's doing what you say, they need to be stopped. I'm in."

A girl with silver-streaked hair and a wary gaze followed. "Me too. Someone has to fight for the truth."

Not everyone chose to stay. A handful of recruits, their faces pale and eyes wide, backed away toward the door. They couldn't meet anyone's gaze as they muttered apologies, their fear outweighing their resolve.

The crimson-clad woman didn't try to stop them. She merely gestured to another figure in the shadows, who stepped forward to lead the dissenters away. "Their memories will be erased," she said, her tone matter-of-fact. "They will not remember this night. Nor will they know of your choice."

When the door closed behind the last of the deserters, the woman turned back to the remaining recruits. Her gaze swept over them, lingering on each of their faces.

"You have made your choice," she said, her voice softer now but no less commanding. "From this moment on, you are no longer ordinary recruits of the Lunar Hunter Academy. You are part of the Order. Your lives will change, your missions will be dangerous, and your loyalties will be tested. But know this: you are not alone. You fight for a cause that matters, and you fight with us."

The cloaked figures around the table inclined their heads in unison, a silent acknowledgment of the new recruits.

Anja felt the weight of their gazes, but she didn't flinch. She glanced at Indie, who looked more nervous than resolute, and offered a faint nod.

They had stepped into the shadows together. There was no turning back now.

The dormitory was cloaked in silence, the kind that felt too heavy, too suffocating after everything they'd just learned. Anja pushed the door open, stepping inside with slow, deliberate movements. Indie followed, her expression pale and her hands trembling slightly as she shut the door behind them.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The room felt too small, the walls too close. Anja dropped her bag by the bed, her muscles tense and her mind racing. Indie hovered near the window, her arms wrapped around herself as she stared out into the dark expanse of the academy grounds.

"Are you okay?" Indie finally asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Anja didn't answer right away. Her fingers grazed the edge of the desk as she paced, her sharp eyes scanning the room as if searching for answers that weren't there. The cold light from the moon spilled through the window, casting long shadows across the floor.

"Anja?" Indie pressed, turning to face her. "Talk to me."

Anja stopped, her back to her friend. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "I don't know if I can."

"What do you mean?" Indie's voice wavered, but she stepped closer, her concern clear. "You've been quiet ever since we left the chamber. I know you're thinking something. You always are. So just say it."

Anja let out a breath, shaking her head. "It's not something I can just say, Indie. Not yet. I need to-" She paused, her throat tightening. "I need to figure it out first."

Indie frowned, but she didn't push further. She nodded slowly, retreating to her bed and sitting down heavily. "Fine. Just... don't shut me out, okay? We're in this together."

Anja glanced at her, her expression softening for a brief moment. "I know."

As Indie leaned back against the wall, pulling her knees to her chest, Anja turned her attention to the desk by the window. The faint reflection of her face in the glass stared back at her, pale and hollow-eyed. Her mind replayed the crimson-clad woman's words over and over, like a haunting melody she couldn't escape.

"Experiments on talented Evols-those with powers they deem exceptional."

Her chest tightened.

Aaron had been exceptional. Everyone knew that. His Evol, his mind manipulation, had made him a legend even among the Lunar Hunters. His talent was unmatched, his potential limitless. And yet he'd been sent to fight, to risk his life on the front lines of a war that now seemed less and less like the noble cause she'd believed in.

And then he'd died.

At least, that's what they'd been told.

Anja pressed her palms against the desk, her breath shallow. The memory of Aaron's funeral flashed in her mind-the folded flag, the somber speeches, the way her mother had wept and her father had stood like a stone pillar, unshakable but silently broken. She'd been numb, barely able to process it all.

But now...

"Mindless soldiers stripped of their humanity, capable of annihilating the Morbus without hesitation."

Her stomach churned.

What if Aaron's death hadn't been what it seemed? What if he hadn't died at all? What if he'd been taken-experimented on, used as one of their weapons?

"No," she whispered, her voice trembling. It couldn't be true. She wouldn't let herself believe it.

But the questions wouldn't stop.

Why had someone as powerful as Aaron been sent to the front lines in the first place? Why had Ever stayed silent during the war, only to now be exposed as collaborators with the Eastern Dominions? And why did the words of the crimson-clad woman feel like they were slicing through her, ripping apart the carefully constructed lies she'd lived with for so long?

She turned from the window, her eyes landing on the small, framed photo on her nightstand. It was a picture of her, Aaron, and the rest of their family, taken during one of their rare moments of peace. Aaron's arm was slung around her shoulders, his smirk infuriating but familiar. She could almost hear his voice in her head, teasing her, challenging her, grounding her.

"I won't let them take him," she murmured, her voice low but fierce.

Indie stirred, glancing up from her bed. "What did you say?"

Anja shook her head, forcing her expression into something neutral. "Nothing. Just thinking out loud."

Indie didn't look convinced, but she didn't press further. She lay back down, her gaze fixed on the ceiling. "I hope we know what we're doing," she muttered.

Anja didn't respond. She couldn't.

Instead, she sat on her bed, the photo in her hands, her fingers tracing the edges of Aaron's face. She knew what she had to do now. If the Order was right, if Ever truly was behind everything-the experiments, the lies, the war-then she would find the truth.

And if Aaron was still out there, if he'd been taken, turned into one of their weapons...

She would bring him back. No matter the cost.

#devil's night #lads caleb #love and deepspace #caleb x reader #damon torrance #fanfic #kai mori #lads #rika fane #will grayson iii #winter ashby #emory scott #nikova banks #no saints tonight #dark romance #love and deepspace caleb #caleb

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addiessblack · 4 months ago

Text

NO SAINTS TONIGHT

Chapter 8

The Lunar Hunter Academy was quiet at this hour, the stone corridors dimly lit by flickering torches. Most students were asleep, exhausted from the day’s rigorous training. But Anja wasn’t like most students anymore. Sleep was a fleeting luxury, one she hadn’t truly indulged in since Aaron’s death.

She walked through the hallway, her boots echoing against the cold floors, her black uniform tailored and pristine, though the rest of her appearance hinted at chaos. Her hair was slightly disheveled, her gaze sharp and unyielding. She wasn’t the girl who had arrived months ago, hollowed out and grieving. No, this Anja had learned to hide her pain behind a razor-sharp mask of indifference and dry humor—a mask that often unnerved those around her.

The training hall was empty, save for a few dummies in the corner. Anja made her way to the center, shrugging off her jacket and rolling up her sleeves. Her Evol hummed faintly beneath her skin, a warm, dangerous presence she was still learning to control. Tonight, she wanted to let it out.

Picking up a staff, she spun it in her hands, testing its weight. Her movements were fluid, almost lazy, but her eyes were cold and focused. She struck the dummy with sudden ferocity, the sound of wood against leather reverberating in the hall.

“You’re supposed to be asleep,” a voice called from the doorway.

Anja didn’t stop. “You’re supposed to mind your own business, Indie.”

She usually loved being in Indie's presence. But tonight was one of those nights. A night where she felt the pain a little more than usual.

Indie stepped into the hall, her arms crossed. She was still in her training gear, her usually kind face etched with concern. “It’s the middle of the night, Anja. Again.”

“So?” Anja struck the dummy again, this time with enough force to knock it backward. “It’s not like anyone’s waiting for me to tuck them in.”

Indie flinched at the bitterness in her voice. She had learned to pick her battles when it came to Anja’s sharp tongue, but tonight, she wasn’t going to back down.

“Do you think this is what Aaron would’ve wanted?” Indie asked softly.

Anja froze, the staff hovering mid-swing. For a moment, the mask slipped, and something raw flickered in her eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a mocking smirk.

“Oh, please,” Anja said, leaning on the staff like it was the most casual thing in the world. “Let’s not drag him into this. He’s not exactly in a position to have opinions anymore, is he?”

“Anja,” Indie whispered, her voice breaking.

“What?” Anja tilted her head, her smile sharp and humorless. “You want me to cry? To fall to my knees and wail about how unfair it all is? Sorry, Indie, but I’m fresh out of tears.”

Indie stared at her, speechless.

Anja rolled her eyes and turned back to the dummy. “Look, I get it. You’re worried. But I’m fine.” She struck the dummy again, this time channeling her Evol. A pulse of energy rippled through the air, sending the dummy flying across the hall. “See? Perfectly fine.”

“That’s not fine, Anja!” Indie snapped, her voice rising for the first time. “You’re spiraling, and everyone can see it except you!”

Anja turned to her, her smile gone. “Maybe I like spiraling,” she said quietly, her voice laced with venom. “Maybe it’s the only thing that makes sense anymore.”

Indie’s eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t back down. “You’re not the only one who lost him, you know. We all did. Your family did. And they’re all trying to hold on, but you—you’re just pushing everyone away.”

Anja’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, it seemed like she might lash out. But instead, she laughed—a low, humorless sound that sent a chill down Indie’s spine.

“Pushing everyone away?” Anja said, dropping the staff. “Good. Less people to disappoint.”

She turned and started to walk away, but Indie grabbed her arm.

“Anja, please,” Indie said, her voice trembling. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

Anja stared at her hand, then back at her. “You don’t get it, Indie,” she said, her voice flat. “I am alone.”

She pulled her arm free and left the hall, her footsteps echoing long after she disappeared into the shadows. Indie stood there, tears streaming down her face, her heart breaking for her friend who had built walls so high, no one could reach her anymore.

In the distance, Anja’s voice echoed through the corridor, muttering bitterly to herself. “They all think they know me. They don’t know a damn thing.”

And for the first time since Aaron’s death, Indie wondered if Anja had truly lost not just her brother—but herself.

The banquet hall was alive with the murmur of conversation and the clinking of glasses, the air heavy with an undertone of tension that never quite dissipated in times of war. It had been months since Aaron’s funeral, and though his absence lingered in every corner of Thunder Bay, the world kept spinning.

Rika sat at one of the long, polished tables, her hand resting on her glass of wine. The chatter around her ebbed and flowed, but her sharp eyes missed nothing. Michael sat beside her, his posture relaxed but his presence as commanding as ever. They were here to show solidarity, to remind the Northern Coalition of their strength, even in the face of personal tragedy.

The conversation at the table beside them caught her attention. A group of high-ranking officials and their partners were deep in discussion, their voices low but clear enough for her to hear.

“They say the Christ family has always been... extraordinary,” one man said, his tone bordering on awe.

“Extraordinary?” another replied, a cynical edge to his voice. “Or cursed?”

A woman leaned in, her jeweled earrings catching the light. “Cursed? That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think? They’re warriors, born to lead. Their children—”

“Children who fly too close to the sun,” the cynical man interrupted. “Aaron Christ was proof of that. Brilliant, yes. But look where it got him. Dead in a war he couldn’t win.”

Rika’s grip on her glass tightened, the stem threatening to snap under her fingers. Michael placed a hand over hers, a silent reminder to stay composed.

“You make it sound like he was reckless,” the woman countered, her voice sharp. “He gave everything for the Coalition. For us.”

“And what of his sister?” another man asked, his tone softer. “The girl who’s training at the Lunar Hunter Academy now. Anja Christ. Do you think she’ll follow the same path? That same... fate?”

There was a pause, the weight of the question hanging in the air.

“She’s young,” the first man said. “But they say the Christ children are closer to gods than to men. Perhaps that’s their curse.”

“Closer to gods,” the cynical man scoffed, swirling his drink. “Or closer to monsters. What kind of gods leave devastation in their wake? What kind of gods are consumed by their own power?”

Rika couldn’t take it anymore. She stood, her chair scraping against the floor, and the table fell silent as every eye turned to her.

“If you’re going to talk about my children, at least have the decency to speak the truth,” she said, her voice steady but laced with venom.

The group stared at her, some shifting uncomfortably in their seats.

“Closer to gods, closer to monsters,” she continued, her gaze piercing. “Call them what you want. But Aaron and Anja didn’t ask for the weight of the world to be placed on their shoulders. They didn’t ask to be the ones everyone looks to when things fall apart. And yet, they bear it. They always have.”

The woman who had defended Aaron earlier nodded, her expression sympathetic. “No one can deny their strength. Or their sacrifices.”

“And yet, people like you will always find a way to diminish them,” Rika shot back, her gaze cutting to the cynical man. “Aaron gave his life for this Coalition, and Anja is out there training to do the same. They are not gods or monsters. They are human. But they are stronger and braver than anyone in this room.”

The cynical man opened his mouth to respond, but Michael stood, his towering presence silencing any retort.

“That’s enough,” Michael said, his voice calm but commanding. “My son is dead. My daughter is out there fighting to protect people like you. Show some respect.”

The table fell silent again, and Rika sat down, her hands trembling slightly. Michael placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and she exhaled slowly, trying to steady herself.

As the conversation around the room resumed, Rika’s mind drifted to Anja.

She could picture her daughter now, standing tall among the other recruits at the Lunar Hunter Academy. Anja had always been strong, but Aaron’s death had changed her. She had hardened in ways Rika had never wanted for her, but she couldn’t deny the fire in her daughter’s eyes when she left for the Academy.

“She’s not alone, you know,” Michael said quietly, as if reading her thoughts.

“I know,” Rika replied, though her voice wavered. Indie had gone with her, and Rika took some solace in that. But she couldn’t help the ache in her chest when she thought of Anja standing in Aaron’s shadow, fighting to prove herself, fighting to protect a world that had already taken so much from her.

“She’ll find her way,” Michael said, his hand still on her shoulder.

Rika nodded, but her heart felt heavy.

Closer to gods than to men. The words echoed in her mind, and for the first time, she wondered if there was some truth to them. Not because Aaron and Anja were divine, but because the world had always demanded the impossible from them. And somehow, they had always delivered.

But gods or not, they were still her children. And all she wanted was for Anja to come home safe.

The city below was alive with flickering neon lights, casting distorted reflections on rain-slicked streets. Anja crouched low on the edge of a rooftop, her sharp eyes scanning the bustling chaos below. This wasn’t her first mission, but it was her first solo one since joining the academy. The weight of responsibility pressed against her chest like a vice, but she shoved it aside. Weakness was something she couldn’t afford—not here, not now.

Dressed in sleek black combat gear, her hood concealed most of her face, leaving only her focused gaze visible. The academy's crescent moon emblem gleamed faintly on her collar, a quiet reminder of her duty. She exhaled, steadying her nerves, before leaping across the gap between two buildings.

The wind whipped past her as she soared, her landing silent and precise. She crouched for a moment, her fingers brushing the cold concrete as she steadied herself. Below, the streets were a blur of motion—laughing strangers, glowing storefronts, and a world oblivious to the danger lurking in its shadows.

Her target was close. She could feel it, that telltale flicker of malice she’d learned to identify through her empathic resonance. The Morbus agent she was tracking was radiating fear and paranoia, emotions so sharp they felt like needles against her senses.

Moving like a shadow, Anja followed the trail, her steps precise and deliberate. She scaled a fire escape with ease, her boots barely making a sound against the rusted metal. At the top, she paused, her gaze sweeping the streets below. The agent was moving through a narrow alley, glancing over their shoulder every few steps.

Amateur, she thought, a sharp smirk curling her lips.

She tracked them for several blocks, always staying out of sight. The rooftops provided her with the perfect vantage point, allowing her to anticipate their movements. When they finally stopped outside a warehouse, their hand fumbling with a comm device, she made her move.

Dropping down from the rooftop, she landed behind them without a sound. Her hood fell back slightly as she straightened, her expression cold and calculating.

The agent didn’t notice her at first. Then she spoke, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

“Lose something?”

The agent spun around, their hand darting to a concealed weapon.

Anja raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Don’t bother. You’re out of your league.”

The agent lunged, pulling a blade from their coat. But Anja was faster. She sidestepped with ease, her movements fluid and precise. Grabbing their wrist, she twisted it until the blade clattered to the ground. She shoved them back against the wall, her hand glowing faintly as she summoned her energy.

“Let’s skip the part where you try to act tough,” she said, her tone icy. “The data. Now.”

The agent hesitated, their eyes darting to the glowing energy swirling around her hand. Reluctantly, they reached into their pocket and pulled out a small drive, tossing it to the ground at her feet.

“Good choice,” Anja muttered, picking up the drive and slipping it into her pocket. She turned to leave, but something made her pause—a faint prickle at the back of her neck, like she was being watched.

Her eyes darted upward, scanning the rooftops. Nothing. Just shadows and the faint hum of the city. Shaking off the feeling, she disappeared into the night, the faint echo of her footsteps swallowed by the chaos below.

What she didn’t know was that she was being watched.

From the shadows above, Aaron stood, his body tense as he tracked her every movement. His jaw tightened as he watched her jump down into the alley, his heart pounding as she faced the Morbus agent without hesitation.

She’s perfect.

The thought whispered through his mind, dark and possessive. His Anja. His. Watching her move, seeing her confidence and control, made something primal stir within him. He wanted to step into the light, to pull her close, to remind her she didn’t need to face these things alone.

But he couldn’t. Not yet.

His gloved hand clenched into a fist at his side, nails biting into his palm as he fought the urge to interfere. She didn’t need him, not in this moment. And yet, he burned with the need to protect her, to shield her from every threat, every danger.

A twisted smile curled his lips as he watched her disappear into the shadows.

“Keep going, Anja,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with a dangerous kind of pride. “Show them all what you’re capable of. Show them you’re stronger than they’ll ever be.”

And yet, beneath his pride, a darker thought lingered. He wanted to be the only one to see her like this—strong, untouchable. The thought of anyone else witnessing her brilliance, her power, made his blood boil.

One day, he promised himself. One day she’ll know I’m here. She’ll understand that everything I do is for her.

For now, he melted back into the shadows, his presence a secret she would never suspect. But he would always be there, watching, waiting, ensuring no one—and nothing—could ever take her away from him.

The holidays brought Anja and Indie back to Thunder Bay, the city cloaked in frost and shadow, a stillness in the air that felt both familiar and haunting. The Christ estate looked the same as always: sprawling, opulent, and imposing, its warm lights flickering against the cold. Michael and Rika greeted them at the door, pulling them into tight hugs, though their gazes lingered on Anja for a moment longer, searching for cracks in her carefully composed mask.

It had been months since they’d all been together, but the reunion was short-lived.

The following morning, grim news broke: a council member, one of the older ones, had died suddenly. His name was Victor Morrell, and though his position had once commanded respect, he’d been widely disliked. His rigid, self-serving policies and pompous demeanor had made him a thorn in everyone’s side.

“No love lost there,” Damon quipped over breakfast, slouched lazily in his chair as Winter gave him a disapproving nudge.

,, Don't look at me I didn't like the bastard eather " Will chimes stuffing his face with pancakes. Like father like daughter.

Still, as was customary, the Horsemen and their families were expected to attend the funeral. A death in the council, no matter how insignificant the person, required appearances to be maintained.

The chapel was grand but cold, the kind of place that demanded silence and reverence. The original Horsemen—Michael, Kai, Damon, and Will—sat in the front row with their partners. Behind them, the new generation filled the pews, Indie perched beside Anja with a solemn expression.

The room was heavy with the weight of unspoken truths. No one liked Victor, but here they all were, dressed in black and pretending to mourn a man whose absence was more of a relief than a loss.

The priest began his eulogy, his voice smooth and practiced. “Victor Morrell was a man of vision, integrity, and unparalleled dedication to our cause...”

Anja’s lips twitched. Her mask, so carefully maintained, cracked just enough for a dark laugh to bubble up inside her. She tried to swallow it, but the absurdity of the words pushed it forward.

A soft giggle escaped.

It was quiet at first, but in the stillness of the chapel, it might as well have been a shout. Indie stiffened beside her, eyes wide with horror, and several heads turned to look.

But Anja couldn’t stop. The more the priest droned on about Victor’s supposed virtues, the more ridiculous it all seemed. Another giggle broke free, this one louder.

From the front row, Damon turned his head slightly, catching her eye. For a moment, there was silence—then the corners of his mouth twitched upward. He laughed. Not loudly, but audibly enough for others to notice.

That was all the encouragement Anja needed. Her shoulders shook with suppressed mirth, and this time, she didn’t bother hiding it.

Michael turned sharply, shooting a warning glare at Damon, but his efforts were wasted. Kai was stifling a chuckle now, and even Will’s lips quirked upward in reluctant amusement.

“Victor Morrell exemplified leadership...” the priest continued, oblivious to the ripple of quiet laughter spreading through the pews.

Indie buried her face in her hands, muttering, “Anja, please.”

Anja smirked, leaning closer to whisper, “I’m sorry, but ‘exemplified leadership’? The man could barely lead a conversation.”

Damon, clearly enjoying the chaos, leaned back in his seat, whispering to Winter, “I like this kid. She’s got guts.”

Winter gave him an exasperated look, but even she couldn’t hide the faint smile tugging at her lips.

