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Chapter Text

Lauren survived on lies. Fed them to herself through the bars in her mind. Slipping them past her own preternatural ability. One particular lie, she clenched in her fist like it was a lifeline that would pull her to the surface. It would exhume her from the Underworld.

There were a thousand ways it could go wrong - that was the truth. Lauren had played it through over and over in her mind, working out contingencies and back up plans, and it was still a terrible, terrible idea. But out of all her delirious plans, this one seemed the most promising. The least disastrous. That was the lie she told herself.

She was already on borrowed time. Every day she felt something slip away from her. Strength, drive, hope. She felt them drip away steadily like a leaky faucet, like the dripping of water in the cell next to hers. Her body was eroding. Her bones screamed against the aching tension in her muscles as she merely laid on the roughly hewn stone floors. She had grown accustomed to the damp reek that pervaded the dungeon, but the cold never left her. It siphoned the very life from her as she stared blankly at the dried splatters across the stone, letting her eyesight waver in and out of focus.

If she waited any longer, she feared she’d be too frail to run - even if she managed to make it past the guards.

She had only one shot at this.

And this was it, this was her window.

But there were no windows, no sunlight to mark the passing of days, and the sporadic meals were deliberately deceitful. The cadence between violence and silence was the only sense of time she had. Her captors had been brutally consistent with both.

The beginning had been murky. Her head injury had fogged her memory and kept her subdued for god knows how long. She had no memory of entering her cage, of being stripped of her clothes and changed into a threadbare shift. Though, once she had neared a semblance of recovery, she was bound and beaten. For what felt like hours they found creative ways to mar her newly exposed skin. No words were ever exchanged despite her screaming efforts. It didn’t matter, she knew why.

She squeezed her eyes shut at the familiar ache deep in her chest. It had nothing to do with her, it never did. Nevertheless, Lauren would be beaten, a picture would be taken, a time would pass, and the cycle would repeat.

Time became a blurry line that stretched endlessly ahead of her. Day and night were one. The darkness watched her. Her beatings were the only certainty she knew.

She told herself the memories would fade. It was a lie. There was no forgetting the five times she was brutalized. It was carved into her skin, embedded into her psyche.

Pain, picture, pause. Pain, picture, pause. Pain, picture, pause. Pain, picture…

The pause was the cruelest part of all. When she was left alone in the crushing silence. When she realized the pictures were proof of life, the blood a harrowing incentive. When she wondered what that blood had paid for. What was the cost to keep her alive? What was happening in the city? To her Uncle and Dakan? To Will and Kym? To Kieran? What exactly had he seen in those photographs? What had they ordered him to do?

When her body and soul were left bleeding.

‘I don’t want to kill again. I don’t want to obey them anymore.’

Lauren hadn’t let herself acknowledge the shift in her heart that night; hadn’t allowed herself to be distracted by the emotions that man stirred in her. Initially, she had avoided thinking about him all together. Throughout their clandestine partnership, there was a mysterious allure to him she couldn’t ignore. He was an enigma, a living case she couldn’t resist trying to solve. She had suspected for a long time that becoming the Purple Hyacinth was not a choice Kieran had made willingly. She had seen his back, finally understood that scar on his shoulder. The evidence was always right under nose. The pieces of him were falling together.

‘I’m scared I’ll be cornered into doing it again.’

He had begged her. Begged her to lay low. And damn it, she knew exactly why. She looked into those everchanging blue oceans and saw how hauntingly terrified he was. It didn’t rattle her then the way it does now. Kieran, her swaggering, charismatic, irritatingly lively partner hadn’t spoken a single lie when he voiced his fears, when he’d been so vulnerable with her, she’d been too stunned to do anything but try to reassure him. The most fearsome assassin Ardhalis had ever known, scared.

‘If they get you, it will work.’ 

He knew. He had seen it all before.

Pain, picture, pause. Pain, picture, pause. Pain…

‘And more than anything…’ 

Lauren sat up as quickly as she dared, shoving back a rush of nausea. There will not be a sixth time. A dangerous lie – yet she clutched a rusted nail in her palm and glanced at the chair on the other side of her bars.

Every beating they hauled her onto that decrepit chair, bound her wrists behind her, and had a ball. Sometimes with objects, most times with fists. The second time, she noticed a loose nail on the back of her seat as she reeled back from a blow, her fingers seeking for anything stable. Each time after that she focused only on that nail. Wiggling it out, yanking and pulling until her fingertips bled, hope shining brighter with every inch she freed. The next three beatings she endured earned her a nail about the length of her palm, thick, and bent slightly at the head from a careless attempt to hammer it back in. If she put it between her knuckles and struck the right places… she had a fool’s chance. But she had to try. She couldn’t wilt here any longer while Kieran… Kieran was truly suffering.

Lauren hugged her knees to her chest, resting her forehead atop them. Her tangled, blood-stained hair fell like a curtain around her face, and if she closed her eyes, she could delude herself that the stone beneath her was that of Kieran’s cave. The stench of rot and waste was the scent of moss and dirt of the forest after a heavy rain. The steady dripping was just a whisper of the waterfall at the entrance. The scratching of the rats’ claws was Kieran scribbling notes for their next mission. She never found a fitting lie for the iron biting into her ankles, so she did her best to ignore it.

She knew she should be pragmatic, keep her wits about her, but she had nothing else to do but torture herself with the memories. His confession on the bridge, how he touched her cheek so tenderly. The way he pulled away, the way he always pulled away. The way he still found ways to be near to her. How his head bowed when he held her hand on that scar on his shoulder. The tension that started in her heart and seemed to leak into the air around them when he was close. His smile when she promised she’d stay hidden, when she held his hand to her heart and promised – She replayed it all until her soul seemed to bleed.

She held herself together like this, imagining she was in the cave, nursing a headache, files scattered in front of her, just waiting for a witty comment from her partner about their disastrous mission. She was just closing her eyes while he went to fetch more firewood. That’s why she was cold – it’s incredibly hard to heat caves in the winter.

She’s jerked from her reverie by a commotion down the tunnel. She had never seen the outside of her bars, but she’s always assumed it was a tunnel from the way the sound bounced to her. It would be the only warning she’d get.

Lauren remained sitting but snatched the cup next to her and downed the last few mouthfuls of water she’d saved for this moment. Her body trembled in anticipation, her heart galloping. The bruises and cuts across her body flared and throbbed, as if reminding her what happened last time. What they did to her when she didn’t fight back.

Don’t panic Lauren. It will do you no good.

She took a steadying breath as two footsteps approached. The first few times there had been several men, recently there were only two. Whether that spoke to Lauren’s diminishing threat or to the Phantoms being generally low staffed, she wasn’t quite sure. Either way, she played both to her advantage.

The first man she recognized. He was at most ten years older than her with short chestnut hair, cruel black eyes, and a nasty scar that cut into his trimmed beard. He was there every time, the conductor of a symphony of pain. He was the one who always grinned during her beatings, who always seemed to take his own mental picture when the flash went off.

The other was new. He was older, unremarkable in appearance and armed with a camera and a handgun. She could have walked past him a hundred times in the city and never known it. She supposed that was a desirable trait in the Phantom Scythe.

The former didn’t break his stride as he stalked forward, keys jingling from his fingertips as he snatched the back of the chair and dragged it slowly behind him. It groaned against the stone as he passed the adjacent cells. When he reached the door of her cage, Lauren pushed herself up on wobbly knees. The young man leered at her as he flipped through the keys. The older, held his gun at his side and stared at her flatly as if to say, no funny business.

No funny business indeed. This was about to get very serious, very fast. No doubt her partner would find it righteously funny if she made it out alive armed with only a rusty nail. She couldn’t help but recall his playful voice as the cell door clanged open - Mon Amour, you never cease to surprise me.

Lauren had only one shot at this.

She backed up to the wall behind her, body trembling uncontrollably. She reached back with her free hand and traced the grooves carved into the stone with her fingertips. A rune of some sort, carved repeatedly by a previous prisoner. Perhaps it had been many captives, each carving their own mark. She had done the same with the nail. Two X’s standing atop each other, a single line through the center, and two incomplete circles chasing around whole image.

She had no idea what it meant. She could have been cursing herself, but something whispered to her that it was important. It would help. Her fingers still shook as she traced the pattern. Another lie.

The man flashed his teeth as he stepped inside and slammed the chair down into the center of the cell. His oily grin grew at the flinch it drew from her.

“Come on now, sweetheart. Let’s not play hard to get.” He sneered.

The first words she had ever heard him speak aloud made her stomach roll. She pressed her back against the wall, her heart thundering in her ears, squeezing the nail in her fist until her fingers groaned. The man took his time inching closer, pulling a familiar thick rope out of his pocket. She eyed the cell door left ajar behind him, his comrade surveying from the entrance. The second line of defense she would have to pass.

“I have something special planned for us today.” The young Phantom muttered as he came within arm’s reach.

Again, her eyes flicked past him to the older man. He appeared bored, uninterested. The words were only for her.

Bile coated the back of Lauren’s throat as a different sort of terror gripped her heart.

Everything suddenly fell away, the shaking of her deteriorating muscles, the hunger pains, the numbness of her fingertips and toes from the frigid air, the hammering in her head. Her focus sharpened like a blade against stone, sparks igniting that fiery wrath in her.

One shot.

He reached for her, and when the second man glanced over his shoulder at a noise down the tunnel, she exploded.

She surged forward, pushing off the wall like a springboard.

Lauren slammed her fist into her torturer’s throat. Once, twice - red rained on her, hot and slick as oil and he roared and grabbed his neck before she landed the third. His other hand clamped around her throat, slamming her back into the wall.

Stars danced across her vision, and she furiously blinked them back. He leaned forward in pain and groaned. It was then that she noticed his eyes were in fact brown, not black. Warm even. Like coffee.

His comrade was shouting. He could not shoot, not without possibly hitting his partner, just as she predicted. And his partner dared not shout for help in fear of bleeding out further – just as she had hoped.

She struggled against his grip, punching her barbed fist wherever she could reach. He barely flinched, keeping his hand clamped around his neck as blood gushed through his fingers. There was fury and shock in those umber eyes, and she watched as something else rose to the surface. A very human realization.

She had struck true.

His skin was quickly leached of color and turned grey; a stark and horrifying contrast to the crimson spilling down and saturating his shirt. As panic spread across his face, so did a look of hatred. Savage vengeance.

He’d take her with him.

His grip tightened like a vise around her throat and darkness creeped into the edges of her vision. The blood pounded in her head, the skin of her face pulling taut from the pressure. Gasping, she switched the slick nail to her other hand and struck again.

The man shrieked as the nail pierced his eye, releasing her entirely. Lauren sucked a breath that burned like fire and lunged forward one last time. With a rasping sob, she slammed her hand onto that eye, forcing the nail deeper.

They fell, limbs tangled.

The torturer stared unseeingly at the ceiling; the scarred side of his face engulfed in red.

She didn’t have time to look up, to attempt a sprint as footsteps thundered toward her.

White flashed and a fire erupted across her face. Her head snapped back, and she collided with the chair, her forehead splintering against the seat.

Her breathing stuttered, vision blacking.

Get up. Get. Up.

Lauren slid her knees under her, blinking back the oblivion sweeping in. She pushed down the nausea, the scent of iron stuffing up her nose. She grasped the chair and swung it low, a growl escaping her from the effort. It crashed into the man, and he stumbled back.

Lauren seized those precious seconds and lunged for the exit. Her head spun as she reached for the door, the world tilting dangerously. She cursed the chains around her ankles as she stumbled.

Her fingertips brushed the cool metal right as her hair was caught, and she was yanked backwards. She screamed as the strands were ripped from her scalp, but it was abruptly cut short as she crashed back into the stone. Pain coated her back like scalding water, the breath stolen from her lungs. Her body screamed for air, air, air.

Her hair was fisted at the scalp, and she’s viciously hauled upright. Lauren reached back for the hand to steady the violent tears and willed her lungs to function, for her feet to find the floor beneath her whilst cool metal barrel was shoved under her jaw.

She could have been screaming; she could’ve been sobbing from the dampness that leaked down face. Lauren understood her fate when the man became wholly still behind her.

She braced as much as her failing body would allow, knowing the few minutes she had clawed for freedom would be ended by just the flex of a finger.

This is it.

Alone.

In darkness.

It was one of the outcomes she had counted on. She wouldn’t have made it far, but if she died… he would be free. He would have known she fought, and that was comfort enough in her final moments.

Another lie she told herself. There was no comfort here. This cage would be her grave.

She hadn’t realized her eyes had closed until a voice rumbled over the stones like thunder.

“Release her.”

Chapter Text

Lauren’s eyes snapped open at the voice she knew as well as her own heartbeat. She blinked. Once. Twice.

It was most likely a hallucination. A lie she conjured for herself. Her head felt it had been cleaved in two as warm blood dripped down her brow. But the Phantom hadn’t blown her head off yet. Perhaps it was because he saw her partner standing there too, those cobalt eyes ablaze.

Kieran clenched his sword at his side, the blade already gleaming crimson. Despite that, her heart sang.

He came.

“Kieran.” She gasped, her vocal cords chafing like sandpaper.

She realized she hadn’t spoken in days, maybe weeks, not since that first beating. She opened her mouth to say more, because he was here, he was here - the barrel of the gun was rammed harder under her jaw, slamming it shut. Her teeth rattled.

Lauren searched for Kieran’s eyes only to find them wholly fixed on the man behind her. They were arctic glaciers, a slumbering ruthlessness eager to eviscerate the underbellies of any passing ships. A shiver crawled down her spine. She had seen it before; except this time, she was not afraid.

Relief bloomed in her chest, filling her lungs with air once again, rooting her feet to the floor, and steadying her entirely.

He was the picture of death, clad in black and stained a darker, more sinister color. His body seemed to control air in the room, shadows clung to him, his face a cool, expressionless mask. This was the Purple Hyacinth - a veritable nightmare incarnate – yet she saw her partner in the set of his jaw, the readiness in his lithe frame. And the focus in those eyes… She had been dumbstruck when she first noticed it at the factory, when he hadn't hesitated to save her friends, that deadly defender.

“Release her. Now.” He ordered again with lethal calm.

The man behind her scoffed, which grew into a chuckle, until an unsettling, hysterical laugh vaulted around the dungeon and had Kieran deftly drawing a dagger with his free hand.

“So you can kill me?” he jeered, “I rather not.”

“Release her, and you will live.” Kieran leveled.

Lauren blinked at the lie.

