Ren looked up, squinting. Cilian was a few feet away, the only light reflecting on him from the silver rays of the moonlight. He looked like a dark, tattered ghost—his overcoat was gone, and his white shirt was plastered to his skin, translucent and stained with a dark patch over his right shoulder.

Despite the injury, he was already moving about. He had found a sharp, triangular shard of airplane wreckage and was using it to clear a path through the bush, his movements sharp and efficient.

"Cilian... your shoulder," Ren panted, his voice a mere shadow of itself. "It’s dark. You shouldn’t be moving. You’re bleeding."

"Aw, it makes me glad to hear you worry about me, Ren," he said, and Ren paused.

"That’s because, if you bleed to death here, I will be alone, and I don’t want to be alone," Ren countered, his voice cold despite the tremors in his limbs.

"Right. It’s why you wanted to come with me on this trip. But unfortunately, it ended up like this." Cilian turned to look at Ren, smiling even as he winced from the strain on his stitches. "You’re not going to hate me more for putting you in danger, are you, Ren?"

Ren didn’t answer. Was that what he was worried about at a time like this? He was the same old Cilian after all—obsessed with the temperature of Ren’s hatred even in the middle of a graveyard of wreckage.

"I suspect the Mordecais," Ren suddenly said, and Cilian paused, the shard of metal still in his hand.

"How so? I have a lot of enemies, you see," Cilian said, his tone conversational, almost light. "It could be anyone."

Ren scowled at him. That wasn’t something to be proud of.

"The Mordecais were the last people we faced, and they weren’t happy with our actions at all," Ren said, his voice tight.

"But then, they would be targeting you," Cilian countered, his tone thoughtful. "Unless I was their target, it makes no sense to sabotage my plane."

"Well, it could be you, so that once you’re lost, they can storm your residence and get me. But I somehow strongly believe they were after my death. It’s like they expected me to go with you so I could die with my presumed knowledge of the Ledger." Ren shifted a little and grunted, feeling his limbs go numb from the lingering shock of the impact. "Or a spy let them know I was going with you after you ordered Mary to pack my things."

"A spy?" Cilian asked. His voice dropped, becoming a low, dangerous hiss that seemed to vibrate in the humid night air.

"They must really hate us to go that far, heh." Ren let out a short, forced laugh at the absurdity of the fate they were facing.

But he didn’t regret taking Dennis from them. This was just a small price to pay, he believed.

Cilian could barely see Ren’s face in the silver gloom of the moonlight, but he could easily imagine the expression on his sweet Ren’s face. It made his heart feel bitter, a sharp contrast to the soft smile he usually wore.

He remained still, but the veins in his neck were bulging with a suppressed, lethal rage. His grip on the sharp piece of metal tightened until the metal bit into his own palm, causing a fresh trickle of blood to join the mess on his shirt.

How dare they? The thought echoed in Cilian’s mind like a death knell. To target Ren—to try and snuff out the only thing Cilian cared to keep in this world—was a debt that would be paid in more than just blood. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

Before the silence could stretch too far, the sound of footsteps, rustling leaves, and the crackle of fire drifted from the treeline.

Cilian immediately went to Ren’s side, holding up the metal scrap defensively. He had lost his gun in the commotion, but he’d have to do with this metal scrap for defense.

"Stay behind me," he murmured, and Ren forced himself up, standing behind Cilian’s bigger frame.

Then, several figures emerged, torches held high, their faces etched with awe. They had heard the explosion, taking it as a scream from the skybird and seen the fire fall, and they had come to ’find the gods’—or the demons—that had survived it.

The figures were humans, no doubt, but given their outdated dressing, they were probably locals, ones who hadn’t embraced proper civilization.

One man, older than the rest, stepped forward, shouting something. He pointed at the smoking remains of the jet in the water and then at the two men.

"Who... are you? Fall... from the sky?"

It took a moment before Cilian could piece the words accurately, and when he did, he made sure he didn’t miss a beat. He dropped the metal shard, and in a split second, the cold, vengeful predator vanished. He reached out with his left hand, grabbing Ren’s arm and pulling him close, his touch possessive and protective.

"We are survivors," Cilian called out, his voice smooth as he responded to the locals’ questions. He looked at Ren, his gold-brown eyes softening into a gaze so intimate it made Ren’s head spin. "We were on that thing that exploded but made it out alive. I am Cilian, and this is my wife. He is hurt."

Ren was flabbergasted. His mouth fell open as the villagers began to murmur, their suspicion turning into immediate sympathy. He wanted to shout, to deny it, but Cilian’s arm was around his waist, holding him upright with a strength that gave room for no argument.

"What do you think you’re doing?" Ren whispered to his hearing alone.

"What? Is anything wrong?" he leaned his head closer, enjoying every moment of this. "We were originally going on a honeymoon anyway, right?"

Ren was pissed. "You—"

"Wife?" the elder whispered, looking at Ren’s flushed, stunned face. "A new bride? To fall from the sky on a honeymoon... truly, the spirits are cruel."

"Very cruel," Cilian agreed, his voice a low, mocking hum as he leaned down to whisper in Ren’s red ear. "Smile, darling. You’re a ’newlywed’ now."