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14

Let The Games Begin

Hypothetical Question: Would you rather be trapped in a room with an aggressive puppy or a very polite crocodile?

Nate

"Nate," my father says, striding into the meeting room with self-importance that makes me want to grind my teeth. His suit is dark, much like mine, though his is straining at the seams from his beer gut. The grey shirt he wears is perhaps a size too small—though I'm sure he'd never admit to that. Shiny shoes squeaking on the polished floor, he stands across from me, arms folded, face hard.

He's gearing me up to take over the family business—again. It's a conversation we've had more times than I can count. And I make it clear every time: I have no intention of doing that. Who in their right mind wants to get into real estate? Certainly not me.

My father is a businessman through and through—rich, ruthless, and calculated. He thrives in contracts and handshakes, where power is measured in net worth and acquisitions.

Me?

I'm only cold when I'm hunting.

I care—more than I like to admit. I'd never fit into his world. I don't want to.

He looks me over with cold indifference. His brown eyes holding no warmth as he looks at his only son. His only living child.

"Father," I reply dryly, leaning back in the uncomfortable office chair like a petulant teenager, not the thirty-year-old man I am.

"There's a party this weekend for the company," he announces as if this is a surprise. "Your presence is expected."

I roll my eyes, the motion almost instinctual at this point. "Of course. What's this one for?"

"The merger with Gardner Enterprise."

I perk up, unable to hide my interest. "Simon Gardner?" I ask, trying to keep my tone neutral, though my pulse quickens.

"Yes," my father replies, narrowing his eyes slightly as if trying to read me. The wrinkles on his pale face crinkle with the action.

Perfect. That's perfect. Gardner's going to be there.

"Can I bring a date?" I blurt out before I can stop myself.

My father freezes, his body rigid as if I'd suggested burning the family empire. "A date?" he repeats, his tone sharp with disbelief.

"Yes." I meet his gaze evenly, deciding to push forward. "I'm seeing someone. I want to bring her." I don't call her my girlfriend because the word feels far too trivial to describe what Carina is to me—or, at least, what she's becoming.

Whenever she messages me, my heart lights up like a lovesick idiot. She's utterly captivating—smart, funny, terrifyingly competent. Watching her exact revenge on Robert was exhilarating. Her dark, poetic justice mesmerised me, but the softer moments—her teasing texts, the glint of mischief in her eyes—hooked me.

I haven't seen her in the past week—since I ‘bumped’ into her at Starbucks. I've been too busy with work, and I miss her presence more than I care to admit. It was nice to spend my Saturday just sitting and listening to her talk. A reprieve from my usual routine of working and stalking. Or murdering, when the urge arises (which is often).

My father clears his throat, his expression carefully guarded. "This... woman," he begins, his words slow and deliberate, "is she appropriate for an event of this magnitude?"

I can't stop my simpering grin. If only he knew. "She's perfect."

My mind flashes to her now—her sharp wit, how her lips curl when she's amused, the fire that burns behind her eyes when she's angry or determined. She's unlike anyone I've ever met. Carina is fire wrapped in beauty.

I can't get enough of her.

"What's her name?" my father demands, breaking me from my thoughts.

I hesitate momentarily, savouring how her name feels on my tongue. "Carina."

He frowns, clearly unimpressed. "Fine. But don't embarrass the family, Nate. This merger is crucial."

I wave him off, calculating how I will convince Carina to come.

As my father leaves the room, I pull out my phone, thumbing through our messages. There's one from last night.

Queen Carina : What do you think? Sharp enough?

She'd sent a picture of the knife she'd just cleaned—casual, as if she were discussing dinner plans.

Daddy Death : Sharp enough to cut through bone, maybe. What's it for?

Queen Carina : Research ;)

I grin, texting her quickly.

Daddy Death : Want to crash a party with me? SG will be there.

Her reply comes almost instantly.

Queen Carina : Do I get to bring my knives?

Daddy Death : Only if you promise to behave.

Queen Carina : No promises.

Saturday night rolls around, and it's time for the merger party. Or is it a murder party? I get confused.

I pull outside Carina's place and hurry toward her door, feeling absurdly eager. Like a dog that's just been released from the kennel and knows it's about to be reunited with its owner. Let's hope I don't start jumping on her. Though maybe I'll pee on her. You know, mark my territory.

