"Tell your queen," the man rasped hoarsely, "you won't live long enough to watch her fall."
The words sent a ripple through the room.
Alex's breath caught. Not because of the threat—but because of the way it was said. Detached. Proud. As if the man had already died and was speaking through a puppet.
One of the guards grabbed him by the collar. "Who sent you? Who gave the order?!"
The man didn't answer. Just kept smiling.
Then—he bit down.
Alex lunged forward. "Wait—!"
But it was too late.
The assassin convulsed, eyes bulging. A thick, dark foam spilled from his mouth—inky black, tinged with red. His body jerked once. Twice. Then slumped.
Dead.
"Poison capsule," someone muttered. "Jaw release, hidden tooth…"
"Damn it," another said, checking for a pulse. "He's gone."
Alex stood frozen, staring at the corpse.
The air in the storeroom felt heavy now, filled with the sharp smell of gunpowder and blood. Alex's heart pounded so loud he could barely hear the guards shouting as they locked down the room.
He touched the torn holes in his coat again, feeling where the bullets had gone through. No pain. No injuries. Just ripped fabric.
The guards pulled the dead body away, leaving a dark stain on the floor.
One guard stayed behind—a rough-looking man with a scar on his cheek. He stared at Alex like he was trying to figure him out.
"You're lucky," the guard said. "Too lucky."
Alex didn't answer. His mind was spinning. Three shots, right at him. None hit. One bullet even broke in the air.
He wasn't a soldier. He wasn't a Titan. He wasn't anything special. So why was he still alive?
"Statement," the guard said, handing him a small piece of paper and a short charcoal stick. "Write."
Alex nodded. His hand shook a little as he wrote the basics:
Man came in. Shot three times. Missed. Guards came. He took poison.
He left out the strange part about the bullets. No reason to sound crazy.
The guard took the paper, gave him a long stare, then pointed to the door.
"Stay here. Captain's coming. Don't touch anything."
As the guard walked out, Alex sat down on a crate. His legs felt weak. The room was quiet now, except for the soft drip of water in a corner.
He looked at the wall where one bullet had hit. It gleamed in the dim light. He walked over and pulled it out with his fingers. The bullet was crushed, like it had hit something hard. But there had been nothing between him and the gun.
Nothing he could see.
He slipped the bullet into his pocket, feeling its weight.
After Everyone Left.
The door creaked open again. Alex tensed, expecting another guard. But it was Historia alone no guards. Her face was pale, her eyes full of fear and anger. She shut the door quickly and walked straight over to him in just a few steps.
"Alex," she said, voice tight. "Are you—"
"I'm fine," he cut in, standing quickly. "Not a scratch. Promise."
She stopped short, scanning him like she didn't believe it. Her hands hovered, as if she wanted to check for herself but didn't trust her own restraint. "They told me someone tried to kill you."
"Yeah," he said, forcing a dry laugh. "Didn't stick."
Her jaw tightened, and she stepped closer, her voice dropping to a fierce whisper. "This isn't a joke. You could've died."
"I didn't," he said, softer now, meeting her gaze. "I'm right here."
Her eyes searched his, and for a moment, the room felt too small, the air too thin. Then she exhaled, shoulders sagging slightly. "They're saying it was an MP plot. Not official, but… someone's sending a message."
"To you or to me?"
"Both," she said. "You're tied to me now. Everyone knows it. That makes you a target."
He nodded slowly, the weight of her words settling in. The Queen's Pet. The outsider who'd gotten too close. He should've seen this coming—knew the politics of Paradis were a viper's nest. But knowing the story from a screen was one thing. Living it was another.
"Did they figure out who he was?" Alex asked.
Historia shook her head. "Not yet. No papers, no insignia. Just… that poison. They're saying it's Marleyan. A tooth capsule, like their spies use."
Marley. The word hit like a cold wave. If Marley was already slipping agents into Paradis, the timeline was moving faster than he'd thought. Or maybe it wasn't Marley at all. Maybe someone local was using their tricks to cover their tracks.
"Historia," he said carefully, "this isn't just about me. If they're bold enough to try this in the capital, they're not just after some nobody. They're testing you."
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "I know."
She turned away, pacing a few steps, her boots scuffing the stone. "I've been too soft," she muttered, almost to herself. "Too open. The MPs, the nobles—they see it as weakness. And now they're using you to prove a point."
"Then let me go," Alex said, the words slipping out before he could stop them. "Send me back to the camp. Or somewhere else. Anywhere I'm not a liability."
She spun back to face him, eyes blazing. "No."
He blinked, caught off guard by the force in her voice.
"You're not running," she said. "Not from me."
She wasn't just protecting him out of duty. This was personal.
"Okay," he said quietly. "I'm not going anywhere."
Her expression softened, just a fraction, but she didn't move closer. Instead, she glanced at the bullet-scarred wall, then back at him. "How did you survive that? Three shots, Alex. At that range, no one walks away."
He hesitated, his hand brushing the bullet in his pocket. "I don't know," he admitted. "I… got lucky."
Her eyes narrowed, searching his face for a lie. But she didn't press. "Luck doesn't explain bullet holes with no wounds."
He didn't have an answer. Not one he could give without sounding insane. Hey, maybe I've got some secret Titan power I don't know about? Or maybe the universe decided I'm too charming to die? Yeah, that'd go over well.
Instead, he shrugged, forcing a half-smile. "Maybe I'm just harder to kill than I look."
She didn't laugh, but her lips twitched, and she let out a small, exasperated breath. "You're such a trouble."
"Part of my charm," he said, leaning back against the crate, trying to lighten the moment.