As the Mordecais drove away, the only sounds left were the sound of rain slapping over the pavement and Dennis’s pathetic groans as he clutched his bleeding leg.

Cilian didn’t move his hand from Ren’s shoulder. If anything, his grip grew heavier, his thumb tracing a slow circle against the fabric of Ren’s shirt.

Then, he finally leaned on Ren as his feverish heat spread through their layers, but his gaze remained fixed on the spot where the traitors had just been standing.

"Well," Cilian hummed, his voice dropping from its public performance to that private, playful tone. "That was... invigorating. Wouldn’t you agree, Ren?"

Ren didn’t answer. He was staring at the gun in his hand, the metal cooling rapidly in the damp air. The adrenaline was starting to fade, leaving behind a hollow, shaking cold that sat deep in his spine. He looked at the blood pooling in the rain on the floor and felt a strange, detached sense of reality.

"You’re very quiet, darling," Cilian whispered, leaning his head down until his hair brushed against Ren’s ear. He sounded almost drunk on the pain, and the pheromones were still swirling between them. "Tell me... how do you wish to play with the trash?"

Ren’s fingers tightened on the grip of the gun before he slowly lowered it. He didn’t look at Cilian. He couldn’t. If he did, he might just turn the barrel a few inches to the left and do extra damage to his next shoulder.

"I don’t want to play," Ren said, his voice flat, drained of the rage that had fueled the shot.

"Oh, but you must," Cilian chuckled, a wet, ragged sound that ended in a sharp wince. "I went to a lot of trouble to keep him alive for you. It would be such a waste to just let the guards handle the... ’audit’."

Cilian suddenly sagged, his weight shifting entirely onto Ren’s shoulder. The effort of the standoff, the silver bullets, and the cold rain had finally drained the last of his adrenaline. His face was ash-grey, and the bandages on his shoulder were blooming a fresh, bright crimson.

The wound had opened up.

"Help me back inside, Ren," Cilian commanded softly, his eyes fluttering shut for a second. "I think I’ve reached my limit for theatrics today. And our guest... he isn’t going anywhere."

Ren looked at the monster leaning on him, then at the traitor being dragged toward the sub-basement by the guards. He realized with a sickening clarity that Cilian was handing him the knife, but only because Cilian wanted to watch him use it.

He put his arm around Cilian’s waist, supporting the Alpha as they stepped back.

"Don’t die yet, Cilian," Ren hissed under his breath as they reached the elevator. "I still have a lot to ’learn’ from you."

Cilian let out a weak, genuine laugh, his head resting heavily against Ren’s.

"That’s my boy. Always so... hungry for more."

Of course, Ren had a lot to learn, and as soon as he learned them, he would use them all against Cilian.

The air in the master suite was thick with the smell of antiseptic and the lingering frost of Cilian’s fading pheromones.

Cilian was slumped against the headboard, his breathing ragged, the dark silk of his robe ruined once again by the seepage from his shoulder.

Ren began to work right away, not looking at Cilian’s face—he couldn’t afford to see the vulnerability there. He snapped on a pair of latex gloves with a sharp pop.

"I told the guards to bring the high-grade blockers and a sedative," Ren said, his voice sounding final as he laid out fresh bandages. "And the painkillers you were too arrogant to take earlier."

He might not be in this much pain if he had agreed to take painkillers earlier before sleeping. But he wanted to chest it all. Ren didn’t know what he was playing at, since health was very important in this game.

Cilian let out a dry, wheezing chuckle.

"So demanding, Ren... You’re starting to sound... like you actually care if I stop breathing."

"I care about the information in your head," Ren countered as he cut out the previous bandage and began cleaning the wound with an intense focus. "If you die now, Dennis is the only one left who knows the names, and I don’t trust a word that comes out of that bastard’s mouth. You’re staying alive because you’re the only primary source I have left." 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

He intentionally pressed the cotton deeper, and Cilian winced as the antiseptic hit the raw tissue, but his lopsided, fox-like grin remained.

"How cruel... To be kept alive only as a library of sins." Cilian murmured, his voice strained but mocking. "You really have grown a hard heart, haven’t you, darling?"

Ren didn’t answer at first. He focused on the neatness of the stitches, his movements cold and precise. Then, he lifted his head briefly, meeting Cilian’s gaze with eyes that were as sharp as the needle he was using.

"And..." Ren paused, his voice dropping to a low, icy whisper. "You have to die by my bullet. Not from some ambush while you were trying to protect me. I won’t let you have a martyr’s end, Cilian. You don’t deserve that kind of dignity."

Cilian’s eyes widened, shimmering with a sudden, dazed delight. He looked as if Ren had just handed him a precious gift instead of a death threat.

"Ah... so you’re keeping me safe just so you can be the one to break me? That’s almost... romantic, Ren."

Ren ignored the comment, his face hard with disgust. He finished the dressing and stripped off his gloves, the latex snapping loudly in the quiet room. He turned to the rolling cart the guards had left.

On it sat the blockers, sedatives, and painkillers, and also a bowl of beef broth and a cup of tea, the steam rising in thin, ghostly curls.

Ren picked up the bowl and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Eat. Now," Ren commanded, his voice as hard as the barrel of the gun he’d held earlier.

Cilian hummed, a low vibration that seemed to enjoy the friction of Ren’s anger.

"Oh, how the tables have turned. I can still remember when I had to resort to threats just to get you to eat, Ren. You were so stubborn, looking at me like I was offering you poison and spilling the meal everywhere."

He checked as he leaned his head back, his eyes half-lidded and shimmering with fever.

"And now here you are, barking orders at me in my own bed. How amusing."

"Because, unlike you, I’m not a masochist," Ren snapped. "Eat, or I’ll have the guards tube-feed you. I don’t have the patience for your games tonight."

"And you say you aren’t a masochist," Cilian murmured with that amused delight in his eyes and chuckled once again.