The door swings open, and my mind empties.

Fuck. Me.

Her dress is the same pink shade as her hair—a light pastel colour that makes her look far more innocent than she is. It hugs her breasts, dipping down into a low V at the centre, giving me a front-row seat to her cleavage. It continues down, flat against her hips, then flares out towards the bottom where it rests just above the ground, a high slit up her thigh teasing the hell out of me.

My thoughts derail completely.

Why are we leaving this house?

She's got her hair in some updo, in a loose bun at the back of her head, wispy bits of hair framing her perfect face. It looks effortless, but I bet it took forty-five minutes and an existential crisis to get right.

This is almost as hot as seeing her covered in blood after a good murder. Almost. But… not quite.

There's something about Carina fresh from a kill—breathless, wild-eyed, drenched in someone else's life.

Gets my dick stirring every time.

I pull her into my arms, my hands grabbing her hips, and burrow my face into her neck, breathing in her scent—fresh daisies.

I hold Carina's hand as I help her into my BMW X5—a ridiculously over-the-top gift from my father that screams, I have money but zero originality —before jogging around to the driver's side.

"Ready for this?" I ask, keeping my tone casual and my nerves buried under my attempt at confidence.

"I think so." She's studying her hands, her fingers twisting together like they might unlock some secret to avoiding the night ahead.

"What's wrong?"

"Just... nervous about being around so many people."

Her honesty blindsides me. "You? Nervous?" I say, my voice pitching up in disbelief. I can't help it—this is the woman who tortured and killed a man with nothing but a knife the other week and acted like it was a minor inconvenience.

She lets out a breath so long it sounds like she's deflating. "The last time I was around so many people, I was being sold for auction."

Oh. Shit.

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. My grip tightens on the steering wheel, and I feel this white-hot rage bubbling up. I knew she'd been through hell—she's hunting down the men responsible, for God's sake—but sold ? Like some kind of property?

And then it hits me.

Oh my God, I told her I own her.

My stomach drops. My face must look like I've just seen a ghost because I've just become the human embodiment of regret. Of all the things to say to someone who's been through that , I chose that .

"You're safe with me," I manage to say, though my brain is screaming at me to dig a hole and crawl into it. "I'd never let anything happen to you." I glance at her, trying to gauge her reaction. "I didn't scare you when I got, uh… possessive the other day, did I? Because you know I didn't mean it like that."

God, Nate. Stop talking. Stop digging. Abort.

She turns to look at me, and I brace for impact.

"No.” There’s a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "You didn't scare me. You were... intense, but not in a bad way."

Relief floods me, but I'm not out of the woods. I make a mental note: Never say own to a woman. Ever again.

We pull up outside the venue, which is a fancy hotel I don't remember the name of. The valet holds Carina's door open, and I rush to give her my hand when she exits.

Immediately, the paparazzi start snapping images of us, and Carina cringes into my side. This was a terrible idea. I never stopped to think what this would do to her.

My face isn't often pictured about my father, and I don't broadcast my business in these circles. It makes my extracurricular activities easier if I don't have to navigate past lurking cameras. However, it's hard to avoid events like this. Another reason I hate going to them.

I shift my stance, keeping Carina shielded from the cameras. Steering her inside as fast as possible, I murmur against her ear.

"Doing so well, sweetheart." My voice is low, coaxing. "Gonna reward you later for being such a good girl."

Her spine straightens at that. The tension in her frame melts just a little.

By the time we step into the entrance, she's back.

Confident. In control.

Her eyes gleam with newfound determination.

"Can you pretend you didn't just see me like that?" Carina asks.

"Like what?" I ask, feigning ignorance with a playful smile.

"Thanks, Nate." She lets out a breath, relaxing further.

"Nathaniel!" my mother's sharp and commanding voice rings out as she strides into the grand entrance hall.

I barely have time to turn before she pulls me into a firm, almost crushing hug. Her perfume—some floral concoction—engulfs me, making breathing difficult. "It's good to see you too, mother," I mutter, patting her back awkwardly.

Her attention shifts instantly, her eyes landing on Carina. A wide smile spreads across her face, genuine but just a little too polished, like everything about her. "And you must be Carina!" she exclaims, reaching out to clasp Carina's hands. "Ed—that's Nathaniel's father—mentioned he was bringing a date. My goodness, look at you. You're absolutely stunning!"