“HA! Even if you don’t murder me, the PS will invoke my own blackmail for letting you both go. I rather not see my loved ones tortured like your pretty little lady here.”

“Would you prefer I torture them?” Kieran threatened, creeping forward like a tiger to its prey.

“Despite your reputation, I doubt it would make any difference.” The Phantom spat, “My days were numbered the second this bitch attacked my - my comrade. If I kill her, I destroy the leverage. If I let her go, I free a weapon. Threaten me all you want, but whoever harms the innocent will get what they deserve.”

Lauren swallowed her retort at his hypocrisy. No good will come from unleashing her temper right now, so instead she focused on Kieran, wishing he’d look at her.She needed him to look at her.

His eyes darted to the body behind Lauren and when they briefly met hers, she could have sworn she glimpsed a savage pride beneath the deadly focus. His gaze left too soon.

Kieran cocked his head and said with a voice like midnight, “Is it protection you seek?”

“Protection?! From you?” the Phantom laughed again, “I’ve seen what you’ve done these past few weeks in the name of protection. Perhaps I should just put this poor thing out of her misery before you decide to protect her anymore.” The fist in her hair wrenched her head back further. She gasped, and Kieran surged forward before halting at the click of the gun. “Make a move Hyacinth, and she loses her pretty face.”

As the seconds ticked by, cold, clammy doom spidered down her spine, and not because of the gun at her head. He would not kill her, that much was obvious. Despite that, the tension in Kieran’s body told her he wouldn’t risk it. Risk her.

She sought again for his gaze, but it was trained on to the man’s every movement.

“I’d truly be doing you a favor, girl.” He continued, speaking directly into her ear. Her lip curled in disgust as his breath wafted over her. “After hearing how my late comrade handled you, I’d hate to see you fall into another monster’s hands.”

Lauren gritted her teeth just as Kieran’s lip pulled back in a snarl, “Let. Her. Go.” He flipped the dagger in his fingers, readying to strike.

“You shouldn’t bring a knife to a gun fight, kid.” The Phantom chuckled darkly, “Though, I’m sure you’ll make quick work of me huh? After all, no one has ever defeated the PH.”

Her heart stumbled.

He needs to leave. Now.

“He’s stalling!” She rasped, “Leave!”

Kieran’s eyes snapped to hers. His glare was incredulous, outraged she even suggested he leave without her. It was their only option, this standoff had gone on for too long and based on his appearance, he hadn’t made a stealthy arrival.

Go! She mouthed, eyes pleading.

He could come back, but he’d only fall into their trap if he stayed. For a second, unmasked pain flashed in his eyes before he tore them away and back to the Phantom.

Something deep in her fractured with the realization that she’d done this. If she hadn’t fought back, Kieran would have disposed of the two guards swiftly.

“Enough of this,” the Phantom growled and aimed his gun at Kieran.

Lauren’s heart stopped. Time stalled. She didn’t think, just moved.

She slammed her elbow back into his face, disregarding the pain as he tore the hair from her scalp. She had a vague sense of a blade whistling past her, the echo of footsteps before something blunt slammed into the back of her head.

Her legs crumbled underneath her; the ground rushed toward her. She was swallowed by darkness before she felt the impact.

Chapter Text

Her sudden consciousness was unbearable. Unimaginable pressure seemed ready to send her skull splitting in two and she whimpered. Lauren wished to fall back into the nothingness, to escape the pain and the knowledge that there will be another beating, that this pause will have her spiraling deeper into madness. She could feel it lingering there on the edge of her consciousness. A bird of prey waiting in the furthest branches of her mind for the right moment to swoop in.

“Lauren.”

A sob scratched past her lips. It must already be upon her, to be hearing his voice. It was mocking her, parroting his speech perfectly.

She didn’t dare move her limbs; she didn’t want to feel the extent of her injuries. The stone around her reeked of damp iron. Of blood. They must have done more this time. For once, she couldn’t remember all of it. Had they taken another photo -

“Lauren, wake up.”

He sounded so real, so near, so… desperate? But that can’t be true, Kieran had never been desperate. As if to disprove that thought, the memory of his eyes after she was shot at the factory flashed before her, and she basked in it.

‘Do you even realize?’

Even as the guilt clawed at her chest, she savored those memories. She retreated into them, to her delusions, to the cave. She wished she was there, wished he was here.

“I am here. Lauren, open your eyes.” His voice was strained, urgent.

Her heart jolted, had she spoken aloud? Reluctantly, she peeled her eyes open to the dimness of her dungeon, her personal hell. Soulless eyes gleamed inches from her own, one brown, one mangled in gore. Jaw open and slack, the face was contorted in an endless howl of agony. She gagged, scrambling away. Her body and mind screamed anew, the fight coming back to her in fragments.

Kieran! Where is –

Her mind emptied when she found him standing in the cell next to hers, wrists bound together and chained to the ceiling. On reflex, she scanned him for injuries. A bruise was showing its first colors on his jaw and spilt swelled his bottom lip. She couldn’t decide if the darkness staining his clothes was from his wounds or another’s. It was the thin red line along his throat that had her heart stumbling. She met his stare as naturally as a key sliding into a lock. Was he truly there? Could that blazing blue flame be a dream – no – a nightmare?

“Kieran?” She breathed.

It was the only word that filled her mind.

“Hello, love.” He said, a slow, apprehensive curl to his lips, “I’m here to rescue you.”

Lauren blinked.

Caught between a laugh and sob, both equally appropriate, she asked, “How’s that going?”

His eyes glimmered, the smile touching them before his face fell completely, “I need you to listen to me, Lauren.”

Her throat worked, but she nodded and hauled herself up to her knees. She trembled, backing farther away from the body between them.

“The next time they come in here, you do not speak. You do not react to anything they say or do, do you understand?” The look in his eyes had the blood cooling in her veins. “You cannot give them anything. Not a sound or an expression or even a flinch. They will use it as a weapon against you. They will do anything, say anything to get in your head, to get what they want.”

“What are you…”

“I need you to trust me Detective. Please. Your loved ones are safe. I promise.”

“I trust you.” She asserted quickly.

That icy blue gaze warmed for a moment before he continued, “Don’t take their bait. Don’t read into the lies, don’t trust the truths. Don’t let them see what matters to you.”

“What about you?” she whispered. Her head was spinning.

Those eyes seemed to opened to her, like a curtain parting slightly. His shoulders rose with a deep, slow breath. “They already know.”

Her heart throbbed, “Kier-“

“I will not be their target, they know there’s nothing I won’t do.”

Lauren had just opened her mouth to speak when footsteps echoed toward them. He cut her off, “Trust me Lauren, please, do nothing.”

She swallowed heavily and nodded. Isn’t that what she had promised him before? To do nothing? To hide? If she had listened then, they wouldn’t be here. If she had done nothing for just a few more minutes, she wouldn’t have made an utter mess of his rescue. He held her gaze as the shame gnawed at her.

This was her fault. This was all her fault.

“I am so sorry, Lauren.” He whispered, his voice breaking.

She didn’t have time to dwell on how that foreign tone in his voice made her feel, not as a cacophony of footsteps filled the chamber. But Lauren did not take her eyes off her partner, not even as a man spoke.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite pupil. It’s always so exciting when you come and visit me, Purple Hyacinth. You should come home more often.” The voice was muffled, and curiosity had Lauren sliding her gaze toward the spiteful tone. Her breath caught at the white mask, the roman numeral four painted underneath the eye.

Apostle IV.

Kieran’s Apostle. The one who-

Chains rattled and she looked back to Kieran. The hard look in his eyes was like a bucket of water tossed over the flaming temper she hadn’t realized was rising in her. She bit the inside of her cheek and steeled herself, willed her fingers to relax at her sides.

Do nothing.

“Were you not content with the generous images we provided you of Miss Sinclair? You’re so besotted you couldn’t stand another moment without being near her, is that is? Shall we get you two a more private cell?” Kieran didn’t so much as blink at the Apostle’s derision.

Two men flanked the Apostle, two more by the mouth of the tunnel, and a fifth approached Kieran’s cell. Lauren’s heartrate thundered, but she didn’t move an inch.

“Well, no matter. I’m here to speak with the lovely Lady Sinclair in fact.” Kieran seemed to flinch, his chains jangling again.

“Easy, you possessive brute. I said speak.”

He waved a dismissive hand at Kieran and turned on a heel toward her, “Are you enjoying your stay here, Miss? I trust you’ve adjusted to the routine we set for you?” He asked smoothly, as though it were a vacation destination and not a dungeon.

“I took great care in selecting the staff to tend to you. Mr. Cormac there, for instance, was a very passionate detective like yourself. He was one of our best interrogators – truly incredible at procuring information. It’s a shame his orders weren’t to obtain intelligence from you, especially since that is what we now require.” Her stomach turned over, but Lauren only stared at the masked man.

“And his comrade, the man who so diligently followed orders and kept you alive, informed me you were quite brutal with Mr. Cormac, and now I see.” He stepped closer to the bars, staring down at her and the corpse damning her.

She wished she hadn’t known his name. Though, it wouldn’t have made it any easier to sit beside the man’s mutilated body. She supposed they left him there to torment her further. A constant reminder of her barbarity. A dreadful consequence of her futile attempt at freedom. A life.

Even in death, the people of this city were mere tools for the Apostles. He had tortured her, but he still deserved a burial… dignity in death.

“Impressive work, Detective. Though I was also informed that when he restrained you, you seemed unexpectedly resigned to your fate. That is, until he turned a gun on Mr. White here.” He tilted his head toward where Kieran stood. “Little did you know he was also chosen for a specific skill set. A medical professional, with a very uncanny accuracy with a firearm. He would’ve only incapacitated our beloved assassin.” Lauren could hear the satisfaction in his voice and the painted mouth on the mask seemed to grin wider at her.

“Don’t worry, he is doing well despite the knife wound,” he nodded to the man nearest Kieran’s cell, “He’s even been promoted for revealing potentially valuable leverage. Personally, I would have guessed the Purple Hyacinth’s affections unrequited, but I’m always willing to test a theory.”

Lauren’s stomach plummeted through the floor. Her eyes flicked to Kieran as his cell door groaned open.

No.

“You have a unique position in society Miss Sinclair. Noble born, an officer of the law, niece to the Chief of Police, goddaughter to the King’s Right Hand, and half of Lune. Not to mention your lineage and the connections to Sandman. You are a veritable gold mine. Why the leader hasn’t used you sooner I’ll never understand.”

Lauren watched in silent horror as the two men stalked into Kieran’s cell. The first snatched the back of his shirt and ripped it open while the other unrolled a whip. He shook it out while Kieran was roughly positioned sideways so she could see his face and half of his back. His already scarred skin.

Kieran did not resist.

‘Flogging. I wasn’t very… Obedient when I was brought into the Phantom Scythe.’

She was going to be sick. She was going to heave her empty stomach onto the stone.

No. Not this. Please, no.

She was aware the Apostle was speaking but no words registered over the booming of her pulse in her ears. She only stared into those twin blue moons, aghast. Anger burned through her. He knew they would do this, and he hadn’t had anything better planned then to ‘do nothing’?

His face gave away nothing but those eyes… Do not give them anything they seemed to plead. The fire was snuffed as quickly as it rose, replaced by an icy, slimy dread. She drank in the strength in his gaze, his posture. Whether it was for her or for himself, he twisted his wrists up to hold onto his chains. He would endure it.

This isn’t happening. This isn’t real.

She couldn’t breathe, the air was being sucked out of the chamber. Her chest heaved, tremors starting in her body from the realization that this must be real. She knew by the plummeting feeling in her stomach, this was usually when you wake up from a nightmare.

His gaze flicked over her, noting the quivering, and those eyes hardened into shards of ice. She shut it down. For him, she shut it all down. Because he knew… he had seen it all before. This is what they had done to trap him.

She was cleaved from her body, the floor had fallen out from underneath her, she was floating… floating in his eyes. There was a silence, a horrible moment where the blood thundered in her ears, roared at her to say something to stop this, but she hadn’t listened to the question. She –

Crack

She didn’t have time to flinch. Kieran’s body lurched forward from the impact, but he made no sound, his eyes still linked with hers. Her lips parted…

Crack

“We need not continue Miss Sinclair,” the Apostle drawled, “You can make this all very easy.”

She clamped her lips shut. Said nothing. Couldn’t breathe.

Crack

“Infiltrating the monarchy’s inner circle would be effortless for you Lauren. It will be painless.”

Crack

He was lying. Though his words hadn’t betrayed him, she knew it was because he chose them carefully. If she cooperated, they would ensure Lauren and Kieran had just enough rope to hang themselves with and unravel everything they’d fought for.

Suddenly, it was all so blaringly real, so horrifyingly clear how the Purple Hyacinth was born.

Ten.

She was screaming her throat bloody. She was clawing at the stones, sobbing, begging. Yet she never moved a muscle. Not as they continued their scourging. Each crack echoed in the chamber, the next overlapping the previous. This was more than just leverage. It was a punishment.

Twenty.

She felt each lash on her soul. Each red split that appeared ripped something from her. Her eyes never left Kieran’s. Not even as the light in them started to dim. Her heart roared for him as a haze fogged that beautiful blue, his gaze growing more and more distant.

She clenched her teeth with a force that would crack a molar. She could not scream. She could not sob the way every fiber of her yearned to. Her partner… her Kieran…

Thirty.

Do nothing.

Thirty-five.

He was silent through it all, the only reaction in the sweat on his brow, his white knuckled grip on the chains, his body reeling forward over and over -

Crack

Please. Please. Please, stop.

She should be beating on the bars, stretching through them toward him. She would throw herself over his back to block the merciless whip slicing him. Still, she sat motionless on the stone, helpless in her cage, merely blinking at each strike. Her body far, far away from her.

Crack

Forty.

Do nothing.

His back was a battlefield. One she had thrust him into. More pain, more scars, more suffering. Because of her. Her stubbornness, her hubris, her blindness. It felt an utter betrayal not to fight for him as he had for her. It felt like a colossal mistake to go against his request. Again.

Forty-five.

She did not dare turn to the Apostle. She would not abandon Kieran. And if she looked at the monster still asking her questions, goading her to speak, she would snap. She’d cave to the rage and yank that nail from Cormac, find a way to tear the Apostle to pieces. For years they had done this to Kieran. Had enslaved him as a child and done this. Branded him like an animal. Treated him like chattel, a weapon to carve to their liking. He was a human. He had only sought to protect, yet they made him believe he was the monster.

‘I am a monster, and I have always been like this!’

