Chapter 2: Blade and Shadow

That night, after finishing a job, I slipped quietly back to my little room. The air was heavy, sweat still cooling on my skin.

The walls were thin, but it was mine. I’d made it homey—books, a battered radio, a faded photo of my crew. Sometimes I stared at it too long, lost in old memories.

After cleaning up, I couldn’t sleep—every time I closed my eyes, I saw blood. To calm myself, I went to the training barn, and by the time I came out, dawn was breaking. My knuckles ached. My mind was raw.

The barn smelled of old sweat and sawdust. I worked the punching bag until my knuckles bled, then watched the sunrise through the dusty window. The light made everything look softer than it was.

From the outside, the Frost Pack’s headquarters looked like a tall, elegant lodge, but inside it was its own little world—a small town with everything you could want. Still, it was a cage with velvet bars.

There was a general store, a mess hall, even a chapel where people prayed for things they’d never get. It was almost normal, if you ignored the armed guards and the way everyone watched their backs. Normal’s just a story we tell ourselves here.

I returned to my room, dew still on my shoulders, and changed into a pale yellow uniform. The routine was almost comforting.

The color made me look softer than I felt. It was part of the disguise. I caught my reflection and almost laughed.

Julian lived in the main house to the east. It was quiet there, no one dared disturb him. Even I had to count my steps up the stairs. Every creak felt like a test.

I’d memorized the creaky boards and the pattern of the rugs. One wrong move, and you’d trigger an alarm. Or worse.

One wrong step could set off a trap. That was Julian’s way—always two steps ahead.

Julian was even more suspicious by nature than I was. He kept himself in danger, which, paradoxically, was the safest place to be. Go figure. Paranoia’s a survival skill around here.

He liked to say, "If you’re not paranoid, you’re already dead."

Once, he was in a good mood, had some whiskey, and smiled more than usual. The whiskey was smoky, sharp—filled the room and my lungs.

He almost seemed human, then. The kind of man you could imagine laughing in a bar, telling stories.

I was kneeling beside him, serving. Dusk had fallen; it was time for me to leave, but I couldn’t decide whether to go or stay. My heart couldn’t make up its mind.

The whiskey made the air thick. I remember the way his shirt hung open, the curve of his muscles, the way my breath caught. Something in me tensed, wanting and afraid.

His shirt fell open, revealing his well-defined abs, making my head spin. As I stood, I stumbled and fell at his feet. Embarrassment burned hotter than pain.

For a second, I thought I’d blown it. But he didn’t flinch—just watched me with those cold eyes. I swallowed hard, wishing I could disappear.

He didn’t blame me. After a pause, he grabbed my chin. The air was thick with tension.

His grip was gentle, but I could feel the strength behind it. I tensed, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I winced in pain, frowning at him. My pride stung more than my jaw.

Up close, I realized his smile didn’t reach his eyes—it was cold, as if he were looking at an object, not a person. That chill ran straight to my bones.

The realization hit like a slap. I’d seen that look in hunters right before they pulled the trigger.

I shivered.

"What are you shaking for?" His voice was soft, almost mocking. I hated how he could read me so easily. Bastard.

I heard myself say, "You reek of whiskey. I’m not used to it." My words sounded braver than I felt.

I tried to sound casual, but my voice cracked. I wanted to sink through the floor.

He chuckled, leaning closer until our noses nearly touched. My pulse skipped, breath caught in my throat.

His breath was warm, tinged with whiskey and something darker—like gunpowder, or old secrets.

"Autumn, you and I are a lot alike."

The words hung between us, heavy and dangerous. I stared, not sure what he meant.

I didn’t understand.

But before I could ask, he let me go. The loss stung more than I’d admit.

His hands fell away, and the moment was gone, like a door slamming shut. The cold rushed back in.

Then he waved me away, like dismissing a servant: "Go." The word hit harder than any slap.