By the time the eulogy ended, the priest’s face was flushed with frustration, and the chapel was buzzing with whispers. As the congregation filed out, Michael pulled Damon aside, his tone low and sharp.

“Really, Damon? Encouraging her?”

Damon smirked unapologetically, clapping Michael on the shoulder. “Come on, Michael .You have to admit, it was hilarious. The kid’s got a spine—don’t squash that.”

Meanwhile, Anja stood outside the chapel, the cold air biting at her cheeks. Indie was still glaring at her, but Anja couldn’t bring herself to care. She felt lighter somehow, as if the laughter had loosened something tight in her chest.

Damon approached her, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. “You know,” he said casually, “it takes a certain kind of person to laugh at a council funeral. Most people don’t have the nerve.”

She raised an eyebrow, her smirk returning. “Most people don’t have your bad influence.”

He chuckled. “Fair enough. But seriously, you’ve got something, kid. Don’t let anyone smother it.”

As he walked away, Anja stood a little straighter, her mask settling back into place. She wasn’t sure what the future held, but she knew one thing for certain: she wouldn’t let this world break her. If they wanted to see strength, she’d give them strength—even if it came with sharp edges and dark laughter.

The Hall of Illusions was an architectural masterpiece, a dome-shaped chamber encased in obsidian walls that shimmered faintly with embedded runes. The only light came from floating orbs, their glow casting long, flickering shadows. The room felt alive, humming faintly with energy that crawled along Anja’s skin like static electricity. It was as if the room itself was waiting to judge her.

Standing in the center, Anja inhaled deeply, forcing herself to project calm. But her fingers, clenched tightly at her sides, betrayed her nerves. Around her wrist, the silver band issued to all first-years at the academy pulsed faintly with a cool, rhythmic energy. She stared at it as if it might offer reassurance. It didn’t.

The instructor’s words from earlier echoed in her mind: “The Hall of Illusions pulls from your subconscious, forcing you to confront the very things you don’t want to face. Only those who can master their emotions and focus their Evol can survive unscathed. Many don’t.”

She had scoffed at the dramatic warning at the time, masking her apprehension with the same bravado she’d wielded in the academy halls. But now, as the massive iron doors sealed shut behind her with a low, resonant thud, she wasn’t so sure.

“The test begins now,” a disembodied voice intoned, cold and impersonal.

The moment the voice faded, the room shifted. The polished obsidian floor rippled like water, and the runes flared bright before dimming entirely, plunging the chamber into darkness. Then came the whispers—soft, disjointed murmurs that seemed to come from everywhere at once.

Anja froze as her surroundings transformed. The cold, lifeless chamber was gone, replaced by something painfully familiar. She was standing on the porch of her home in Thunder Bay, her hand clutching the railing so hard her knuckles turned white.

It was that day.

Aaron was in front of her, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his face a perfect mask of composure. She had begged him not to go—please don’t leave me—but he had only smiled, his expression achingly gentle.

“You’ll be fine,” he had said, his voice low and steady. His hand brushed her cheek, a touch so fleeting it felt like it had been stolen. “You’re stronger than you think.”

Anja’s chest constricted as the scene played out in vivid detail, every word, every movement exactly as she remembered. She tried to remind herself that it wasn’t real, that it was an illusion designed to torment her, but the weight of it crushed her all the same.

Then, as Aaron turned to leave, the scene warped. His figure blurred, dissolving like smoke in the wind. The porch around her darkened, the warm sunlight replaced by a cold, gray haze.

When her vision cleared, she was no longer at home. She was standing in the council chamber, staring down at a lifeless body on a polished marble slab.

Aaron’s body.

Her breath hitched, and she stumbled back, the back of her legs hitting the edge of a chair. His skin was pallid, almost waxy, his once-vivid eyes closed as if he were only sleeping. The metallic scent of blood hung thick in the air, and though she knew it wasn’t real, it felt suffocating.

“No,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “This isn’t real. It’s not—”

The scene shifted again, faster this time, the world around her melting into a cacophony of color and sound. She was on a battlefield now, chaos erupting in every direction. Explosions rocked the ground beneath her feet, and the acrid smell of smoke stung her nose.

Anja looked down at her hands and saw golden energy crackling wildly around them, uncontrolled and destructive. She was screaming, her voice lost in the roar of war. Bodies littered the ground—friends, enemies, people she didn’t even recognize. And in the distance, a voice whispered, low and insidious.

You’ll destroy them all. Just like you destroyed him.

“Shut up!” Anja screamed, her voice breaking. She fell to her knees, clutching her head as the whispers grew louder, overlapping until they became a deafening roar.

But even as the illusion pressed down on her, something deep inside pushed back. A spark of defiance, buried beneath layers of fear and guilt, flared to life. She clenched her fists, forcing herself to breathe.

Aaron wouldn’t want this. He wouldn’t want me to fall apart.

Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to stand. The golden energy around her hands intensified, crackling like a storm. She focused on it, letting it build, letting it consume the fear until it became something else entirely.

With a shout, she unleashed the energy, a wave of brilliant light that surged outward, shattering the illusion like glass. The battlefield cracked, the whispers silenced, and the oppressive weight lifted from her chest.

When the world settled, she was back in the Hall of Illusions, standing on trembling legs. The voice from before returned, calm and impassive.

“You’ve passed. But only just.”

The door opened with a soft hiss, and Anja stepped into the corridor beyond, her body drenched in sweat and her heart pounding.

High above, hidden in the shadows of an upper balcony, Aaron leaned against the railing, his gaze fixed on her. He had watched every second of the trial, his expression unreadable, though his dark eyes gleamed with something almost feral.

“She’s perfect,” he murmured, his lips curling into a slow, possessive smile.

For a moment, his fingers twitched at his sides, the urge to go to her almost overwhelming. But he held himself back, content to watch from afar. She was stronger than he had even dared to hope. Stronger, and more his than ever.

“She’ll survive this place,” Aaron whispered to himself. “But they’ll never survive her.”

The dorm was a flurry of nervous energy as Anja stood before the mirror, her fingers tugging absentmindedly at the hem of the sleek black dress Indie had convinced her to wear. The fabric clung to her figure in a way that made her feel exposed, like she was trying too hard to be someone she wasn’t.

Indie leaned against the wall, arms crossed and a satisfied smirk on her face. “You look amazing. Elias won’t know what hit him.”

Anja scoffed, though her lips twitched into a faint smile. “This feels… wrong.”

“It’s not wrong to live a little, Anja,” Indie said, her tone softer now. “You deserve this. It’s just a date, not a marriage proposal.”

But Anja’s stomach twisted with guilt as she turned back to the mirror. The sight of herself in the dress felt almost foreign, like she was betraying someone. Like she was betraying him.

Her fingers brushed over the necklace she always wore, a simple piece Aaron had given her years ago. She closed her eyes, the familiar ache in her chest blooming.

Aaron would hate this.

The thought hit her like a punch, and she had to grip the edge of the dresser to steady herself. He’d always been so possessive, so adamant that she was his and his alone. Even now, with him gone, it felt like she was stepping over some invisible line.

“You okay?” Indie asked, her voice laced with concern.

Anja forced a smile, shaking off the heaviness in her chest. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

But she wasn’t fine. She felt like she was walking into something she didn’t understand, like the universe was holding its breath, waiting for her to make the wrong move.

---

Meanwhile, Elias Varon was making his way across the academy grounds, his steps quick and confident as he headed toward the courtyard. The night air was crisp, and the stars overhead glimmered faintly through the thin clouds.

He didn’t get far.

A dark figure stepped out from the shadows, blocking his path. The man’s face was partially obscured, but his eyes were sharp and unforgiving, like shards of glass.

Elias frowned, slowing to a halt. “Can I help you?”

The man said nothing at first, his gaze boring into Elias with an intensity that made his skin crawl. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and measured, laced with a quiet menace. “You’re meeting Anja Christ tonight.”

Elias blinked, caught off guard. “Yeah. Who’s asking?”

The man took a step closer, the movement deliberate and predatory. “You’re going to cancel.”

“What?” Elias laughed nervously, trying to shake off the unease creeping up his spine. “Look, I don’t know who you are, but I don’t think—”

Before he could finish, the man grabbed him by the front of his shirt and slammed him against the nearest wall. The impact knocked the breath out of Elias, and he gasped, his hands scrabbling at the man’s iron grip.

“Listen carefully,” the man growled, his voice dangerously calm. “You don’t go near her. You don’t speak to her. You don’t even think about her. Do you understand me?”

Elias struggled, his pulse hammering in his ears. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

The man leaned in, his lips curling into a cold smile. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with. Walk away now, or I’ll make sure you never walk again.”

Elias swallowed hard, the threat sinking in like ice in his veins. “Okay. Okay, I’ll cancel.”

The man released him, and Elias crumpled to the ground, clutching his chest and gasping for air.

“Good,” the man said, straightening his coat. “Smart choice.”

With that, he disappeared into the shadows, leaving Elias shaken and pale.

---

Anja waited in the courtyard, the minutes dragging on as she paced back and forth. The night was unnervingly quiet, the usual hum of academy life muted.

She checked her communicator again, her fingers trembling slightly as she opened the message from Elias:

“Sorry, something came up. Can’t make it tonight. Rain check?”

Her chest tightened, a mix of relief and frustration washing over her. Relief because she wouldn’t have to face the guilt gnawing at her insides. Frustration because she hated the way her heart felt so heavy, like she’d let herself hope for something she wasn’t ready for.

As she stared at the empty courtyard, a wave of emotion crashed over her. She felt foolish. Weak. Like she was betraying Aaron with every step she took toward moving on.

But he’s gone, she reminded herself, the words a bitter mantra. He’s gone, and he’s not coming back.

Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching her, lurking just beyond the edge of her awareness. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, but when she turned to look, there was nothing there.

She pulled her coat tighter around herself and walked back to her dorm, her thoughts a tangled mess of guilt, longing, and something she couldn’t quite name.

The training arena was quiet, save for the faint hum of the energy shields sparking in the corners. Anja stood at the far end, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath from the drills. Sweat slicked her brow, and her muscles ached, but it was the kind of ache she craved—something to occupy her mind and stave off the ghosts of memory.

“Impressive,” a deep voice broke through the silence, startling her.

She turned sharply to find a man approaching her. He was tall and lean, with sharp features and graying hair that didn’t dull the intensity of his piercing eyes. His uniform was sharp and unblemished, but he carried himself like someone who’d been on countless battlefields.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said, his voice calm but tinged with curiosity.

Anja wiped her brow and took a long drink of water, studying him warily. “Can I help you?”

“You’re Anja Christ,” he said, his tone confident but without malice.

Her hand froze around the bottle. “I am.”

“I thought so,” he replied, stopping a few feet from her. “I worked with your brother—Aaron.”

Her stomach twisted at his name, and the room suddenly felt too small, the air too thick. “Did you?” she said carefully, her voice cold enough to mask the emotions threatening to surface.

He nodded, his gaze softening. “We weren’t close, but I fought alongside him on a few missions. He was… exceptional.”

Anja set the bottle down, her movements deliberate as she tried to keep her composure. “He didn’t talk much about his missions.”

“No, he wouldn’t have,” the man said with a faint smile. “But he talked about you. A lot.”

Her chest tightened, and she looked away, pretending to adjust her gloves. “Did he now?”

“Absolutely. He wasn’t the type to open up, but when he did, it was always about his sister. He’d go on about how strong you were, how proud he was of you.” The man paused, watching her closely. “He told me once that you were the one thing in the world he cared about more than anything else.”

The ache in her chest grew unbearable, and her voice wavered when she spoke. “That… sounds like him.”

“He had a way of looking out for people,” the man continued, unaware—or perhaps too aware—of her struggle. “Especially you. I remember he once said that if anyone so much as looked at you wrong, they’d have to answer to him.”

Anja let out a sharp exhale, the words hitting her like a physical blow. She clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms. “I need to get back to training,” she said quickly, her voice tight.

The man didn’t stop her, but his voice followed her as she moved toward the exit. “He’d be proud of you, Anja. You carry yourself like a fighter, just like he did. You’re his legacy.”

Her steps faltered for the briefest of moments, but she didn’t turn around. She couldn’t. Instead, she walked away, her heart pounding in her chest, her mind swirling with memories she’d tried so hard to bury.

Later that night, alone in her room, Anja sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the floor. The man’s words echoed in her mind, cutting deeper than she wanted to admit.

He’d be proud of you. You’re his legacy.

Her hands trembled as she reached for the small pendant around her neck—the one Aaron had given her years ago. Her fingers traced the worn edges, and she felt the familiar burn of tears in her eyes.

“I’m trying, Aaron,” she whispered into the darkness, her voice breaking. “I’m trying to live up to you.”

And somewhere, hidden in the shadows, Aaron stood unseen, his expression a mix of pride and sorrow. His hand hovered as if to reach for her, but he stayed silent, watching her with the same fierce devotion he always had.

#devil's night #lads caleb #love and deepspace #caleb x reader #damon torrance #fanfic #kai mori #lads #rika fane #will grayson iii #emory scott #winter ashby #nikova banks #dark romance #no saints tonight #love and deepspace caleb #caleb

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addiessblack · 4 months ago

Text

NO SAINTS TONIGHT

Chapter 7

The room was pristine, sterile, and unyielding in its perfection. Every surface gleamed under the faint hum of recessed lights embedded in the high, metallic ceiling. The air was unnervingly cold, with the faintest hint of ozone that came from the hum of high-tech equipment.

Aaron sat in a chair positioned before a sleek, wide monitor. Its holographic display floated in the air, casting a faint blue light across his face. The chair, made of polished metal and leather, exuded authority, though Aaron paid it no mind. He leaned forward, his chin resting against his steepled fingers as he stared at the screen, unblinking.

Encrypted data scrolled in rapid succession—classified war intelligence, the movements of fleets, the rise and fall of battle projections. But his focus wasn’t on any of those. He was waiting for one specific piece of information, an update he had known was coming but felt compelled to see for himself.

The faintest knock at the door broke the silence.

“Enter,” Aaron said, his voice steady, cutting cleanly through the stillness.

The door slid open with a hiss, and a young officer stepped in, his crisp black uniform reflecting the facility’s unyielding order. He straightened, his boots clicking as he moved to stand before Aaron, hands clasped behind his back.

“Colonel,” the officer began, his voice carefully measured but betraying a faint edge of nervousness. “The report from Thunder Bay came through. The Choosing Ceremony.”

Aaron didn’t respond immediately, his icy blue gaze flicking to the officer. The man swallowed, then continued.

“She chose the Lunar Hunter Academy, sir. As… as you predicted.”

The corner of Aaron’s mouth twitched—a hint of satisfaction tempered by something darker. His eyes flicked back to the monitor, where a single line of text confirmed the officer’s words. Lunar Hunter Academy. Of course, she had.

“She understands the game,” Aaron murmured, almost to himself. Then, louder, with a commanding finality: “Good.”

The officer lingered for a moment, uncertain if further confirmation or action was expected. Aaron waved a dismissive hand without looking at him.

“You’re dismissed.”

The officer nodded quickly, retreating through the door with a hurried click of his boots. The hiss of the door sliding shut left Aaron alone once again in the sterile quiet of the room.

He leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly as he exhaled. His mechanical arm rested against the chair’s armrest, its polished surface glinting faintly in the light. His human hand moved to his temple, fingers pressing lightly as he gathered his thoughts.

“She doesn’t even realize,” Aaron said softly, his voice carrying an almost tender quality that was at odds with the cold surroundings. “How far she’s come… or how far she has to go.”

His gaze turned distant, memories flickering in his mind like the faint hum of the holographic display. The stubborn tilt of her chin when they argued, the fire in her eyes when she challenged him, and the quiet strength that had always drawn him in.

“You’re stronger than they realize,” he whispered, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “But you’re still mine, little raven.”

The words hung in the air like a promise—soft, deadly, and unbreakable.

Aaron reached out, shutting off the monitor with a flick of his fingers. The holographic light vanished, plunging the room into an almost oppressive darkness. He sat there for a long moment, allowing the silence to settle over him, before he finally stood and walked toward the door.

As it slid open, his voice echoed softly, a near-imperceptible murmur against the void.

“Soon.”

---

Age 19

Anja Christ had chosen. She had stood on that stage with her family’s eyes burning into her, the murmurs of the crowd pressing against her skin like a thousand needles, and she had raised her hand. Lunar Hunter Academy. The name echoed in her mind, a promise and a challenge all at once. To most, it was just another institution of war, a place where Evols honed their abilities and became weapons in the service of their world. But to Anja, it was something more—a refuge, a crucible, a stage upon which she could carve out the person she was meant to become.

She had not looked back as she left. Not at her family, their expressions of pride and worry mingling into something she didn’t have the strength to face. Not at the faces in the crowd, the whispers and judgments following her like shadows. She had kept her gaze forward, her heart steeling itself for the battles to come—not on a battlefield of guns and Evols, but within herself.

Because the truth was, this choice wasn’t just about her future. It was about survival. Anja wasn’t the same girl who had stood in Aaron’s shadow, safe and protected. She was something new now, something raw and unyielding. The academy would either shape her into the person she needed to be—or it would break her entirely.

And so, as the gates of the Lunar Hunter Academy loomed ahead, her pulse quickened. This was where it began.

The morning air was crisp and electric as Anja stepped out of the transport shuttle and onto the sprawling cobblestone path that led to the Lunar Hunter Academy. Her boots crunched against the stones, their sharp sound swallowed by the rising chatter of her peers, all equally entranced by the structure that loomed before them.

The academy stood like a sentinel against the backdrop of jagged mountains, its towering spires piercing the clouds. Its exterior was carved from dark obsidian stone, polished so smooth it gleamed like black ice in the pale sunlight. Silver veins ran through the stone, glowing faintly, as if the building itself hummed with ancient power. Along the edges of the tallest spire, intricate carvings depicted constellations, their stars made from embedded shards of luminous crystal.

Massive, arching windows lined the walls, their stained glass depicting celestial battles, legendary warriors, and creatures that belonged more to myth than reality. The largest window, set above the double doors of the entrance, showed a swirling moonlit sky, a testament to the academy’s name. The doors themselves were imposing—crafted from reinforced steelwood and engraved with the academy’s insignia: a crescent moon cradling a blade.

As Anja moved closer, she caught her reflection in the glassy stone walls—her face pale and set, her dark eyes scanning every detail. Indie walked beside her, a reassuring presence, her hand brushing against Anja’s in silent solidarity.

“Looks a bit intimidating, doesn’t it?” Indie murmured, her blue-green eyes alight with curiosity as she tilted her head to take in the height of the spires.

Anja’s lips twitched in a faint smirk. “It’s not the building I’m worried about.”

The path led them into a vast courtyard bordered by high stone walls laced with climbing ivy. The ground was a mix of cobblestones and grass, with patches of wildflowers dotting the edges. Statues of legendary hunters lined the perimeter, their poses frozen in acts of bravery: one wielding a bow, another mid-leap with dual blades, and another standing still but radiating an aura of unshakable command.

At the courtyard's center stood a towering white marble fountain. The water cascaded from the open hands of a celestial figure carved with a flowing cape and an angular crown, the moon cradled in their arms. Around the fountain, small groups of students lingered, staring at their new home with awe or excitement.

When the towering doors swung open with a low groan, the gathered crowd stilled. The interior was no less grand than the exterior. Polished obsidian floors stretched as far as the eye could see, veins of glowing silver pulsing beneath the surface like a heartbeat. The walls were lined with intricate mosaics, their designs shifting subtly as the light hit them at different angles. Torches hung in brackets along the walls, their flames flickering an otherworldly blue.

The ceilings arched impossibly high, supported by dark stone columns that seemed to stretch endlessly upward. Between the columns, banners of midnight blue bore the academy’s insignia, their fabric rippling in the faintest breeze. The air was cool but charged, as if every stone held a thousand years of secrets.

The main hall they entered was shaped like an immense cathedral. At the far end, a grand staircase spiraled upward, splitting into multiple levels. Each step glowed faintly, and faint murmurs of voices drifted down from unseen heights. Doors of various sizes lined the walls, some marked with strange symbols that seemed to shift and shimmer as the students passed.

"Welcome to the belly of the beast," Anja muttered under her breath as she and Indie followed the crowd into the hall. The corners of Indie’s lips twitched, but she said nothing, her wide eyes drinking in every detail.

They were soon herded into an open space that could only be described as a coliseum of sorts. The circular arena was surrounded by tiered seating, and high above, a massive glass dome let sunlight stream in, casting fractured rainbows across the smooth stone floor. Around the edges of the arena, training dummies, weapons racks, and even a few suspended obstacle courses hinted at the kind of grueling preparation the academy had in store.