She realized that was where he was now as his gaze slowly drifted from hers to stare vacantly at the walls and their carvings. She wanted to scream his name, bring those stunning eyes back to hers so he knew he wasn’t alone, he was human, he was important. She watched helplessly as he folded into himself. Part of herself folded in with him.

Fifty.

“You have no desire to stop this?” the Apostle’s voice was exasperated, “This man’s pain is of no consequence to you?” She blinked back the tears that threatened her.

It was everything to her.

They could not know that. She couldn’t give in, and she couldn’t let this go on. The cold sweat that clung to her skin seemed to heat, a desperate fervor rising in her. They wouldn’t stop. If they learned what he was to her, what was now becoming undeniable, he’d only become another weapon. They would use him as they had for nearly his entire life. She swallowed, forcing apathy into her voice as the phantom lifted his arm once more.

“He is the Purple Hyacinth.”

Crack

Kieran’s eyes shut. The men paused.

Silence dominated the room.

Her voice had been steady, cold. Every ounce of hatred, of disgust and vengeance she felt toward the Phantom Scythe she had channeled into those words. Those empty, deceptive words that felt like acid on her tongue.

“So, it is justice then?” the Apostle challenged.

Finally, she turned her gaze to the demon hiding behind the mask. Those dark eye slits pried at her, trying to see past the armor she knew was deteriorating. She weathered it. Felt his stare on her like a poison but she didn’t so much as blink as he considered her for a long moment.

“A righteous, moral officer to the very core it seems.”

He gestured to the men, and they withdrew. Kieran’s eyes remained closed, his features as cold and impassive as a statue. Even as his chains were lowered and he crumpled to the floor, he did not look at her. His raven hair spilled across his face as he sank his head to the ground. Her stomach clenched, she couldn’t take her eyes off his ravaged, hunched back. As though he was a fallen angel who had his wings ripped from their roots.

Her chest collapsed with relief and despair. He had to understand why she said that. If he had her ability, he’d know that it was not the truth. He was Kieran White. He was Lune. He was her partner, her friend. He was kind, and selfless, and resilient. He made her smile, he gave her hope, he was gentle. He was… he was everything.

He was hers.

“Both of you will break before the monarchy falls. We are nearly there.” The apostle called over his shoulder. It was a promise and a warning.

The phantoms snickered between themselves as they locked Kieran’s cell. “Sick fool”, the one with the whip scoffed as he rolled out his shoulder, “as if anything could love that creature.”

A primal, vicious fury rippled across Lauren’s skin. She nearly snarled at she twisted her head toward the men splattered in her partner’s blood. Though she kept her mouth closed, her body still, her eyes were scalding with wrath.

They will pay.

She didn’t know where that left her. Justice, peace, and truth had been her cornerstones, yet now she lusted for a violence and retribution she had never known. The only person that had ever fought for her, with her, who had put himself between her and danger countless times, laid split open and defeated in a cage next to her.

They will burn.

Sensing her glare, the men turned their attention to her. Their smirks faded like frost smothering a flower.

She knew she shouldn’t speak; she shouldn’t give them anything. But she was a pressure tank set to explode. All the pain, the dread, the godforsaken reek of this place that she had shoved down, rose up again tenfold. It surged against her skin and rattled her bones. She let the madness slip, let a cruel, unfeeling curl grace her lips.

She was chained and caged, but Lauren let her eyes convey to the men the hell she would deliver to them.

She knew their faces.

Chapter Text

The frozen stone beneath his forehead was a feeble reprieve to the fire at his back. Though, it wasn’t nearly as cold as the frigidness that gripped the black heart in his chest. He allowed it to seep into his bones. Kieran welcomed the cold detachment from his body and his traitorous emotions. It was necessary. The alternative would only make everything worse. It wouldn’t help her; it hadn’t helped her.

Every calculated, rational thought that drove him to her had evaporated out of his mind when her golden eyes rolled back, and her body collapsed like sand to the floor. He didn’t remember knocking out the phantom, he didn’t remember anything before he had her in his arms. His beautiful, cunning, fearless partner. He had agonized over the pictures, had retched violently at the first few, but holding her limp body… He had roared at the blood coating her. Roared for the pain painting her skin. Had her limbs always been that thin? Her skin that pale? Panic engulfed him with the pressure of a thousand oceans. She was breathing, but he wasn’t sure he could. Voices shouted behind him, a barrel pressed into his skull, they were inconsequential. They’d have to pry her out of his arms.

They did.

He raged and screamed and thrashed and killed blindly as they held a blade to each of their throats and tore him away from her. He was so close. He had finally found her, but he had lost his mind when she fell. The nightmares of her cold, lifeless body that had tormented him every night for fifteen days played out before his eyes until he unraveled entirely. He couldn’t think past her laying there motionless. Couldn’t fight. Screaming her name even as they slammed shackles on his wrists and hoisted them up to the ceiling. His shoulders nearly subluxated from the sudden yank of his chains.

He failed her. In every way that mattered, he failed her.

He was vaguely aware of the Phantoms locking his cage, of them snickering at his foolish heart. It didn’t matter, even the bite of the whip paled in comparison to those damning words. That lovely, clever voice that had somehow pulled together the fragments of his very soul, had shredded it just as easily. It was the truth in her words, in her voice, that convinced the Apostle that he was meaningless to her. Worse than worthless. Worthy of the pain they inflicted.

It was an undeniable truth.

It will never be enough.

She was brilliant, absolutely brilliant. She was headstrong and stubborn, and had never done as he bade her. So it stole his breath when she had listened to him, sat there still and impassive as they flayed him. Lord knows he had never been that strong. He had the reputation to prove it. She had simultaneously saved him and gutted him. Body and soul. That dismal part of himself insisted that it was because it was the truth. It was all too easy for her to pretend it didn’t bother her. He knew he deserved it; she said as much. He should have kept his heart locked away, but he was a selfish fool. He was hopeless.

“Kieran.” She whispered. The way she said his name-

He couldn’t look at her.

Ice gripped him. He couldn’t fall apart now, so he descended deeper into that dark, callous part of himself. Where he couldn’t feel the sting of her words confirming who he truly was. Where the agony of his back was nothing, and the foreign blood coating him didn’t make him want to peel his skin off. Brick by brick, he fortified his mind, his heart. Became exactly who she said he was.

The assassin. The monster. The survivor.

The Purple Hyacinth.

“Kieran.” She pleaded. Chains rattled, and he flinched.

“No,” He ground out, “Don’t come closer.”

He couldn’t stand it. After everything he’d done to her, that compassion in her voice made him sick. He could live with her hating him, it was what he earned, what he deserved. But that humanity - it was misplaced. He dragged himself up, ignoring how the movement had his body screaming in protest.

I have to keep going.

Even if he had to slay the rest of the phantoms in this wretched place, he would get her out of here. Then he would never see her again. She would never wish to see him after learning what he had done anyways. She would be free of him.

Still, a quiet piece of him whispered that he would never be free of her. He shoved it down, cast his focus instead to the irons around his wrists. He had shackle picks sewn into his gloves, but they were taken from him. He’d have to pull apart the soles of his shoes. He had some hidden in every pair he owned.

Lauren had hesitated, but she moved again. He watched her from the corner of his vision and was about to snap at her to stay back when she bent over the phantom’s body. Kieran blinked as she reached toward the carcass’s face and pulled a long, thick nail from the eye. His lips parted at her stony expression. She stood, stepped over the body, and moved toward the bars separating them.

Even amidst the filth, her scarlet hair still gleamed in the dim lantern light. Despite the injuries peeking through the tattered shift they had her in, her shoulders were still straight, her chin high. There was still that surefooted grace beneath her fetters.

Chained and bloodied, she was a goddess scorned, her eyes seething, molten suns. If he wasn’t already on the floor, he would’ve fallen to his knees at the sight.

“Let’s remind them who we are, partner.”

Just like that, she melted the ice in his veins. Her gaze warmed him to the backbone, looked right into his soul and pulled him back to her.

He should’ve known. She was never one to run from a fight. The corpse in her cell was evidence enough. He resented that she had to fight so… savagely, but damn-it if he didn’t love her more for her unwavering courage. Despite everything she’d endured – her golden eyes still burned with resolve.

He was a fool for her.

A reckless, damned fool.

He stood, pulled to her like gravity. He was captivated by her gaze just as he had been that first night, and every night thereafter. Was it possible to tumble into those living pools of amber and warmth? Every lingering glance they had shared had him inching closer to a precipice he knew he should avoid at all costs. Every small smile, or bubbling laugh she gifted him had him ready to leap off it headfirst.

He couldn’t remember when he had started free falling.

He stopped before the bars, found himself reaching through them for her. The chain between his wrists clanged into the bar, halting him inches from her. The jarring vibrations shook him back to reality. He figured it was for the best, the grime and gore on him would only stain her further. But the pull toward her was like a punch in the gut.

His breath caught as she closed the distance and placed her face into his hands. She held his hand to her cheek, gripped the bar between them with the other. His heart sputtered. Her face was warm, she was alive. But the blood on his hands, the blood on her face, it was real. It wasn’t his mind playing tricks on him. It was all his fault. He did this.

There were bruises wrapped around her throat. Handprint bruises. He flinched, moved to pull away. Lauren stopped him; squeezed his hand. She grabbed his wrist with the other and held him to her.

“Don’t be a coward, Kieran,” she whispered fiercely. He blinked, dumbstruck. “Stop fucking running from me.”

She leaned into his hands, her fingers brushing over his. He couldn’t help but return the motion, caressing her soft skin, her warmth. She closed her eyes as he brushed a thumb over her cheekbone, careful to not aggravate the healing cut there, one of the first he had noticed from the photos. His heart wrenched at all the other wounds on her that he could not see, the ones he would never be able to see.

Tears welled in the corners of her eyes and her hands began to tremble. His hold on her tightened and he pitched forward, his forehead pressing against the bars, “Please don’t cry, darling,” He begged hoarsely. He would crumble if she did. If he could only hold her.

Her eyes gleamed when she looked back up at him, but it was not from sorrow.

It was rage.

“They will pay.” She swore.

Something clawed at his chest, raking the air from his lungs.

He sucked in a gasp when she touched his face, her fingertips brushing his cheek tentatively. His chest heaved, but the air went nowhere. It was that charred heart that thrashed in his chest and stole his breath. No one had ever fought for him, but this woman… the look in her eyes promised to raise hell if that was what he asked. No… she’d walk through hell with him. Was pulling him out of his own abyss with that unyielding spirit.

Her eyes softened as he drank her in, a bleak smile twitching his lips crookedly, “Vengeance looks good on you, love.”

He wasn’t sure if it was her cool fingertips exploring his face or her low chuckle that stirred something in him, “Leave it to you to flirt in a torture chamber.” Her touch feathered along his jaw.

His smile grew and with a low voice he said, “Give me that nail.”

“Tch. Ask nicely, subordinate.” His stomach curled at her tone, that nickname. Did she know what she was doing when she traced his features like that? When was the last time someone touched him gently?

“Please,” he purred as she brushed a lock of his hair back, “give me that nail, so I can finish rescuing you.”

She slid the bloodied nail into his hand even as she quipped, “Ah yes, my hero.”

A boldness he didn’t recognize took him over. Holding her gaze, he turned his head as she pulled her hand back and brushed his lips across her palm. She sucked in a breath, and he relished at the flush that bloomed across her cheeks. No doubt the color betrayed him the moment she touched his face.

Finally. He whispered to himself.

He was stepping into perilous territory. It should have terrified him – it did the exact opposite. He couldn’t ignore the triumphant ringing in his heart at that rosy color glowing beneath her skin. For him…

He must be delusional.

Gone were the thoughts of his butchered back, the sins he had committed to protect her. There was only the iron between them. He stepped back from the bars and worked the nail into his shackles with practiced skill. They clanged to the floor. He looked up to see Lauren rolling Cormac’s body, pulling the jacket off him. She stood swiftly and tossed the garment to him through the bars with a stiff nod.

Gods help him.

He caught the stained jacket and slipped it on, wincing at the sting of the coarse fabric against his back. He strode for the door, reached around the bars to the lock and began working.

He cursed under his breath. The nail was too large for this lock mechanism. Death to the shoes, then.

It wasn’t until he heard a loud clang, did he look over at Lauren. The door of her cell had fallen to the floor. She stood there with a victorious gleam in her eyes, the chair in her hands.

His jaw fucking dropped.

“How in the hell –“

“Half-pin barrel hinges,” she said simply as if that explained everything. Chair in hand, she maneuvered around the fallen door and toward his, propped the back under the rungs and pushed her body weight down onto it. The door lifted, then fell forward, the weight of it snapping the lock. He lunged to grab it, so it didn’t smash Lauren. His mouth was still agape as he looked from the door to her. A shit-eating grin illuminated her battered face.

“You are magnificent.” He sighed.

He slid the door to the side and propped it against the bars. He wanted nothing more than to touch her, to hold her and know her warmth. As though her standing in front of him was not enough to convince him that he had reached her, she was alive, she was free. Almost.

“Obviously,” she nodded turning to the exit, “hurry, someone would’ve heard that.”

“Hold up,” He stopped her with a hand on her wrist, tugging her back to him. Her eyes widened, but instead of pulling her face close to his as he had so impulsively done at the circus (how he longed to do again), he fell to his knees. He worked at the lock around her ankles, frowning deeply at the sores and her bare feet. Had they really taken her shoes from her? He glanced around the empty chamber – no personal effects to be seen. When the iron released her, he straightened.

“Can you run?” he asked hurriedly. They really did need to leave - quickly.

Her face turned ashen at the idea, her brow creasing, “I don’t know…” she whispered.

He brushed a strand of her fiery hair back and nodded, “Stay behind me, stay close. Let’s get past these goons first.” His hand lingered at her cheek before he took her hand in his.

She gave him a thin, watery smile and nodded.

Kieran’s heart thundered as they crept down the tunnel, Lauren’s hand laced with his. He gritted his teeth.

They still had to make it past the phantoms, and he couldn’t count on his contingency plan to follow through. Kym and William had created the diversion for him to sneak into this compound easily. The raids at the Grim Goblin and two other PS haunts drew their forces away, at least for a while. Kieran had demanded they stay behind. They couldn’t risk being caught themselves. Lauren was undoubtably being watched for weeks before her abduction, and he knew how the PS worked. He wouldn’t risk them too. No matter how much Kym fought him on it. She needed to survive for Lauren’s sake. He promised her loved ones were safe, he wouldn't dream of jeopardizing them. He had to pray he had given enough information to keep the other APD officers safe.

