Ren felt a wave of cold nausea.

He thought back to the days when he walked into his father’s study and saw the man who had sat opposite his father, laughing over glasses of aged brandy.

To think that at that time, behind the smiles and laughs, he was mentally calculating the price of the floorboards beneath them.

He never imagined it, but it turned out Dennis had handed the very knife that was used to tear them down to Cilian, smiling all the while.

Was everyone an enemy? Was the world just a collection of monsters waiting for the lights to go out?

His mind began to fracture, the weight of the betrayal pressing down until he felt he couldn’t breathe.

Cilian watched him, letting out a soft, almost pitying sigh. He knew this would happen.

His Ren was simply too soft-hearted for this world of shadows. Ignoring the flare of pain in his shoulder, Cilian forced himself to sit up, reaching out to offer some twisted form of comfort.

"Don’t look so miserable, darling," Cilian hummed. "I’ll get the bad guy soon enough. I’ll make sure he—"

"Stay away from me!" Ren suddenly bolted upright, scrambling back. He breathed frantically, his eyes wide and filled with a raw, jagged rage as he looked at Cilian.

Cilian looked at his rejected hand, suspended in the air. He sighed, his expression flickering with a brief, weary annoyance. He didn’t want them to have this episode again; his shoulder was throbbing enough without the added drama.

"Calm down, Ren," Cilian said, his voice dropping into that dangerous, light-hearted lilt. "Let’s not get worked up. I told you I’ll get the bad guy, and I’ll even protect you from the Mordecais. Don’t start acting stubborn now, okay?"

There was a sharp, underlying spite in that tone that made the air in the room feel thin.

Ren gulped, sensing the predatory shift. He was disgusted by the hypocrisy—the man claiming to protect him from ’the bad guy’ was the same one who had driven the dagger into his home.

But he knew he couldn’t win an outburst right now.

"I..." Ren opened his mouth to speak, his chest heaving. He needed to do something that wasn’t sitting in this suffocating silence.

Anything that did not involve sitting in a closed space and having this conversation with this man.

"I want to go to the shooting range." He said.

Cilian arched a brow, his fox-like eyes trailing over Ren’s trembling hands.

"Right now, Ren? You’ve had a very long day."

But Ren wouldn’t hear of it.

He nodded fervently, his hand flying to his neck. His fingers brushed the leather of the collar, and he quickly turned his head away, burying his anger as deep as possible.

"I need to... clear my head. So yeah, the shooting range."

Cilian watched, nearly pouting as he watched Ren. Then, he asked,

"Don’t you want dinner first?"

"Now!" Ren suddenly shouted. The word echoed off the high ceilings, shocking even Cilian for a split second.

Ren immediately froze, his fists trembling at his sides. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before turning back to look at Cilian, his voice tight as he forced a ’polite’ smile on his lips.

"I just... I feel out of it. Please. Let’s go now."

Cilian studied him, a slow, amused smile returning to his face. He liked this spark—this desperate need for violence to drown out the grief. It was so much more entertaining than tears.

"Well," Cilian chuckled, swinging his legs off the bed with a pained grunt. "Since you asked so nicely... How could I possibly say no? Let’s go see if you can still hit a target when your heart is screaming."

The basement shooting range was a dark hole, if one might say. It was all cold concrete, filled with sound-dampening foam, and the sharp, clinical smell of gun powder. The lights overhead buzzed, like they would go out any moment, but they never did. But the way they flickered made Ren’s nerves feel even more uneasy.

Cilian moved slowly, his face still pale, but he refused to show the full extent of his weakness. He leaned against a metal pillar near the booth, watching Ren with a predatory sort of curiosity.

"Choose your poison, Ren," Cilian hummed, gesturing to the array of handguns laid out on the bench. "Though I suppose you’re in the mood for something with a bit more... kick."

Ren didn’t look at him. He simply looked at the display and then reached for a sleek, black semi-automatic, the weight of the cold metal in his palm feeling like the only real thing in a world made of lies.

He checked the magazine, his movements precise, a clear testament to the training his father had forced upon him.

He slid the earmuffs on, but he could still feel the vibration of Cilian’s presence behind him.

Ren raised the gun, pointing at the target in front of him. His target was a paper silhouette fifty feet away.

"Ren," Cilian called. "Don’t you need to cover your ears? It’s lo—" Ren did not let Cilian finish his words as he began to shoot.

Bang.

The first shot rang over the small space, and the recoil jolted up his arm, but Ren did not flinch.

The target in front of him was not a paper dummy, but the smiling face of his father’s advisor, the faces of the Mordecai vampires who wanted to treat him like a map to a hidden treasure, and the face of this fox-like bastard who was standing next to him.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

He shot fast and emptied the magazine in a frantic rhythm, the brass shells clattering onto the floor like golden raindrops.

Each shot was a scream he couldn’t let out. Each shot was a plea for the world to stop moving, stop betraying, stop hurting. Each shot... was a cry for help.

The paper silhouette was shredded in the center.

"Ren," Cilian’s voice cut through the ringing in his ears.

Ren felt a sudden heat at his back. Cilian had moved closer—too close. He could feel the warmth radiating from Cilian’s feverish body and the faint scent of blood and frost pheromone. Cilian’s good hand reached out, wrapping around Ren’s own hand on the grip of the gun the moment he paused to catch his breath.

"Your grip is too tight. You’re fighting the recoil instead of letting it move through you," Cilian whispered directly into his ear, his breath hot against Ren’s ear. "You’re shooting with rage. Rage is messy, you know?"

Ren tried to pull away, but Cilian’s hand was firm around his. Despite the shoulder wound, the Alpha’s strength was still there, suffocating and absolute. Cilian pressed his chest against Ren’s back, forcing Ren to stay in the stance.