“Alright, this is ridiculous,” Indie finally whispered. “Do they want us to feel like we’re stepping into a fantasy novel?”

“Good. Maybe they’ll underestimate us,” Anja replied with a sharp smile.

A hush fell over the arena as a figure emerged from a high balcony overlooking the space. The principal of the Lunar Hunter Academy cut an imposing figure, draped in a flowing midnight-blue cloak edged with silver embroidery. Her presence demanded attention—not just because of her height, but because of her piercing gaze, which swept over the new arrivals like a hawk assessing its prey.

“Welcome,” her voice rang out, amplified by the acoustics of the arena. “To the Lunar Hunter Academy. My name is Principal Elara Corven, and I oversee this sanctuary of excellence, discipline, and power.”

Her voice was calm but commanding, each word a carefully placed strike. “You are here because you have been chosen—or because you have chosen—to become more than you were. To hone your strengths, master your Evols, and protect the balance of our world.”

Elara gestured toward the glass dome above them. “This academy stands as a beacon, as unyielding as the moon in the night sky. It is here you will face your greatest trials, your greatest fears, and your greatest selves. Some of you will rise to meet these challenges. Others...will falter.”

A ripple of unease moved through the crowd, but Elara’s gaze didn’t waver. “Failure here is not an option. Not when our enemies gather in the shadows, waiting for a chance to strike. Each of you carries the weight of not only your name but the future of our coalition.”

Anja’s eyes narrowed as she listened. Something about Elara reminded her of Aaron—the quiet authority, the way she wielded words like weapons. The thought sent a pang through her chest, but she shoved it aside.

“As of today, you are no longer merely students,” Elara continued. “You are hunters in training. And in this academy, the hunt never ends.”

The speech concluded, and the crowd was dismissed to their dormitories. Anja and Indie exchanged a look, neither of them speaking. The weight of the moment hung heavy between them. Anja squared her shoulders and looked up at the towering dome one last time before following the others out of the arena.

“Ready to prove them all wrong?” Indie asked, her voice light but her expression serious.

Anja smirked, her dark eyes glinting. “Always.”

The sprawling courtyard of Lunar Hunter Academy was a hive of activity. New recruits stood in clusters, eyes darting around as they took in their surroundings. The air buzzed with nervous energy—whispers of excitement and uncertainty mingling in the cool morning breeze. Statues of legendary hunters loomed over the recruits, casting long shadows on the polished stone beneath their feet.

Anja lingered at the edge of the courtyard, her sharp gaze cutting through the crowd. She didn’t bother introducing herself to anyone. She had already assessed the recruits, filing away their faces, their postures, their tells. The overconfident boy near the fountain who couldn’t stop smirking. The girl nervously fiddling with the strap of her bag. The pair of siblings clinging to each other like lifelines.

Indie stood beside her, arms crossed, her demeanor a stark contrast to Anja’s sharp edges. Where Anja carried an air of calculation, Indie exuded warmth and an unshakable sense of practicality. “They’re all sizing each other up,” Indie murmured, her voice barely audible over the chatter.

“They’re wasting time,” Anja replied, her tone dry. “Trying to figure out who’s the biggest threat instead of making sure they aren’t the weakest link.”

Her words earned her a sideways glance from Indie. “Not everyone thinks like you, Anja. Some of them are just trying to survive the day.”

Anja smirked faintly. “Survival isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass. It’s about making sure you’re the one standing when it hits.”

A commotion near the steps leading to the training grounds caught their attention. A tall, broad-shouldered recruit had decided to make himself the center of attention. “Let’s get one thing straight,” he announced, his voice booming. “I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to win. And if any of you think you can stand in my way, you’re dead wrong.”

Anja arched an eyebrow. “How original,” she muttered, loud enough for Indie—and several others—to hear.

The boy, catching her words, turned his attention to her. “Got something to say?” he challenged, his eyes narrowing.

Anja tilted her head, her expression one of mild amusement. “Just wondering how long it took you to come up with that speech. Did you rehearse it in the mirror this morning?”

Snickers rippled through the crowd, and the boy’s face darkened. “You think you’re funny?”

“I think I’m observant,” Anja shot back, her voice steady. “And what I’m observing is a lot of talk and very little substance.”

He took a step toward her, his size imposing, but Anja didn’t so much as flinch. Her gaze stayed locked on his, sharp and unyielding. “Careful,” she said, her tone low and edged with warning. “You don’t want to start something you can’t finish.”

Indie placed a hand on Anja’s arm, a subtle reminder to keep her temper in check. But the message was clear: Anja wasn’t to be underestimated.

Before the tension could escalate further, a commanding voice rang out. “Enough.”

The recruits turned as a senior instructor approached, his expression stern. “If you want to prove yourself, do it in the training grounds, not in the courtyard. Save your energy for the trials ahead.”

The boy muttered something under his breath and backed down, casting one last glare at Anja before retreating into the crowd.

Indie leaned closer to Anja, her voice tinged with amusement. “You really know how to make an impression.”

Anja shrugged, her mask of cockiness slipping into place. “He wanted attention. I just gave him what he asked for.”

As the recruits were led toward the training grounds, Anja’s thoughts raced. Every step she took was calculated, every glance purposeful. She wasn’t here to make friends, but she wasn’t here to make enemies either. She was here to learn, to grow, to prove to herself—and to the world—that she could survive whatever the academy threw at her.

Because survival wasn’t just a goal for Anja. It was a necessity. And if she had to step on a few egos to ensure it, so be it.

---

The room was eerily quiet, save for the faint hum of the academy’s power systems resonating through the walls. Anja lay on her back, staring at the stone ceiling of the dormitory she now shared with Indie. The day had been an endless whirlwind—a trial by fire that left her body aching and her mind spinning.

Indie was already asleep in the bed across the room, her soft breaths rhythmic and steady. The glow of the single moon outside their window bathed the room in silvery light, casting long shadows across the walls. Anja turned her head slightly, watching the rise and fall of Indie’s form, envy flickering in her chest. How could she sleep so easily after everything they’d seen today?

But then, Indie had always been like that. Bold, confident, and unfazed. Anja had admired it once. Now, she realized it was something she had to learn.

She turned back to the ceiling, her hands gripping the blanket that barely kept her warm. Her mind replayed the events of the day—the tests, the grueling challenges, the sharp, scrutinizing eyes of the instructors, and the whispers that followed her everywhere. Whispers of her last name. Of her legacy.

The academy was nothing like home. Thunder Bay had been full of chaos, yes, but it had also been full of love. Her parents, her siblings, Aaron. They had seen every piece of her—her strength, her flaws, her fears—and accepted her without question. But here? Here, the air was charged with competition and ambition.

She could feel it in the eyes of the other recruits: the weight of their judgment, their hunger to find weaknesses, to exploit them. This wasn’t a place for vulnerability. It was a battlefield, and she was just another soldier trying to survive.

Anja clenched her jaw, her fingers curling into fists beneath the blanket. She couldn’t let them see her for what she truly was—a girl still reeling from the loss of her brother, a girl who felt like she was drowning in the shadow of his memory. Here, weakness wasn’t an option.

“You’re not at home anymore,” she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible in the stillness. “You show them your soft spots, and they’ll tear you apart.”

The thought sent a chill down her spine, but it was true. The academy would eat her alive if she gave it the chance. So, she wouldn’t.

Aaron’s voice echoed faintly in her mind, a memory from long ago. “You’re stronger than you think, Anja. Stronger than anyone knows. But strength isn’t just about fighting. Sometimes, it’s about what you let people see.”

She swallowed hard, her chest tightening at the thought of him. Aaron had always been her shield, her constant. Without him, she felt exposed, vulnerable. But maybe this was what he had prepared her for.

Slowly, she sat up in bed, her movements careful not to wake Indie. Her bare feet touched the cold floor as she crossed the room to the small mirror above the dresser. The face staring back at her looked fragile, the dark circles beneath her eyes betraying her exhaustion.

Anja ran her fingers through her hair, straightening the strands, then raised her chin, her eyes narrowing. She tried to soften the vulnerability in her expression, to steel herself. This wasn’t her. Not anymore.

The girl in the mirror would have to change.

“I need to be better,” she muttered. “Smarter. Harder. Stronger.”

A mask. That’s what she needed. A mask to keep them at bay. To make them believe she was unshakable, untouchable. If they didn’t see her weaknesses, they couldn’t use them against her.

She practiced it there, in the moonlight, staring into her own eyes. A cold smirk tugged at her lips, a subtle tilt of her head adding an air of arrogance. She relaxed her posture, letting it convey a confidence she didn’t feel.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start.

When she finally returned to bed, the weight on her chest felt a little lighter. She would wake up tomorrow and be someone else. Someone who wouldn’t let this place break her.

And maybe, just maybe, if she wore the mask long enough, it would become her truth.

The dining hall buzzed with energy the next morning, a cacophony of voices bouncing off the stone walls. Anja walked through the arched doorway, her stride measured, her chin high, her dark eyes scanning the room with a predatory sharpness. She felt Indie at her side, her friend’s presence steady and calm, though Indie was clearly more focused on the mountain of breakfast options than the people around them.

The room quieted slightly as Anja passed. Whispers trailed her like shadows, weaving through the air in hushed tones. Christ’s daughter. Aaron’s sister. She won’t last a week.

She didn’t react. Not yet. She had spent the morning perfecting her mask, practicing every tilt of her head, every calculated movement that screamed untouchable. Now, it was time to wear it.

“Let’s sit there.” Indie pointed to an empty table near the back.

But as they neared it, a tall, broad-shouldered first-year stepped in their path, blocking their way. His arms were crossed, his grin smug and mean. Anja recognized him immediately—Ronan Price. His father was some mid-level general in the Northern Coalition, known for his brutal tactics.

“Well, if it isn’t the baby Christ,” Ronan sneered, his voice loud enough to draw attention. The other recruits turned to watch, a ripple of curiosity spreading through the hall. “Didn’t think royalty would lower themselves to eat with the rest of us.”

Indie stiffened beside her, her hand twitching like she was ready to throw a punch, but Anja placed a hand on her arm, stopping her. Her expression didn’t waver—cold, detached, almost bored.

“And here I thought I’d be surrounded by warriors,” Anja said, her voice smooth as silk, carrying just enough volume to ensure everyone heard. “But instead, I find children playing at being intimidating. Tell me, Ronan, is this how you spend your mornings? Picking fights with girls because no one’s taught you how to tie your boots properly?”

A low chuckle rippled through the crowd. Ronan’s grin faltered, a flash of irritation crossing his face.

“You think you’re tough?” he shot back, stepping closer. He loomed over her, trying to use his size to intimidate her. “You’re nothing. Just another spoiled kid trying to ride on your family’s name. People like you don’t belong here.”

Anja tilted her head, her lips curving into a cruel smile. “People like me?” she echoed, her tone laced with mockery. “You mean people who earned their spot instead of stumbling in on their father’s reputation? Tell me, Ronan, how does it feel to know that no matter how hard you try, you’ll never be more than average?”

The crowd murmured, a mix of gasps and stifled laughter. Indie smirked behind her, clearly enjoying the show.

Ronan’s face darkened, his fists clenching. “You think you’re so clever,” he growled, stepping even closer, his voice dropping. “But we both know you won’t last. You’ll crack, just like your brother did.”

Silence fell. The tension in the air was palpable. Indie’s smile vanished, and Anja’s expression hardened, though she didn’t let the comment show any more than she wanted it to. Instead, she took a slow step forward, closing the gap between them until they were nearly nose-to-nose.

“Say his name again,” she said softly, her voice low and sharp as a blade. “I dare you.”

Ronan faltered, his bravado wavering under the weight of her glare. He shifted his stance, his eyes darting away for a fraction of a second.

“That’s what I thought.” Anja’s voice was cold, dismissive. She took a deliberate step back, her smirk returning. “Next time you feel like embarrassing yourself, do it somewhere else. I’d hate to waste my time putting you in your place again.”

She turned on her heel, heading toward the table Indie had originally pointed out. The crowd parted for her without hesitation, their eyes wide, their whispers now tinged with a mix of awe and wariness.

Indie caught up with her, laughing under her breath. “Well, that was fun. I didn’t know you had that in you.”

Anja shrugged, her expression calm, though her heart still pounded in her chest. “This place is full of predators, Indie. If you don’t show them you can bite back, you’ll never survive.”

She didn’t glance back at Ronan, though she could feel his glare burning into her. Let him stew. She’d made her point, and now they all knew: Anja Christ wasn’t to be underestimated.

As they sat down, Indie leaned over, her grin conspiratorial. “You’ve got the whole hall talking. This mask thing of yours? It’s working.”

Anja’s smirk softened for a brief moment, but she quickly replaced it with the cold, confident look she’d perfected. “Good,” she said simply. “Let them talk. Let them think I’m untouchable.”

Because that’s exactly what she needed them to believe.

The Lunar Hunter Academy was nothing like home. She already gathered that.

Her mornings began before dawn, the academy’s bells tolling through the stone halls like an ominous reminder of where she was. Training sessions were grueling, designed to push every recruit to their breaking point. Physical drills left her muscles screaming, while Evol exercises tested her patience and control. Most of the instructors were unforgiving, their clipped commands and stern faces making it clear they didn’t care about her past, her name, or who her family was.

And then there were the students.

They watched her. Not all the time, not always blatantly, but enough that she felt the weight of their eyes wherever she went. Just like she predicated.Some were curious, others wary, and a few openly hostile. Word had spread quickly—she was Michael Christ’s adopted daughter, a girl from a family tied to legends. Expectations were high, and any misstep would be met with gleeful whispers or cold indifference.

The first week, someone had tried to pick a fight with her in the sparring ring. A boy with a cocky smirk and too much to prove. He’d underestimated her. Most people did when they saw her slender frame and quiet demeanor. She’d taken him down in less than a minute, her movements precise and unyielding. The satisfaction of watching his smirk fade was fleeting. Afterward, the whispers grew louder.

“Did you see her? Cold as ice.”

“She’s just putting on a front. Bet she’ll crack soon.”

“Think she’s better than us because of her family.”

The comments didn’t bother her—not outwardly, at least. She wore her indifference like armor, her sharp tongue and calculated glances deflecting anyone who tried to get too close.

But at night, in the quiet of her shared dorm room, it was harder to keep the mask in place. Indie had been her one solace, her presence grounding in a sea of strangers and hostility. They whispered to each other after lights out, their voices low as they shared small pieces of themselves. Indie was already a friend, someone who understood the balance between vulnerability and survival.

Still, Anja kept her guard up with everyone else.

During lectures, she sat near the back, her posture relaxed but her eyes sharp, absorbing every detail. She excelled in tactical studies and strategy, her mind quick to pick apart problems and see angles others missed. It earned her grudging respect from a few instructors and envy from some of her peers.

In Evol training, she tread carefully. Her empathic resonance made her painfully aware of the emotions swirling around her—the tension, the fear, the determination—but she hid her own powers’ full extent. No one needed to know what she could truly do. Not yet.

The academy, she realized, wasn’t just about learning to fight or control Evol. It was a battlefield in itself, a constant game of power and survival. Every interaction felt like a move on a chessboard, and Anja played her part well. She smiled when necessary, spoke with calculated sharpness, and made sure to keep others at arm’s length.

By the third week, the whispers began to shift.

“She’s... different.”

“Did you see what she did during the exercise? Clever.”

“Don’t mess with her. She doesn’t back down.”

Anja knew better than to let her guard down, but the subtle shift in perception gave her a quiet sense of satisfaction.

One afternoon, as she walked back from training, a group of older students loitering in the courtyard called out to her. Their leader, a tall girl with a razor-sharp smile, blocked her path.

“Christ,” the girl drawled, her tone dripping with mockery. “What’s it like being the charity case of Thunder Bay’s golden family?”

Anja stopped, her gaze cool as it met the girl’s. She didn’t rise to the bait immediately, letting the silence stretch just long enough to unnerve her opponent.

“I’d say it’s better than being the dead weight of Lunar Hunter Academy,” Anja replied, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

The girl’s smirk faltered, her friends shifting uncomfortably. Anja held her gaze a moment longer before stepping around her, her movements calm and unhurried. She didn’t look back.

The encounter solidified what Anja already knew: this place would eat her alive if she let it. But she wasn’t going to let it.

By the end of her fourth week, she’d established herself as someone not to be underestimated. She wasn’t trying to make friends—she didn’t need them. What she needed was control, strength, and the ability to keep her mask in place.

Because beneath it all, the academy still felt foreign, its shadows pressing in on her like a weight she couldn’t shake. At night, when the lights dimmed and her mask was no longer needed, her mind drifted to Thunder Bay, to her family, to Aaron.

And for a moment, she felt the cracks in her armor. But only for a moment. Because here, weakness was a luxury she couldn’t afford.

Age 20

The dining hall of the Lunar Hunter Academy buzzed with life as students milled about, plates clattering and laughter echoing off the high, vaulted ceilings. Anja sat at one of the long oak tables, twirling a knife between her fingers, her eyes sharp as she scanned the room. Indie sat across from her, shoving a roll into her mouth and mumbling something incomprehensible.

“You know,” Anja said, leaning back, “it’s a miracle you haven’t choked yet.”

Indie swallowed, glaring. “And it’s a miracle you still have friends with the way you talk.”

“Who says I want friends?” Anja shot back, smirking. Before Indie could retort, a loud voice cut through the noise.

“Hey, Christ!”

Anja turned her head lazily toward the sound. A boy with broad shoulders and an overinflated ego sauntered up to their table. His name was Riel, and he had a reputation for picking fights he couldn’t win.

“You’re in my seat,” he said, gesturing to the bench Anja was occupying.

Anja raised an eyebrow. “Your seat?” She glanced around the dining hall dramatically, then back at him. “Funny, I don’t see your name on it.”

Riel’s jaw tightened as a few students nearby stifled laughs. “Don’t get cute, Christ. I don’t need your mouth today.”

“Well, that’s disappointing,” Anja said, standing up slowly. “Because my mouth is the best thing about me.” She stepped forward, her voice dropping just enough to send a chill. “But sarcasm isn’t my only talent.”

The room seemed to hold its breath. Riel took a half-step back but quickly masked it with a sneer. “Oh, yeah? What else you got, then?”

Anja tilted her head, her smile sharp as a blade. “Let’s find out.”

Before he could react, her hand shot out, grabbing the front of his shirt and yanking him forward. In one swift motion, she had him spun around, pinned against the table with her knife pressed lightly to his throat. The hall went silent, every pair of eyes locked on them.

“What are you doing?” Riel hissed, trying to mask the tremor in his voice.

Anja leaned closer, her voice low enough that only he could hear. “Proving a point.” She let the knife drop and stepped back, brushing her hands off like nothing had happened. “See? Talent.”

The room burst into whispers as Riel scrambled to his feet, face red with humiliation. He glared at her but didn’t dare say another word before stomping off. Indie was practically choking on her laughter as Anja slid back into her seat.

“Well, that was dramatic,” Indie said, still grinning.

Anja shrugged, picking up her knife and continuing to twirl it between her fingers. “Sarcasm and flair, Indie. Two very underrated talents.”

Indie just shook her head, leaning back with a laugh as the tension in the room dissolved and the buzz of conversation resumed.

#devil's night #lads caleb #love and deepspace #caleb x reader #damon torrance #fanfic #kai mori #lads #rika fane #will grayson iii #winter ashby #nikova banks #emory scott #dark romance #no saints tonight

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addiessblack · 4 months ago

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NO SAINTS TONIGHT

Chapter 6

Age 19

"They say there are five stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.

Denial is where it all begins—the disbelief that someone you love could really be gone. It’s the mind’s way of cushioning the blow, whispering, ‘This can’t be happening.’ You search for reasons, for loopholes, for anything that will let you hold on just a little longer.

But denial doesn’t last. Anger comes next. It’s sharp and all-consuming, demanding to be felt. You lash out at the world, at the people around you, at yourself. Because anger is easier to feel than pain.

Then comes bargaining. It’s quieter, desperate. You make promises to the universe, to God, to anyone who might listen. ‘If you bring them back, I’ll do anything.’ But the universe doesn’t bargain.

And when the pleas go unanswered, depression takes over. It’s heavy and cold, wrapping itself around you like a fog. You stop caring, stop moving. You just exist in the silence, waiting for it to hurt less.

Finally, there’s acceptance. Not closure. Not healing. Just... acceptance. It doesn’t mean the pain goes away. It means you learn to live with it. You learn to carry it.

They say there are five stages of grief, but they don’t tell you that you’ll revisit them. Over and over. That they’ll blur together, pull you backward when you thought you were moving forward.

Grief isn’t a straight line. It’s a labyrinth. And when you lose someone you love, you don’t just lose them once. You lose them a thousand times, in a thousand ways, every single day."