His rescue had been a certified disaster, but then again, Lauren and Kieran’s missions together had never been anything short of chaotic. And yet, he had not failed so spectacularly that he missed the rendezvous with Kym and William. They had no way of knowing they needed help now.

Kieran slowed as they neared the mouth of the tunnel, at least two voices drifting toward them. He squeezed Lauren’s hand once, twice, and reluctantly let go. He pressed himself into the shadows and crept up behind the men on silent feet. Indeed, two armed men stood shoulder to shoulder, arguing on which would investigate the noise. Fast as an asp, he swept the legs out from under one, and lunged at the other, slamming his head into the wall. His boot knocked the first out before he made a sound. Both laid in crumpled heaps.

He turned around to check on Lauren - who merely arched an unimpressed brow.

Sighing rather dramatically, Kieran bent to disarm the men, and handed a gun to Lauren.

Just in case he said with his eyes. Firing would draw too much attention. She narrowed hers. 

Duh she seemed to retort as she checked the weapon reflexively.

He bit back an outright grin. Oh, how he had missed her.

He grabbed her hand again and pulled her close. Perhaps the Apostle had been right about him needing her nearby. But she hadn’t balked, she had gripped his hand just as tightly. His mind and his heart were at war as he looked down at her, and he shoved away the turmoil that had him strung tighter than a bow. He needed to focus.

He scanned the small, oblong room. Two passages branched out, in the center stood a rickety table and two chairs with cards and game chips skewed across it, and – there! His sword lay atop a crate in the corner. He snatched it up, fastened it to his belt, and quickly lifted the lid of the crate to peer inside. No shoes, no weapons, nothing helpful.

Great.

Kieran grabbed Lauren’s hand again, frowned at her bare feet, and pulled her toward the leftmost passage. She would probably headbutt him again if he carried her like he wanted to, moreover he needed his hands free for now. When it came time to run, he would carry her.

They moved through the compound silently, Kieran neutralizing three more guards swiftly. It was second nature to ignore the tearing and weeping of the open wounds on his back, but he could feel it draining him. His heart seemed to throw itself against his ribcage, his breaths sawing in and out. Lauren squeezed his hand, and they pushed forward.

Keep going.

The tunnels were dim. The darkness punctuated by a hanging lantern every ten feet or so. The memory of his own desperate escape from this location pressed at the edges of his memory. He knew where he was going as though it was etched into his very being. Left at the next fork. The next right, past a handful of storage alcoves and crates and down a long stretch – A stampede of boots had Kieran skidding to a halt.

He quickly backtracked and pulled Lauren with him into one of those alcoves. He pressed them as far into the shadows as he could and strained his ears for any distinguishable information.

Prisoners escaped, south cell.

Breach, northwest entrance.  

Viper

Reinforcements

Kieran could barely restrain his grin.

Bella.

Chapter Text

Lauren was certain her body would give out at any moment. She had been fueled by pure adrenaline as they moved through the tunnels and now that they stood still… If there wasn’t a wall against her back and Kieran at her front, her legs might have buckled already. She recognized the way Kieran’s head cocked and dark brows furrowed; he was listening like a hawk. She cursed herself for ever thinking she could escape this maze on her own. She hadn’t even heard the rush of phantoms approaching until Kieran yanked her back into the dark recess.

Even now, she knew she needed to be vigilant, yet she couldn’t think past the swimming in her head. Her body was so… heavy. She stared at Kieran’s shirt crumpled in her fist. Now would be the worst time to pass out.

Pull yourself together, damn it.

Kieran’s hand came off the wall and gripped her shoulder. Boots blasted past them, and she flinched.

Now would be a very very bad time to pass out yet she sensed the raw exhaustion closing in on her. Her head spun violently, the world threatening to slip out from underneath her bare feet. Kieran pressed in closer – either to steady her or shrink farther from view. She didn’t stop him when he slid the handgun from her slackened fingers. She had half a mind to bark at him for disarming her and leaving her defenseless, but he didn’t. He clicked the safety on and tucked it into her waistband of her underwear over her slip.

“Stay with me, Detective.” The words were barely a whisper as more phantoms stormed by. His breath was a hot caress against the shell of her ear and despite herself, a shiver ran down her spine.

She realized with a start how incredibly close he was, his body blocking her completely from view. He had dipped his head down to whisper directly into her ear, his cheek nearly grazing hers. Her grip tightened on his shirt.

“Breathe, Lauren.” He urged her.

Had she not been?

She gulped down the dank air like it might instantly revive her. Kieran hushed her gently, and she clamped her lips shut, drawing in breath after breath through her nose. Had the air between them thinned? Or were her lungs truly that weak after all this time? With each shuddering inhale, the dizziness subsided, but her heart still hammered a relentless beat in her chest.

She loosened her death grip on his shirt and was suddenly very aware of his own heart pounding underneath her hand. But that made sense, he had been practically hauling her through the compound and his wounds…

Her stomach bottomed out, her other hand reaching up as though she might discern his state just by touch. He had to be in agony.

He was solid force beneath her palms, their chests nearly brushing each other with each heaving inhale they both took. His hair tickled her cheek and that was… soap. She could smell soap on his skin. The scent of dirt, sweat, blood, and waste were so commonplace, the fragrance practically leapt at her senses. It was something so mundane, so trivial, and something she’d completely taken for granted. To be able to bathe. To wash away the grime and sweat and blood and pain. To feel anything but cold suffering.

It dawned on her how she had been starved of touch, deprived of any sense of comfort, for long before she was ever abducted. All at once, Kieran's presence enveloped her with a sense of rightness. He was profoundly grounding, a sense of gravity about him that she never acknowledged before. Voices shouted mere feet from them, they were far from free, but for the first time in days – weeks – she felt safe.

Like an anchor dropping, that comfort feigned her body into relaxing. Her bones suddenly heavier than lead, she slumped against the wall, her head knocking back into it. She managed to keep her eyes open, even as her body betrayed her. Her legs held, or maybe that was Kieran gripping her tightly. One hand slid under her shoulder, the other at her hip.

With her head tipped up she saw naked panic widen his blue eyes, “Lauren–“ he gasped.

You’re not done yet.

She swallowed dryly, heaved herself up only to tip forward into him. Her forehead banged into his collarbone, and she battled the urge to sink to the floor and let sleep sweep in so she could truly rest. It felt possible. She could stay like this against Kieran, breathing in his scent, counting his heartbeats.

The ease she felt in the heart of a lion’s den was preposterous. But she had her partner. She trusted him with her life. The irony was not lost on her. She had threatened to kill him if he ever touched her again and now… she felt she might die if he didn’t hold her.

She felt Kieran tense, and for a heartbeat she feared he was uncomfortable being so close to her. Then, like rock hurtling through a reflection pool, a voice broke the silence.

“Well, this is awkward…” A low, sensual, female voice drawled, “Did I ruin a moment?”

Lauren could barely lift her head; in fact, she just turned it to the side against Kieran’s chest to behold Belladonna Davenport.

Her pink mane and stylish fur lined coat were splattered with scarlet, and she twirled a vicious, gold hilted dagger idly. There was a casual, devious smirk on her painted red lips, her free hand resting on a hip.

“About damn time.” Kieran retorted, ignoring her tease altogether. Neither woman missed his slight sigh of relief.

“Aw come on, you know I live for the dramatic entrances, Kieran.” She crooned, flipping her hair over a shoulder. Long, chandelier earrings sparkled with the movement.

Lauren gaped at the strikingly beautiful woman dressed more for a night out than a rescue mission. She was too relaxed to not have cleared every threat on her way in. In heels no less. Lauren found herself quickly appreciating just how lethal Belladonna truly was. In every sense of the word.

“How about a less dramatic exit, Bella.” Kieran replied dryly before he suddenly wrapped an arm around Lauren and swept her legs up. It was the best she could do to hang onto his shoulder as he lifted her and stalked out of the alcove and toward the Viper. She felt irritatingly like a sack of potatoes but was too stunned to protest.

Belladonna huffed. The lantern light illuminated those whiskey-colored eyes as she rolled them at Kieran, “God, you’re such a bore.”

Kieran merely grunted in annoyance and hurried down the tunnels. Lauren couldn’t string a thought along as Belladonna led the way, her heels silent on the stone. She adjusted her arms around Kieran’s neck, sheer exhaustion drowning out the embarrassment of being carried like some damsel. She could only watch as the two assassins slung insults and sibling-like banter at each other.

“Did you have to kill all of them...?” Kieran muttered.

Lauren did not have to fight the urge to look toward the figures Kieran stepped around. She hid her face into his neck. She could have sworn Kieran’s breath hitched as her nose grazed his skin.

Coward. The young boy’s voice taunted her.

They’re dead because of her, yet she couldn’t even bear witness to the havoc she’d caused. Those brown not black eyes glared at her in the darkness. It was Kieran who hadn’t wanted to kill again and yet she hadn’t hesitated...

“I needed to take the edge off. Especially since I can’t exactly kill you anymore.” Bella said with a blasé attitude.

“How very astute of you.”

She clicked her tongue. “You saved my lover, I save yours. We’re square after this Kieran.” Her voice was colder this time, serious. Lauren couldn’t help the way her skin heated at her choice of words.

She felt Kieran rally a retort before he exhaled heavily.

“Fair enough.” He conceded after a few moments.

Sleep was tugging on Lauren, and she let her head fall against Kieran. She fought against her drooping eyelids, she had so many questions. She swallowed dryly and rasped against his neck, “Are you… doing okay?”

His surprised chuckle rumbled into her, “Don’t worry about me, Detective.” He muttered back, pausing when Bella raised a fist ahead of them.

“Not… possible.” She mumbled. Then she asked, “Bella?”

He knew what she meant. She wanted to know why she was helping, how she knew to help, and who her lover was. He adjusted his grip on her, and she nestled further into his arms. His warmth and careful movements were swaying her toward sleep.

“I’ll tell you everything once we’re home safe.”

Home.

She nearly scoffed at that. She knew she couldn’t return to the manor, and Kieran’s apartment was likely being watched as well. That left only one other place that was safe enough for the both of them.

The location that had been her mental escape was far from a home, but she figured it’d work all the same.

Her eyes drifted closed to the sound of hushed bickering between the two assassins rescuing her.

Chapter Text

Lauren was warm. Softness enveloped her in a gentle, soothing embrace. It was jarring enough that she woke with a gasp.

She was lying on a firm mattress, a thick blanket tucked up to her shoulders. Blinking back the fog of sleep, the stalactites hovering above her slowly came into focus. A city of stone stretched out to her, shadows and light chasing around the slender towers like playful spirits. Fire chattered nearby, the sound echoing around the cave.

The cave.

Kieran!

In a fraction of a second, she was wide awake. She winced as she pulled herself up onto an elbow, searching for –

Her partner was sitting on the floor beside her, the upper half of his body draped over the bed alongside her hip. Sound asleep, he rested his cheek on an arm, the other stretched toward her.

Her heart descended from its sudden mount. She exhaled heavily.

It wasn’t a lie her mind fed her to keep her going. It truly happened.

The air was lighter as she inhaled the first free breaths she’d had in… she wasn’t exactly sure how long. It felt like months.

Her eyes slid over Kieran, appreciating a version of him she had only ever seen once before. Though, even in sleep his face was drawn taut, a perpetual tension to his body. She glimpsed the lashes creeping over the top of his back and quickly averted her eyes like the coward she was. Shame twisted her stomach in its fist, and she focused on Kieran’s sleeping face.

He had stripped Cormac’s jacket off. It laid in a heap not far from the bed along with his own ruined shirt. A glance down at herself revealed she wore one of his loose cotton button ups, her skin wiped clean of dirt and blood, even bandaged in some spots. She reached up to her hair. It was damp, braided in a single, neat plait down her back. But Kieran… he was still coated in grime, the wounds peeking over his shoulder blades just beginning to crust over, as though he had passed out from exhaustion next to her before tending to himself.

She frowned deeply and took in the cave. In all the time they spent here drowning in papers and weapons, never had it been in such disarray. It was as though a storm had torn through it. A first aid kit lay open on the table, bandages old and new littering the surface. Weapons were scattered throughout, papers and books abandoned haphazardly on the floor, on chairs, on the sword rack. A messy pile of wood and kindling sat concerningly close to the fire itself. The investigation board was stripped bare, the only evidence it was ever filled the torn corners of paper and limp red stings hanging down. Her eyes snagged on an unfamiliar pile in the far corner. What seemed like shattered furniture lay heaped and discarded in the shadows.

Lauren swallowed and looked back to her partner. It was then she noticed how deep the shadows under his eyes were, how… gaunt his face seemed.

She sat up gingerly. Kieran’s eyelashes fluttered, but he didn’t wake.

He came for her.

She had clung to the hope that he would, that someone would. Thoughts of him had consumed her, tethered her, tortured her, given her hope when the darkness made her quail. She dreamt of him, waking, and sleeping, but hadn’t contemplated what she would do if they ever met again. She had been so ready to die.

Recounting those close moments had her heart thrumming, her skin warming. She had needed to feel his touch; his hands cradling her face. She didn’t care about the blood on them. Didn’t even notice the blood coating herself until her own fingers left scarlet smudges across his face. His blatant shock when she did hadn’t discouraged her, and his expression melting into what she could only describe as reverence heartened her.

That crooked grin that drove her crazy belonged to the same lips that trailed a fire across her palm, the same mouth against her ear whispering to her to keep going. Lauren could still feel his strong arms wrapping around her. The smell of him, charcoal and pine, harsh and yet earthen and comforting. His heat was a like a furnace thawing her. The last thing she remembered was the pounding his heartbeat beneath her ear.

It all came back to her in a dizzying, heady rush.

She reached for him, brushing back an unruly wave from his brow -

His hand clamped around her wrist, yanking it away sharply, and he jolted awake, panting.

She gasped at his near painful grip, the wild, startled look in those blue eyes. He blinked, eyes widening in recognition, and released her.

“Lauren,” his voice was a rasp, “I- I’m sorry. I-“

“It’s okay.” She said quickly. She resisted the urge to soothe the bracelet of burns left from the rope that he had squeezed.

Lauren studied her partner as he stood stiltedly and ran his fingers through his unbound hair. She had never seen it loose. It fell to his shoulders in thick waves and was so dark it seemed to absorb the warm firelight casting shadows across the planes of his face. He raked a hand through it again, almost anxiously pushing it out of his face. His bangs tumbled right back across his brow. The movement did funny things to her stomach. He looked so… tousled. So normal, despite the evidence of their escape across his skin. His arms and chest were bare, unscathed. The blood on his shirt had not been his, his abdomen was unharmed, his trousers hanging low on his hips… Lauren quickly brought her eyes back up to his. She swallowed heavily, heat rising to her cheeks, and prayed he hadn’t noticed her wandering gaze. He’d never let her live that down.