Carina's lips twitch into a polite smile. "Thank you. It's nice to meet you."

"Where's dad?" I look around; he's never that far from my mother at these things.

"Oh, he couldn't make it in the end. But, no matter."

"Hang on. I had to be here, but he skipped out?" I can’t stop the disgruntled tone of my voice—even if I tried.

"He had other business to attend to," my mother defends.

"It's his company!" My voice rises, and my mother cuts me a sharp look. I sigh, "Let's just get this over with." At least being here serves a real purpose: ticking another name off Carina's list.

Simon Gardner did keep his private life hidden. I had no idea of the shit he was into. The twisted fuck has an entire house dedicated to keeping his sex slaves. He likes setting up games and keeping them strictly controlled so that he can punish them for the slightest infraction.

It took a lot of digging to uncover that information. I would never have suspected him if Carina had never told me his name.

We follow behind my mother into the grand conference room setup for a fancy party.

Let the games begin.

Carina

The party is finally winding down, the once-bustling ballroom thinning to a manageable crowd. Soft music hums in the background, blending with the faint clinking of glasses and the murmur of fading conversation. My shoulders ache from hours of forced smiles and polite small talk, but relief settles over me as the night's tension slowly ebbs away.

Nate stands beside me, his hand resting possessively on the small of my back. He hasn't left my side all evening—not even when his mother, Evelyn (as she insisted I call her), practically drags him toward the more influential guests. He'd humoured her with a charming smile but stayed close, leaning in whenever I spoke, his presence a quiet declaration.

Then I see him.

Simon.

Seeing him sends a sharp, burning heat through my veins—anger, dark and corrosive. I hate him. I hate how easily he laughs and looks comfortable, oblivious to the danger creeping toward him. I've watched him all evening, tracking every movement, waiting. And now, as the night dwindles, it's finally time for the fun to begin.

"You survived," Nate murmurs, his voice cutting through the fog of exhaustion and rage.

I glance up at him, lips quivering into a wry smile. "Barely. Is this what you do for fun? Talk to middle-aged men about mergers and stock portfolios?"

He chuckles, the sound low and intimate, sending an unwelcome shiver down my spine. "Not exactly my idea of a wild night, no. But you handled it like a pro. Even my mother is impressed."

"High praise," I tease, rolling my eyes. "She looked ready to throw me to the wolves when we arrived."

"She's like that with everyone," Nate says, his hand sliding from my back to my waist, drawing me a fraction closer. "But by the end of the night, she couldn't stop gushing about how 'perfect' you are."

I snort softly, shaking my head. "Perfect? Hardly."

Nate turns me to face him, the teasing glint in his eyes dimming into something heavier, something that makes my breath catch. "You're wrong," he murmurs, voice deep and deliberate. "You were incredible tonight. And not just with my mother or the endless parade of business blowhards. You walked into a room full of sharks and didn't let them see a hint of fear."

My throat tightens, emotions twisting beneath my skin. "You stayed with me the whole time," I say, voice barely above a whisper. "That helped."

"Because I wanted to." His fingers brush against mine, a fleeting touch that sends warmth curling in my stomach. Then, with a smirk, he threads his fingers through mine. "Come on. Let's get out of here. You're tired of pretending to care about these people."

A soft laugh escapes me. "You have no idea."

"We have revenge to enact anyway."

It doesn't take much convincing Simon to join Nate for a late-night drive. He spun some excuse about the merger, I’m still not entire sure what the two companies do, too dull for me to pay attention to. I probably should have but business deals bore me. Besides, the only detail that matters is where the night is leading.

Meanwhile, Kai and I take a different route—the direct one.

Kai picked me up from the hotel, and now we're here, deep in the woods at Nate's infamous murder cabin. A secluded, forgotten stretch of wilderness where Simon's screams will carry no further than the walls around us.

I let out a slow breath, anticipation curling in my chest.

Time to make him suffer.

I stand tall in the dimly lit room beside the chair, where Simon will soon be tied and helpless. A slow smile tugs at my lips as I survey the space. The air feels charged, thick with anticipation of what's to come—like the cabin itself is holding its breath, waiting for the chaos to unfold.

I glance at my phone. Still nothing from Nate. Hopefully, that's a good sign. Instead, the screen glows with our messages from last night—a strange mix of playfulness and dark chemistry.

