"People who eventually accept something terrible done to them without seeking payback are just lazy." ― A.D. Aliwat (In Limbo)

* * * *

To say that Eric was surprised would be an understatement. His jaw had all but gone slack when Kailey stumbled into the Delbrück Music Café with Jonan half-draped over her shoulder, bloodied and barely conscious.

"You're…" Eric narrowed his eyes slightly as the door slammed shut behind them. The bells above barely gave a chime. "I recognise you."

Kailey didn't look up. Her breathing was shallow but firm, her arms locked around Jonan as if willing his life to stay with her through sheer force. "I need help," she said, her voice tight with urgency. "Please."

Eric blinked again, this time recognising her in earnest—the same girl who always came in on the first Thursday of every month, when Jonan's band played. The same girl who always sat in the back left corner near the dusty vinyl shelves. The one Jonan tried, awkwardly and with charming persistence, to talk to after every gig, much to his bandmates' amusement.

Now here she was. Her hair damp from the fog outside, her shoulders trembling not with exhaustion, but with resolve. Carrying a bleeding man.

Eric's gaze dropped to Jonan, and his breath hitched. "Jonan?"

"I found him not far from here," Kailey said, her voice barely above a whisper.

The café was empty. Chairs were still upturned on the tables. Dust motes hovered lazily in shafts of light filtering through the frosted windows. No music played from the ancient record player in the corner. It was the first time Kailey had ever seen the place so quiet, so…dead.

Eric didn't waste another second. "Never mind what happened. Come on." He moved to Jonan's side, carefully shifting the man's weight from Kailey to himself, moving with surprising strength. "Upstairs. Let's get him off his feet."

Kailey followed silently, her boots dragging slightly on the old wood as Eric led them up the narrow staircase that creaked with every hurried step. Her heart beat wildly, not just from the adrenaline of dragging Jonan through nearly two blocks of empty Damarel, but from the storm of thoughts battering her mind.

Jonan is ESA. Their enemies. And yet here she was, carrying him. Saving him.

'What on earth am I doing?' Kailey wanted to know.

They reached the upper floor—an old apartment space converted into a series of makeshift rooms. Eric nudged open a door with his foot, revealing a small, sparsely furnished bedroom. A bed with a faded navy duvet. A reading lamp. And a single wooden chair by the desk.

Eric eased Jonan onto the bed with practiced care. Kailey stood by the door, her fingers clenched into the sides of her jacket, watching as Eric stripped Jonan's coat and lifted the blood-soaked hem of his shirt.

That's when they saw it—a seeping gunshot wound on Jonan's left side, just beneath the ribs.

"Shit," Eric muttered. "He needs a hospital. Not even I can patch this up."

"No…hospital…" Jonan rasped, his voice hoarse and frayed with pain.

Kailey stepped forward, kneeling by the bed. "Do you have tweezers? Sharp scissors? Needle and thread? Alcohol, too?"

Eric turned to her, surprise flickering behind his eyes. "You know how to treat a gunshot wound?"

Kailey met his gaze evenly. "If you get me what I need, I can take care of it."

There was a long pause before Eric nodded once, then straightened. "I won't ask anything." He moved toward the door. "Hang tight."

And then he was gone.

For a moment, the room was filled only with the faint, uneven sound of Jonan's breathing. His eyes cracked open, barely. Kailey hadn't moved, crouched at his side like a ghost caught between decision and consequence.

"…My phone," he croaked, his voice barely audible. "Can you…get it?"

Kailey blinked, then reached for his coat. Her fingers fumbled briefly before they slipped into the inner pocket. She found it, a scratched but still functioning communicator, and pulled it free. As she did, she hesitated, eyes falling back onto the coat. That same coat.

The one the intruder wore.

The one she saw during the Veridale mission.

Her fingers clenched around the device before she silently walked over to hand it to him. Jonan took it with trembling hands and pressed a familiar speed dial. The line clicked almost instantly.

"Jonan?! Where the hell are you?" Allen's voice was sharp and frantic.