“How… How are you feeling?” He was quiet, muted, as he backed away from the bed.

Lauren glanced down at herself, pulled the blankets off her and swung her bare legs over the edge of the bed. She tested them, rolled her ankles, and stretched the angry red sores concealed beneath the bandages. Her head throbbed, ears ringing slightly, and her skull felt like it was too tight, but it was no worse than how it felt in the Underworld.

“Not bad, all things considered.” She decided.

She looked back up to find her partner glowering at her bare legs. Lauren took a second look at herself, scanned the bruises and precise slashes covering her body. Her attention drifted as she tried to remember when or how they happened. Some of them were horrifyingly clear, others she had no memory of. There was every stage of healing displayed - which she decided was a good sign.

She would heal. She would feel whole again.

Eventually.

A glass entered her field of vision. She blinked at the water Kieran offered her and accepted it gratefully. She drained it quickly before setting it on the table beside the bed. Kieran withdrew again - a good five feet.

“How long was I out?”

“Not long enough…” Kieran grumbled as he glanced at a clock on the table, “about eight hours.”

That was the longest stretch of sleep she’d had in months, maybe years. The day after the factory explosion didn’t count.

She slid off the bed, and truthfully, she felt more than a bit weak, but her legs held. She took a step, wobbling like a newborn fawn.

Kieran rushed forward, “You should rest, Lauren…” he chided, but stopped himself abruptly an arm’s length away.

She blinked at him, “I’m okay, really.”

Lauren moved toward him. He retreated a clipped step.

She halted and something deep in her chest cracked.

She tried again. He backed away again.

The feet between them stretched into miles, a great chasm yawning open at their feet, splitting the cave in half.

Her pulse dropped. Her skin flashed hot and cold feverishly. Did… did he resent her? There was a stone lodged in her throat. She suddenly wished she had saved some water to force it down.

“Kieran?”  

His eyes dropped to the floor, his hands curling into fists before he stuffed them into his pockets. Lauren waited for him to speak. She didn’t step closer despite how the distance between them seemed unbearable. The air was fragile, the silence crushing in from so much unsaid.

She could only watch as he drifted toward the fire, avoiding her gaze entirely. Those eyes flitted back and forth, like he was looking for something.

“I… This should have never happened.” He said into the flames.

Lauren’s brow creased, and she moved toward him, careful to leave him the space he so obviously needed.

Even if she needed the opposite, desperately.

“I knew exactly what I was getting into,” she reminded him, “And you warned me something like this could happen. This isn’t your fault.” She stopped at his side and faced him.

Her heart ached for him to simply look at her. She needed to feel seen, to feel like she wasn’t still rotting in darkness, that pain wasn’t imminent, that she wasn’t alone. She needed to feel alive. Something only those blue depths could give her. She wrapped her arms around herself despite the warmth of the flames next to her.

She yearned for the comfort she discovered in that dark alcove. Longed for him to wrap his arms around her again and share her air.

She didn’t care what that said about her anymore.

Kieran just shook his head, jaw working, “All of this is because of me.”

She opened her mouth to argue but he continued, “I’m the one who proposed this godforsaken deal. I’m the one who knew the risks, who ignored them anyway because I was so hellbent on taking the leader down. I’m the one who used you, who wormed my way into your life, like a goddamn parasite I –“ His face twisted, and he turned away from her, giving her a full display of his injuries.

Her chest collapsed. A visceral wave of nausea shuddered through her at the gruesomeness of it in the light. The torn, weeping flesh that didn’t seem to faze him at all. That only cleaved her deeper - he was accustomed to this pain.

“I should have ended this deal a long time ago.”

“None of that matters anymore.” Lauren croaked, squeezing her arms to resist reaching for him. Every tense muscle in his body was screaming that he did not want to be touched.

He whipped his head back around and she wanted to wither at the anger darkening his features, but she had withstood worse in Underworld, so she glared right back.

“None of it matters?!” He demanded. “What about the consequences, Lauren!”

She shifted on her feet. She had no idea what had happened while she was imprisoned, no way of knowing the true consequences that haunted him. The Phantom in the cell had been clear. Kieran had obeyed their orders, had killed again. It was her fault he was put in that position. She hadn’t even put up a fight when they came for her. She had fallen victim to her own mind.

“We’ll manage it together, like we’ve always done.”

He barked a humorless laugh, “Manage? Lauren, look at yourself!” He was yelling now, throwing his hand out toward her. “You were tortured, to get to me!”

She clenched the shirt in her fists, her arms still wrapped tightly around herself like she might fall apart at another verbal blow, “Look at you!” she shouted back, her voice cracking from disuse, “Look me in the eyes and tell me it was your fault that I had to watch as you were flogged. I dare you! It was because of me, Kieran. Because of what you mean to me.”

There, she said it. Nearly.

His gaze was glacial as he finally looked her dead in the eyes and growled, “It was my fault.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it, clamping her jaw tight. Not a lie, but there was something he wasn’t telling her. Her glare dipped to that thin cut across his throat. Someone had come close… too close. Her stomach turned over at the thought.

How could she convince him that she wasn’t blameless? Why must he shoulder all the burden? She shook her head, turning toward the fire.

Why were they screaming at each other on whose fault it was anyway?

She couldn’t muster enough anger to fight him on this. Not as he stood there with his wounds exposed and festering, undoubtedly because it was too painful to even tolerate a shirt.

Lauren was given too much time to mull over her thoughts in that dungeon. She had pulled herself apart. Picked at each misstep, every miscalculation, like scabs. Dissected her failures, displaying the pieces before her. They were never organized or filed in her mind as she so often did with evidence or case work. No red lines connected them. No conclusions were drawn. No leads to tell her where to go from here.

She felt frayed.

Her skull pounded steadily like a gong, disrupting any train of thought. She started talking before she knew exactly what she wanted to say.

“The only people who are responsible are the ones who did this. The men who… who hurt me, who hurt you. We were both pawns in this, Kieran. They used us. We can place blame and torture ourselves with guilt all we want, but it doesn’t change the fact that they were pulling the strings all along.” She heaved an impossibly heavy breath and continued. “Blame gets us nowhere. Blaming ourselves ensures they win. It’s what they wanted me to feel - that culpability - so I would give them anything they wanted, just so they would stop hurting you. But… you knew that...” She trailed off. She had so much more she wanted to say, but words eluded her.

Kieran was quiet for a long moment before he said gently, “You were brilliant, by the way. Thank you.”

She choked out a dark laugh, “Thank you? Don’t ever thank me for that.” She kept her arms tight around herself and stared into the fire as though it could burn away the images swirling nauseatingly in her mind.

Kieran drew near. And she was furious at him, but her body began to buzz like a live wire.

“I’m sorry, Detective.” His low voice was calm now, contrite, “I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

Muscles Lauren hadn’t realized were tensed, relaxed. Her arms loosened but stayed wrapped around her middle.

“You must be cold.”

Lauren shook her head weakly. The coldness in her was not something that could be reached.

She gave him a sidelong look, desperate to cut through the tension, “Says the shirtless one.”

He arched a brow, “And you aren’t wearing any pants.”

Her heart stumbled at the realization that they were both, quite literally, half naked. There was a beat of tense silence between them before they both turned.

“I have something you can wear.”

“Let me help you with your back.”

They spoke in unison. Both waited for the other to answer, both stared at the other for a precarious heartbeat.

It was Lauren who moved first, walking around the fire and to the table already spread with the medical supplies. She surveyed the surface, ignoring the heat rising to her cheeks. Since when did she blush like this? Her senses were overwhelmed with the feeling of his lips against her palm, sending that flush all over her.

She bristled, called over her shoulder, “Get over here subordinate, before I change my mind.”

Huffing a laugh, he came up beside her. She pointed to one of the chairs, “Sit.”

She saw the corner of his lips twitch, but she focused on her task. He did as she bade, turning the chair and straddling it so his back was accessible. He crossed his arms over the back of the chair, resting his chin on them and watched her gather supplies. She grabbed the pot sitting next to the fire and scooped up some icy water from the cave stream circling them. Setting it above the flames to boil, she turned back to the table to prepare the rags.

It felt good to move. Her body ached and her head throbbed nauseatingly when she turned too quickly, but it was liberating to be able to do something.

She could see Kieran itching to move, to help her. But he didn’t coddle her, he let her find her motions again even if she fumbled or wavered. As though he knew reclaiming this autonomy was essential to healing.

Or perhaps he simply knew she would snap at him to sit his ass back down.

Lauren positioned another chair behind Kieran for herself and found her gaze drifting toward the pile of splintered wood. Kieran, never missing anything, tensed at that.

“I felt like redecorating.” He jested, moving to shrug before wincing.

Lauren saw it for what it was. She wouldn’t press him on anything. He would talk about it when he was ready. If that time ever came.

She took up her place at his back and swallowed at the work ahead of them.

“I don’t see much improvement.” She joked back.

He chuckled, and the familiar sound sparked goosebumps across her, “Harsh, Detective. You don’t strike me as the authority on interior design.”

“I have many skills, subordinate.”

Lauren plucked a thin strip of cloth from the table, held it between her teeth, and reached for his hair. Kieran fell silent as she ran her fingers into the raven strands, taming them back into his typical bun at the nape of his neck. Gently detangling the waves, something in Lauren relaxed even further. Everything about him was familiar and yet new at the same time. As the silky locks slipped through her fingers, she sensed something was different, inimitable. His presence was a salve to her soul, but there was another layer now. She tied the strip into a little bow and couldn’t help but smirk at her work.

“There,” she said smugly, “you look adorable.”

Kieran flashed her a toothy grin over his shoulder, “You just realizing that now, darling?”

Lauren’s face deadpanned, even as her stomach flipped at that treacherous smirk.

She flicked his ear, “Turn around, I’m about to start.”

He did, his shoulders tensing in anticipation as she reached for the now boiling water. She set it aside to cool, and dipped in a rag so she could start before she lost the nerve.

“This… will sting.” She warned softly.

He nodded stiffly, “Do what you need to.”

She nodded back, realizing too late he couldn’t see it. She was glad she hadn’t eaten anything yet. Her stomach wouldn’t have tolerated seeing him like this. She worked her way toward the lashes, washing the unharmed skin around them first. When she was done, she grabbed a fresh rag, saturated it, and hovered over the highest slash.

She hesitated. The welts were not deep, they wouldn’t need stitches, but even if they did, she wasn’t sure it’d be possible. They cut across each other and blended into another. She could barely distinguish where one stopped and the other started. The majority of the skin on his back had been scourged off. She lowered the rag, dabbed it lightly on the angry wound. Kieran barely flinched, but she paused again. Clenched the rag tightly.

“I’ll be okay, Lauren. It’s nothing I haven’t done roughly myself.”

The truth wasn’t as comforting as he probably intended it to be. She took a deep breath and continued. He was still and silent as she cleaned the blood and grime and pieces of leather that had embedded into his flesh.

She reminded herself to breath. Slow and steady - in for four seconds, out for six.

At some point, her fingers started to tremble, then her hands began to shake. Her throat swelled painfully. She struggled against the images resurfacing in her mind. Strained to block out the cracking of the whip, how his body had recoiled, his gaze clouded with pain. Her eyes burned, but she kept working. Kept revealing more and more of the consequences Kieran had raged about.

How could he ever think this was his fault?

He must have sensed her unease because he started talking, “Kym and William found me after you… went missing. I was hesitant to involve them in it all, but they were adamant. And truthfully, I needed them. They… they helped me in more ways than one.”

Lauren hummed. She could see Kym cornering Kieran in the archives, or breaking into his apartment, demanding they worked together. They had known he was her partner; despite the story she told them. To know they had Kieran’s back as well, despite his ties with the PS, had her throat constricting tighter.

He continued, “Once I was able to pinpoint where they were holding you, the APD stormed the Grim Goblin and two other PS bases. I demanded Kym and William stayed behind. I couldn’t risk them being captured too. Your Uncle and Dakan too, agreed to stay safely out of the way that night. Anyways, that was the diversion I needed to make it into the compound. To get to you.” He trailed off, as though lost in his thoughts.

“And Belladonna?” she probed.

“Bella owed me. Owed both of us really.” Lauren blinked in confusion but kept working. “Her and Neyra… They were together before the Seventh learned of their relationship. Bella did her best to keep her distance, but she never stopped loving her. After we staged her assassination, Bella was about to murder me before the APD arrested her, compliments of Sandman. When you were taken, I broke her out, explained everything as best I could.” He chuckled dryly, “She nearly killed me anyways. It wasn’t until she saw Neyra herself that she agreed to help. Albeit reluctantly.”

It all made so much sense. Neyra had been so unfazed by Kieran’s identity. She said herself he wasn’t the first PS assassin she’d encountered. If she was the Golden Viper’s lover, how could she have been shaken when faced with the Purple Hyacinth?

“Sounds to me she owed you two favors,” Lauren said slowly, “One for faking Neyra’s death, and another for breaking her out.”

“Feel free to tell her that for me.” She could hear the grin in his voice.

She couldn’t bring herself to smile back.

As she reached his lower back, she braced her other hand on his side. She did her best to overlook the way his obliques tensed under her fingers.

“She was kind enough to wash and dress your wounds though. So, I guess that was her second favor.”

Lauren tilted her head at that. She had assumed it was Kieran who had taken care of her. Something about another woman tending to her, even if it was the Viper, seemed to soothe an anxiety that she hadn’t wanted to dwell on. The knot in her stomach loosened with the knowledge. Kieran had bound and bandaged her wounds plenty of times, and it wasn’t from a lack of trust, but something about this time seemed… delicate. She didn’t want him to see her like this.

She glanced down at the flawless bandage wrapped around her left thigh. There were wounds that even she hadn’t looked at yet.

Her thoughts drifted to her hair. It had been thoroughly washed, no doubt terribly matted with blood and missing chunks. Bella had taken the time to wash it, bucket after bucket, comb through it, and French braid it neatly. It was that kind touch and consideration that had Lauren’s throat swelling shut. Again, her perception of the woman shifted. She thought of Kym.

“I couldn’t miss the rendezvous with Kym and William.” Kieran explained. “I left almost immediately after getting you here and Kym still nearly throttled me for being ten minutes late. They know you’re safe, with no… life threatening injuries. They agreed we can’t risk bringing them here. The fewer people that know about this place the better. I’m still pissed Bella knows about it now…” He trailed off for a moment before releasing a resigned sigh.

