They squared off, circling each other slowly. Symond’s movements were tense, his fists clenched tightly, while Rell remained loose, his stance fluid.
Symond lunged first, a quick jab toward Rell’s midsection. The mercenary sidestepped with infuriating ease, countering with a sweep of his leg. Symond barely dodged, his irritation mounting.
“Why is she here?” Symond bit out as he threw another strike. “We don’t need her alchemy for tonight’s mission.”
Rell caught his arm mid-swing, twisting it lightly before stepping back. “We’re really doing this?”
“Whatever deal you made with her, she’s not worth it,” Symond pressed, ignoring the sting of his pride. He feinted left, then aimed a kick at Rell’s side, but the man deflected it easily.
“Funny.” The smirk on Rell’s face faded slightly, his eyes narrowing as he dodged another strike. “Because right now, she’s more valuable than you are.”
The words hit him square in the chest. He lunged forward, harder this time, but Rell deflected the strike with practiced ease, his movements calm and controlled.
“There it is,” Rell said, his tone mocking. “That chip on your shoulder. You can’t stand it, can you? That she’s useful. That she’s good at what she does.”
“She’s always been special,” Symond spat. He swung again, harder, but Rell ducked smoothly, stepping out of reach. “More valuable. More protected. Even now, after everything, you’re coddling her while I—”
“While you what?” Rell interrupted, cutting through Symond’s tirade. “While you pout because the world doesn’t revolve around you?”
Symond’s chest heaved, his anger boiling over. “I’m finally free from The Institute,” he hissed, his fists trembling. “Free from The Empire. I’ve built something here. I’ve found people who trust me, who respect me. And now she shows up, and suddenly you’re turning against me.”
Rell paused, stepping back slightly as he regarded Symond with a cool, assessing gaze.
“I’m not turning against you,” he said evenly. “But you’re making it really hard to like you right now.”
Symond glared at him, his rage bubbling just beneath the surface.
Rell shook his head. “You’ve got a lot to work through, Symond,” he said, moving toward the bench to grab a towel. “Maybe you should focus on that instead of her.”
Rell turned and walked out, his boots echoing against the floorboards. The door closed softly behind him, leaving Symond alone with his thoughts.
She always wins,he thought bitterly, the anger burning in his chest like a flame that refused to die.Even now.
Symond strode down the hallway. From the common room, the low murmur of voices drifted toward him. Rell and Violette, laughing softly about something inconsequential. The sound grated on his nerves, their easy camaraderie a stark contrast to the restless churn in his chest. He didn’t pause, didn’t care to join them. His place among them felt more tenuous with every passing moment.
Instead, he kept moving, his feet carrying him to the lab. He pushed the door openwithout knocking.
The room was warm, the air heavy with the mingling scents of herbs and minerals simmering in precise balance. The faint hiss of a burner underscored the quiet, a rhythmic counterpoint to the soft rustle of Elora’s movements. She stood at the workstation, her back to him, her entire focus on the potion she was brewing.
Her hair was frizzy from the heat, stray strands clinging to her damp forehead where sweat glistened faintly. Her hands moved meticulously, stirring, measuring, adding each ingredient with a deftness that spoke of years of learning. She didn’t even glance up as the door swung shut behind him.
Symond lingered near the doorway, his arms crossed. For a moment, he simply watched her. She looked... comfortable. Completely in her element. The sight only stoked his irritation.
“You must feel right at home,” he said finally, his voice cutting through the hiss of the cauldron.
Elora startled, her head snapping up. Her wide blue eyes locked onto his, the flicker of panic in her expression as sharp as the tension in her posture. For a split second, he saw her glance toward the door, weighing whether she should yell for Rell.
Symond almost laughed, a bitter sound curling at the back of his throat. Of course, she’d think about calling for help. She always needed someone to save her. It was pathetic.
“Relax,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender as he took a step further into the room. “I’m just here to chat.”
Elora didn’t respond. She remained rigid, her gaze tracking his every movement. Her fingers gripped the handle of the stirring rod like it might double as a weapon if needed.
Good, he thought bitterly. She shouldn’t trust him.
The air between them was thick, the tension palpable as he closed the distance slightly. Her silence didn’t bother him, if anything, it fed his annoyance, the unspoken challenge hanging heavily in the warm, fragrant room.
“Go on,” he said, his tone almost mocking as he gestured toward her workstation. “Don’t let me stop you. I’m sure whatever you’re making is... important.”