I hated how small that word made me feel. But I went. My pride wouldn’t let me do anything else.

Afterward, I couldn’t figure out how he and I were alike. I turned it over in my head, but all I found was confusion.

I replayed the scene a hundred times and came up empty. Useless.

Counting my steps, I finally stopped at his door. My hands shook, heart racing with something I didn’t want to name.

I paused, hand hovering over the doorknob, heart pounding. I almost turned away.

By now, Julian was already awake. Like always.

He was always awake before dawn. I sometimes wondered if he ever slept at all. Probably not. Men like him never rest.

I found him in the gear room. He wasn’t dressed yet, just in a plain white shirt, his black hair tied back with a dark band. From a distance, he looked cold and alone. Lonely in a room full of weapons.

The gear room was filled with weapons, maps, and half-written plans. It smelled like oil and steel. Comforting, in a way.

"You’re here," he said, as if he had eyes in the back of his head. His voice made my skin prickle.

He didn’t look up from the blade he was sharpening. Tension thickened the air.

"Yeah." I stepped forward, shaking out his jacket and draping it over his shoulders. "Did you figure it out?" The routine felt like armor.

He’d recently predicted that a romantic disaster was coming—from the south. The way he said it made me shiver.

Julian was always two steps ahead. He read signs in tea leaves and in the way people breathed. Sometimes I wondered if he could read my mind, too.

"She’s almost here," Julian said, not hiding anything. The suspense crackled between us.

He sounded almost bored, but I knew he was watching everything. Nothing got past him.

I blinked. "Want me to bring her to you?" My voice was steady, but my heart wasn’t.

I tried to keep my tone light, but my stomach twisted. Nerves had a way of betraying you.

Julian didn’t answer. He just smiled, turned, and pinched my earlobe. That weird intimacy of his.

It was a weird habit of his. Sometimes I wondered if he even knew he did it. Sometimes I wondered if I wanted him to stop.

I squirmed, shrugging away. His touch lingered, and I hated that it did.

He said, "I can bring you to her." The words made my skin crawl with confusion.

His words made no sense. He always played these games. I bit back a sigh.

"Why?"

I was confused. "Aren’t you going to get rid of her?" The question felt heavier than it should.

I tried to sound casual, but my voice was tight. He always made me nervous, no matter how I tried to hide it.

Julian’s smile was ambiguous. "Why would I do that?" His tone made me want to scream.

He never answered questions straight. It was infuriating. Sometimes I wanted to shake him.

Then what’s the point of all this?

I wanted to scream, but kept my mouth shut. I’d learned not to push. You only get burned that way.

Julian never let himself have weaknesses. If this was a romantic disaster, he’d surely cut it off. That’s what I thought, anyway.

At least, that’s what I thought.

I grumbled inwardly, but only said, "Oh, I was overthinking." My sarcasm barely covered the sting.

I tried to sound nonchalant, but the lie tasted bitter. I hated how transparent I was.

"You’re always making up stories about me in your head." The embarrassment burned.

He was right. I couldn’t help it. My mind ran wild every time he looked at me.

For some reason, Julian seemed happier. That made me suspicious.

He spread his arms. I obediently helped him tie his jacket. He said, "Just ride it. Don’t overthink. You think I’m that easy to sway? Even if it’s about love, what could it do to me?" The arrogance in his voice was almost funny.

He sounded so sure of himself. It made me want to laugh—and cry. I wondered if I’d ever feel that certain about anything.

Arrogant.

That word echoed in my mind. I wished I could believe him. But I knew better.

A strange ache welled up inside me, as if an uncontrollable future was taking shape before my eyes. My fingers trembled, and the fabric nearly slipped from my grasp. I hated feeling so exposed.

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to focus. I wouldn’t let him see me falter. Not now, not ever.

"You’re right," I replied quietly. The resignation in my voice tasted like defeat.

It was the only answer I could give. Anything else would have been a lie.