"Allen…" Jonan breathed out, sinking into the pillows. "Listen… I need you to make excuses for me or something. I… I got shot."

Silence.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU GOT SHOT?!"

"I don't have time to explain now," Jonan whispered, his eyes briefly fluttering toward Kailey. "Just…tell Lucas I'm sick. Or hungover. Just… Just something."

"Do you need help?!" Allen's voice had dropped in pitch, the concern now etched in every syllable.

"No," Jonan replied, his gaze still locked on Kailey. "Someone's with me."

There was a pause. A knowing silence on the other end.

"…Jo. Where are you?"

Jonan closed his eyes. "Damarel. Delbrück Music Café."

"I'll be there in three hours."

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

The line went dead.

Kailey said nothing. Neither did Jonan.

The silence settled like a heavy blanket until Eric returned, arms full with a steaming basin, a clean towel, a rustling bag of supplies, and a glass bottle of clear alcohol. He set everything down by the desk and pulled the towel from the bundle.

"He'll need something to bite on while you're working," Eric said softly, holding the towel up. His eyes locked with hers—firm, unwavering, and old. "I'll be downstairs. I'll keep watch. You won't be disturbed."

Kailey nodded, brushing a strand of damp hair from her eyes.

When the door shut again, she rolled up her sleeves.

She doused the needle, scissors, and tweezers in alcohol, setting them on the nightstand beside her. Her hands trembled, not from fear, but from sheer awareness of what she was about to do. She hadn't treated a bullet wound for anyone that isn't part of Aegis.

"You ever had a bullet taken out before?" Kailey asked softly.

Jonan offered a grim smile. "No. But I watched my teammate get treated for one. Screamed the whole time."

Kailey's lips quirked upward just barely. "I don't have anaesthetic. So yeah. It's going to hurt." Jonan nodded. She handed him the towel. "Bite on this."

Jonan didn't argue.

What followed was slow, excruciating work. She cut into the flesh gently, trying to ignore how he twitched and stiffened beneath her hands. His breath hissed past clenched teeth, muffled by the towel. His knuckles were white as he gripped the bedsheet.

Kailey's hands moved with careful, deliberate precision, despite the blood, and despite the sweat pooling along his brow. Her Gift was with water and healing, but even her abilities needed the foreign object removed before she could do anything. Her hands were slick and trembling, but steady.

She found the bullet embedded deep near the rib. It took nearly forty minutes of careful manoeuvring to extract it. Blood smeared her gloves. Her breath was quick and short, a sheen of sweat forming at her temple.

When she finally stitched him up, thread passing through torn flesh with precision and care, he'd long since passed out, the towel soaked and his jaw slack with exhaustion.

Kailey sat back at last, wiping her brow. Her hands were aching. Her chest felt tight. She looked down at him, at this ESA agent. The man she had once laughed at in silence while sipping coffee in the corner of this very café. The man who now slept, pale and vulnerable, under her care.

"…Why must you be in the ESA?" Kailey whispered. She stood to leave, only to freeze as Jonan's hand latched onto her wrist.

"Kailey…"

"You're awake?" Her voice was hushed and unsure.

Jonan smiled faintly, his eyes half-lidded. "I had my suspicions…since I started seeing you here. You're not just someone from town, are you?" Kailey went still. "You're a Gifted," he murmured. "Aren't you part of Aegis?"

Kailey said nothing.

"I've been around enough Gifted to know when I meet one," Jonan said gently. "The way you move. The way you carry yourself. It all made sense tonight." He looked away. "Why did you save me? We're enemies, aren't we?"

"Do you think so lowly of me," Kailey asked, her voice cold and raw, "that I'd let someone die in front of me?"

Jonan flinched slightly. "Kailey…"

Kailey stepped back. "I should go. Eric will let you stay. Leave in the morning once you're strong enough."

Jonan grabbed her wrist again, this time tighter. "You know how I feel about you. I didn't exactly hide it." His voice was low. "Even if you're a Gifted… Even if you're Aegis… Can't you give me a chance?"