“William is aiding Dakan in handling the aftermath of the raids, but they were successful with the information Bella and I supplied. They have a foothold in the Underworld now. Kym has been communicating with your uncle about your… about you. It was Dakan who decided to keep it all as quiet as possible. And after what happened with Green’s case, he determined a hospital was too public, too unpredictable. That’s why you’re here. I’m due to meet with them in two days with an update on your recovery, and of course bring you along if you’re willing.”

Lauren’s jaw trembled at the mention of Uncle Tristan, Dakan, and her friends. After what she put them through during the glass factory explosion…

She gathered those emotions and quickly locked them into a box.

She felt like glass. If she let everything come at her all at once, she would shatter. And she wasn’t confident she could ever put herself back together the same.

Compartmentalize. Prioritize. Focus.

You must keep going.

“Do – Do they know about you?” She asked as she grabbed a fresh rag.

Kieran didn’t respond for several heartbeats.

“That I’m the Purple Hyacinth? No. I never explicitly told them. But I’d be surprised if Kym hadn’t put it together already. There’s an obvious correlation between your disappearance and my… increased activity. Moreover, word will get out that the PH is a traitor.” He chuckled bleakly, “I will have two bounties on my head.”

Lauren’s heart leaped into her throat, “Will the Leader expose your identity?”

Another lengthy pause.

“If I were a gambling man, I’d say no. The PS’s leadership is already precarious. Between VII’s failed coup, Sandman, the raids, and Detective March, outing a high rank assassin would only cause more unrest and paranoia between all the Apostles. Not to mention, willingly admitting they lost a vital weapon is not the best strategical move. They will cling to their masks for as long as possible.”

“But?” Lauren knew it was there. It hung in the air.

“But… I’m a threat. I have no allegiance, and now no leverage. Both parties would benefit from removing my piece from the board.”

Lauren’s eyes unfocused. Suddenly she was back in her cage. The darkness swarmed in from all around her, she felt its hungry breath slither down her spine. It stretched its maw and sunk its fangs into her. Devoured her hope. Fed on her despair.

“That won’t happen.” She whispered. She wasn’t sure who she said it to.

Kieran didn’t reply.

“Thank you for updating me.” She said faintly. It was the distraction that she was really thanking him for. She supposed he needed it as much as she did. She had so many more questions, but they amassed like a mountain before her. The thought of scaling that… she was so tired.

“Of course.” His voice was tight.

They both fell into the silence again. It wasn’t awkward, or filled with that tension that made her skin shiver. It was a new silence. Uncertain. Charged.

Lauren finished cleaning, washed her hands, and moved on to dabbing ointment on him. Kieran rested his cheek on his hands, his body relaxing as though it provided instant relief.

Lauren wondered if he ever had anyone to take care of him like this. Someone to stitch up the wounds he could not reach, to help him change his bandages, or to make him soup when he was simply not feeling well. Someone to offer comfort. A friend to talk to at the end of the day, to go on walks with, or gush over a new book with. Her cheekbones ached at the thought. How lonely and bleak it must have been, yet he still smiled and joked and was charming and considerate. He had every reason to be vile and hateful, but he chose not to be.

That kindness, it was always genuine. His easy jokes and chatter with Kym and Will didn’t surprise her, but it still brought a smile to her face when she thought of how seamlessly he fit into their group. Like that evening Kym and Lukas were released from the hospital, he was brighter. She didn’t need him picking up a gun and saving their lives to know he truly cared about them. About the people around him.

The only mask she saw him don was one of cold indifference, the razor blade of a smile that never touched his eyes when she got too close. It was a wall of steel snapping closed over the tender man she knew he was at the core. Careful barriers that prevented anything from slipping in; defended everything within.

A handsome paradox indeed.

Unbidden, her eyes began to burn again. She blinked furiously, but tears still blurred her vision. Her fingers resumed their trembling, but she kept applying the ointment to his frayed skin.

“Lauren?” Kieran asked gently. He lifted his head up. He must have felt her unsteady fingers.

She swallowed past the knot closing her throat, “I couldn’t stand it…” she whispered. Tears slipped past her defenses. She put the jar down, finished with it, and stared at his ravaged back. “I couldn’t stand it.” She intoned again.

She trailed her pink tinted fingers across his broad shoulders, careful to avoid the raw skin.

Kieran froze entirely. Tears tumbled freely down her cheeks.

Like a dagger to the heart, grief slammed into her, and she doubled over. She rested her head against the back of his neck as the images gutted her. She breathed in his scent and the earthy, medicinal fragrance of the ointment to drive away the memory of that suffocating cell.

She let this happen.

Would he ever forgive her?

Could she ever forgive herself?

There was no denying how important he was to her. She hadn’t felt this unbearable anguish since… but that was different, this was…

This was a tragedy, something she never fathomed feeling. He was her enemy. He became a resented ally, then a partner. Somewhere in there she started to trust him again. How could she not? They had been prepared to leave this world together. He grew into a confidant, a friend.

The man who had taken so many lives, who had once carved a man’s heart out, she trusted with her own. She couldn’t flinch at what he’d done anymore, not when she understood what the alternative meant. He did it for her. He had done the unthinkable, for her.

And what had she done to him in return?

A sob racked her body, and she pressed her lips to the unmarred skin at the junction of his neck and shoulder. She wasn’t sure what it meant exactly, just that she needed to atone. She needed to express her sorrow and regret in a way that words could not. Kieran’s breath hitched. She pressed another chaste kiss to his back, tears splattering onto him.

“I couldn’t stand it.” She whispered against his skin. “I wanted to scream. I wanted it to stop –“ she choked on a sob.

Kieran turned suddenly in his chair, but she kept her trembling hands on him. She needed to feel that he was with her, that they were out, that this was real. It wasn’t a lie. But if he pulled away again…

In a heartbeat, he gathered her into his arms and drew her against his chest. One hand cradled her head against him, the other wrapping around her waist. Any restraint fizzled, and she sobbed thoroughly into him. She slipped from her chair. Kieran caught her before her knees slammed into the stone and pulled her onto his lap. She melted into him. His skin was hot beneath her cheek, his heart pounding against her ear.

“Don’t you ever, ever thank me for that.” She wept into his chest. He rested his head atop hers, squeezing her tighter.

“Alright.” His voice was thick. She wondered if he was crying too. “Alright.”

She couldn’t remember the last time she fell apart so completely. Her breaths came in gasps, her body shuddering and aching. The pressure in her skull mounted, threatening to explode and she pressed into Kieran as if it could compete with the pain racking her body.

Her nerves were on fire, the air she sucked down wasn’t working. She couldn’t breathe.

She dug her nails into his arms, her heart was going to burst. She needed air -

“Shh… breathe, Lauren,” Kieran said softly, stroking a hand over her hair, “You’re okay. You’re safe… we’re safe.”

She believed him, and yet, her body wouldn’t cooperate.

Everything she’d dammed up while in the Underworld came storming toward her like a tidal wave. She was a pane of glass against it. Fractured and brittle. She didn’t recognize herself. She couldn’t reconcile that strong, capable woman with this broken shadow she was now.

She should have already been planning, been grilling Kieran on the state of the city, on everything she missed. She should be inquiring about his passing comment about March, on how the APD’s operation on the docks had gone before they took her. What had they forced him to do?

All of it. She needed to know all of it.

It was too much.

The consequences.

Will. Kym. Tristan. Dakan. Kieran.

Her chest was being pried open, her ribs snapping back, her lungs collapsing. She sobbed for a breath.

Lauren was sure she would vaporize from the pressure crushing in around her. Kieran’s arms were the only thing holding her together.

But she was primed to explode.

There was a bomb strapped to her.

Red numbers screamed against her eyelids.

0:50

No.

 Kieran was too close to her, he-

She struggled in his arms. He startled, his grip loosening as she pushed him back, sobbing.

No

She was trapped. She was caged.

0:40

No

He was too close.

Stop!

“Lauren – “

0:35

A shock of silver hair dashed behind Kieran. Brown, not black, eyes peered over his shoulder. Scorched hands clawed at her, dragged her toward a chair. She snapped her eyes closed and thrashed against it all.

“Lauren!”

Cold stone stung her bare legs. Her heart was trouncing frantically in her chest, a bird bludgeoning itself against its cage. She dragged herself back. She had to get away –

0:30

Instincts shrieked at her to run, but her legs were jelly. The ticking of the numbers melted into to something else, something -

Crack

Look at me, coward.

A shiver crawled down her back as the warped child’s voice snarled behind her.

0:20

“Lauren, open your eyes!”

She couldn’t. It was too much.

Crack

0:10

Screams were reverberating around her, tearing into her eardrums. Her face was pulled up by a pair of hands. And before her, Dylan – Dylan’s skin bubbled and melted off his bones from the fire engulfing him.

0:05

Cormac sneered at her. His brown eye captured her torment like a flashing camera, the other lurching around in its bloody socket, the nail staked in the pupil like an olive garnish.

Crack

Kieran laid in a crumpled heap, at the factory, in the Underworld, the skin of his back peeling itself off in long, slow ribbons.

0:03

Red stained her world. She couldn’t breathe.

Crack

0:02

Murderer.

“Darling…”

Her heart faltered. His voice… it was a call to salvation.

0:01

“You’re not alone.”

Lauren wailed in despair.

Isn’t she though?

0:00

Chapter Text

Kieran’s heart had been carved from his chest. He swore if he looked, it’d be there hemorrhaging beside him on the cave floor. But he didn’t take his attention away from the woman folded in his arms. She was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, but quiet. So very quiet compared to the gut-retching screams that were like daggers to his soul. It was the best he could do to hold her tightly against himself in the hours it took for her sobs to wring her dry. He had stroked her hair and whispered to her through the entirety of it as the soft crackling of the fire next to them slowly died.

It wasn’t the first time her demons had come for her, and Kieran knew it wouldn’t be the last. This time… this was much worse than the first. So much more pain had touched her since that night at the circus. What’s more, it was the woman’s terror now, not the child’s.

Kieran could sense her panic rising from the moment he raised his voice at her. He didn’t even know why he did it. This guilt was a poison eating away at him, muddling his judgment. He regretted his outburst even more when she was still kind. When she gently pulled his hair back, cautiously, and meticulously cleaned his lashes. When he felt her tears fall onto his back… and her quivering lips brush his skin…

That’s when the slow, painful extraction of his black heart began.

Then she fought against him like her life, her very soul, was in peril. When she had pushed herself off his lap and dragged herself away, he assumed it was because she realized she wept for a killer. But her eyes were not on him, they weren’t even in the same realm. Other monsters were chasing her.

He thought the shriek he heard echo toward him down the tunnel in the Underworld had gutted him. He was mistaken.

Indescribable anguish slammed into him as she struggled to get her feet under her, screaming through her tears and stumbling back.

Her terror was his. He felt the claws of monsters he couldn’t even fathom sink into him, ripping an instinctual fear from him. He had reached for her in desperation.

She was safe. She was safe.

He had to ensure she knew that.

He dropped to the floor after her. Open your eyes he had pleaded. If he could get her to look at him, maybe he could bring her mind back. He had held her face, stroking the rivers of tears away. He called her name, her title, detective, his partner. Nothing seemed to register.

He was crying himself when he pleaded for her to breathe, when he grabbed her hand and pressed it against his chest so she could match the rise and fall.

She was safe, he was with her, she was not alone he told her over and over.

He wasn’t sure if it was his words or the demons finally releasing her that had her wailing one last time. His heart shattered at the sound, at how she crumpled onto herself.

That was when he scooped her up, clutched her tightly as she sobbed and sobbed.

Tears ran down his cheeks and he buried his face in her hair. Her scent, amber and jasmine, an embrace in itself. He swore he wouldn’t do this.

If he held her, he’d never be able to let her go.

Before he even discovered where she was hidden, he had vowed to keep his distance from her. He would rip the city apart to find her, though once he did, he’d let her go, as he should've weeks ago. All of it would be easier if he just stayed away.

Nothing about it was easy. And as much as he had yearned to before, holding her now was agonizing.

He couldn’t take this away.

He could wipe her tears and bandage her wounds and embrace her as she shed every horror, but it wouldn’t make a difference.

It would never be enough.

If he had simply stayed away. Perhaps if the Apostle hadn’t left him alive after that beating, she would be better off. She wouldn’t have been shot at the factory, her identity wouldn’t have been at risk, she wouldn’t have been captured, tortured –

All of it was his fault. It didn’t matter if she insisted otherwise, he would never forgive himself. He failed. Over and over and over.

From the very beginning.

What was the point of it all? All the blood on his hands, all the lives stolen, if it did nothing to protect what mattered most?

Even though he held her now, safe in the cave, far from that miserable city, Kieran felt as though he had lost something profound and dear.

***

It felt like hours before Lauren truly relaxed against him. Her shaking had ceased and her breathing evened. He waited for a few more minutes until he felt her muscles ease one by one, her body surrendering to its exhaustion. Only when she felt steady, did he slide an arm behind her knees and lift her. He carried her to the bed, gently lowered her head onto the pillows, and reached for the blanket. He had just finished pulling it over her shoulders when she grabbed his hand, clutching it tightly.

“Don’t go.” She whispered.

Finally, those golden suns rose for him. They were dim, spent. The last hours of light offered from a distant, winter sunset.

He squeezed her hand in return, “I won’t.”

He knelt, moved to sit on the floor again and rest his head on the edge of the bed.

“No.” Lauren stopped him, pulling his hand to her chest, “Stay… stay here.”

Kieran stared at her. She wanted him to lie with her? He cursed the flutter in his stomach.

“I’m okay right here, Detective.” He sunk back on his heels.

“I’m not.”

She scooted back on the bed, keeping his hand close to her chest.

He swallowed. Her eyes rivaled every sunset he had ever seen and ever hoped to see. Despite their solemn hue, he was captured by their intensity, the sincerity. How the hell could he refuse her?

Suddenly more unsure than he had ever been, Kieran rose. Lauren watched him as he eased himself onto the bed next to her and laid on his side. It would be weeks before he could lay on his back. He tucked an arm under his head, his other hand still clasped in Lauren’s. She gave him a small smile, and his chest squeezed when she draped the blanket over him.

“You must be cold.” She rasped, a teasing grin flickering across her features.

He nearly sobbed at her jab. At her ability to rebound from such a traumatic mental attack. He still felt raw from it, but he smiled despite himself.

