Sleep didn't come easy.
Not because of fear. Fear was loud. This was something else. My thoughts kept circling, skimming the same edges without landing. Saints. That man's smile. The way Cager's voice had changed when I said her past out loud.
You don't engage with it.
I stared at the ceiling until the dark felt familiar again.
Morning arrived without ceremony. The lair stirred slow and wary, like it knew something was coming but didn't know when. I moved through it carefully, noting who watched me now and who didn't bother hiding it anymore.
Word had spread.
Nyra caught up to me near the storage racks. She handed me a bottle of water without a word.
"You good?" she asked.
"Yeah."
She studied my face. "That wasn't a question."
I hesitated, then nodded once. "I'm fine."
She accepted that. Nyra always did. Or at least she pretended to.
"Saints are sniffing," she said. "Mace is pissed. Cager's quieter than usual."
That last part settled heavier than the rest.
I found Cager near the back exit an hour later. She stood alone, checking weapons, movements sharp and efficient. Her jacket was on, hair pulled back tighter than usual. She looked like someone preparing for impact.
She didn't look up when I approached.
"You should've stayed out longer yesterday," she said.
"I followed Nyra."
"I know."
That wasn't an accusation. It was an admission.
I leaned against the wall opposite her. "They knew your name."
Her hands paused. Just for a breath.
"They always do eventually."
I watched her then. Really watched. The way her shoulders stayed squared, like she was bracing against something invisible. The way she didn't meet my eyes.
"You don't have to explain," I said.
She laughed quietly. No humor in it. "That's the problem."
She finally looked at me. Her eyes were dark, sharp, tired.
"I left them," she said. "I didn't escape. I didn't win. I left. And they don't forgive that."
"I'm not them," I said.
Her gaze lingered on me too long. Too searching.
"I know," she replied. "That's what scares me."
The honesty startled us both.
She straightened, the moment gone as quickly as it appeared. "You're staying close to me today."
"Protection?" I asked.
"Control," she corrected. Then softer, "Both."
The day unfolded slowly, stretched thin by anticipation. No attack. No confrontation. Just the waiting. It gnawed at nerves, made every sound sharper.
By evening, tension sat heavy in the air. Mace called a meeting. Voices rose. Plans were argued, adjusted, reworked. I stayed near the edge, watching Cager navigate it all with precision.
She never raised her voice.
She didn't need to.
When the meeting broke, people scattered quickly. No one lingered. I remained where I was, pretending to check my phone until the room emptied.
Cager noticed.
"You should go rest," she said.
"Didn't feel like it."
She exhaled slowly. "Vale."
The way she said my name stopped me.
"Yes?"
She hesitated. I had never seen her hesitate like that.
"If things turn ugly," she said carefully, "you don't try to prove anything. You leave. You disappear."
"That's not how this works," I replied.
"It is if I say it is."
I stepped closer. Close enough to feel the heat of her, the tension in her stance.
"And if you're the reason?" I asked. "Do I still run?"
Her jaw tightened.
"That's exactly when you do."
Silence pressed in around us. Thick. Charged.
Her hand lifted again. This time, it hovered near my wrist. Not touching. Almost.
For a second, I thought she might cross that line. Thought she might let herself.
She didn't.
Instead, she stepped back, creating space like it cost her something.
"Get some sleep," she said again.
I watched her walk away, knowing two things with unsettling clarity.
She was preparing for a fight.
And she was already planning how to push me out of it.