Daddy Death: Hypothetical question: Would you let me in if I showed up with pizza at 2 a.m.?

Queen Carina: Depends. What kind of pizza?

Daddy Death: Wow, no loyalty.

Queen Carina: Wow, no answer.

Daddy Death: Pepperoni.

Queen Carina: You're basic.

Daddy Death: You're judgy.

Queen Carina: You'd better have chicken strips too.

Daddy Death: Who do you think I am? Of course, there's chicken strips.

Queen Carina: Fine. I'd let you in.

Daddy Death: Noted.

Queen Carina: Wait, was this hypothetical?

Daddy Death: Depends. Are you wearing that cute little set of pyjamas again? The one with the penguins?

Queen Carina: How do you know about those?

Daddy Death: ;)

Queen Carina: I'll block you.

Daddy Death: You won't.

The memory makes me grin despite myself. Of course, Nate hadn't shown up with pizza in the middle of the night, which was reassuring and disappointing.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

Kai's voice cuts through my thoughts, pulling my gaze from my phone. He leans against the cabin wall, arms crossed, watching me with quiet amusement. It’s the first time I’ve really seen him without a scowl on his face.

"Enjoying what?"

"The revenge. The bloodshed," he says, eyeing me warily.

A flicker of warmth spreads through me with the knowledge that Kai doesn’t usually willingly initiate conversations with me.

"It's… exhilarating," I admit, rolling the word over my tongue, testing how it feels to say it out loud. "Seeing them in pain—just a fraction of what they put me through—yeah, I'm enjoying it."

Kai chuckles, shaking his head. "You and Nate are made for each other."

Unexpected pride warms my chest. We are, aren't we?

"Guessing you're not as big a fan?" I ask.

He shrugs. "It's not that. I agree with what we do, or I wouldn't help. And I'm good at it. But the violence part? That's never been my thing."

I tilt my head, curiosity creeping in. "Then why do you do this?"

Kai exhales, his gaze shifting toward the cabin's stark white ceiling. "My mother… she wasn't a good person," he begins, his voice quieter now. "I'm not going into details, but let's just say I get the desire for justice, especially when the system fails." His eyes flick back to mine. "You can probably relate."

A reminder that neither he nor Nate have uncovered the full scope of my past. A small victory. They've tried.

Kai smirks suddenly, shifting back into something lighter. "Plus, I'm great with computers. Which makes scrubbing CCTV footage of Nate prowling around that much easier."

I let out a soft chuckle, shaking my head at his dry humour, but the cabin door swings open before I can respond.

The temperature in the room shifts.

Nate steps inside, and my pulse kicks up when his eyes find mine. He doesn't need to say anything—his presence commands the space, his wicked grin promising something unholy.

"It's showtime," he murmurs, voice smooth, laced with anticipation.

My breath catches as Simon steps in behind him. He stares at the room, his expression shifting from confusion to unease. His throat bobs.

"What is this pla—Naomi?" he stammers, eyes widening in disbelief as he locks onto me. Then he turns to Nate, his voice rising. "What is this?"

I don't react to the name. Not yet.

"Sit down, Simon." My voice is cold and steady. A command.

Simon doesn't move. "What do you want from me?"

Nate moves so fast that it's almost supernatural. He's gripping Simon's shoulder in one sharp motion, forcing him into the chair.

"She said, sit." His tone is laced with quiet fury.

Simon flinches. The moment he realises what kind of situation he's in, his entire body stiffens.

Nate's gaze flicks to mine, and I read the silent message in his eyes. He heard what Simon called me. We'll be talking about it later.

I step closer, tilting my head, watching as Simon panics beneath the weight of my silence.

"What I want, Simon," I say finally, my voice soft, almost warm, a lie wrapped in silk, "is for you to no longer exist."

Simon stares at me, brain still struggling to catch up. "W… what?"

I nod toward Nate.

Before Simon can react, Nate slips behind him, tightening the restraints around his wrists. The chair groans under Simon's struggle, but it's useless.

This is happening.

And I can't wait to watch.

"I'm done talking, Simon." I stalk towards him, like a predator ready to pounce on its prey. "You don't deserve my time. I want you gone so that my mind can finally be free of you."

I go to unsheathe my knife from my thigh, but Nate stops me, handing me the pink knife that he stole from me when we first met. Okay, so I accidentally left it, but it's been months. He could have returned it.