Stage One: Denial

The world continued to spin, and yet Anja felt utterly detached from its orbit. The sun rose and set in a monotonous cycle, the skies painted in hues she barely noticed anymore. Life carried on around her—laughing, talking, moving forward. But for Anja, everything was frozen in a haze of disbelief.

Aaron wasn’t gone. He couldn’t be.

She sat in her room, the curtains drawn tightly, shielding her from the daylight that streamed mockingly outside. The once-cozy space, filled with bookshelves and dance posters, now felt suffocating and hollow. Aaron’s absence was a phantom lingering in every shadow, every corner of her existence.

His jacket still hung on the back of her desk chair, where he’d left it after teasing her for borrowing it too often. His cologne still faintly clung to the fabric, a cruel reminder of his presence. Sometimes she would sit on her bed and stare at it, convincing herself he’d come back for it. He would stride through the door with his usual air of authority, his gray eyes finding her immediately. He’d say something cocky like, “Miss me?” and flash that smile of his, the one that made her heart stutter no matter how much she fought it.

She clung to that image like a lifeline.

Her phone sat on her nightstand, untouched. Messages and calls poured in from Indie, Will, even Rika and Michael. She ignored them all. What could they possibly say that she wanted to hear? Words of comfort felt like lies. “He’s in a better place,” they might say, or “He would want you to be strong.” As if their hollow platitudes could erase the yawning chasm inside her.

Instead, she found herself scrolling endlessly through old text messages from Aaron. His words, full of his usual possessiveness and teasing, felt like echoes of a world she no longer inhabited.

“Don’t stay out too late, Anja. You know I’ll come find you if you do.”

“Did you eat today? Don’t make me show up at your school and embarrass you.”

“You’re mine, Anja. Always.”

She read the messages over and over, memorizing the way his words looked on the screen, the way they made her feel when he was alive. Every time her phone vibrated with a new notification, a sliver of hope flickered in her chest. It’s him. It has to be him. But it never was.

Anja didn’t cry. She couldn’t. Tears would mean accepting that he was truly gone, and she wasn’t ready for that. Instead, she functioned on autopilot, going through the motions of daily life with a mechanical detachment.

She stopped dancing. The studio, once her sanctuary, now felt like a cruel joke. Every step she tried to take was laced with his memory. Aaron had watched her rehearse countless times, leaning against the wall with that infuriating smirk. He used to joke about her grace, calling her his “little swan.” Now, the thought of stepping onto that polished floor was unbearable.

Books, her other solace, remained untouched. The spines that once lined her shelves in neat rows were now gathering dust. She couldn’t bring herself to open them. Aaron had always teased her about her reading habits, stealing books from her pile just to watch her huff in annoyance.

Everywhere she turned, there was something that reminded her of him. The smallest things—a song on the radio, the scent of pine from the forest where they used to sneak away, the faintest sound of laughter that mimicked his.

She began to avoid the family, unable to endure their sympathetic glances or the hushed conversations that fell silent whenever she entered the room. Rika’s attempts to draw her out only made her retreat further. Michael’s presence, usually so commanding, felt like a weight she couldn’t bear.

“You need to eat, Anja,” Rika had said one evening, her voice soft but insistent. “This isn’t what he would’ve wanted for you.”

Anja’s fork clattered onto her plate, her appetite nonexistent. “You don’t know what he would’ve wanted,” she snapped, her voice sharp enough to silence the table. She stormed out before they could respond, slamming the door to her room behind her.

In the quiet solitude of her room, Anja clung to her denial like armor. The idea of Aaron being gone was too enormous, too incomprehensible. She replayed the last conversation they’d had over and over in her mind, searching for some clue, some hint that this was all a mistake.

“Stay safe,” she’d whispered to him.

“Always,” he’d replied, his hand brushing against her cheek, his gray eyes holding hers with an intensity that left her breathless.

He had promised. He had promised he would come back.

Late at night, when the world was quiet and sleep refused to claim her, she would lie awake in the dark, clutching the pillow that still carried the faintest trace of his scent. Her mind conjured fantasies where he walked through her door, his face alight with mischief as if this had all been a cruel joke.

She whispered his name into the silence, as though saying it enough times might summon him back to her. “Aaron.”

The ache in her chest was a constant, dull throb. Denial was the only thing keeping her upright, even as it hollowed her out from the inside.

He wasn’t gone. He couldn’t be. Any day now, he would come back to her. She just had to keep believing that.

Because if she stopped believing, if she allowed herself to accept the truth, she knew she would shatter into pieces she’d never be able to put back together.

---

Stage Two: Anger

The first cracks in Anja’s fragile denial began to show when she caught herself waiting for his call.

It was an innocent moment at first—her phone buzzed on the counter, and for half a heartbeat, her chest leapt with hope. She snatched it up, her lips already forming a relieved smile. But the name on the screen wasn’t his. It never was.

Her fingers tightened around the device, her knuckles white. The disappointment was like a slap to the face, sharp and cold. Her breath hitched, and before she could stop herself, she hurled the phone across the room. It hit the wall with a loud crack and landed on the floor, the screen spiderwebbed with fractures.

She stared at it, her chest heaving. For the first time in weeks, a new emotion flooded through her, hot and burning.

Anger.

How dare he leave her like this? How dare he break his promise?

“You lied,” she hissed into the emptiness of her room, her voice trembling with rage. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms. “You said you’d come back. You said nothing could keep you away!”

Her voice rose, bouncing off the walls of the small, suffocating space. “You were supposed to fight! You were supposed to win! How could you—” Her voice cracked, and she pressed her hands to her face, hot tears stinging her eyes.

But the tears weren’t soft or mournful—they were bitter, laced with fury.

The weeks of numbness, of moving through life as a shadow of herself, gave way to an explosion of emotion that she couldn’t contain. She stormed through her room, knocking over books, pulling clothes from her closet, anything to release the fire burning in her chest.

Her dance bag, untouched since the funeral, caught her eye. It sat in the corner of her room, a haunting reminder of who she used to be. Without thinking, she grabbed it and threw it against the wall, the contents spilling out—a pair of worn pointe shoes, a water bottle, a notebook filled with choreography ideas she’d shared with Aaron.

She stared at the scattered items, her breath catching. The sight of those shoes—the very ones she’d worn the last time Aaron watched her dance—ignited something inside her. She kicked them across the room with a ferocity that surprised even her.

“You left me,” she spat through gritted teeth, her voice cracking. “You left me here to deal with this alone! I hate you, Aaron!”

The words felt foreign and wrong as soon as they left her lips, but she didn’t take them back. She couldn’t.

Her anger spilled into every corner of her life. She avoided everyone, her sharp tongue lashing out at anyone who tried to comfort her.

“You need to eat, Anja,” Rika had said softly one evening, placing a plate in front of her.

“I don’t need anything from you,” Anja snapped, shoving the plate away. “I’m not a child.”

Rika’s eyes softened, but the pity in her gaze only stoked the flames of Anja’s anger. “I’m just trying to help—”

“Then don’t!” Anja shouted, her voice cutting through the room like a blade. “You can’t fix this! No one can!”

She stormed out before Rika could say anything else, slamming the door behind her.

Her interactions with Will were no better. He tried to reach her, to pull her back from the edge, but every attempt only pushed her further away.

“You can’t keep doing this, Anja,” Will said one afternoon, standing in her doorway as she rifled through a drawer.

“Doing what?” she snapped without looking at him.

“Shutting everyone out. Pretending like—”

“Like what, Will?” She whirled around, her eyes blazing. “Like everything’s fine? Like I’m not falling apart? Is that what you want me to say?”

“I just want to help—”

“Well, you can’t!” Her voice cracked, and she took a shaky breath. “He’s gone, Will. And nothing you or anyone else does can change that.”

Will’s face fell, and for a moment, he looked like he might argue. But instead, he stepped back, his shoulders sagging. “I’m here if you need me,” he said quietly before leaving her alone.

But she didn’t need him. She didn’t need anyone.

Her anger turned inward, a relentless tide of self-loathing and guilt. She replayed their last conversation over and over in her mind, dissecting every word, every moment. What if she’d said something different? What if she’d begged him not to go? Would it have made a difference?

The questions haunted her, but there were no answers. Only the echo of her own voice, shouting into the void.

Late at night, when the house was silent and everyone else was asleep, she found herself pacing her room, her mind a storm of anger and despair. She wanted to scream, to throw something, to tear down the walls around her. But no matter how loud she shouted or how hard she tried to push the pain away, it always came back.

The memories of him were inescapable. His laugh, his touch, the way he looked at her as if she was the only thing that mattered in the universe. They were burned into her mind, an endless loop that played over and over, fueling the fire in her chest.

And yet, beneath the anger, there was something else. Something darker, heavier. A weight she couldn’t shake, no matter how hard she tried.

Because as much as she wanted to blame him, as much as she wanted to hate him for leaving, she couldn’t.

She missed him.

And that was the cruelest part of all.

---

Stage Three: Bargaining

The training room was quiet, except for the rhythmic thuds of Anja’s fists slamming into the punching bag. Each strike echoed in the space, loud and raw, filling the emptiness she couldn’t seem to escape.

Her knuckles were red and raw beneath the thin tape she’d hastily wrapped around them earlier, and her breaths came in short, sharp bursts. Sweat dripped down her forehead, stinging her eyes, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop.

She had spent too long simmering in her anger, snapping at those who tried to reach her. Now, that anger had turned inward, manifesting in self-destruction disguised as discipline. Training was the only place where she could feel like she was doing something, anything, instead of drowning in her own helplessness.

Her punches grew harder, more desperate, as if hitting the bag hard enough could somehow bring Aaron back.

Her mind spiraled with thoughts she couldn’t silence. What if I’d told him not to go? What if I’d begged him to stay? Would he have listened? Would he still be here?

She threw another punch, her wrist twisting with the force of the blow. Pain shot through her arm, but she welcomed it, letting it ground her. The physical ache was a relief compared to the emotional void that had taken root inside her.

Her jaw clenched as memories of Aaron flooded her mind—the way his arms felt around her, the way his voice dropped when he said her name, the quiet promises he’d whispered when no one else was listening.

“I’ll always come back to you,” he had said. The words had been a lifeline once, but now they were a cruel joke, mocking her every time she closed her eyes.

She landed a swift kick to the bag, her foot connecting with a satisfying thud. The chain rattled from the impact, the bag swinging slightly, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing ever was.

Her breathing was ragged now, her chest heaving as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She wiped them away angrily with the back of her taped hand. She didn’t want to cry. She wanted to fight, to channel all the grief and pain and guilt into something tangible.

Because if she didn’t, she wasn’t sure what would be left of her.

Her movements became more erratic, more frantic, as if she could punch her way through the grief that clung to her like a second skin. She struck the bag again and again, her fists pounding against it as sobs threatened to break free from her throat.

I’ll do anything, she thought desperately, her fists slamming into the bag with every word. Just bring him back. Please. I’ll be better. I’ll be stronger. I’ll make him proud. Just give me one more chance.

The tears she had tried so hard to suppress finally spilled over, hot and unrelenting. Her punches faltered, her strength waning, but she kept going, her body trembling from the effort.

“Why did you leave me?” she whispered, her voice cracking as she landed another punch. “Why did you break your promise?”

Her legs buckled beneath her, and she sank to the floor, her hands shaking as they pressed against the cool mat. The bag swayed above her, a silent witness to her breakdown.

The room felt too big, too empty without him. It was suffocating, and no amount of training or fighting could fill the void he had left behind.

Anja pressed her forehead against the floor, her tears soaking into the mat. “I’ll do anything,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Just come back to me.”

But the room remained silent, offering no answers, no solace.

She stayed like that for what felt like hours, her body heavy with exhaustion and grief. When she finally pushed herself to her feet, her legs felt like lead, and her hands trembled as she unwrapped the tape from her bruised knuckles.

She caught her reflection in the mirror on the far wall. Her face was pale, her eyes hollow, the spark that had once defined her nowhere to be found. She barely recognized herself.

“I’ll fix this,” she said aloud, her voice firm despite the tears that still clung to her lashes. “I’ll make it right.”

But how? How could she fix something that had already been taken from her? How could she bargain with a universe that seemed determined to punish her?

She didn’t have answers, but she clung to the hope that if she trained harder, fought harder, did something, maybe the pain would lessen. Maybe she could earn back what she had lost.

For now, the punching bag would have to bear the weight of her grief.

---

Stage Four: Depression

The days passed in a haze for Anja, each one bleeding into the next until time itself became meaningless. She moved through her life like a ghost, disconnected and adrift, her once-vivid world now muted and gray.

Her room, once a sanctuary filled with books, sketches, and dance shoes, now resembled a shell of its former self. Dust gathered on the shelves, the curtains remained drawn, and the air felt stale and lifeless. The things that had once defined her—her passion for dance, her love for reading, her curiosity for the world—were now just painful reminders of what she had lost.

The mornings were the hardest. Waking up felt like a cruel joke, a reminder that Aaron was gone and she had to face another day without him. She would lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, her body heavy with a lethargy that felt insurmountable. Sometimes she wished she could stay there forever, cocooned in the emptiness where nothing could touch her.

But even the numbness wasn’t enough to shield her from the pain. It crept in through the cracks, a constant ache in her chest that never truly went away.

She barely ate, her appetite gone. Food felt like ash in her mouth, and every bite reminded her of Aaron teasing her at family dinners, stealing food off her plate with that infuriating smirk of his. Now, the silence at the table was deafening, the empty seat beside her a wound she couldn’t ignore.

The others tried to reach her, but their efforts only pushed her further into herself. Indie had stopped by once, bringing a stack of books she thought Anja might like, but they remained untouched on the desk. Will had tried to coax her out of her room with promises of coffee or a drive to clear her head, but she always declined with a hollow “I’m fine.”

She wasn’t fine. She was far from it.

One afternoon, as the rain drizzled outside her window, Anja found herself sitting on the floor of her room, clutching one of Aaron’s shirts. She had found it buried at the back of her closet, and the faintest hint of his scent still lingered on the fabric. It was enough to undo her.

She pressed the shirt to her face, inhaling deeply as tears spilled down her cheeks. Her sobs came quietly at first, a soft, broken sound that soon grew into something raw and guttural.

“Why did you leave me?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Why did you promise to come back if you knew you wouldn’t?”

Her fingers tightened around the shirt as if holding it tightly enough could somehow bring him back. But all it did was remind her of how much she missed him—his voice, his touch, the way he looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered.

The weight of her grief felt unbearable, pressing down on her chest until it was hard to breathe. She curled into herself, her forehead resting on her knees as she clung to the fabric.

For hours, she stayed there, unmoving, her tears soaking into the shirt.

When the storm outside finally subsided, Anja forced herself to stand. She moved like a marionette, her limbs heavy and uncooperative. She wandered out of her room and into the hallway, her steps aimless.

She found herself in the training room, though she didn’t know why. The punching bag hung in the corner, but she didn’t have the energy to hit it. Instead, she sank onto the mat, leaning back against the wall.

The emptiness in her chest was a void she couldn’t fill, no matter how much she tried. It was as if a part of her had been ripped away, leaving behind only a hollow shell.

She thought of Aaron constantly, his absence a constant ache that refused to fade. She thought of his laugh, his hands, the way he would tilt his head when he was teasing her. She thought of all the things she would never get to say to him, all the moments they would never share.

The memories were both a comfort and a torment, each one a reminder of what she had lost.

As the sun set outside, casting a soft golden light through the windows, Anja stared blankly ahead, her hands resting limply in her lap.

She didn’t know how to move forward. She didn’t even know if she wanted to.

The thought terrified her, but it was the truth. Without Aaron, she didn’t know who she was anymore.

And so, she sat there, silent and still, letting the darkness seep into her bones.

---

Stage Five: Acceptance

Acceptance wasn’t a triumph. It wasn’t peace or closure. It was surrender, a quiet acknowledgment that the pain would never leave her, that it would live in her like a second heartbeat for the rest of her life. Acceptance wasn’t the end of grief—it was learning to exist alongside it, to carry the unbearable without being crushed by it.

For Anja, it began not with an epiphany but with exhaustion. The fight had drained her—fighting her memories, her emotions, the relentless ache that clawed at her every time she thought of Aaron. She was tired of running from it, tired of screaming at a world that refused to answer her. Tired of the silence in her calls that used to connect to his voice.

She woke one morning, not because she wanted to, but because the sunlight pressing through her curtains left her no choice. Her body felt heavy, her limbs stiff as though she were made of stone. She stared at the ceiling, her eyes dry and burning from too many sleepless nights.

The house was quiet, too quiet. Everyone had long since returned to their own routines, lives that weren’t shattered by Aaron’s absence in the same way hers was. The emptiness of it, the stillness of the space he used to fill, felt suffocating.

Her gaze drifted to her bedside table. On it sat the small, worn photograph of them. Aaron’s arm slung over her shoulder, his cocky smirk mirrored in her shy smile. She hadn’t touched it in weeks, unable to bear the sight of his face, but today her fingers reached for it, brushing over the glass.

Her hand shook as she picked it up, holding it close as though the photograph itself could tether her to him. “I hate you for leaving me,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “But I hate myself more for not letting you go.”

The confession hung in the air, heavy and sharp, but it didn’t bring the release she hoped for.

She didn’t know how much time passed before she forced herself out of bed, her legs unsteady beneath her. The mirror caught her reflection as she moved to the bathroom, and she stopped, staring at the girl she no longer recognized. Her hair was limp, her skin pale, her eyes dull and lifeless. A hollow shell of the person she once was.

Aaron would hate to see her like this.

The thought stabbed her like a blade, twisting deep. She gripped the edge of the sink, her knuckles white. He wouldn’t have wanted this—wouldn’t have wanted her to fall apart, to stop living because he was gone. But how was she supposed to do anything else?

The small, almost imperceptible voice inside her whispered a truth she didn’t want to hear: You don’t have to be okay, but you can’t keep doing this.

Her movements were slow, mechanical, as she turned on the shower. The water was scalding, but she didn’t flinch, letting it burn against her skin as if it could purge the numbness from her body.

When she emerged, she found herself in her room, standing amidst the chaos she had ignored for so long. Books and clothes lay scattered on the floor, remnants of a life she no longer knew how to live.

She began to clean, not out of any real desire, but because it was something to do—something to stop her from sinking back into the abyss. She folded clothes, stacked books, wiped dust from surfaces that had gone untouched for months. Each task was small, insignificant, but it felt monumental.

The hardest part was the corner of her room where she had tucked away everything that reminded her of Aaron. His jacket, the one he had draped over her shoulders on countless chilly nights. The notebook where he had scribbled down plans and strategies, his handwriting messy but confident. The lighter he always carried, a small engraved "C" on its surface.

She sat on the floor, her hands trembling as she picked up the jacket. It still smelled like him—faint traces of his cologne mixed with something uniquely Aaron. She pressed it to her face, tears spilling down her cheeks as she clung to the fabric.

“I miss you,” she choked out, her voice breaking. “I don’t know how to do this without you.”

The room blurred as her tears fell harder, her sobs echoing off the walls. She cried until her chest ached, until her throat was raw and her head pounded.

It wasn’t cathartic. It didn’t bring her peace. But when the tears finally slowed, she felt lighter—if only slightly.

The next morning, she found herself standing outside the dance studio. She hadn’t been here since before Aaron’s death, unable to face the memories that clung to this place. But today, she forced herself inside.

The air was still and heavy, the silence deafening. Her reflection stared back at her from the mirrored walls, a ghost of who she used to be.

She approached the barre, her movements hesitant. Her fingers brushed against the smooth wood, and for a moment, she thought of all the times Aaron had watched her dance, his eyes filled with something she couldn’t quite name.

Taking a deep breath, she moved to the center of the room. Her body felt foreign, her muscles stiff and uncooperative, but she pushed through it. She danced—not for the joy of it, but because she needed to feel something. Anything.

Her movements were clumsy and unrefined, nothing like the grace she used to possess. But she didn’t stop. She stumbled, fell, and picked herself up again.

By the time she collapsed to the floor, her body trembling and her chest heaving, she was drenched in sweat and tears. But for the first time, she didn’t feel entirely numb.

It wasn’t acceptance—not really. The pain was still there, raw and unrelenting. But she was learning to carry it, to live with the weight of her grief without letting it destroy her.

Aaron was gone, but she wasn’t. And as much as it hurt, she knew she had to keep going—for him, for herself.

It wasn’t the end of her pain, but it was the beginning of something else. Something fragile and uncertain, but undeniably real.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, its golden rays casting long shadows over the quiet cemetery. Anja walked slowly, her boots crunching softly against the snow-covered path. The air was crisp and biting, but she didn’t mind. This was her time—her ritual—to feel connected to him in the only way she could now.