Kailey's mouth opened, but nothing came out at first. Her voice finally emerged, a quiet murmur. "I'm not good for you. Aegis… We're not just some rebel group." Her fingers trembled. "There are things happening. Horrible things. Things the hunters and the government are doing. We're trying to stop it."

"I know," Jonan said, his voice grim. "You think I don't know what Veridale was? I was there. I saw what they were doing to the Gifted. I saw what Nicolosi approved."

Kailey stared at him, her eyes wide.

"I know Aegis blew it up," Jonan added softly. "I don't blame you."

Kailey looked away. Her voice cracked. "…Rest well. For your sake, let's not meet again."

And she left, the door closing behind her with a soft click.

* * * *

The stairs creaked softly under Kailey's slow steps as she descended from the upper level of Delbrück Music Café, the warmth of the upstairs room still clinging to her clothes like the ghost of a forgotten embrace.

Her hands were cold. Not from the spring chill that lingered stubbornly over the cobblestone streets of Damarel, but from something deeper. Uncertainty, maybe. Guilt. Fear. Confusion.

She could still feel the rough edge of the bandages she'd wrapped around Jonan's torso. Still remember the tremor in his voice when he whispered her name—Kailey, as if saying it could pull him from the brink.

He knows now, she thought. He knows everything.

As she reached the bottom floor, the café stretched before her like a memory. It was jarringly quiet.

No warm hum of conversation, no bursts of laughter, no clatter of plates or soft strum of a guitar. It was strange. Wrong, even.

Delbrück Music Café was a place of rhythm, of soul, of healing melodies on late nights when the world felt too cruel to bear. She had known it full of warmth, where Jonan's voice used to echo against the brick walls and make even the most cynical patrons pause mid-drink.

Now, it felt hollow. Like the country it existed within. Like Eldario itself.

Behind the counter stood Eric. He was polishing a glass, his movements unhurried but precise, as though every clean motion helped hold some threadbare normalcy together.

"He's fine?" Eric asked, not looking up.

Kailey managed a tired smile as she stepped toward the counter. "As well as can be," she said. "His friend is on his way. Should be here soon."

"I see," Eric said simply, his dark eyes lifting to meet hers. They were steady, even thoughtful. But there was something else in them—something sharp beneath the calm surface. "I won't ask questions. Considering the situation now… It might be safer for me not to know anything."

Kailey gave a low chuckle, rubbing the back of her neck. "Might be for the best," she murmured.

Eric placed the polished glass aside with a quiet clink, then leaned both arms against the counter. The silence stretched between them, soft and pensive, broken only by the occasional creak of the old café wood and the far-off sounds of a city trying to pretend everything was still normal.

But it wasn't. Not anymore.

Damarel, like the rest of Eldario, teetered on a knife's edge. The witch hunts had escalated. More Gifted were disappearing with each passing day. Posters of smiling politicians plastered over blood-stained walls, promising peace through purification.

The hunters and their shadow arms grew more brazen. Anyone suspected of helping the Gifted—doctors, teachers, and even families, could vanish overnight. The streets had become quieter, not out of peace but fear.

And the café, once a sanctuary, had become another cracked relic in a country suffocating under its own hatred.

Eric looked at Kailey closely. Not intrusively, but with the kind of gaze that came from watching people over a lifetime. "You know," he said softly, "it's obvious to anyone how Jonan felt for you."

Kailey's heart thudded once. A breath caught in her throat.

Eric went on, "Even my staff can tell. And my regulars. Even Jonan's bandmates. It's as clear as day."

She didn't say anything. Couldn't bring herself to.

Eric straightened up and reached for another glass, but paused before lifting it. His voice dropped lower. "I won't say that I understand your circumstances, lass. But… You need to live for yourself at some point."

"It's not that simple," Kailey said, her voice barely a whisper.