I give it a little kiss to the smooth metal and whisper, "I missed you," to it. Simon's face pales, realising just how maniacal I am now. No longer the young girl with whom he twisted and toyed.

"Make it hurt, Princess," Nate whispers in my ear, his voice a dark caress. The warmth of his breath skims across my skin, sending a shiver down my spine.

A wicked grin spreads across my face as I glance back at him. "Oh, it's going to hurt."

With deliberate precision, I drag my knife downward, slicing through the fabric of Simon's shirt and the flesh beneath. Blood wells up, a deep crimson that spreads in uneven lines, and the sight sparks a deep, simmering exhilaration within me.

Simon's scream rips through the room, sharp and raw, echoing off the cabin walls.

"Go for his shoulder," Nate murmurs, his voice low and steady, a grounding force behind me.

I don't hesitate. The blade plunges into Simon's shoulder, the crunch of cartilage tearing beneath the steel like a symphony of vengeance. My chest tightens, not with guilt, but with exhilaration.

Simon's howl of pain only spurs me on; his anguish is a twisted kind of justice for all the damage he's done. Nate's hand brushes against mine briefly, a silent encouragement, his steady presence fuelling my determination.

This isn't just retribution. It's art. And I intend to make every stroke of it count.

Stepping back, I debate my next move. I have plans, ones I haven’t discussed yet with Nate. I’m not sure how he’ll feel about this next part—but I won’t change my mind.

When Simon had me, I was still a scared little girl. I hadn’t started to feel the rage yet, not in the way it consumes me now. I just did as I was told in the hopes it would make it better.

It didn’t.

My compliance meant he found new ways to make me scream. To make me beg for mercy.

“Boys,” I say, a little purr to my tone, “you might want to close your eyes for this next part.”

Three pairs of eyes snap to mine.

Nate quirks at eyebrow at me. “What are you planning in that pretty little head, Princess?”

I shrug. “I warned you,” I mutter as I kneel in front of Simon. The action a stark reminder of the many times I did this all those years ago. On my knees for my master.

I’m the master now.

I drop the knife to the floor, then slowly—methodically—undo Simon’s belt, lower his zip.

“Um, Princess?” Nate asks, his tone a mixture of curiosity and warning.

I don’t respond, instead focusing on my task.

Simon is squirming, and it’s making it difficult to remove his clothing, so I pick the knife back up and hack away until his shrivelled penis is before to me.

That’s what I was after.

Simon whimpers as I take his disgusting cock in my hand, wrapping my fingers around it almost lovingly.

“I’m really not sure how I feel about you caressing another man's dick,” Nate grumbles but he doesn’t move to stop me.

I twist my head back to see him watching me with wide eyes, fascination etched into his features. Kai is staring with a look of utter horror on his face.

“Please don’t do this!” Simon screams desperately as I bring the tip of my knife up to rest just shy of his balls.

Lifting my face up to him, I flutter my eyelashes innocently. “You used to love it when I would touch you here, Simon.” I add a pout for good measure.

Then—Without any more warning. I strike.

My knife cuts cleaning through the muscle, slicing his cock clean off. The howl of pain reverberates through the room before silence descends as he passes out.

I roll my eyes.

Weak.

Standing, I wipe my forehead of sweat and blood.

“That was….” Nate trails off as if lost for words.

“Gruesome? Unhinged? Terrifying?” Kai supplies for him.

“Hot,” is the word Nate settles on.

“Psycho’s,” Kai mutters shaking his head. His face is a little pale, like he’s not sure whether he’s going to throw up yet.

“How do we wake him up?” I ask, smiling sweetly at Nate.

Nate grasps Simon's shoulders and shakes him, slapping his face as he starts groaning.

“Wakey wakey,” he sing-songs.

Simon’s eyes open and he starts screaming from the pain once again. Nate looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to decide what to do next. He might be the expert, but I’m the one in charge here.

I’m still holding Simon's bloodied penis, so I step forward, keeping it tightly in my gasp. Simon squirms, pleading for this to end.

Soon .

Nate stands behind him, a steady presence, as I shove the penis into Simon's gasping mouth.

He groans around it, trying to spit it out as he makes garbled noises, but Nate's hand locks around his jaw, pushing it closed.

“Chew,” I command.