“Not with that smile to warm me.” He replied softly.

The words would ring in her ears as truth. He could be standing in a frozen tundra and regardless of whether that playful smirk was at his expense or not, it would still melt him to his core. Maybe even more so if it were to taunt him. He adored that spark. There was truly nothing more he could ask for from this life.

She gifted him another smile, albeit thin and tired. “Shameless flirt.” She muttered.

She had no idea.

She likely heard it as just that - flippant coquetry. She could hear lies, but did she recognize the confession in his words?

Only their hands touched, and Lauren hadn’t shifted closer, so Kieran didn’t dare move. He could hardly breathe as it was. This close, he couldn’t help but study her face. Bruises sat heavy under her eyes, her cheeks hollow and pale. A gash cut through her right eyebrow, a healing one across her opposite cheekbone, another disappearing into her hairline. Her lips were cracked, her skin wan and colored sickly shades. He couldn’t help the frown he felt twisting his own features.

“Rest, Detective.”

She stared at him with that beautiful defiance for a long moment. Mercifully, those aureate eyes had been untouched.

“And you?” she challenged.

“I’ll rest too.” He nodded, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Seemingly pleased with his answer, she nodded, her eyelashes fluttering from the weight of sleep. She pulled his hand closer against her chest, cradling it under her chin.

“Thank you, Kieran…” she whispered, “For everything.”

A grin tugged at his lips. He contemplated teasing her back.

“Anytime, darling.” He murmured instead.

He watched as her breathing slowed, steadying until she drifted asleep.

He told her he would rest, and he tried, but his mind spun through everything that needed to be done. She needed food – a lot of it. Now that he knew the full extent of her injuries he’d meet with his physician for medicine, antibiotics, supplements. Kym had given him a bag of her favorite clothes when they last met, but she would need more, especially warmer clothes, until he ensured the more habitable safehouse was secure. Tomorrow was damage control with Bella. He would gather supplies, scope out other locations if he needed to move her again. The day after, he’d touch base with her friends and figure out where the hell to go from here.

If it were up to him, she’d already be out of the city, preferably on the next continent. He understood his partner well enough to know that she’d never leave, not now. So, he would stay and watch over her even when he ultimately returned her to her family. When Dakan deemed it safe.

But he had to keep his distance. Which he was already doing a piss poor job at.

This arrangement wouldn’t be forever, they just had to wait to see how the Leader responded. Apostle IV was not supposed to be there, that much Kieran was sure of. Whether he went against direct orders or was simply seizing an opportunity, the Fourth was acting on his own plans when he attempted to blackmail Lauren.

Right?

Infiltrate the monarchy’s inner circle, dismantle the APD, warp Lune’s efforts, painless, effortless... They wanted information from her, and he couldn’t deny she was in a prime position to do so. A loyal APD detective held captive by the PS for weeks, rescued and welcomed back into the fight with false information she had gleamed from her imprisonment. It was clever, dangerous. Kieran pondered if it could still be used, in a different approach.

The restless toiling of his mind slowed a fraction as he studied the shape of his partner’s face. Looking past the injuries to those high cheekbones, the streams of fire falling over her forehead, the clever mouth that taunted him even when silent. His fingers itched for charcoal. He traced her face over and over in his mind, memorizing it until exhaustion finally claimed him.

***

Kieran woke from a dreamless sleep feeling better rested than he had in weeks – both were rarities. His senses came back to him sluggishly, and he stretched slightly. The air stalled in his lungs when he felt a small body stir against him.

Lauren –

His eyes flew open. She was curled against his chest, her head tucked under his chin. He had turned half onto his stomach onto her, their legs tangled together under the blankets, his arms coiled around her thin waist, her shoulders.

They were –

Lauren sighed in her sleep, her breath sweeping across the bare skin of his chest. Goosebumps exploded in its wake.

His heart stopped, only to pick up again wildly.

He couldn’t move. Utterly lost on what to do. She was so small, yet her body burned like a furnace against him. If she woke, would she leap away from him? Nestle closer? He didn’t want the answer to that question.

He was overcome with the feeling that he had violated something unspoken. She invited him to lie next to her, not snuggle her.

Embarrassment slithered down his neck and back hotly. And yet… he stayed where he was.

He willed his heart to steady, surely its pounding would wake her, especially since her hand was firmly pressed against his chest beside her cheek. Still, he didn’t move. Shame twisted in his stomach as he realized why. Why he hadn’t pulled away yet. It felt like breaking apart two jigsaw pieces when the image was so nearly complete. He could see it so clearly.

This was exactly why he had vowed to keep his distance. This ache deep within his bones to pull her impossibly closer, hold her tighter. Tilt her chin up to watch those eyes open to him. Dive headfirst into these emotions and discover more.

Kieran quickly convinced himself this only occurred because they were both cold. And now he wasn’t. He shouldn’t stay like this. But he wanted –

He squeezed his eyes shut. It didn’t matter what he wanted. It didn’t matter how he felt.

She trusted him, he couldn’t betray that.

Ever so slowly, he lifted his arm, removed the hand that had been pressed against her back, holding her to him. He didn’t breathe as he slid his leg from between hers. Kieran had never believed in a higher power, but he prayed to every god that she would remain fast asleep and perhaps be none the wiser. He shifted back gingerly.

Even the dark gods had forsaken him. As he eased his torso away from her, sliding his arm from under her head, her brows twitched together. Hastily, he pulled the blanket higher up on her and pulled back, finally detangling himself. He scooted back on the bed and wobbled, nearly toppling right over the edge.

That would have been agonizing to recover from. For multiple reasons.

Her eyes fluttered open and he froze. She blinked blearily at him.

“I’m sorry,” he sputtered, “I – didn’t mean to wake you.”

Lauren blinked some more, rising onto an elbow. Her eyes were clearer when she looked around, taking in her surroundings, the distance between them. If she noticed his embarrassed flush or shallow breaths, she didn’t let on.

"Well, I'm awake now." She rubbed an eye, “So what’s on the agenda for today?”

It was Kieran’s turn to blink. He couldn’t decide if she was making a joke or not.

She sat up fully and shot him an arch look.

Not a joke. Got it.

Gathering himself again, he took a deep breath, “Well, I need to meet with Bella, tie up some loose ends, gather supplies…”

“Right. I’ll go with you.” She chirped as she scooted around him to the edge of the bed.

He whirled around, “No, you most certainly will not.”

So very slowly, she turned her head toward him and glared. And hell, if looks could kill, she’d put him out of business.

“I will not stay in this cave.”

“Lauren – “

“You cannot keep me here.” Lauren insisted. Her voice wavered slightly.

Kieran paused, watched her carefully. Her hands had balled into fists; her shoulders tensed. Of course, she would feel trapped in a place so akin to that dungeon. He could see the panic rising in her eyes, and he searched for the right words to send it away. It took more strength then necessary to resist the urge to reach for her.

“I would never, Lauren. I only need to check that the safehouse is still secure. This one will be much easier to heat.” He offered her a small smile, “And I need to get you food and warmer clothes before we go there.”

“I don’t see why I can’t go with. You said yourself there are things here I could wear. And I’m sure whatever you have to eat is enough for now.” She rebutted.

He considered for a moment. He didn’t want to leave her alone, but he didn’t want to risk taking her with when she was still weak. While they were both weak. There was no way of knowing the current state of the city.

“I… I don’t trust my capacities right now. I’m not exactly at my peak, darling.”

“All the more reason for me to cover your back.” She said matter-of-factly as she unraveled her braid.

He tilted his head, a grin creeping up on him, “Was that intentional?”

“What?”

“The back pun.”

Her eyes widened and she gaped for a moment. Then, her gaze dropped to his bare chest. It was clear her thoughts had wandered from his back to his font. His grin became devilish at the flush that rose to her cheeks, the mane of crimson waves springing free.

“Shut up.” She snapped, snatching a pillow, and smacking him in the face with it.

Kieran laughed in earnest, “Too soon?”

He grabbed the pillow and watched as she slid off the bed and padded to the table, grumbling under her breath. He couldn’t help his smile as she did her best to hide the wobble in her legs.

Stunning, stubborn woman.

He did his best to keep his eyes and mind from wandering to his shirt that she wore. From the hem brushing her thighs, to the too-long sleeves that drooped as she poured two glasses of water from the large pitcher. He didn’t miss that she used both hands to do so.

Kieran glanced at the clock. Shit. It was nearly eleven.

He rose stiltedly and moved to the chest of clothes beside the bed. He pulled a black cotton shirt over his head, wincing as it chafed against his back. Grabbing the bundle of clothes for Lauren, he turned, only to rock up on his toes to avoid running right into her.

“What the– I’m gonna put a bell on you.” He huffed, though he couldn't help the impressed quirk of his lips.

She rolled her eyes and grabbed his arm, pulling him away from the bed, “Let me put some more ointment on your back before you get dressed.”

“I’m fine, Detective.”

Still, he let her lead him to the table.

She glared at him, “No. You’re not fine.”

“Ever the sleuth. You’re right. I’m late.”

She snatched the clothes from him and dumped them on the table.

“Take your shirt off.” She ordered.

“My, my if you’re so eager to get me nak– “

“Kieran.” She snapped, cutting off his sentence, “Could you be serious for one god damn minute? You didn’t wash your wounds for over ten hours, they could easily get infected, and you can’t even see if they’re healing properly let alone apply the ointment yourself. You claim this is the reason I can’t leave with you but you’re not even prioritizing your recovery!”

Kieran stared down at her. Had anyone ever cared so fiercely for him? It made his chest ache, but for some reason he said, “So this is because you want to leave today.”

Her face twisted in indignation, and she opened her mouth before snapping it closed. Her jaw worked, her eyes flinty.

“Take off your shirt and sit down.” she said. She looked at him in such a way that made him feel exactly two inches tall.

“It can wait Detective. You need food or the wind will sweep you away. I have bread and cheese here in the meantime, but you need something of substance.”

Her face remained unchanged. “I can cut it off you.” She swiped a blade from the table coolly. “If that’s what you’d prefer.”

How she managed to look down her nose at him while being several inches shorter was beyond him. He sighed, “As enticing as that sounds love, I have places to be, people to see, trouble to start…” He tapped his wrist, “and I’m already behind schedule.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she took a step forward, tapped the tip of the blade to the center of his chest.

“I believe our deal had a clause to not ‘accidentally’ kill the other.”

Kieran eyed the blade in her hand, the blaze crackling in her gaze. He hadn’t realized how much he feared that her time in darkness had dimmed that unpredictable spark. If anything, it had grown even more wily. He wasn’t afraid, but his heart raced for all the wrong reasons.

“And?”

“I propose an amendment to that rule.”

He cocked a brow, “Go on.”

“We look after each other. On missions and off. We allow the other to call on this rule, to make the judgment call on what takes precedence, and when. To keep the other from accidentally killing themselves.”

“Because we’re so lousy at caring for ourselves? Is that it?” Kieran grinned crookedly at his partner.

“Exactly. And because we are both equally stubborn.” She narrowed her eyes, twisting the dagger into him in punctuation. She didn’t break skin, but the point had every nerve in him prickling to attention. The tip grabbed the fabric of his shirt and with a flick of her wrist, she very well could cut right through it. He felt his heartbeat in his throat. Almost dared her to try it.

“That requires a fair amount of trust, Detective.” He said lowly.

“Do you not trust me?”

Kieran tilted his head at her, as though the answer was obvious.

“Even with a dagger poised over my heart darling, I trust you unflinchingly.” Kieran declared plainly. “What I don’t trust is your ability to use this bargain selfishly.”

It was a low blow, even for him, but he needed to leave before Bella became even more of a target herself. They needed to assess how many people had known she was there yesterday. Tie up any loose ends. He had no idea what that would entail until he got there.

Too many emotions flickered across her face to distinguish before it settled into that familiar determination. “We cannot be effective partners if you continue to push forward with this reckless disregard for your own wellbeing. It’s not sustainable Kieran. It’s dangerous. For both of us.”

Kieran could only stare as her words yanked a brick from the foundation of his walls. He felt it buckle. He was always capable of taking care of himself, of managing the pain and moving forward. Sure, it was reckless, but he never had another option. Before he met her, he had one foot in the grave. He had helped the Leader build his empire; he was going to tear it down with everything he had left. He never anticipated he’d survive this long. He didn’t see an outcome where he could live with himself anyways. Then an officer had caught him in an alleyway and changed everything. She was changing everything.

“It’s all I know.” He said before he could stop himself.

Her eyes softened, and she lowered the dagger.

“Then let me help you change that.”

She stepped even closer. Placed her palm where the dagger had been. He was sure she could feel his heart pound a beat that was her name.

“Lauren…” His throat closed on itself. His eyes flicked over her face, the cuts and bruises and thinness. The purple hand staining her throat.

All his fault.

Kieran brought his hand atop hers. He knew what this was. This exhilarating thrum in his heart, the blood singing in his veins. The disparate warmth radiating across his skin from her touch, the kindness in her words.

He had to put an end to it.

He had to snuff this out before it got even more out of hand. He closed his hand around hers, lifting it to his lips where he placed a gentle kiss atop her knuckles. A distraction.

“It is not something worth changing.” He said coldly.

Her brows pulled together, she was rallying for an argument, one he knew he’d surely lose. Just like before, when he tried to end their partnership, she’d reason the guilt right out of his heart.

“Can’t teach an old dog new tricks,” he shrugged as he stepped back, slipping the dagger from her hand and dropping the other unceremoniously. He snatched his jacket off the chair. He needed a warmer one, but she was already lunging for him. He dodged her with a cold, mocking smile.

“Kieran!”

“I’ll be back before you know it darling. Then we can play nurse all you want.” He tossed a wink at her as he retreated toward the entrance of the cave, swiping his sword from where he had abandoned it before rushing to her side the other night.

“You – I swear Kieran, I’m going to kill you!” Lauren practically growled.

He knew she wouldn’t. Deal or no.

“You promise?” he chuckled, walking backwards. Only his partner could go from compassion to death threats that fast.

She glared at him. Her arms wrapped tightly around herself again, and Kieran couldn’t ash out the desire to hold her quickly enough. It burned his throat and seared against his eyes as he turned his back to her and ran.

Chapter Text

With each deft stride, every pump of his arms, scorching pain rippled down Kieran’s back. He didn’t slow. If anything, he gritted his teeth against the firestorm in his body and pushed harder. Faster.

The medicine Lauren applied last night had been a deliverance. She was right. Of course, she was right. He needed it. But the faster he finished with Bella, the sooner he could get his partner out of that damn cave.

