Dane entered Amelia's room quietly, the door clicking softly shut behind him. The outfit she'd left for him fit better than expected: a black tunic with silver trim and pants more akin to trousers, expensive boots that fit like a second skin, making him look older. Every bit the reluctant noble that he was. It didn't match the dead-eyed piercing stare. Amelia stood by the hearth, one hand resting on the mantel. She didn't look at him right away. Her face was drawn, not with exhaustion, but with the effort of restraint.

  "You look better," she said at last.

  "You picked it out," Dane tried to lighten the mood. Amelia seemed irritated by his response.

  "I meant less like a feral dungeon rat and more like someone who uses forks."

  Dane cracked a faint smile. "We'll work on spoons next."

  "Sit down," she said, more sharply than she meant to. "This isn't small talk."

  He listened, and the atmosphere grew more tense. They'd tried to kill each other yesterday. Her arrow had struck him clean in the eye; His knife had pressed so close to her throat she'd felt the heat of his breath right before Ada's spell shimmered to life between them. Lifeward was one of Ada's blessings; neither deserved it then.

  "You were holding back," Dane said quietly. "With the bow."

  She laughed a short, humorless sound. "You weren't. That blade almost found a home."

  "I didn't use the blade until the end," Dane said.

  "That wasn't a spar, Dane." Amelia's voice dropped to a whisper. "It was a test."

  "Did I pass?" he asked.

  "I'm still deciding." There should've been a smile, a tease, something light to break the tension. Instead, only the same quiet resolve as yesterday remained.

  They let the silence sit with things that hadn't been said and couldn't be undone. Then Amelia exhaled slowly, and her voice dropped into something more cautious, almost afraid.

  "I received a system quest last night. A direct offer from the Emperor."

  Dane tensed, but said nothing.

  "You are a blind spot, something that should not be possible," she continued. "The first floor is where all of the inheritors are sent. You were meant to go through the tutorial, but that threatened Red Rage Forrest's incursion. You were meant to be one of the Emperor's Earthbound Champions to prove if your species was worthy of being brought into the Empire and fighting in the expansion wars. Something happened; you changed. It requested surveillance and reports. It wants you dead."

  "Did it tell you why?" Dane asked, probing if she knew about his modified race.

  "It did not say. But, I put together that you are no longer the Emperor's champion... I haven't accepted the quest."

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  He studied her. "Why tell me at all?"

  "I'm not sure." She looked away. "Because I don't want to be a tool. Because you haven't treated me like one."

  "No," Dane said. "You're a person."

  "That's the problem," she said.

  She stepped closer, not meaning to, until only the low table between them separated them. The warmth from the hearth caught the faint scar beneath his left eye. She remembered seeing it up close yesterday, right before she loosed the arrow. She remembered how the tension in his arm promised he'd do it, that he would kill her. And she'd let him get close enough to try. Now they were here, too close.

  "She's sleeping," Amelia said, voice barely above a whisper.

  Dane didn't ask who.

  "Ada," she clarified. "She saved both of us yesterday. And she's sleeping in the next room."

  He looked at the door, and regret bloomed on his face. "I know."

  "I shouldn't have brought you in here."

  "I walked in." He said.

  She looked up, and for a moment, the firelight painted warmth on the cold stone floor where there shouldn't have been any. His eyes didn't wander—not to her bandages, not to the still-healing bruises. He just looked at her like she wasn't broken.

  Amelia's hand twitched at her side. Almost searching for an anchor. None of this seemed real, between slave bonds and system quests. She couldn't move.

  "You're a conundrum," she said. "You tried to kill me."

  They were quiet for a while; neither moved, and Amelia kept her good eye on the man before her.

  "I don't trust you," she said at last.

  "Then don't," Dane replied. "Just don't lie to me."

  That hurt more than if he'd said, Trust me, anyway. His words matched how he fought, a blend of earnest intent and cunning, weaving a trap she may fall into. It didn't change the understanding that they were still enemies in the Emperor's eyes, still on a battlefield with invisible lines. The quest was still active and waiting for a reply. She looked down at her hand again, then back up at him.

  "Promise me something," she said. "If I do accept it...if I have to..."

  "I won't blame you," Dane said. "Not for surviving."

  A knot in her chest loosened that she didn't know was there until he said that. He turned to leave, giving her an exit and the space to choose without a witness. But just before he crossed the threshold, Amelia spoke again.

  "Dane?"

  He paused.

  "Do you believe that I'm still whole?"

  "Yes."

  Dane didn't move.

  His hand rested on the doorknob, but he didn't turn it. Something in Amelia's voice had stopped him. Not the words exactly, but the way she'd said them, like a cry for help practiced for weeks. Behind him, he heard the quiet creak of her boots as she stepped closer, slowly, as if afraid the world would shatter.

  "I don't want to return to who I was before your binding," Amelia said. "But I don't know who I'm supposed to be, either."

  Dane turned. Not all the way, just enough to see her over his shoulder.

  "You think I do?" he asked.

  "No," she admitted. "But I think you're trying."

  Their eyes met again, and the silence filled with everything they couldn't say. The confession of the quest, the weight of past violence, the rawness of near-death, the sleep-warmed shape of Ada just behind a wall too thin for his guilt.

  Amelia's fingers twitched again at her side.

  "Your eyes…" she murmured.

  "What about them?"

  "They're too clear. Like the world hasn't touched you."

  "It has," Dane said. "I am as hollow as the dungeon, Amelia."

  Amelia gave a humorless laugh, short, almost a breath. "Are all Earthbound as tragically poetic?"

  He didn't deny it or respond. More time passed, and he finally let go of the doorknob, facing her fully.

  "There's a line," Dane said quietly. "We're both pretending we haven't seen it."

  "I'm not pretending," she replied. "I'm just not sure which side I'm on."

  He stepped forward, and the space between them shrank. Not in size, in meaning.

  "I can't cross it," he said.

  Her breath caught. It wasn't exactly disappointment she felt. It was something crueler. The kind of feeling that made her despise herself for wanting him to lie.

  "I'll erase the quest," she said, barely audible. "The Emperor won't like it, but I will."

  He gave the slightest nod.

  "Then we're even," Dane said.

  "For now."

  His hand rose and hovered over her disfigured face. Dane could now see her beauty, not just the physical attraction he had felt for her when they first met, but the woman beneath the scouting fatigues and the teeth so sharp, ready to lash out at anything. Dane had made many mistakes, and she would not be one of them tonight. He began to cycle time mana, and the purple hue lit up Amelia's face. He hesitated, then placed it on her face.

  "Dane, what are you doing?" Amelia questioned.

  Her eyes fluttered closed, and a sharp pain cut through the tenderness. She kept her eyes shut, the first sign of their budding trust.

  When she opened them, he was already stepping away. When he reached the door this time, she didn't stop him. But she watched him leave. Every step until the soft click of the latch left her alone again.

  She returned to the vanity, caught her reflection, and Damnit, not a third time.