As she approached Aaron’s grave, her chest tightened. Even after all these months, the sight of his name etched into the headstone sent a wave of pain rippling through her. Aaron Christ: Forever Our Shield.

She knelt, brushing off a thin layer of snow that had settled over the base of the headstone. The bouquet of white roses she’d brought the week before had started to wilt, their edges curling in the cold. She replaced them with fresh ones, arranging them carefully before sitting back on her heels.

“Hey,” she began softly, her voice barely louder than a whisper. “It’s me again.”

The words felt inadequate, but they were all she had. She clasped her gloved hands together, staring at the headstone as though it might somehow respond.

“I had a pretty normal day today. Woke up late because I couldn’t sleep last night. I think it was around 3 a.m. when I finally dozed off.” She gave a small, bitter laugh. “I don’t know why I even bother with the alarm anymore. It’s not like I’ve got anywhere important to be.”

Her fingers dug into the snow beside her, the cold seeping through the gloves. “Rika’s still trying to get me to eat more. She even brought over one of those casseroles she makes—you know, the ones you used to pretend to like but always gave to me when she wasn’t looking.” A faint smile tugged at her lips, but it faded as quickly as it came. “I didn’t eat it, though. I couldn’t.”

She exhaled, the breath visible in the frigid air. “Will stopped by too. He’s...well, he’s Will. Always checking in, always trying to help. I think he feels guilty for not being able to do more. But what can he do? What can anyone do?”

Her voice wavered, and she paused, swallowing hard. “Indie came by yesterday. She brought up dance class again. Said I should go back, that it might help. I told her I’d think about it, but I don’t know. It feels...wrong, somehow. Like if I go back to dancing, if I start doing all the things I used to love, it means I’m moving on. And I can’t. Not yet.”

Her gaze dropped to the ground, her shoulders slumping. “I miss you,” she admitted, her voice barely audible. “Every day, I miss you. I don’t know how to stop.”

The weight of her grief pressed down on her, so heavy it felt like she might collapse under it. She closed her eyes, letting the silence stretch between her and the cold, unyielding stone.

“I keep thinking about what you’d say if you were here,” she murmured after a long pause. “You’d probably tell me to stop sulking and do something meaningful with my life. Something to make you proud.”

Her fingers traced the edges of the headstone, her touch gentle but trembling. “But it’s hard, Aaron. It’s so hard without you.”

The wind picked up, rustling the trees and sending a chill through her. She shivered but stayed where she was, unwilling to leave just yet.

“I’ll come back soon,” she promised, her voice cracking. “I’ll always come back.”

She stood slowly, her movements stiff and reluctant. With one last lingering glance at the grave, she turned and began walking back toward the cemetery gates.

---

The soft crunch of leaves underfoot filled the silence as Anja made her way down the winding path that led from the cemetery. The air was heavy with the scent of rain-soaked earth, a faint chill brushing against her skin. She had just come from Aaron’s grave, her usual pilgrimage, though it brought her no closer to peace. Every visit left her emptier than the last, like she was pouring whatever remnants of herself she had left into the dirt where his body rested.

Her boots scuffed the gravel as she walked, her thoughts a blur of memories she couldn’t bear to face. The sun dipped lower behind the trees, painting the horizon with streaks of gold and lavender, but the beauty of it barely registered.

Her Evol simmered beneath her skin—a constant ache since Aaron’s death. It was as if her emotions were magnifying its strength, and no matter how much she tried to suppress it, the power clawed its way to the surface. On some days, like today, it felt like a battle just to keep it contained.

A group of teenagers crossed her path further down the road, their laughter cutting through the quiet. They looked carefree, their smiles and chatter so out of place in a world that felt cold and cruel. One of them, a boy with a cocky grin, caught sight of her and nudged his friends.

“Hey, aren’t you that Christ girl?” he called out, his voice carrying over the distance.

Anja stiffened but didn’t respond, keeping her gaze forward as she quickened her pace.

“Yeah, that’s her,” another chimed in. “The one who used to dance, right? What happened? Did you lose your rhythm or something?”

Her steps faltered, the words cutting deeper than they should have. She clenched her fists, willing herself to keep walking, but the heat bubbling in her chest wouldn’t subside.

“Hey, we’re talking to you!”

The laughter grew louder, mocking, until it snapped something inside her. Without thinking, Anja spun around, her Evol surging forward like a tidal wave. The energy crackled around her, shimmering in the fading light as it pulsed outward in an almost visible aura.

The group froze, their laughter silenced as fear flickered in their eyes. The boy who had spoken first took a step back, his bravado crumbling under the weight of the unseen force pressing against him.

“Leave,” Anja said, her voice low but laced with power.

They didn’t need to be told twice. The group scattered, their hurried footsteps echoing down the path as they fled.

Anja exhaled shakily, the anger fading as quickly as it had come, leaving behind an ache in her chest. She turned to keep walking, her legs feeling like lead, when a voice stopped her.

“Impressive,” it said, smooth and laced with intrigue.

Anja looked up to see a woman standing beneath the arching branches of a nearby tree. She was tall and elegant, her dark hair swept back into a braid that gleamed like polished obsidian. Her sharp, tailored coat hinted at authority, but it was her eyes—keen and assessing—that made Anja pause.

“Who are you?” Anja asked warily, her Evol still humming beneath her skin.

The woman stepped closer, her boots soundless against the gravel. “My name is Captain Isolde Crane. I couldn’t help but notice your... display just now.”

Anja stiffened, her instincts on high alert. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No need to apologize,” Isolde interrupted, a faint smile playing at her lips. “In fact, it’s quite the opposite. Do you have any idea how rare it is to see such raw potential? You are not ordinary.”

Anja blinked, caught off guard. “What are you talking about?”

“Your Evol,” Isolde said simply. “You’re powerful, more than you realize. And power like that shouldn’t be wasted.”

Anja frowned, unsure whether to feel flattered or threatened. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

Isolde’s smile widened, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Fair enough. But I happen to work with an organization that specializes in helping people like you reach their full potential.”

Anja crossed her arms. “And what organization would that be?”

“Lunar Hunter Academy,” Isolde said, her voice steady and confident. “I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”

Anja had. Everyone had. The academy was one of the most elite institutions for training those with Evols, producing soldiers, strategists, and leaders who often shaped the course of history. But it was also grueling, known for its cutthroat nature and relentless standards.

“I’m not interested,” Anja said quickly, turning to leave.

Isolde’s voice stopped her again. “You should be.”

Anja glanced over her shoulder, her brow furrowed.

“I understand loss,” Isolde said, her tone softening. “I know what it’s like to feel like the world has taken everything from you. But I also know that pain can be turned into strength. If you join us, you’ll have the chance to channel that strength into something extraordinary.”

Anja hesitated, her mind warring with itself. She didn’t want to care. She didn’t want to feel. But Isolde’s words struck a chord she couldn’t ignore.

“What’s the catch?” she asked finally.

“No catch,” Isolde said. “Just a choice. Next week is the choosing ceremony. If you decide to come, I’ll make sure you’re on the list.”

“And if I don’t?”

Isolde shrugged. “Then you keep walking this path, alone, with nothing but your grief to keep you company. The choice is yours.”

Anja’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing.

Isolde pulled a sleek card from her coat pocket and extended it. “Think about it. And if you decide you’re ready to stop running from who you are, you know where to find me.”

Anja stared at the card for a moment before reluctantly taking it.

Isolde nodded, her expression unreadable, and turned to leave. “I hope to see you there, Anja. The academy could use someone like you.”

As the captain’s figure disappeared into the twilight, Anja looked down at the card in her hand. The Lunar Hunter Academy crest gleamed faintly in the dim light, the weight of the decision pressing down on her shoulders.

For the first time in months, she felt something stir in her chest—a flicker of curiosity, of defiance, of purpose. But it was quickly overshadowed by the fear of stepping into a world she didn’t understand.

Tucking the card into her pocket, Anja continued her walk home, the weight of Isolde’s words heavy in her mind.

---

Back at home, Anja sat on the edge of her bed, turning the card over in her hands. The encounter with the woman replayed in her mind, her words echoing like a challenge.

“You’re not ordinary.”

Anja clenched her jaw, her grip tightening on the card. She’d spent so long trying to bury her emotions, to shove down the power she knew lurked beneath the surface of her grief. She thought she’d been doing a good job of it, but maybe she was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t something she could hide forever.

Her gaze drifted to the corner of her room, where a pair of worn-out dance shoes sat gathering dust. She hadn’t touched them in months.

Aaron’s voice echoed in her mind, clear and steady. “You’re stronger than you think.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, Anja allowed herself to wonder if he was right.

The grand hall of the Thunder Bay Civic Center was alive with tension, anticipation, and ceremony. Rows upon rows of chairs filled with families and friends lined the wide marble floor, leading up to a massive, elevated stage draped in banners of different colors and symbols—each representing one of the prestigious academies the Northern Coalition had to offer.

Anja stood among the sea of her peers, her heart pounding in her chest. The weight of her decision pressed down on her, and her palms were damp despite the cold air that seemed to seep into the room. Her mother, Rika, had helped her pick out a black tailored jumpsuit for the event, paired with her old silver pendant, but despite the polished exterior, she felt like she might shatter at any moment.

The stage loomed ahead, with its five towering banners representing the academies:

DAA (Deepspace Advanced Academy): The largest and most renowned, its crest of twin swords against a star-strewn shield symbolizing leadership and dominance on the battlefield. This was where Aaron had gone—where the best and brightest went to lead armies and shape the tides of war.

Lunar Hunter Academy: The newest but perhaps the most enigmatic. Its banner, a crescent moon intertwined with an arrow, represented balance, intuition, and mastery of both stealth and combat. A place for those with rare Evols who thrived in the shadows.

Titan Vanguard Institute: Known for its emphasis on brute strength, resilience, and combat prowess. Its crest bore a clenched fist gripping a bolt of lightning.

Arcadia Research Guild: The academic and scientific hub for scholars and thinkers, its emblem a quill crossed with a gear.

Aegis Healer Consortium: For those gifted in restorative and protective Evols, its symbol was a pair of open hands cradling a glowing orb.

Anja’s family sat near the front of the hall, their presence both comforting and nerve-wracking. Michael and Rika sat together, Michael’s arm draped protectively over her mother’s shoulders. Kai and Banks sat beside them, Kai’s face unreadable as ever, while Banks gave Anja an encouraging smile. Damon leaned back lazily in his chair, his hand resting lightly on Winter’s, though his sharp gaze missed nothing. Will and Emory were nearby, whispering quietly to each other, while Indie sat a few seats over, already beaming at Anja.

She could feel their eyes on her. They were here for her, just as they had been for Aaron. And though their love was a safety net, it also made the gravity of the moment even heavier.

---

The ceremony began with a deep, resonant bell tolling three times, silencing the crowd. An older man in a dark blue suit stepped onto the stage, his voice amplified by the sleek microphone clipped to his lapel.

“Welcome, students, families, and honored guests,” he began. “Today marks the Choosing Ceremony—a day of tradition, opportunity, and bravery. Each of you standing here today has spent years preparing for this moment, honing your skills, discovering your Evol, and readying yourselves to take the next step toward your future. Today, you will choose which academy will guide you as you carve your path.”

The students stood in silent anticipation as he gestured to the banners behind him. “Five academies stand before you. Each with its own legacy. Each with its own demands. Choose wisely.”

A murmur ran through the crowd, parents whispering to each other while students shuffled nervously. Anja’s pulse quickened as she watched the first student—a tall boy with a confident stride—step up to the stage. His name was called, and he announced his choice with ease: “Titan Vanguard Institute.” The room erupted in cheers as he pressed his hand to the glowing orb in front of the Titan banner, his name flashing briefly on the screen above it.

One by one, the students were called, each stepping forward to declare their path. Some were met with roars of approval, others with murmured surprise.

---

Finally, it was Anja’s turn.

Her name echoed through the hall: “Anja Christ.”

A hush fell over the crowd as she stepped forward, the sound of her boots against the marble impossibly loud in her ears. She could feel her family’s eyes on her, their emotions a swirling mix of pride, hope, and quiet worry. Michael and Rika, especially, seemed frozen in their seats, their hands clasped together tightly.

She paused in front of the stage, staring at the glowing orbs lined up beneath the banners. The DAA orb seemed to glow brighter than the others, a reminder of where Aaron had stood not so long ago. She could still see his confident smirk in her mind, the way he’d turned to her with a wink before stepping onto this very stage.

Her heart clenched painfully, but she forced herself to breathe. She wasn’t Aaron. And she couldn’t follow in his footsteps—not this time.

Instead, her gaze drifted to the banner of the Lunar Hunter Academy. The crescent moon seemed to shine down on her, a quiet reminder of the woman who had approached her on the street a week ago. That conversation had been brief, but it had sparked something in her—a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as lost as she thought.

Anja stepped toward the Lunar banner, her steps steady even as her heart raced. She placed her hand on the glowing orb, its surface cool and smooth beneath her fingertips.

“Lunar Hunter Academy,” she announced, her voice clear despite the lump in her throat.

For a moment, there was silence. Then the crowd erupted in applause, her family cheering the loudest. She glanced toward them, her eyes meeting Rika’s. Her mother was smiling, though her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. Michael gave her a firm nod, his pride written all over his face.

Anja returned to her place among the students, her heart still racing but her resolve firm.

---

A few students later, Indie Grayson’s name was called. Anja watched as her closest friend strode confidently to the stage, her honey-colored hair catching the light. Indie hesitated for only a moment before turning to the Lunar banner.

“Lunar Hunter Academy,” she said, her voice ringing out.

Anja’s chest tightened as Indie pressed her hand to the orb, her name flashing above the banner. When Indie returned to the group, she gave Anja a wide grin, reaching out to squeeze her hand.

“You didn’t think I was going to let you do this alone, did you?” Indie whispered.

Anja’s throat constricted, but she managed a small smile. “Thank you.”

---

When the ceremony ended, Anja joined her family in the lobby, their faces full of pride. Michael pulled her into a tight hug, his voice warm. “You made the right choice.”

Rika kissed her cheek. “I’m so proud of you.”

The rest of the family chimed in with congratulations, their voices a comforting blur. But as Anja glanced at the Lunar banner one last time, she couldn’t shake the feeling that her journey was only just beginning.

2 notes · View notes

addiessblack · 4 months ago

Text

NO SAINTS TONIGHT

Chapter 5

Age 18

The day had started like any other—a haze of monotony Anja was certain she wouldn't remember tomorrow. The hum of fluorescent lights above her seemed louder than usual, competing with the soft murmurs of her classmates and the monotonous droning of her history teacher, who scribbled dates and events on the chalkboard without care for the disinterest of his audience.

Anja sat near the back, her pen spinning lazily between her fingers as she stared at the half-filled page of notes in front of her.

And then the door slammed open.

The sudden bang reverberated through the room, loud enough to make several students jump in their seats. Anja's pen froze mid-spin, clattering to the desk. Her head snapped up, and her heart stopped when she saw them.

The Horsemen.

They stood in the doorway like wraiths summoned from some dark corner of the night, the fluorescent lights casting sharp shadows across their bodies. Each one wore a sleek, black mask, a reflection of the chaos and rebellion that followed them wherever they went. The masks varied in design but were equally unnerving—elaborate and crafted to exude menace.

The leader of the group, tall and broad-shouldered, wore a cracked porcelain mask, its mouth curved into a haunting, toothy grin. Aaron. Anja knew it was him without question. There was no mistaking the commanding presence, the sharp lines of his jaw visible beneath the mask, or the magnetic pull she felt every time he entered the room.

Mads stood next to him, his mask a twisted jester's face, black and white with an exaggerated, sinister smile. He leaned casually against the doorframe, his hands shoved in his pockets, his posture oozing nonchalance. To his left was Ivarsen, whose mask bore jagged edges and streaks of crimson paint, like something dragged through a battlefield. Will brought up the rear, his mask carved with sharp angles, the hollowed eyes and fanged mouth giving him the look of a predator ready to pounce.

The classroom fell silent, a heavy, oppressive stillness blanketing the room as the teacher gaped at them. The students exchanged uneasy glances, their murmurs dying as the Horsemen's presence weighed down on them.

"Mr. Christ!" the teacher barked, his voice wavering as he gestured to the group. "What is the meaning of this? This is a classroom, not—"

Aaron's gaze cut to him, and the teacher's voice faltered, the words evaporating like smoke. Even with the mask, Aaron's stare was deadly, a warning that required no words.

Aaron didn't look at the teacher again. His attention was locked on Anja, his posture stiffening slightly when their eyes met. Even behind the mask, she could feel the intensity of his gaze—sharp, possessive, and unrelenting.

"Anja," he said, his voice a deep timbre that sent a shiver down her spine.

She froze, her heart slamming against her ribs. It wasn't just the shock of seeing him here, breaking the sanctity of her classroom—it was the fact that he'd come for her. Every head in the room turned to her, the whispers swelling like a tidal wave.

"Aaron," she whispered, her voice almost inaudible.

"Get up," he commanded, his voice calm but leaving no room for argument.

She hesitated, her body refusing to move as every nerve in her screamed for her to stay seated. "What are you doing?" she asked softly, her cheeks burning under the scrutiny of her classmates.

The smirk on his lips was visible even beneath the mask. "Getting what's mine."

Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt the heat of a dozen stares boring into her. The teacher cleared his throat, summoning what little authority he had left.

"Miss Christ," he said, addressing her with forced calm, "you don't have to—"

"Actually, she does," Mads interrupted, pushing off the doorframe with a lazy grin. "But hey, you're welcome to try and stop us."

The room was so silent you could hear a pin drop. No one dared to speak as Aaron took a step forward, his broad shoulders blocking the light from the hallway behind him. His presence was suffocating, a gravity that pulled her toward him even as she fought to stay put.

"Anja," he said again, sharper this time.

She swallowed hard, her pulse pounding in her ears as she pushed her chair back and stood on unsteady legs. Her bag felt impossibly heavy as she slung it over her shoulder, and every step toward him felt like walking through quicksand.

When she reached the door, her eyes flicked to Will, his mask slightly tilted as though he was watching her carefully. Despite the sharpness of his mask, his dark eyes softened when he saw her.

"Hi, Will," she murmured, her voice trembling.

Will's lips quirked into a faint smile behind the mask. "Hey, Anja," he said, pulling her into a brief hug that was warm and grounding.

But before she could take any comfort in it, Aaron's hand shot out, grabbing her wrist. His grip was firm, almost punishing, as he yanked her back.

"That's enough," he said coldly, his tone making it clear that Will had overstepped.

Will's smile vanished, but he said nothing, stepping back with a casual shrug. "Just saying hi, man."

Aaron ignored him, his focus entirely on Anja. Without a word, he turned and led her into the hallway, the door slamming shut behind them with a finality that made her stomach churn.

The second she stepped through the door, Aaron grabbed her wrist, pulling her out into the hallway. The door slammed shut behind them, leaving the stunned classroom in silence.

Before she could say a word, Aaron pushed her against the lockers. The cold metal bit into her back as his hands gripped her waist, pinning her in place.

"You've grown," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. His eyes roamed over her face, taking in every detail. "I didn't realize how much I missed you until now."

Her breath hitched as his thumb brushed against her cheek, his touch sending a shiver down her spine.

"Aaron, you can't just—"

But he didn't let her finish. His lips crashed against hers, silencing her protest. The kiss was possessive, almost bruising, as if he was trying to claim her all over again. His hand slid up to tangle in her hair, holding her in place as he deepened the kiss.

When he finally pulled back, she was gasping for air, her cheeks flushed.

"You're mine," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You always have been, and you always will be."

She opened her mouth to argue, to tell him he was insane—but the look in his eyes stopped her. There was something dark and unyielding in his gaze, a determination that sent a thrill of fear—and something else—through her.

Before she could say anything, Mads, Ivarsen, and Will approached, their presence breaking the tension.

"Easy, Aaron," Mads said with a grin, clapping him on the shoulder. "You're scaring the poor girl."

Aaron didn't let go of her, his grip on her waist tightening. "She's fine."

"Anja's like family," Ivarsen said, his tone unusually soft. "We wouldn't let anything happen to her. You know that."

Will stepped forward, his dark eyes lingering on Anja a moment too long. "You okay?" he asked, his voice low.

She nodded quickly, avoiding his gaze. "Yeah. I'm fine."

Aaron's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he caught the way Will looked at her.

"We should go," Aaron said abruptly, his arm sliding around Anja's waist. "We're wasting time."

As they walked away, Anja couldn't shake the feeling that she was being torn in two—caught between the safety the Horsemen offered her and the chaos Aaron brought into her life.

And from the way Will's gaze lingered on her as they walked away, she wasn't the only one fighting conflicting emotions.

