"Pfft… what?" he sputtered, heat rushing to his face as color bloomed across his cheeks. He turned away from the mirror, jaw tight. "That's not… I don't know what you're talking about."
The moment lingered, awkward and unfinished, before he reached for the door and pulled it open. He glanced left, then right. Empty. The corridor was silent, save for the faint, distant hum of the city beyond the building. Sirens, engines, shouting, all reduced to a dull murmur by thick concrete and reinforced walls. It felt far away, like another world entirely.
He scanned the floor near the doorway, searching for the clothes Lynis had promised to leave for him. Nothing. No folded fabric. No spare jacket. Just bare floor and dim light.
He sighed under his breath and walked back toward the door, lifting his knuckles to knock lightly. "Lynis," he whispered, keeping his voice low. "The clothes."
He waited. Nothing.
He knocked again, a little firmer this time. "Lynis."
Silence answered him once more. He leaned closer, pressing his ear to the door. A moment passed, then another, until he caught it. Snoring.
"Fuckin' hell," he muttered.
That was when he heard the soft click behind him.
He turned just as Jane stepped out into the room, towel in hand, drying her damp hair. She wore a pair of boxer briefs sitting low on her hips and a loose, long-sleeved crop top that hung slightly off one shoulder. Water droplets slid slowly down her skin, tracing the defined lines of her abdomen, catching the dim overhead light as they fell.
Her build was lean and athletic, every muscle firm and clearly defined. Whether from constant training or a lack of proper meals, her frame carried a sharpness to it. Her collarbones stood out prominently, her shoulders broad and strong beneath the soft fabric.
Their eyes met.
For a brief moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them thickened, charged with a tension that had nothing to do with the monsters waiting outside or the chaos beyond the walls.
Jane's gaze dropped, slow and unintentional, taking in his bare chest. It lingered over his abs before settling on the faint lines of his adonis belt, just visible beneath the towel slung low around his hips. Realizing where she was looking, she snapped her eyes away, a faint blush creeping up her neck.
"Ah… sorry," she said, her voice a touch higher than usual as she turned her back to him. "I thought I was alone."
Jagger reacted on instinct, turning away as well, suddenly very aware of how exposed he was. "It's fine," he said quickly. "I was just… looking for some clothes. Lynis said he'd leave them out here for me."
"Oh." She paused, then nodded once. "There should be some men's clothes in this room. Wait a moment, I'll grab you some."
She disappeared back inside without looking at him again. He heard the rustle of fabric, the soft thud of a drawer closing. Lynis's snoring continued, steady and obnoxiously loud, underscoring the awkward silence like a cruel joke.
Jane returned with a bundle of clothes held against her chest. She handed them to him without meeting his eyes. "Here," she said, her tone clipped, professional, as if that alone could erase the moment.
"Um… yeah. Thanks," he replied, taking them. Their fingers brushed briefly, just enough for a slight jolt to jump between them. Static electricity, he told himself. Nothing more. He swallowed. "I'll be quick."
He retreated into the bathroom and closed the door behind him, then leaned against it for a second longer than necessary, breathing out slowly.
Inside his head, a familiar presence stirred.
'Oh my,' Ophilia whispered, her voice lazy and rich with predatory amusement. 'That was entertaining. The little leader is not as immune to you as she pretends.'
He cursed under his breath and focused on the clothes in his hands.
They were simple. Practical. Black fitted track pants and a dark grey t-shirt, soft with age and wear. Clothes meant for function, not display. He dressed quickly, grateful for the grounding familiarity of clean fabric against his skin. When he opened the door again, he felt steadier.
Jane sat on the couch, legs crossed, her hair now tied into a messy bun. She was cleaning her daggers with a small cloth, movements precise and practiced. Steel gleamed faintly under the low light as she worked, every motion deliberate, controlled.
He crossed the room and lowered himself onto the single-seater sofa opposite her. The cushion sagged under his weight. For a moment, he just watched her hands move, the way she treated her weapons with the same care she showed her squad.
"You wanted to talk," he said at last, breaking the silence.
She did not look up.
"What happened back there?" she asked.
The question landed heavier than he expected.
He hesitated, searching for words that did not feel inadequate. A few seconds passed before he inhaled deeply. "I panicked," he said. "Seeing that child turn out to be a monster… it was something I couldn't process. A creature using a child to lure people like us…"
"I don't care what you felt during the fight with the Thorned Marionette," Jane cut in, calm but unyielding. She set the daggers down on the coffee table, the soft clink echoing in the quiet room. Finally, she lifted her eyes to him. "I want to know how you killed four kobolds and lived through injuries that should've killed you."
Her gaze was sharp, dissecting, stripped of earlier softness.
"No newborn hunter survives that," she continued. "Not without training. Not without experience. And not without something else."
The weight of the previous chapter pressed down on him then. The void. The cage. The chains of light. Ophilia's crimson eyes were watching him from the dark. The pain of regeneration still echoed faintly in his bones, a memory his body refused to forget.
He met Jane's gaze, knowing there was no easy answer left to give.