Simons tries to shake his head, his eyes pleading, tears dribbling down his cheeks.

I repeat, “Chew.”

He does as instructed, with some force from Nate.

Then promptly throws up, narrowly missing me with his vomit spew.

“Well, that’s disgusting,” I say, wrinkling my nose up in disgust.

The door to the cabin slams and I look around to see that Kai is now missing.

Guess he has a weak stomach.

I hold my knife out to Nate, a silent invitation. The grin that spreads across his face is wickedly captivating, sparking a rush of butterflies in my stomach. Seeing him so alive in his element makes it impossible to look away.

He doesn't hesitate, taking the blade from my hand and stepping forward. He moves like an artist at work, slashing and stabbing Simon's skin with precision, never hitting anywhere fatal—yet. His joy is unnerving and enthralling all at once.

Simon's screams echo through the cabin, raw and guttural, but they don't faze Nate. He only stops when Simon's head slumps forward, his body now a grotesque canvas of crimson streaks and splatters.

With satisfaction carved into his face, Nate turns back to me, pressing the knife into my palm. His fingers linger a beat too long, a silent reminder of the power in my hands.

"Don't want to lose this again," he murmurs, his voice rich with something unspoken.

I step closer to Simon, gripping his bloodied chin and forcing his head up with firm fingers. His skin is clammy, and his breath comes in shallow gasps. His eyes flutter open, clouded with pain and fear.

My smile is cold. Empty. A mirror of everything he deserves.

"La morte è troppo clemente per te 1 ," I whisper, my voice a silken promise of his end.

Then, with a clean, deliberate motion, I drag the blade across his throat.

A sharp, wet sound fills the air as his body jerks, blood spurting in violent streams, splattering my pale pink dress. I feel the warmth of it soaking into the fabric, the sharp scent of copper filling my lungs.

For a moment, everything is still.

Then I glance down at the ruined dress, half-regretting the loss of such a pretty outfit—until I notice Nate's eyes.

The way they rake over me, dark and burning with feral hunger, sends a shiver down my spine.

"You look so fucking hot right now," he murmurs, stepping forward.

His thumb brushes my cheek, wiping away a streak of blood.

I was right about him. He's sick.

And I love it.

Nate leans in, his breath warm against my lips. The air crackles, thick with something primal, something dangerous. He's about to close the distance when— "Oh, don't mind me while you eye-fuck each other over a corpse," Kai drawls.

The tension shatters.

Nate exhales a frustrated groan, his gaze snapping toward the doorway where Kai stands, arms crossed, mouth curled downwards.

"I was going to do more than that," Nate mutters, running a hand through his hair.

"Gross," Kai replies, scrunching his nose in disgust. He tosses a bag at me. "Here. I brought you clothes.

“You good?” I ask, nodding my head to the door he just came back through.

He inhales sharply. “Fine. Just didn’t need to see that.

“Go change, then get out of here." The shove he gives my shoulder is light, barely a nudge—but it earns him a warning growl from Nate.

In the bathroom, I splash water over my face, getting rid of the worst of the blood, then replace my ruined dress with the joggers and oversized hoodie Kai brought. They don't smell like Nate. They aren't his.

The fabric is too big, and the hoodie is swallowing me whole.

I step back into the room, and the moment I do, I know something is wrong.

Nate stands rigid; shoulders squared; his entire body coiled with barely restrained fury.

For a split second, I think I've done something wrong.

Then I realise his anger isn’t aimed at me.

"Why is she wearing your clothes?" Nate's voice is low and venomous as he stalks toward Kai.

Kai leans against the wall, hands up like he's warding off an attack. "It was all I had!"

Nate's glare is sharp enough to carve into bone. His gaze flicks back to me, and though it softens, there's no mistaking the warning in his voice when he says, "I don't like it."

"Nate," I say, stepping closer to him, trying to calm the storm. "The quicker I get home, the quicker I can get these clothes off me."

That grabs his attention. He exhales a long breath, the tension leaving his shoulders as he steps back from Kai, who looks like he's just had a brush with death.

Without another word, Nate takes my hand and leads me out of the cabin, not sparing so much as a glance—or a thank you—for Kai.

"Make sure to burn your suit!" Kai shouts after us, his voice laced with exasperation.

I throw him a small wave before the door clicks shut behind us, leaving the chaos of the cabin behind.

He's warming up to me.