The dining room was alive with the warmth of family and the echoes of laughter, but tonight, it all felt muted to Anja. The soft golden glow of the chandelier, the polished oak table adorned with flickering candles and plates of food that would normally make her mouth water—it all seemed distant, like a dream she couldn't quite step into.

The Horsemen and their families filled the room with the kind of chatter that only years of shared history could produce. Rika's fiery laughter rose above Banks' quick-witted quips, while Michael and Kai spoke in low, measured tones about something strategic. Damon leaned back in his chair, his hand resting protectively on Winter's as she smiled softly at whatever Will had said to her.

The younger generation—Will's daughter Indie, Damon's twins, Michael's younger children—were gathered further down the table, joking and talking with the ease of youth. Indie caught Anja's eye and grinned, waving her over, but Anja stayed frozen in her seat, unable to summon the energy to respond.

Her focus was elsewhere. Always elsewhere.

Aaron sat beside her, as he always did, his presence as familiar and constant as her own shadow. His leg brushed hers beneath the table, an act so subtle it might've been accidental if it weren't for the way his arm rested behind her chair, his fingers occasionally grazing the fabric of her dress. Those fleeting touches felt like a tether, grounding her to him when she didn't know how to anchor herself.

Every so often, she caught him watching her. His gray eyes, always so calm and unreadable to others, softened when they landed on her, filled with something she couldn't name but felt with every fiber of her being.

She barely touched her plate. The food blurred together, her fork tracing aimless patterns through the creamy sauce of whatever had been served. Her stomach churned with unease, though she couldn't quite explain why.

Aaron noticed. He always noticed.

Without a word, he reached for her untouched wine glass, sliding it out of her reach and replacing it with his own half-full one. The gesture was so smooth, so casual, that no one else seemed to notice. But when he leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear, his quiet command sent a shiver down her spine.

"Drink," he murmured, his voice low and firm.

"I'm not thirsty," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

"You will be," he replied, his tone leaving no room for argument.

She didn't respond, and he didn't push her. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his arm still draped behind her as if to shield her from whatever storm might come.

And then it came.

Michael cleared his throat at the head of the table, his deep, commanding voice cutting through the chatter. "Everyone," he began, waiting until the room fell silent, "we need to talk."

The shift in the atmosphere was immediate. The warmth dimmed, replaced by a tension that coiled in Anja's chest like a serpent. Her hands clenched in her lap as she watched Michael, whose expression was grave, his mouth pressed into a hard line.

"We've received word from Skyhaven," he said, his tone heavy with unspoken weight. "The Eastern Dominions have declared war on the Northern Coalition."

The room seemed to collectively hold its breath.

"The Deepspace Fleet is mobilizing," Michael continued, his voice steady despite the ripple of unease his words caused. "This isn't a skirmish. This is war. And they've made their first demand clear."

He paused, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on Aaron.

"They need you."

The words dropped like a bomb, shattering the fragile calm.

The first to speak was Rika, her voice sharp and incredulous. "They need him? What does that even mean?"

Kai leaned forward, his brow furrowed in thought. "Skyhaven doesn't make demands lightly," he said, his tone measured. "If they're calling for Aaron, it means they're preparing for something massive."

"They can't just summon him like this!" Rika snapped, her fiery temper flaring. "He has a life here. A family."

"Skyhaven doesn't care about that," Damon muttered, his tone laced with disdain. "They care about winning."

Beside him, Winter's face paled, her sightless eyes wide with worry. "How much time do we have?" she asked softly, her hand clutching Damon's arm.

Michael's gaze darkened. "A week," he said finally.

The room erupted into chaos.

"A week?" Banks demanded, her usually calm demeanor cracking. "That's barely enough time to prepare—"

"They've been waiting for this war for years," Damon growled. "They knew exactly what they were doing, springing this on us."

Anja couldn't focus on the voices. The world around her blurred, her ears ringing as the weight of Michael's words crashed down on her. A week. Aaron had a week, and then he would be gone.

Her chest tightened, and her vision blurred with tears she refused to let fall. Across the table, Indie leaned forward, her face etched with concern. "Anja?" she whispered. "Are you okay?"

She couldn't answer. Couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. All she could do was turn her head to Aaron, who was already looking at her.

His expression was calm, but she knew him well enough to see the storm raging beneath the surface. His jaw was clenched, his eyes darker than she'd ever seen them. And yet, when he spoke, his voice was gentle.

"Come with me," he said, rising from his chair and holding out his hand.

The room fell silent, all eyes turning to them. Anja hesitated, her trembling hand hovering in the air before she placed it in his. His fingers curled around hers, firm and steady, as if promising not to let go.

He led her out of the dining room, through the wide glass doors that opened onto the terrace. The night air was cool and sharp, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat of the dining room.

Aaron turned to face her, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders. The touch was grounding, but it didn't stop the tears from spilling down her cheeks.

"You're leaving," she choked out, her voice breaking.

"I'll come back," he said firmly, his gray eyes locking onto hers. "I swear to you, Anja. I'll come back."

"You can't promise that," she whispered, her voice trembling with the weight of her fear.

"Yes, I can," he insisted, his hands sliding to cup her face. His thumbs brushed away her tears with a tenderness that made her chest ache. "You're mine, Anja. Nothing in this universe could keep me away from you. Do you hear me?"

She shook her head, her heart splintering. "I don't know how to do this without you," she admitted, her voice barely audible.

"You're stronger than you think," he said, his forehead pressing against hers. "Stronger than anyone else knows. But I'll still come back. Always."

For a moment, the world seemed to pause. The stars above them shone cold and distant, indifferent to the heartbreak unfolding below. Aaron's arms wrapped around her, pulling her so tightly against him that she could feel the steady beat of his heart.

"I'll fight to get back to you," he murmured into her hair, his voice low and raw. "No matter what it takes, I'll come back."

And for just a moment, she believed him. Because if she didn't, the pain of losing him would destroy her.

The morning was cold. The kind of cold that seeps into your bones and refuses to leave. The house was still, wrapped in the kind of silence that felt like mourning. Anja sat curled up on the living room couch, her knees pressed to her chest, a blanket draped around her trembling shoulders. Her eyes were red-rimmed, though no tears fell anymore. She had cried all night, long and hard, until the well had run dry.

Aaron's suitcase stood by the door, a cruel sentinel that reminded her of the inevitable.

He was leaving.

She felt like a hollow shell, the ache in her chest so consuming that it left her breathless. She didn't know how to exist without him. Aaron wasn't just her brother, wasn't just her protector. He was half of her soul, her anchor in a world that always felt too chaotic and unpredictable. Without him, she was adrift.

A creak of the floorboards broke the silence. She didn't need to turn to know who it was. She could feel him, like the very air shifted when he was near.

Aaron stood at the edge of the room, his tall frame silhouetted against the pale morning light spilling in through the windows. His gaze found her instantly, as if it always knew exactly where she was. He was dressed in his black DAA uniform, his polished boots silent against the hardwood floor as he walked toward her.

"Anja," he said softly, his voice a deep murmur that carried so much weight it threatened to break her all over again.

She didn't answer. She couldn't.

He crouched in front of her, his hands resting on her knees. His touch was warm, grounding, but it only made the reality of his departure more unbearable. Her chest tightened, the ache spreading like a wildfire she couldn't contain.

"You've been quiet all morning," Aaron said, tilting his head to look into her eyes. "Talk to me, Anja."

She finally met his gaze, and what she saw there unraveled her. His normally sharp, intense eyes were soft, filled with something unspoken. A tenderness that cut deeper than any words ever could.

"What do you want me to say?" Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper. "That I'm okay with this? That I'm fine watching you walk out that door, knowing you might not come back?"

Aaron's jaw tightened, his hands gripping her knees more firmly. "Don't say that."

"But it's true," she snapped, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "You're going to war, Aaron. Not some training exercise or a mission you can control. This is real, and it's dangerous, and I—"

Her voice broke, and the tears she thought were gone came flooding back. She pressed her hands to her face, trying to muffle the sobs that racked her body.

Aaron didn't hesitate. He pulled her into his arms, cradling her like she was something precious. She clung to him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his uniform, desperate to hold onto him for as long as she could.

"You think this is easy for me?" he whispered into her hair, his voice rough with emotion. "You think I want to leave you?"

She shook her head, her tears soaking into his shirt. "Then don't go."

"You know I have to."

She pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him. "Why? Why do you always have to be the one to fix everything? Why can't you stay here, with me, where you belong?"

His hands cupped her face, his thumbs brushing away her tears. "Because I can't stand by and do nothing while everything falls apart. I can't protect you if I don't fight, Anja."

"I don't need you to fight for me," she argued, her voice trembling. "I need you here."

His lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes searching hers. For a moment, she thought he might say something, but then he leaned in, resting his forehead against hers.

"I need you too," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "More than you'll ever know. But this...this is something I have to do."

She closed her eyes, her breath hitching. "And what about me? What am I supposed to do without you?"

"You'll keep going," he said firmly. "You're stronger than you think, Anja. You always have been."

She opened her eyes, her gaze locking with his. "I don't feel strong."

"You don't have to," he whispered. "Not now. Not today. Just...promise me you'll wait for me."

Her lips quivered as she nodded. "I'll wait forever if I have to."

The sound of a car horn broke the fragile moment between them. They both froze, the weight of reality crashing back in.

Aaron stood slowly, his hands lingering on her shoulders. He looked down at her, his expression torn between love and agony. "It's time."

"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "Not yet."

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I love you, Anja. Always."

She reached for him as he pulled away, her fingers brushing against his before he stepped out of reach. She wanted to scream, to beg him to stay, but the words stuck in her throat.

Aaron picked up his suitcase and walked to the door. He paused, his hand on the handle, and turned back to look at her one last time.

"Remember," he said, his voice steady despite the emotion in his eyes. "I'll come back to you. I always will."

And then he was gone.

The door closed behind him, and Anja was left standing there, the silence of the house suddenly deafening. She wrapped her arms around herself, her knees threatening to give out beneath her.

Half of her soul had just walked out the door, and she didn't know if she'd ever feel whole again.

The once-vivid memory of Aaron’s parting words felt distant now, muffled by the weight of the silence he left behind. I’ll come back. I always come back to you. Anja clung to those words like a lifeline, but as days stretched into weeks, the promise began to feel hollow.

It had been three days since she’d last heard from him. Three days of unanswered calls, messages left in the void, and no updates from Skyhaven. The newsfeeds were relentless—headlines screamed of escalating battles between the Eastern Dominions and the Northern Coalition, detailing losses and mounting tensions, but never offering the one thing Anja desperately needed: reassurance that Aaron was alive.

Anja paced her room, the phone clenched tightly in her hand. Her chest ached with the weight of anxiety, her stomach twisting with each passing second of silence. She had left dozens of messages, each one more frantic than the last, but still, there was no response. The sharp sting of rejection mixed with the gut-wrenching fear that something terrible had happened to him.

The small glow of her phone mocked her, sitting on the nightstand as if it held the power to shatter her world completely. She paced the room, her bare feet padding against the hardwood floor, while her thoughts ran wild.

What if he was hurt? Or worse?

The possibility clawed at her, and no matter how much she tried to rationalize, the fear was like a shadow she couldn’t escape.

---

Downstairs, the mansion was quiet, the kind of silence that felt oppressive. Rika had been keeping a watchful eye on her over the past few days, sensing something was wrong but choosing not to push. Michael had his own battles to focus on, leading the Thunder Bay forces in preparation for a potential strike from the Eastern Dominions. Everyone was tense. Everyone was waiting.

But none of it compared to the storm inside Anja.

Unable to stay confined to her room any longer, she grabbed a sweater, draped it over her shoulders, and stepped outside. The cold night air bit at her skin, but it was nothing compared to the hollowness inside her. She wandered toward the gardens, hoping for a moment of reprieve, but it only made her feel more alone.

“Anja.”

The voice startled her, pulling her from her spiral. She turned to see Will standing near the edge of the patio, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. The dim light from the house illuminated his face, casting shadows over his sharp features. There was concern in his dark eyes, the kind of concern that made her chest tighten.

“You scared me,” she admitted, folding her arms over her chest as she tried to calm the rapid thudding of her heart.

“Sorry.” He took a step closer, his boots crunching against the gravel path. “I saw you come out here. Figured you could use some company.”

Anja didn’t respond right away. She wasn’t sure what she needed—she just knew the ache inside her wasn’t going away anytime soon. But Will had always been steady, a quiet presence she could lean on when the world felt like too much.

“I don’t think I’m great company right now,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe not,” he replied with a small, dry smile, “but I’m stubborn.”

That earned him a weak laugh, the sound brittle and hollow. Will stepped closer, his gaze softening as he looked at her. “You’ve been like this for days, Anja. Have you heard from him?”

She shook her head, biting her lip to keep the tears at bay. “No,” she admitted, her voice cracking. “Nothing.”

Will exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening as he glanced away. “He’s in the middle of a war. It’s not exactly easy to get in touch.”

“I know that,” she snapped, harsher than she intended. “I know, but—” Her voice broke, and she looked down, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from falling. “But he always finds a way. Always.”

Will was quiet for a moment, his expression unreadable. When he finally spoke, his voice was low. “You care about him a lot.”

She nodded, her throat too tight to speak.

“More than just a brother,” he added, his words careful but pointed.

Her head snapped up, her eyes wide with shock and guilt. “Will, I—”

“It’s okay,” he interrupted, holding up a hand. “You don’t have to explain. I’ve known for a while. We all have.”

Anja stared at him, stunned into silence. She wasn’t sure what to say or how to justify something that felt so wrong yet so inevitable.

“I just…” Will hesitated, his voice faltering for the first time. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

The vulnerability in his tone made her heart ache. She reached out instinctively, her fingers brushing against his arm. “I’ll be fine,” she said, though the words felt like a lie. “I have to be.”

Will didn’t move, his gaze locked on hers. There was something in his expression—something raw and unspoken—that made her chest tighten. He looked like he wanted to say more, but before he could, the sound of her phone buzzing broke the moment.

Anja spun around, her heart leaping as she grabbed the device from her pocket. But the excitement was short-lived. It wasn’t Aaron. It was just another alert about the war—a grim update about a skirmish near the outskirts of Skyhaven.

Her shoulders sagged, the weight of disappointment crushing her.

“It wasn’t him,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Will stepped closer, his hand brushing against her arm in a gesture of comfort. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Anja. He’ll contact you when he can.”

“But what if something happened to him?” she said, her voice rising with desperation. “What if he’s—”

“Don’t,” Will cut her off, his tone sharp. “Don’t go there. You’ll drive yourself insane.”

She turned to him, her eyes filling with tears. “I don’t know how to stop.”

Will’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, he looked like he was waging a war of his own. Then, before she could react, he pulled her into his arms. The embrace was firm, grounding, and she couldn’t stop herself from sinking into it.

“I’m here,” he said quietly, his voice steady. “I know I’m not him, but I’m here.”

Anja closed her eyes, the tears spilling over as she clung to him. She felt like she was falling apart, and Will was the only thing keeping her together. But even as she found solace in his arms, a small, guilty voice in the back of her mind reminded her that this wasn’t where she was supposed to be.

Her heart was with Aaron—wherever he was.

The knock on the door came soft at first, barely audible over the patter of rain against the windows. Anja sat by the fire, knees tucked to her chest, a book lying forgotten in her lap. She hadn't read a word in hours. The silence in the room felt unbearable, pressing down on her chest like a weight, suffocating and inescapable.

Another knock followed, louder and insistent, cutting through the quiet hum of the house.

Michael rose, his chair scraping against the floor, and crossed the room with steady, purposeful strides. Rika followed closely behind, her face tight with an unspoken worry.

Anja barely looked up. She hadn't dared hope for news about Aaron—not after so many weeks without a single message. She couldn't bear the constant ache of waiting, so she had trained herself to expect nothing, to avoid hope altogether.

When the door opened, the sound of rain pouring down filled the house. A man in uniform stood under the porch light, soaked to the bone, holding a folded paper in his gloved hands. His face was pale, his eyes shadowed with regret.

"Mr. Christ," the officer began, his voice low and grave. "I'm here on behalf of the Deepspace Fleet."

Anja's heart stopped.

No.

She bolted upright, her legs trembling as she stared at the officer.

"I regret to inform you that Lieutenant Aaron Christ was killed in action during a mission on Cygnus Prime," the man continued, his words slow and deliberate. "His unit was ambushed. We were unable to recover his body. He is presumed dead."

For a moment, the world stopped spinning. The room fell silent.

Then it hit her.

"No." The word escaped her lips in a whisper, barely audible. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as her mind scrambled to process what she had just heard. "No," she said again, louder this time, her voice trembling with panic. "That's not true. He's not dead."

"Anja—" Rika reached out for her, but Anja yanked her arm away, her body shaking as the officer's words echoed in her mind.

"He's not dead!" she screamed, her voice breaking. She staggered forward, her knees buckling under her weight. "You're lying!"

"Anja, stop," Michael said firmly, but his voice was tight with his own grief.

She spun toward him, her face twisted with anguish. "Don't tell me to stop! He's not gone! He's coming back! He promised me!"

Her Evol surged like a tidal wave, cracking through her control and rippling through the room. The air grew heavy, oppressive, as if it mirrored the storm brewing inside her. The fire in the hearth roared higher, licking the stone walls with violent flames.

The others tried to approach her, but her Evol lashed out like an animal in pain, shattering a vase on the mantel.

"Anja, listen to me," Rika pleaded, tears streaming down her face as she edged closer. "You have to calm down. Please."

But Anja couldn't hear her. Her sobs were raw, jagged, tearing from her throat as she clutched at her chest. "He can't be gone. He can't be gone," she whispered, her words desperate and broken.

The officer, visibly shaken, stepped back toward the door, his hand gripping his hat as though it might shield him from the storm raging inside the room.

Michael advanced cautiously, his deep voice steady but strained. "Anja, look at me. Look at me. You have to pull yourself together."

But she shook her head violently, her body trembling as more tears streamed down her face. "No! I can't—I can't—" Her voice cracked, and she let out a guttural sob that echoed through the room, cutting through the air like a knife.

Winter clutched Damon's arm, her unseeing eyes wide with fear as the energy in the room grew unbearable. Banks and Kai moved to shield the younger children, while Will stood frozen, his face pale and stricken.

Anja collapsed to her knees, her fingers clawing at the floor as if trying to find something solid to anchor herself. Her Evol pulsed again, making the lights flicker and the shadows on the walls writhe unnaturally.

"He promised me," she sobbed, her voice barely above a whisper. "He promised he'd always come back."

Michael knelt beside her, his usually unshakable presence softening as he placed his hands on her shoulders. "Anja, listen to me," he said quietly. "Aaron wouldn't want this. You have to be strong for him."

But his words couldn't reach her. She let out another broken sob, her entire body wracked with grief as she shook her head. "I don't know how to live without him," she whispered, her voice so faint it was almost inaudible.

The energy in the room began to fade as her Evol burned itself out, leaving her trembling and spent. Her breathing grew shallower, her sobs quieter, until finally, the exhaustion overwhelmed her. Her body went limp, and she slumped forward, unconscious.

Rika rushed to her side, gently cradling Anja's head in her lap as fresh tears streamed down her cheeks. "She'll be okay," she whispered, though the words were more for herself than anyone else.

Michael stood, his jaw clenched tight as he looked at the officer. "Are you certain?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

The officer hesitated, then nodded. "I'm sorry, sir. There's no trace of him. We have to assume the worst."

Damon swore under his breath, his arm tightening protectively around Winter. The room fell into a heavy silence, the only sounds the rain outside and the faint, broken sobs from the others.

Michael scooped Anja into his arms, holding her as if she were still the small, fragile child he had once carried on his shoulders. She looked weightless in his arms, her face pale and streaked with tears. Her breaths were shallow, her chest rising and falling as though even unconscious, her body couldn't bear the weight of the pain she had just endured.

"She needs rest," Rika whispered, brushing Anja's damp hair away from her face. Her voice trembled, betraying the composure she fought so hard to maintain. "This is... this is too much for her."

Michael didn't respond. His expression was grim, his mouth a hard line as he carried Anja up the stairs. Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of his grief nearly buckling his knees.

As he disappeared from view, the room below remained shrouded in silence. The family and friends gathered there exchanged solemn glances, their faces etched with pain and disbelief.

Damon finally broke the silence, his voice low and tight. "There's no way. No body, no proof? He's not gone. Not yet."

Kai nodded, his face pale but resolute. "I agree. Aaron's not the type to go down without a fight. He's stronger than that."

Banks stood by Kai, her arm looped through his as she tried to steady herself. "But if he's out there... why wouldn't they find him?"

"They said ambushed," Damon said bitterly, his fists clenching at his sides. "Doesn't mean dead."