He shook his head at himself as he slowed, rounding a slouching building on the corner. Both women were going to eat him alive. He really needed to make a better effort at not pissing off the dangerous women in his life. Kieran’s breath danced in front of him in soft, billowy vapor as he slowed, giving himself extra time to steady his ragged breaths before confronting the Viper.

Meanwhile, Greychapel was living up to its name. The sun refused to shine on it today, casting the city into a dull, gloomy stupor. This district had always had a perpetual lack of color to it, even in the faces and eyes of its unfortunate denizens. If Kieran ever deigned to paint the miserable, crooked streets, it would’ve been on a black canvas.

The streets were quiet, the city holding its breath. Phantoms haunted the alleyways and hidden paths alongside him, but not another soul was in sight. Dread and sorrow hung heavy in the air. Not even the desperate children, frail hands always outstretched, danced around his feet. Anything good or smart was tucked away. He swallowed at the part he had played.

Kieran reached the tunnel alley, not two blocks from the print shop Lauren had discovered. He found Belladonna halfway down, propped against the wall, peeling an apple with a dagger.

She didn’t look up as she drawled from the shadows, “Trouble in paradise, Kieran?”

He let his shoes clack loudly on the cobble, the sound echoing around them and down the alley. She cut him a sidelong glare at that. Kieran smirked.

“Quite the opposite actually.” He lied. He leaned a shoulder onto the icy wall next to her and crossed his arms against the gust that whistled down the tunnel.

Bella snorted, flicking a ribbon of apple skin onto the ground.

“Sure. How is the little detective?” She glanced up at him before popping a slice into her mouth.

Kieran had never known Bella to be soft. She was all nails and knives and venom with a temper to rival Lauren’s, but there was something in her eyes when she asked about his partner. Maybe soft wasn’t the right word, but the expression vanished before he found a better one.

“Stubborn as ever.” He admitted. “She couldn’t walk a straight line, but she still pulled a dagger on me and fought to leave.”

Or rather, she fought for him to stay. He wished he could’ve, though he was confident it would have led to one mistake after another.

Bella’s crimson lips quirked, “Hmm... quite the spitfire that one.” She pushed off the wall, punching Kieran in the shoulder as she stepped past him, “Just your type.”

She sauntered down the alley, and Kieran followed begrudgingly as he rubbed at the nerve Bella managed to nail.

“So, what’s the damage, Viper?” Kieran changed the topic, shaking the numbness from his fingers.

Bella waved her hand, “Taken care of. I got bored waiting for you.”

“Oh? No venom I hope.”

“Please. I’m not a child. No venom was used, no survivors from the location, and I eliminated the radio operators last night.”

“You missed a spot.” Kieran eyed her.

She turned; brows scrunched in irritation.

“Care to enlighten me, oh powerful Purple Hyacinth?”

He pointed behind her jaw, just under her right ear. A lone scarlet spatter.

Bella rolled her eyes, licked a finger, and wiped it away. “Never were a fan of parfum de sang, were you?”

“The Fourth was there.” Kieran carried on, scanning the rooftops and dark corners as they exited the alley.

“The Leader has been silent. I haven’t been summoned and no orders from any messengers… yet.” Bella responded with no shortage of boredom.

Kieran nodded. Could it have been part of the Leader’s plan all along? The Fourth knew Lauren was ‘the other half of Lune’ the implication was that he was her partner. But how had they found out? He had ensured there was no hard evidence linking him or Lauren to Lune before the factory explosion. As mole, the information he gave the Messenger steered them pointedly away from her. As archivist, he had practically scrubbed the 11^thprecinct’s records. All they had was speculation… and of course, him.

“So.” Bella crooned. She tossed the apple core over a shoulder, “When were you going to tell me you were Lune?”

Kieran shot her a flat look.

“I mean, come on!” she groused dramatically, “I thought we were buddies…”

“Buddies? You nearly killed me.”

“If you died, that would’ve been your fault, not mine.” She rebutted, picking at her perfectly manicured nails.

Kieran sucked his teeth and with a shake of his head insisted, “Lune is dead.”

“Would’ve been dead, if not for my beautifully executed rescue.” She vaunted with a singsong voice.

Kieran rolled his eyes and followed her into an abandoned café. He cleared the interior with a quick sweep of his eyes, paying extra attention to the doorway behind the counter that led to an entrance to the underworld. Bella picked her way around the shattered porcelain mugs and overturned bistro chairs. A result of the raids. Phantoms must have fled through this well-hidden exit in the choas.

The scent of bergamot and coffee welcomed him softly as he stepped inside. It took him back in time to the cafe where he first saw his partner. He had pitied for the poor sap she was with, had contemplated all the ways he would hold her attention if it were him sitting across from such a woman. If he were ever worthy of it.

Then there was the evening of her promotion. Kieran had perhaps leaned too far into his role of “boyfriend”, but he genuinely wanted to celebrate her, spend time with her. It was so easy, effortless, barely a ruse anymore. And her smile… he hadn’t picked up a paintbrush in years, but he couldn’t stop himself from contemplating the color palette, the brushstrokes, how he might capture that joy in her eyes.

He blinked the memory away, realizing he rarely had a single thought that was not drenched in the color of her.

He was in trouble.

“Now’s the part you ask me how I know.” Bella rapped her nails over the counter, flicking coffee beans to the floor.

Kieran just stared at her, waiting.

“You suck the fun out of everything.”

He glanced pointedly at the back room and crossed his arms. Not a moment later, the shuffle of light footsteps confirmed his suspicion. Two children, Graychapel orphans by the looks of them, scurried around the counter and toward Bella. A girl no older than eight held a small bundle of flowers, snowdrops, and wrapped around their stems, concealed beneath her small hand, was a piece of paper.

The boy halted at the sight of Kieran. Sandy curls fell in front of his face. Beneath a flat cap, shrewd, cautious eyes too old to belong to a boy, inspected him. Kieran watched as the pink flush of exertion vanished from the young face. He inclined his head slightly in deference. The boy merely stared back.

“How lovely,” Bella cooed, “Thank you, darling girl.”

Kieran watched Bella crouch down for the girl with a kind curve to her mouth he knew few ever lived to see. A flash of gold passed between them when she accepted the flower. It was quick, but Kieran caught the silver that slipped from Bella’s fingers and into the girl’s pocket.

Knowing Bella, a small blade no doubt hung heavy at the girl’s hip. He pressed his lips together tightly.

The children left the way they came silently.

Kieran raised a brow, “Training some little mice, Bella?”

She shrugged, “Someone needs to feed those kids. And no one is more observant than the overlooked and abandoned. They were the ones that squeaked about Lune anyway.”

“Fine. I’ll bite.” Kieran exhaled, crossing his arms again.

“Pity you haven’t put it together already. It was the Detective March of course. He didn’t only sabotage the APD’s mission on the docks. He bugged his own office, ensured your Detective would be working there so he could monitor every step of her investigation on Greene’s death and the Devil’s Den. And you were the fool to meet her there and talk about your partnership.”

The blood drained out of Kieran’s body. His arms falling to his sides.

“That means he – “

“- Also gave away her safehouse location to Zephyr on the night he knew every APD officer would be otherwise occupied, yep.”

‘No… that’s impossible… I’ve known March for years, he lost his wife to the Phantom Scythe.’

Kieran had been skeptical of the man, but Lauren had full confidence in March. He’d noted their relationship at the precinct. He was a mentor, well respected, and fair. Lauren looked up to him, he took her under his wing, guarded her from Herman’s injustices. He hadn’t exchanged more than a handful of words with the Senior Detective, yet he felt the betrayal like a blade in his spine. And Lauren… He hadn’t had the chance to tell her how everything went down with him.

How the hell was he going to explain it to her?

How the hell had he been so stupid?

It truly was entirely his fault.

Kieran took a step back, running a hand through his hair.

“As of now, Redcliff’s ball is still on. I’ve held off killing him like you asked, but I’m losing my patience.” Bella’s tone was grating, sibilant.

A headache brewed behind his brows, and Kieran pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead, “They’re keeping him alive for a reason Bella. There’s something we aren’t seeing.”

“I don’t care.” She snarled.

“Then go!” He snapped back, “Kill him. Flee the city with Neyra and go!”

He spat it like an insult, but in truth, he was jealous. Bitter after witnessing their reunion. In all the years he’d known her, he had never seen Bella shed a tear. Though once she spotted her lover alive and well, the Viper had dropped her blades and had sobbed. She had barely taken a step forward before sinking to her knees in relief, forcing Neyra to rush to her side. He knew then she’d run for her, and Neyra would stay hidden for Bella in turn. They would go against their nature for the other’s sake. He understood as they held each other and kissed and wept that it was love and it didn’t matter Bella was an assassin and Neyra a spy.

“Are you calling me a coward?”

“This isn’t your fight.” He fired at her, “you said yourself you’d turn me in once I was stupid enough to betray the Leader.”

“You did that well enough yourself. And now you’ve dragged me into it over a life debt. You made it my fight.”

Kieran scoffed, “What would you have me do? Continue the massacres? Leave her in that pit?”

Bella pushed off the counter, strode toward him in that predatory way of hers, “There was a time when you promised to toss her in that pit yourself. You’re asking my opinion? I’d have you be smarter regarding her. You’re going soft, getting slow, weak. If you want her to stay alive, the massacres are going to continue, and they’re going to be on your ledger, not the Leader’s.”

She stalked around him like a shark, and Kieran turned to guard his back.

“You’ve fallen in love with her, haven’t you?”

Kieran didn’t utter a word.

“But you believe she doesn’t feel the same? Or you don’t deserve it? Is that what this is all about?”

He clenched his jaw painfully.

Bella chuckled mockingly, “That’s why you’ve been so recklessly sentimental? You’re in your head about something as trivial as affections?” She said the word like it was a bug she crunched under her heel.

“Easy for you to say, Viper.” He hissed.

The afternoon light slinked in lazily through the café’s shabby curtains, illuminating the shift in her eyes. They sharpened, the lines around her mouth tightening into a disappointed frown.

“You’re blind. You’re lovesick and blind.” Bella shook her head and unrolled the paper in her hand, “You’ve always been a fatalist Kieran. You know as well as I do that people like us never have happy endings. In our world, you find anything to love, and you let it kill you. If it’s the good ‘ole fight, then so be it. If it’s a woman who sees you as the assassin you are… well, at least its poetic.”

She lifted the delicate winter blossoms to her nose, concealing her faint smile as she read the note.

“What’s it say.” He asked through his teeth.

“That I look ravishing today.” She tucked it into her pocket with a smug look, “Get your own mice.”

Kieran scowled, “I don’t use children.”

She rolled her eyes, “Does your ass hurt from being on your high horse all day?”

“No more than your feet hurt from those ungodly heels.” He retorted halfheartedly.

Kieran had let that little bit of wisdom roll off his back. He loathed to admit it, but Bella was right. There was nothing left for him to love, so he had sought the barest form of fulfillment in his hunt for revenge, stealing pieces of beauty and love to remind him it was worth it. He wanted it to kill him in the end, felt it appropriate. But Lauren… Lauren was the knife in his chest that he craved. Dying at her hands would be a beautiful thing, a peaceful thing. It would be painless to drown in those starlit eyes, wondering if perhaps she was his ending all along. He could leave this world content that the sole intimacy between them was his life in her hands and that perhaps… she understood him.

Living for her would kill him slowly. A thousand welcomed cuts to bleed him dry.

Just being near her felt like staring into the sun. A warm, forbidden, agonizing desire. No matter how much he wished to, he could never leave his shadows behind and step into her world. He wanted to be a man that deserved her.

That was impossible.

So if fighting beside her would be his demise, then Bella was right, at least it would be what had finally made him feel alive. He’d be smiling as he went.

And if she called him back to her, as she had in that burning factory, he’d slay the reaper too. There was nothing he wouldn’t do.

He’d stand beside her, in this life and any other.

He’d never step into her light; he’d happily be the dark side of her moon.

Bella had been watching him. Kieran supposed she saw more then she’d ever let on. When she spoke again her voice was stony, calculating.

“Redcliff’s ball has been postponed a week. A masquerade.” She pulled a single snowdrop from the cluster,  twirled the thin stem between her fingers, “A perfect theme for a little fun. Don’t ya think Mister PH?”

Kieran lifted his chin and said with a cutting grin, “Sounds like my kind of party.”

Their gazes clashed. Despite their differences, the Viper and the Hyacinth dwelled in the same poisoned garden. Both were noxious when mishandled, and each had suffered enough for several lifetimes. Their handlers had tried to break them, but instead, they took those shattered pieces of themselves and sharpened them into weapons. Filed nails into talons, honed senses to a point, whetted wit into razors.

Having crawled through the shards of their own brokenness, their skin was thicker, nerveless, monstrous. Everything beneath irrevocably ruthless. The taste for retribution was burned onto their tongues like the acid they were fed. That gleeful venom in the Viper’s eyes warned there was not a merciful bone left in her body.  Kieran knew his eyes were a mirror to hers, a shuddering avidity in his chest that he welcomed with a grin.

Bella’s lips curled slowly, wickedly, “Get your little detective on the mend. I have use of her.”

His grin widened. He could see it now. Lauren and Bella would be a force of nature. Add Kym Ladell into the equation, even Neyra, and the sweet chaos they would bring down upon the Phantom Scythe would rattle the foundation of this city.

It was then that Kieran recognized the expression Bella wore when she spoke of his partner. Revere. A mutual ire for what she endured. He knew from experience that wasn’t easily earned. Bella knew better than anyone what exactly was done to Lauren. He hadn’t been able to steady his hands when he attempted to help her, fumbling with rags and bandages, too overwhelmed with all the blood to know where to start. Bella had shoved him out of the way, told him to get a grip or go kill something. He met with her friends instead like he was supposed to. He’d never stop being grateful to the Viper for sparing him that full knowledge.

“We’ll talk soon.” She sang as she strutted to the door, “Lock it up K. No more sloppy mistakes. Remember, I know where you hide.” She winked over a shoulder.

Kieran hadn’t finished rolling his eyes before his blood ran cold.

That night in March’s office.

‘They were this close to using his ball for the Parley.’

If the device had recorded their entire conversation –

‘Let’s go to the cave to work on it.’

Kieran’s head snapped in the direction of his partner. There were dozens of cave systems but if just one phantom tailed him while he was beside himself with grief and rage…

His heart stumbled over itself. It didn’t pick up its normal rhythm until his feet forced it to. He shoved past Bella without another word and tore through the city.