"I know." Eric turned the glass in his hand. "The most important decisions in life never are. But let me ask you something, and really think about this." He glanced up at her again. "Should this war end… Should this nightmare ever be over… Can you see yourself living your life with him? Can you see yourself spending your life with Jonan?"

The question struck Kailey like a stone to the chest. Could she? After everything she had seen—after Karl, after Veridale, after Blue Pandora? Could someone like her—Gifted, hunted, and stained with secrets, ever deserve that?

She looked down, her fingers curling against the wooden countertop.

Eric didn't press. He only nodded after a moment and turned back to his task.

"I should go," Kailey said suddenly. "Take care of Jonan." But just as she turned to leave, the front door swung open with a soft chime.

The bell rang like a gunshot in the still air.

Kailey turned and immediately stiffened.

The man who entered was young, but unmistakable—Allen, from the ESA, from Team Alpha. Red hair like a dying sunset, vivid ruby eyes alert with intelligence and tension. He wore a white long-sleeved shirt with a V-neck, a black undershirt beneath, and dark cargo pants suited for quick movement.

He was also Jonan's closest partner. His best friend. And he was breathless.

"Eric!" Allen said, urgency crackling in his voice like static.

Kailey didn't wait.

She slid out of the café's side door like a shadow, disappearing into the night just as Eric gestured Allen toward the upper floor with a small, silent nod.

* * * *

Allen took the stairs two at a time, his heart thudding against his ribs. The moment he saw the bloodstains on the floor, his chest constricted. Please be okay. Please be okay.

He shoved open the first door and found him.

Jonan lay in the bed, his skin pale beneath the soft golden light of a desk lamp. His torso was wrapped in clean white bandages, but they did little to hide the bruising beneath. His long platinum-blond hair, once a signature feature of his soft charm, was singed, scorched at the ends and now trimmed to a jagged cut just beneath his earlobes.

A far cry from the smiling man who used to strum his guitar in this very café.

"Allen…" Jonan's voice was hoarse, but his eyes flickered open.

Allen let out a breath that sounded half like a sob, half like a curse. "You scared the hell out of me with that phone call," he muttered, collapsing into the chair beside the bed. "I filed medical leave with Lucas. Told him you had a fever and that I'm taking care of you. Not sure he bought it, though."

Jonan gave a faint chuckle, which quickly turned into a wince of pain. "That's generous of you."

"You look like hell," Allen added, and though his voice was teasing, there was something brittle underneath. "Veridale's collapse was all over the news. I thought you were dead."

"I nearly was," Jonan admitted. "The place was coming down around my ears. But I got what I needed."

Allen blinked. "What did you get?"

Jonan turned slightly, his eyes narrowing. "I haven't seen what's in the data yet, but… Allen, it's bad. Worse than we thought. You didn't see what they were doing. What they were breeding. The experiments, the Gifted they had in there. They were experimenting on them! Bodies were stacked to the ceiling in one of the rooms."

Allen can imagine the scene, and his expression hardened. "By the Goddess…"

Jonan continued. "They weren't just experimenting. They aren't even seeing the Gifted as people anymore. They treat them like tools."

Allen's hands clenched into fists. "What are they planning?"

"I don't know yet," Jonan murmured. "But we need Elijah's help."

"Elijah?" Allen said cautiously. "Think we can trust him?"

"He's the only one I know isn't in Nicolosi's pocket. He's kept his head down, but he's always made his hatred for the hunters known—quietly, carefully, but consistently. He'll help us. He has to."

There was a long silence. Then Allen nodded slowly. His voice was calm. "Then let's get to work."

* * * *

Kailey stood in the alley across from the café, watching the windows of the upper room flicker with light.

Jonan was alive. Safe. Being cared for.

And now he knew what she was. Who she was.

The wind tugged gently at her coat, but the chill that ran down her spine had nothing to do with the cold.

Eric's words haunted her.

Can you see yourself spending your life with him?

She didn't have an answer yet. Maybe she never would. But one thing was certain.

The world was changing.

And the storm was just beginning.

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