Will, who had been standing quietly in the corner, finally spoke, his voice hoarse. "Tell that to her." He gestured toward the stairs where Michael had carried Anja. "She doesn't think he's coming back. And honestly... neither do I."

The room fell silent again, a heavy tension settling over them.

Winter, clutching Damon's hand tightly, tilted her head in the direction of Will's voice. "We have to believe. For Anja. If we don't, she'll lose herself completely."

"Belief doesn't bring people back from the dead," Will snapped, his usual lighthearted demeanor shattered by the weight of his emotions. His hands shook as he rubbed them over his face.

"Enough," Rika said sharply, her voice cutting through the tension. "This isn't about what we believe. This is about her. Anja needs us right now, and we have to pull ourselves together. For her."

The others nodded reluctantly, though the weight of the loss hung heavy in the air.

Upstairs, Michael laid Anja on her bed, tucking the blankets around her small frame. She looked so fragile, so young, as if the grief had stripped away every ounce of strength she had left. He sat on the edge of the bed, his large hand resting gently on her forehead.

Rika appeared in the doorway, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "How is she?" she asked softly.

Michael didn't look up. "She'll wake up. But after that..." He shook his head, his throat tightening. "I don't know."

"She's strong," Rika said, stepping closer. "She has to be."

Michael finally looked up, his eyes shadowed with doubt. "Aaron was her anchor. Without him... I don't know if she'll find her way back."

Rika knelt beside him, her hand resting on his arm. "Then we'll help her. Whatever it takes, we'll help her."

He nodded slowly, though the weight of the moment remained heavy on his shoulders.

Anja stirred in her sleep, a soft whimper escaping her lips. Michael leaned closer, his hand brushing against her cheek. "We're here," he murmured, though he knew his words would never fill the void Aaron had left behind.

Downstairs, the rain continued to fall, the storm outside a mirror to the one raging within their hearts. And though no one dared to say it aloud, a single, unshakable truth lingered in the back of their minds: nothing would ever be the same again.

Aaron Christ was buried on a frigid January afternoon, the kind of day where the sky refused to part its gray veil, as if even the heavens mourned his loss. The ceremony took place at exactly 3:07 p.m., the bitter wind weaving through the trees of the Christ family cemetery, carrying with it the weight of silence and sorrow.

It wasn’t just the death of a man; it was the death of a legend, of a son, of a brother, of a love that still lingered in the air like a ghost refusing to move on. For those who stood in the frost-bitten crowd, it marked the end of an era—and for one, it marked the beginning of an unrelenting emptiness.

Aaron Christ was gone, and with him went the light that some had built their worlds around.

The rain came down in steady sheets, turning the cemetery grounds into a sea of gray and green. Thunder Bay's skies matched the somber mood, their heavy clouds an oppressive weight pressing down on the mourners gathered beneath a black canopy. Rows of dark umbrellas lined the hillside, shrouding the faces of friends, family, and soldiers alike as they paid their final respects to Aaron Christ.

The casket was sleek, black metal accented with the golden insignia of the Northern Coalition. It rested on a raised platform, draped in the Coalition flag, a stark reminder of the man he had been: a soldier, a leader, and for Anja, something far more profound.

She stood in the front, flanked by Michael and Rika, but she felt utterly alone. Her hand gripped the small black rose pinned to her chest—a mark of mourning—but the bloom felt foreign against her cold fingers. Her Evol stirred faintly in her chest, the only sign that she was still tethered to reality at all. Her hair clung to her face, damp from the rain, and her eyes, dry and dull, remained fixed on the casket as though willing it to reveal some cruel joke.

Aaron wasn’t gone. He couldn’t be.

The priest’s words floated over her like a distant hum, and even Michael’s voice, steady and commanding as he gave the eulogy, barely registered in her ears.

“Aaron was brave,” Michael said, his voice tight with grief. “He was loyal. A son any parent would be proud of, and a man who left his mark on this world. He gave his life so we could stand here today in freedom. He gave everything.”

Freedom. Anja wanted to laugh, but she couldn’t summon the energy. What freedom? The world had taken Aaron from her, ripping away the only person who had ever truly seen her, the only person who had made her feel like she wasn’t alone in her chaotic mind. Her Evol churned again, anger bubbling beneath the surface, but it couldn’t break past the hollow shell she had become.

---

The gun salute shattered the silence. Twelve rifles fired into the air, the sound cutting through the rain and startling several mourners. Anja didn’t flinch. She stood motionless, her soaked dress plastered to her skin, her nails biting into her palms. The soldiers folded the Coalition flag with precision, their movements robotic, practiced. One of them approached Michael and handed him the flag, but he turned and placed it into Anja’s trembling hands.

She stared down at it, the fabric heavy with significance, but it felt meaningless in her grip. What was the point of this flag when Aaron was gone? When his presence—his voice, his warmth, his maddening possessiveness—was snuffed out like a candle in the storm?

“Anja,” Rika whispered, placing a hand on her arm. “You don’t have to stay.”

But Anja couldn’t leave. She couldn’t tear herself away from the grave as the casket was lowered into the earth. One by one, the mourners departed, murmuring their condolences, offering hollow words of comfort that barely reached her ears.

Soon, the crowd dispersed, leaving only Anja standing in the rain, staring at the fresh mound of earth that now held him. Her fingers gripped the flag tighter, her knuckles white as she sank to her knees before the grave.

The numbness cracked, and a sob wrenched from her throat, raw and animalistic. The rain mingled with her tears, but the dam had finally broken. Her Evol surged wildly, untamed and unrestrained, the energy within her spilling out in waves.

The grass around her withered under the strain of her emotions, and the air buzzed with a palpable force. She clawed at the ground, her fingers sinking into the wet dirt as if she could somehow reach him, pull him back, undo what had been done.

“Why?” she screamed, her voice breaking as a pulse of energy radiated from her body, shaking the ground. The few trees near the grave shuddered, their leaves falling in a sudden rush as the storm around her intensified.

“You promised me,” she whispered, her voice cracking as she clutched the flag to her chest. “You said you’d come back. You said nothing could keep you away.”

Her Evol lashed out again, the force of her despair carving shallow cracks into the earth around her. She didn’t care if she destroyed herself. She didn’t care about the consequences. All that mattered was the ache in her chest and the unbearable weight of his absence.

---

Unseen, watching her.

From the shadows of the cemetery’s edge, Aaron stood motionless. His pristine Northern Coalition colonel uniform clung to his frame, its sharp lines a stark contrast to the raw pain he witnessed before him. His gloved hands clenched at his sides, the synthetic fingers of his mechanical arm twitching involuntarily as if the phantom pain matched the agony in his chest.

He had thought he was prepared for this. He had thought he could harden himself to the consequences of his decision. But nothing could have prepared him for the sight of Anja breaking down, her Evol spiraling out of control, her cries ripping through the night like a blade to his soul.

Tears streamed down his face, silent and unrelenting. He didn’t bother to wipe them away. Let them fall. Let them mark the man he had become, the man who had given up everything to protect her, even if it meant becoming a ghost.

He took a step forward, his polished boots sinking slightly into the wet grass. The urge to go to her was almost unbearable. She was falling apart, and he was the reason. He wanted to hold her, to tell her he was alive, to promise her that he would fix everything.

But he couldn’t. Not yet.

Aaron swallowed hard, his gaze fixed on her as he forced himself to remain rooted in place. His hand rose to his chest, brushing against the insignia pinned to his uniform. The promotion had come with a cost—one he wasn’t sure he could ever fully pay. The old Aaron Christ had died in that battle, and what remained was a man forged in war, a man with a mechanical arm and a heart weighed down by guilt.

“Not yet,” he whispered to himself, his voice trembling. “I can’t ruin it now.”

Still, his feet betrayed him, taking one step closer before he stopped again. He wanted to call out to her, to tell her he was there, that he hadn’t left her, but his resolve held firm. If this plan was to succeed, he had to remain dead to the world—for now.

As Anja’s sobs echoed into the night, Aaron turned away, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his choice. He walked into the shadows, leaving her behind, his heart shattering with every step he took. But even as he disappeared, one thing remained constant:

He would come back for her.

No matter what it took.

#devil's night #lads caleb #love and deepspace #caleb x reader #damon torrance #fanfic #kai mori #lads #rika fane #will grayson iii #winter ashby #emory scott #love and deepspace caleb #caleb #nikova banks #no saints tonight #dark romance

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addiessblack · 4 months ago

Text

NO SAINTS TONIGHT

Chapter 4

The air inside Michael Christ's dining room was unusually heavy, as if the walls themselves held their breath. The original Horsemen and their partners gathered at the long mahogany table, which was a testament to decades of history, love, and chaos. Despite the laughter and chaos from their children still echoing upstairs, the room below was eerily still.

Michael leaned back in his chair, the lines of age barely softening his commanding presence. His gaze flickered across the room before settling on Kai, whose jaw tightened. "So," Michael started, voice low but carrying weight, "we're all aware of... what's going on between Aaron and Anja."

Winter broke the silence first, her delicate features furrowing as she shifted beside Damon. Her white stick rested against the table's edge, her fingers brushing against it absently. "Going on? Michael, they're siblings-"

Damon cut her off with a short, humorless laugh, the scar that ran across his lip curling into a familiar sneer. "You're telling me you haven't noticed it, Winter? Aaron doesn't look at her like a sister. Never has."

Winter's lips parted to argue, but she stopped, her brow knitting deeper.

Kai finally spoke, his voice sharp but with a tinge of sadness. "He's been in love with her since the day you brought her home, Michael."

Rika stiffened beside Michael, her hand tightening around his. "That's ridiculous," she said, her tone defensive. "Aaron loves her, yes, but not like that. He's protective because she's younger, because-"

"Because he's obsessed," Damon interrupted. His black eyes glinted as they locked on Rika. "Don't kid yourself, Rika. The boy is you, Michael, with a touch of me mixed in for good measure. You remember what it felt like, don't you? That need to claim, to possess, even when it didn't make sense?"

Michael's jaw tightened, but he didn't deny it. His silence was answer enough.

Banks shifted in her seat, leaning forward slightly, her voice calm but pointed. "It's not just a crush or a phase. I've seen the way he looks at her. It's like... she's his world, his anchor. And that's dangerous."

"He's controlling," Winter added quietly. "It's subtle, but it's there. Indie told me how Anja doesn't really have any friends outside of her, and even she feels like Aaron's always... watching."

Emory finally spoke, her voice soft but sharp as a blade. "But does Anja know? Does she feel the same way?"

The room went silent again, the unspoken question lingering in the air.

Kai exhaled, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. "She's young. Confused, probably. Aaron's always been there for her, and I think... I think part of her doesn't even realize what's happening. But the way he looks at her-it's possessive, yes, but there's guilt there too. Like he knows he shouldn't feel this way, but he can't stop himself."

Michael ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in his movements. "He's leaving for the war soon. Maybe... maybe the distance will help."

Damon laughed again, darker this time. "Distance? Michael, you think that's going to fix this? If anything, it's going to make it worse. He's going to come back more unhinged than ever, mark my words."

Will, who had been unusually quiet, finally spoke, his voice hesitant. "What if... what if it's not entirely one-sided?"

All eyes turned to him, and he flushed slightly under their scrutiny. "I mean, I've seen them together. Anja looks at him differently than she looks at anyone else. It's subtle, but... I think she's starting to feel something too. And that scares her."

Rika's face paled. "She's just a child," she whispered.

"She's not a child anymore," Damon corrected, his voice almost gentle for once. "And Aaron knows that. Hell, he's probably known it longer than the rest of us."

Banks's voice cut through the tension. "The question isn't whether Aaron loves her or not. That much is obvious. The question is, what are we going to do about it?"

No one spoke for a long moment, the weight of the situation pressing down on them all. Finally, Michael leaned forward, his voice quiet but resolute.

"We protect them. Both of them. Whatever happens, we don't let this tear the family apart."

"And if Aaron's obsession crosses a line?" Winter asked softly.

Michael's eyes hardened, his voice dropping even lower. "Then we remind him who he is. Who he comes from."

The room fell into silence again, the conversation unfinished but the weight of it lingering like a storm cloud. Upstairs, the sound of laughter broke through the tension, a reminder of the innocence they were all trying to protect-an innocence that was slipping away faster than any of them wanted to admit.

Age 17

The knock on her bedroom door was soft but insistent, pulling Anja from the edge of sleep. She groaned and rolled over, squinting at the faint glow of her clock. Midnight.

"Anja." Aaron's voice was a low whisper from the other side of the door. "Get up."

She blinked groggily, her heart skipping at the sound of his voice. "Aaron? What are you doing? It's late."

"Just trust me," he murmured. "Get dressed and meet me downstairs. Be quiet."

Her brows furrowed as she sat up, pushing the blanket off her legs. The house was silent, everyone else long since asleep. Whatever Aaron was planning, it wasn't something he wanted anyone else to know about.

Curiosity prickling at the edges of her tiredness, she threw on a sweatshirt and leggings, slipping into her sneakers. She padded softly down the stairs, her movements careful to avoid the creaky steps.

Aaron was waiting for her at the front door, his tall frame silhouetted against the moonlight streaming through the windows. He was dressed in black, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, and he looked every bit the troublemaker she'd always suspected he could be.

"Where are we going?" she whispered as she joined him.

"You'll see," he said, a hint of mischief in his smile. He opened the door and gestured for her to step outside. "Come on."

The crisp night air hit her cheeks as they slipped into the quiet streets of Thunder Bay. The city was asleep, the usual hum of activity replaced by an eerie stillness. Aaron led the way, his strides confident and sure.

"Should I be worried?" she asked, her voice light but tinged with nerves.

"Not at all," he said over his shoulder. "I just thought it was time we did something fun. Something just for us."

They walked for what felt like ages, the streets growing narrower and more unfamiliar. Anja's unease grew as they moved deeper into the city, the shadows stretching long and dark around them.

"Aaron, seriously, where are we going?"

He turned to her, his expression softening. "You'll see. Trust me, okay?"

She hesitated, then nodded. Trusting Aaron was second nature, even when her instincts told her this was a bad idea.

Finally, they arrived at a tall, chain-link fence that bordered what looked like an abandoned lot. The area was overgrown with weeds and scattered debris, but in the center stood the skeletal remains of an old factory, its broken windows glinting in the moonlight.

Aaron pulled a pair of wire cutters from his jacket pocket and made quick work of the padlock on the gate. He pushed it open, the metal groaning softly, and held it for her.

"You're insane," she muttered, stepping through.

"Maybe." He smirked, closing the gate behind them. "But you'll thank me later."

He led her through the lot, guiding her around broken glass and crumbling concrete until they reached the factory. Inside, the space was vast and hollow, the air tinged with the faint smell of rust and decay.

But Aaron didn't stop there. He took her up a narrow flight of stairs to the roof, where the city sprawled out beneath them in a sea of lights.

Anja's breath caught as she stepped onto the rooftop. The view was stunning-Thunder Bay shimmered like a galaxy, the stars above mirroring the lights below. The cool night breeze tugged at her hair, and for a moment, the world felt endless.

"This..." she breathed, turning to Aaron. "This is incredible."

He leaned against the ledge, watching her with a quiet intensity. "I thought you'd like it."

She moved to stand beside him, her hands gripping the edge of the roof as she took it all in. "How did you even find this place?"

"I have my ways," he said with a shrug, his gaze never leaving her.

She laughed softly, the sound carrying on the wind. "You're unbelievable, you know that?"

"So I've been told."

They stood in comfortable silence for a while, the city stretching out before them. Anja tilted her head back, closing her eyes as the wind brushed against her skin.

"For the record," she said, "this is probably the dumbest thing I've ever done."

Aaron chuckled. "And?"

"And..." She smiled, turning to look at him. "Thank you. For this. For making me feel alive."

He stared at her, his expression unreadable. The way the moonlight caught her features, the way her lips curled into that soft, unguarded smile-it was almost too much.

"You have no idea, do you?" he murmured.

"About what?"

"How perfect you are," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away, laughing nervously. "Stop being weird."

"I'm not," he said, stepping closer. "I'm just telling you the truth."

The sudden proximity made her heart race, but she didn't move away. There was something about the way he was looking at her, like she was the only thing that mattered in the world.

"Aaron..."

"You don't have to say anything," he said quickly, his voice softening. "I just... I wanted to give you this. A moment that's just ours."

She smiled, her chest tightening. "You're impossible."

"And you're beautiful," he said, his lips quirking into a small smile.

For the first time, she didn't argue. Instead, she leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder as the city lights sparkled below.

Aaron stayed perfectly still, his heart pounding as he soaked in the moment. She didn't know it yet, but he'd do anything to keep her safe, to keep her happy.

Anything.

The kitchen was cloaked in shadows, the faint hum of the refrigerator the only sound as Anja padded across the cool tiles. Her oversized sweater hung loosely off one shoulder, the hem brushing the tops of her bare thighs. It was a quiet hour, the house asleep, and she'd only meant to grab a snack and return to bed.

But then she saw him.

Aaron leaned against the counter, his broad frame illuminated by the soft under-cabinet lighting. He looked impossibly relaxed, as though the world didn't carry weight for him, yet there was an undercurrent of tension in the way his fingers tapped rhythmically against the marble surface. His blond hair was slightly mussed, as though he'd run his hands through it one too many times, and his gray eyes caught the faint light, gleaming with something unreadable. He turned his head toward her the moment she entered, his lips curling into a faint smirk as though he'd been expecting her all along.

"You couldn't sleep either?" he asked, his voice low, intimate in the silence.

Anja froze for a moment, her pulse kicking up. She hadn't expected anyone to be awake, let alone Aaron. She gave a small shrug, her eyes flicking to the counter where a bowl of apples sat. "Just hungry," she murmured, avoiding his gaze.

"Hungry," he repeated, the word tasting different on his tongue, layered with meaning she didn't dare decipher. He straightened, stepping closer as her bare feet hesitated on the tiles. He was barefoot too, wearing only sweatpants and a dark shirt that clung to him like a second skin. The casualness of it only heightened the tension that seemed to stretch between them like a taut wire.

"Midnight cravings?" Aaron's voice held a teasing lilt, but his eyes were far too serious as they roamed over her face. He moved toward the bowl of apples, his fingers curling around one of the red fruits. "Here," he said, holding it out to her.

She hesitated. There was something about the way he held it-like an offering, like a dare. Her fingers brushed his as she took it, and the simple contact made her skin burn.

"Thanks," she muttered, though her voice sounded smaller than she intended. She brought the apple to her lips but didn't bite, suddenly hyper-aware of his presence, of the way he leaned casually against the counter, watching her as though there was nothing else in the world worth looking at.

"You know," he said softly, his voice dropping an octave, "there's something about apples."

Her brow furrowed as she looked up at him, the apple still poised near her lips. "What do you mean?"

"They're... symbolic," Aaron continued, his gaze holding hers. He moved closer, his steps slow and deliberate, until he was just a breath away. "Temptation. Sin." His voice was a whisper now, and it sent a shiver down her spine.

Her throat tightened. "Aaron..." she began, though she wasn't sure what she was going to say.

He reached out, his hand covering hers over the apple. "You know the story, don't you?" he asked, tilting his head, his eyes gleaming with something dark and knowing. "Eve and the apple. She knew it was wrong. Knew it would change everything. And yet..." His thumb brushed over her knuckles, a small, electric touch. "She bit into it anyway."

Her breath hitched, and her lips parted slightly, but she couldn't find any words. The apple was suspended between them, a barrier and a connection all at once.

Aaron's gaze dropped to her lips, and for a moment, it felt as though time itself had stopped. "You're afraid to take a bite," he said, his tone both teasing and coaxing.

"I'm not afraid," she shot back, though her voice betrayed her.

He smirked, and the sight of it sent her heart tumbling in her chest. "Then prove it."

Before she could think better of it, she raised the apple toward her lips. But just as she was about to bite, Aaron's hand tightened over hers, stopping her.

"Not alone," he said, his voice a low rasp.

Her brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Let's bite together," he murmured, his eyes boring into hers. "You and me. If you're going to sin, Anja, you shouldn't do it alone."

Her stomach twisted into knots, and her pulse thrummed loudly in her ears. She knew this was dangerous. Knew it was a line she shouldn't cross. And yet... there was something intoxicating about the way he looked at her, about the magnetic pull between them.

Slowly, hesitantly, she nodded.

Aaron guided the apple toward their mouths, his movements deliberate. She felt the heat of him so close, his breath mingling with hers as they both leaned in. Her eyes fluttered shut as their lips brushed the apple simultaneously.

The sound of the bite was deafening in the silence, the crisp snap of the fruit breaking the tension like a thunderclap.

Juice dripped down her chin as the sweet, tangy taste of the apple exploded on her tongue. She opened her eyes, and for a moment, the world seemed to tilt. Aaron was staring at her, his gaze molten, his lips glistening from the shared bite.

The room felt too small, too charged. She could feel the press of his body, the heat radiating from him.

"You taste it, don't you?" he asked softly, his voice a low rumble. "What it means to give in?"

Her throat worked as she swallowed, her mind a tangled mess of emotions and sensations. She didn't answer him-she couldn't.

Aaron's hand moved, cupping her jaw, his thumb brushing away the juice that had dripped down her chin. His touch lingered, his thumb tracing her skin like he was memorizing the feel of her.

"You can lie to yourself all you want," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But you'll never convince me you don't feel it too."

"Aaron..." Her voice cracked, and she shook her head, stepping back. "We can't-"

"Why not?" he demanded, his tone sharper now, though still quiet enough not to wake the house. "Because someone else told you it's wrong? Because the world would judge us?" He stepped closer, refusing to let the distance grow.

"Because it is wrong," she said, though her conviction wavered. "You're my-"

"Don't say it," he interrupted, his eyes darkening. "Don't put a label on this that tries to make it smaller than it is."

She bit her lip, her hands trembling as she set the apple down on the counter. "This... this isn't normal, Aaron. It's not okay."

"Normal?" He laughed, a bitter sound. "Who cares about normal? Do you feel it, Anja? Do you feel the way your heart races when I'm near? The way your body reacts when I touch you?"

Her cheeks flushed, and she turned her face away, unable to meet his gaze. "It doesn't matter," she whispered.

"It matters to me," he said, his voice softer now but no less intense. He reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers. "You matter to me. More than anything."

The weight of his words settled heavily between them, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. The forbidden fruit sat on the counter, its surface gleaming in the dim light-a silent witness to their shared sin.

Anja closed her eyes, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. "We shouldn't have done this," she murmured, though she didn't pull her hand away from his.

Aaron's grip tightened, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. "Maybe not," he admitted. "But I don't regret it."

Her eyes snapped open, meeting his. The intensity in his gaze was enough to make her stomach flip, and for a fleeting moment, she wondered what it would feel like to let herself fall completely-to give in to the pull between them and let the world be damned.

But instead, she stepped back, her hand slipping from his. "We can't do this again," she said, her voice barely audible.

Aaron didn't move, his eyes locked on her. "You can say that all you want," he said softly, "but we both know it's a lie."

Her heart twisted painfully, and she turned, walking away before he could see the tears welling in her eyes.

As she slipped back into her room, the taste of the apple lingered on her tongue-a bittersweet reminder of what it meant to give in.

Aaron sat in his room, the door locked behind him. It was late, the house quiet save for the occasional creak of the old wood under the weight of the wind outside. He leaned back in his chair, a glass of whiskey dangling loosely in his hand, the amber liquid catching the faint glow of the desk lamp. His gray eyes, sharp and unyielding, stared at the collection of objects spread out before him.

To anyone else, it would look like clutter: a worn-out book with creased pages, a hair ribbon, a photograph with frayed edges, and a tiny bracelet made of multicolored beads that had long since lost their sheen. But to Aaron, it was a shrine.

He picked up the bracelet first, his thumb running over the beads. She'd made it when she was eight, sitting cross-legged on the living room floor with Indie beside her. He'd watched them from the kitchen, pretending to be engrossed in a conversation with Kai while his gaze kept flicking toward her. When she'd proudly presented the bracelet to him, her small hands holding it out like an offering, he hadn't known what to say. He'd taken it, of course, slipping it into his pocket. He'd kept it ever since.

"Mine," he murmured under his breath, the word a mantra he often repeated when he thought of her.

He set the bracelet down and reached for the photograph. It was from a summer barbecue three years ago, taken just before he left for DAA. She was in the center, laughing at something Will Grayson IV had said, her head tilted back, her eyes crinkled with joy. Aaron remembered the way the sunlight had caught her hair, making it look like a halo. Will had been too close to her that day, his arm casually slung around her shoulders. Aaron had laughed along with them, but his eyes had burned with quiet fury.

Will.

Aaron's jaw clenched at the thought of him. He liked Will-trusted him, even-but there were lines that no one, not even the son of his father's best friend, was allowed to cross. Aaron had seen the way Will looked at her sometimes, the fleeting glances, the soft smiles. It had been subtle, but Aaron had noticed. He noticed everything when it came to her.

She didn't see it, of course. She never saw anything.

His gaze shifted to the book next, a worn copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray. It was her favorite. She'd read it so many times that the spine was permanently cracked, and the pages were dog-eared beyond repair. He'd taken it from her room once, just to see how long it would take her to notice. It had been three days. By the time she came to him, her cheeks flushed with frustration and her hands planted on her hips, he'd already memorized half the passages.

"You could've just asked to borrow it," she'd said, snatching the book back.

"Where's the fun in that?" he'd replied, smirking.

He hadn't told her he'd ordered his own copy the next day, or that he'd spent hours reading it, dissecting every line, trying to understand why it meant so much to her.

Aaron set the book down and leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. His room was filled with her presence, even in her absence. The faint scent of her shampoo lingered on the hoodie she'd borrowed from him last week, now draped over the back of his chair. A playlist she'd once made for him played softly in the background, the lyrics echoing the ache in his chest.

She was everywhere. And yet, she wasn't enough.

He wanted more-needed more.

The thought of her consumed him, a constant hum in the back of his mind. He thought about her laugh, the way it bubbled up like champagne, effervescent and intoxicating. He thought about her tears, the way they clung to her lashes like morning dew, making him want to destroy whatever had made her cry. He thought about her smile, the one she gave him when she thought he wasn't looking, soft and secretive, like it was meant just for him.

And then there were the darker thoughts. The ones he kept buried beneath layers of charm and control.

He thought about the boy she'd brought home last year, the way he'd touched her arm like he had a right to. Aaron had seen red that night, his fingers twitching with the urge to rip the boy's hand away, to remind him who she belonged to. It had taken everything in him to stay calm, to keep his fury hidden behind a tight smile.

She didn't know how much he did for her, how much he sacrificed to keep her safe. She didn't know about the threats he'd made, the people he'd scared off, the lines he'd crossed. She didn't know that every decision he made, every move he took, was for her.

And she never would.

Aaron drained the rest of his whiskey in one gulp, the burn doing little to numb the ache in his chest. He reached for the hair ribbon next, twirling it between his fingers. She'd worn it to her first dance recital, her tiny feet moving across the stage with an awkward grace that had left him breathless.

He closed his eyes, letting the memories wash over him. He could see her so clearly, hear her laughter, feel the warmth of her smile. She was his sun, his gravity, the thing that kept him anchored even as it threatened to pull him apart.

"Anja," he whispered, the name a prayer and a curse.

She was his. She'd always been his.

And one day, she'd see it too.

Age 18

The night pressed down like a weight, thick and suffocating with the electricity of an approaching storm. Clouds rolled across the sky, blotting out the stars, as the faint scent of rain hung in the cool air. Anja sat curled on the balcony outside her room, knees hugged to her chest, the chill biting at her skin but doing nothing to cool the fire that burned inside her.

She hadn't been able to sleep. Not with the way Aaron had been looking at her lately, his gaze heavy, filled with something unspoken that seemed to claw at her soul. Every glance, every touch lingered too long, and every word from his lips felt like a hidden promise-or a threat.

Yet here she was, thinking about him. Again.

The creak of the balcony door startled her, jerking her from her thoughts. She turned her head sharply, heart racing, and there he stood. Aaron.

He was silhouetted by the soft glow of her bedroom, his damp hair sticking to his forehead as raindrops clung to his shirt, turning it translucent in places. His presence was as overwhelming as ever, an unrelenting force that seemed to suck the air from the small space they now shared.

"Aaron," she said, her voice sharper than she intended. "What are you doing?"

He stepped out fully onto the balcony, the glass door clicking shut behind him. "I couldn't sleep," he said simply, his tone low and rough, as though he'd been wrestling with his own demons.

"That's not a reason to invade my space," she replied, though the words lacked conviction. Her fingers curled tighter around her knees as she tried to ignore the way her pulse quickened.

"I don't need a reason," he said, his voice quiet but cutting. He crossed the small distance between them, his movements slow and deliberate. "Not when it comes to you."

She stiffened, her eyes darting to the railing, to the storm brewing in the distance-anywhere but him. "Aaron, you can't just-"

"Just what?" he interrupted, his voice a soft growl. "Care about you? Worry about you? Because I do, Anja. More than you'll ever know."

The intensity of his words hit her like a physical blow, her breath hitching as she fought to steady herself. She hated how he could always disarm her with nothing but his voice.

"I don't need you to worry about me," she said, forcing the words out. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine," he shot back, stepping closer until he was towering over her. "You haven't been fine in years. I see it in the way you hold yourself, the way you avoid looking at me sometimes, like you're afraid of what you might see."

Her head snapped up at that, her eyes locking onto his. "I'm not afraid," she lied, though the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her.

"You should be," he murmured, his eyes dark and unyielding.

The words sent a shiver down her spine, but it wasn't fear that gripped her-it was something far more dangerous. Something that made her stomach twist and her skin tingle.

"You don't know what you're talking about," she whispered, trying to look away again, but Aaron's hand shot out, his fingers curling gently under her chin to force her gaze back to him.

"I know exactly what I'm talking about," he said, his voice low and steady, yet dripping with desperation. "I see you, Anja. I've always seen you. You're the only thing I've ever seen."

Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure he could hear it. His touch burned her skin, his words digging into her like claws. "Aaron..."

"Tell me you don't feel it," he said, his tone suddenly pleading, raw with emotion. "Tell me this thing between us isn't real."

"There's nothing between us," she whispered, though the words tasted bitter on her tongue.

He flinched as if she'd struck him, but his grip on her chin didn't waver. If anything, it tightened, his desperation bubbling to the surface. "Don't lie to me, Anja. Don't lie to yourself."

Tears pricked at her eyes, her chest heaving with the effort to keep herself together. "It's not right," she choked out. "You're my brother-"

"I'm not your brother," he interrupted fiercely, his voice trembling. "I've never been your brother, and you know that as well as I do."

The tears spilled over, streaking down her cheeks as the storm inside her raged. "But people-"

"People don't matter," he said, his voice softening but losing none of its intensity. "What matters is you. Us. Don't you see, Anja? You're everything to me. You always have been."

She shook her head, trying to pull away, but Aaron didn't let her. He moved closer, so close that their foreheads nearly touched, his breath warm against her skin.

"You're mine," he whispered, the words sending a shiver down her spine. "You've always been mine, even if you don't realize it yet."

Her resolve cracked, the weight of his words breaking her apart piece by piece. And then, before she could stop herself, she whispered, "I hate you."

The words were meant to push him away, to hurt him, but they came out weak, trembling.

Aaron's lips curled into a dark smile, one filled with pain and something far more twisted. "I can live with that," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "As long as you're mine."

And then he kissed her.

It wasn't gentle or hesitant-it was raw, desperate, and consuming. His lips claimed hers with a ferocity that left her breathless, his hands cupping her face as if she might disappear if he didn't hold on tight enough.

Her body stiffened, her mind screaming at her to push him away, but her traitorous heart betrayed her. Her hands moved of their own accord, clutching at his damp shirt as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded.

Aaron groaned against her mouth, the sound vibrating through her entire being. He kissed her like a man on the brink of madness, his desperation bleeding into every movement. His lips moved against hers with a possessiveness that made her knees weak, his hands sliding down to her waist to pull her flush against him.

She gasped, her lips parting under his, and Aaron took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. His tongue brushed against hers, drawing a soft whimper from her that she couldn't suppress.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing heavily, their foreheads pressed together. Anja's lips tingled, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might burst.

"Aaron..." she whispered, her voice shaky and filled with a mix of emotions she couldn't even begin to unravel.

"Don't say anything," he murmured, his thumb brushing against her cheek to wipe away a stray tear. "Just... don't."

She stared at him, her eyes searching his for some kind of answer, some kind of explanation for what had just happened. But all she saw was the same thing she'd always seen-devotion, obsession, and something far too dangerous to name.

And despite everything, despite the guilt clawing at her insides, she didn't pull away.

The Christ family estate felt unusually still, as if the world itself had paused to acknowledge the gravity of this moment. The late afternoon sun cast golden rays across the stone driveway, but the warmth did little to soothe the cold knot in Anja's chest.

Aaron's bags were already packed, loaded into the sleek black car idling at the edge of the circular driveway. The driver waited patiently, leaning casually against the door, but Anja could feel the weight of his silent expectation pressing on her.

This was it.

Anja stood on the front porch, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, as if she could hold her feelings in check if only she squeezed hard enough. But the emotions churned violently beneath the surface-fear, sadness, and a hollow ache that felt like it might swallow her whole.

Aaron was leaving. And for the first time since he had come into her life, she would be alone.

Her stomach twisted at the thought. Aaron had always been there, his presence as constant as the sun. Even when they fought, even when she needed space, he was still there-watching, protecting, consuming her every thought. She had never considered what it would be like without him because she had never believed it would happen.

Yet here they were.

Aaron slammed the trunk shut with a finality that made her flinch. He turned toward her, his sharp features softened slightly by the sunlight. His dark eyes locked onto hers, intense as always, and for a moment, she forgot how to breathe.

"You're really leaving," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

His expression flickered, a shadow of something unspoken passing over his face. He crossed the distance between them in just a few steps, his imposing figure towering over her.

"I have to," he said, his voice low and steady, but there was an edge to it, a tension that betrayed his own reluctance.

Anja bit her lip, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill over. "I know," she managed, though her voice wavered. "It's just... what am I supposed to do now?"

Aaron's brows furrowed, and his gaze softened, just slightly. "You'll be fine," he said, but there was a possessive edge to his tone that made her shiver. "You're stronger than you think."

She shook her head, her emotions bubbling to the surface despite her best efforts. "No, I'm not," she said, her voice breaking. "I don't know how to be without you. You've always been here, Aaron. Always. What if-what if something happens? What if you don't come back?"

Her voice cracked on the last word, and the tears she had been holding back finally spilled over.

Aaron's jaw tightened, and for a moment, he looked as if he might shatter from the weight of her words. He reached out, cupping her face with both hands and tilting her head up to meet his gaze.

"Don't say that," he said, his voice rough and commanding. "I'm coming back. Do you hear me? Nothing-nothing in this universe could keep me from you."

His words were fierce, almost angry, but there was a desperation in his eyes that mirrored her own.

Anja tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but it was no use. "I don't want you to go," she whispered, the words escaping before she could stop them.

"I don't want to go either," Aaron admitted, his voice softer now, but still heavy with emotion. "But I have to. This... this is my duty, Anja. It's what I was made for."

She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch as if it could anchor her in the storm of her emotions. "Then take me with you," she said, her voice trembling.

Aaron's hands tightened slightly on her face, his thumbs brushing away her tears. "You know I can't do that," he said, his tone both regretful and firm. "You're safe here. That's all that matters to me."

Safe. The word felt hollow, meaningless. What was safety if it meant being without him?

She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze with a mix of defiance and vulnerability. "You're the one who makes me feel safe," she said, her voice breaking. "Not this house. Not anyone else. You."

Aaron's breath hitched, and for a moment, he looked as if she had just struck him. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers, his eyes closed.

"You're going to kill me, Anja," he whispered, his voice raw.

She reached up, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, holding onto him as if letting go would break her. "Then don't leave," she pleaded, her voice barely audible.

Aaron pulled back slightly, his dark eyes burning into hers. "I have to," he said again, but his voice cracked on the last word.

There was a long silence between them, heavy with unspoken words and shared pain.

Finally, Anja reached into her pocket and pulled out a small necklace. It was simple, just a silver chain with a tiny compass pendant. She held it out to him, her hands trembling.

"This was my mom's," she said, her voice shaking. "It's the only thing I have left of her. I want you to have it."

Aaron stared at the necklace for a moment before taking it from her hand. His fingers brushed against hers, lingering longer than necessary.

"You're giving me this?" he asked, his voice low and rough.

She nodded, tears streaming down her face. "It's supposed to guide you," she said, her voice barely audible. "So you can always find your way back to me."

Aaron's jaw tightened, and he looked down at the necklace in his hand as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

"I don't need this to find my way back to you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "You're in here." He tapped his chest, right over his heart.

Anja let out a shaky breath, a small, watery laugh escaping her lips despite her tears.

Aaron reached out and gently placed the necklace around his neck, tucking the pendant under his shirt. "I'll keep it safe," he promised, his voice steady despite the storm in his eyes.

Before she could respond, he leaned down and kissed her-fierce, desperate, and all-consuming. It wasn't just a goodbye; it was a promise, a claim, a declaration that she was his and always would be.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against hers, their breaths mingling in the small space between them.

"I'll come back to you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "No matter what."

And then he was gone, the car pulling away and leaving her standing on the porch, clutching her arms around herself as the world seemed to tilt and spin around her.

For the first time in her life, she was truly alone.

---

Aaron

The silence in his room at DAA was almost oppressive, pressing down on Aaron's chest like a weight he couldn't shake. His desk, pristine and organized, sat untouched. His Evol ability pulsed faintly in his mind, searching for something, for someone, out of habit-a habit he'd forced himself to suppress.

Aaron paced, his boots echoing against the metallic floor of his dorm. The window overlooking Skyhaven's bustling campus might as well have been a prison view. It didn't matter how many people surrounded him, how loud the hallways were, or how rigorous the training sessions had become. None of it filled the gaping void Anja left behind.

He ran a hand through his dark hair, tugging at the roots, frustration boiling over. His entire life had revolved around her. Not just in a possessive way-though, if he was honest, that had been a significant part-but because Anja had always been the tether that grounded him. Without her, he was unmoored.

The nights were the worst. He'd lie awake, staring at the ceiling, every memory of her rushing in like a tide he couldn't hold back. The way her hair caught the sunlight when they'd sit by the lake behind their house. The small crease between her brows when she danced, concentrating on every move. The sound of her laughter, always so soft but capable of cutting through even his darkest moods.

He grabbed the necklace she had given him before he left, the chain cool against his heated skin. Her fingers had lingered when she placed it around his neck, and he swore he felt her trembling. That moment was etched into his mind, playing on a loop like a haunting melody.

"Anja," he murmured, his voice breaking in the silence. He clenched the pendant tightly, his knuckles white.

There were times he considered calling her, just to hear her voice, but he held back. What could he even say? That he hated being here without her? That every second away from her felt like he was being torn apart? No, he couldn't burden her with his desperation. Not when she was already struggling too.

Anja

Thunder Bay had never felt so lonely.

Anja sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the photo on her nightstand. It was from a few years ago-Aaron had his arm slung around her shoulders, grinning, while she tried to swat him away, laughing. That had been before things became...complicated. Before she began to notice the way his eyes lingered on her, the way his presence felt suffocating and safe all at once.

She traced the frame with her fingers, biting her lip to keep the tears at bay. She'd promised herself she wouldn't cry again. But the house was too quiet, the emptiness too overwhelming. For as long as she could remember, Aaron had been there. Watching over her, protecting her, even annoying her. Now, the absence of his constant presence was like a phantom limb-aching, undeniable, and impossible to ignore.

Anja tried to keep busy. She went to school, practiced her dance routines, even picked up a new book. But everything felt hollow. She couldn't concentrate on the words, couldn't lose herself in the rhythm of the music. Her mind always drifted back to him.

She pulled her knees to her chest, hugging them tightly. The necklace around her neck felt heavier now, a physical reminder of his absence. She'd worn it every day since he left, her fingers often finding the pendant, tracing its edges as if that could somehow bring him closer.

"I hate this," she whispered to the empty room. Her voice cracked, and the tears she'd been holding back finally spilled over. "I hate that I can't do this without you."

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, and her heart leapt. She grabbed it, hoping-praying-it was Aaron. But it wasn't. Just another school notification, reminding her of an assignment she didn't care about. She tossed the phone aside, frustration and sadness swirling together in a storm she couldn't contain.

Though miles apart, they were both caught in the same storm, tethered by an invisible thread neither could sever.

Aaron lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, the pendant Anja had given him still clutched in his hand. He closed his eyes, focusing on the faint pulse of his Evol. It was dangerous, reckless, but he couldn't help himself. He reached out, letting his mind brush against the edges of hers, just enough to feel her presence.

Anja sat upright, her heart skipping a beat as a familiar warmth washed over her. She didn't understand it, but she didn't question it either. She closed her eyes, letting herself be enveloped by the sensation. It felt like him-like home.

For a brief moment, the distance between them didn't matter.

#devil's night #lads caleb #love and deepspace #caleb x reader #damon torrance #fanfic #kai mori #lads #rika fane #will grayson iii #emory scott #nikova banks #winter ashby #love and deepspace caleb #caleb #no saints tonight

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