The apartment was filled with a thick, suffocating silence that only follows a long-delayed explosion. In the guest room, the muffled sounds of Kaelen's ragged breathing were occasionally interrupted by Rixsa's low, murmuring voice. The demoness, usually so sharp-tongued and chaotic, was now a steady anchor, holding Kaelen as the smaller demon stared blankly at the wall, her soul spent.
Chase couldn't sleep. The "Warrior" in him was still humming, tuned to the frequency of the stranger on his sofa. He grabbed a bottle of high-end bourbon from the cabinet—the good stuff he usually kept hidden from the girls—and two glasses.
He found Vincent on the small balcony. The young commander was standing perfectly still, his lavender hair silvered by the moonlight. He wasn't wearing his coat anymore, just a thin, black shirt that revealed how deceptively slight his frame was. He was staring at the New York skyline, though his eyes seemed to be looking at a horizon miles and centuries away.
Chase stepped out, the cool night air biting at his skin. He poured two fingers of amber liquid into each glass and held one out. Vincent didn't turn his head, but his hand found the glass with unerring precision.
"It smells of corn and wood-fire," Vincent whispered. "The drinks of my time tasted like vinegar and regret."
"It's called bourbon," Chase said, leaning against the railing next to him. "A bit smoother than what you're used to. It helps with the noise."
Vincent took a sip, his pale throat moving as he swallowed. He didn't wince at the burn. "The noise never stops, Vance. The sound of the wind always carries the whistle of arrows if you listen long enough."
"I know," Chase replied, looking at his own reflection in the glass. "After hundreds of years fighting for a purpose long gone, I died and came to this world. I spent twenty-two years trying to drown it out in a quiet suburb. Then I ended up in a corporate office. Turns out, the boardroom sounds a lot like a war room. Just different kinds of casualties."
Vincent finally turned to look at him. Up close, the emptiness in his eyes was staggering. It wasn't just grief; it was the fatigue of a man who had outlived his own purpose. "Vee told me you were a 'Surgeon' on the field. That you were the one who made the hard choices so others didn't have to. Why do you keep them? The Goddess, the Aristocrat, the Demon. They are dead weight. They are targets."
"I knew Alex for a long time. She was my contracted god, after they came to this world," Chase said, his gaze drifting toward the city lights. "It was a surprise, but I thought it best to give them a home away from our past. Maybe I'm just tired of being the only one left. Managing their chaos... it's better than the silence. Besides, someone has to make sure they don't burn the world down while they're trying to find their way home."
Vincent looked back at the moon, his fingers tightening around the glass. "I didn't come here to burn anything. I just wanted to see if the woman I loved was still alive, or if I had been mourning a ghost for two centuries." He paused, his voice cracking. "I saw her eyes tonight. She isn't the woman I married. But she isn't a ghost either. She's just... broken. Like me."
He took another long pull of the bourbon. "You know, the reason I joined the war was to become strong enough to stay by her side. I knew what she was... I knew she was a demon. But I felt like if I told her the truth, she would leave me. I thought she wouldn't want to fall in love with someone who wouldn't age like her—someone she'd have to watch grow old and die. I didn't want to leave her with that regret. So I found a way to live longer. I found a way to be by her side forever. But then... I lost her anyway."
Vincent was silent for a long time. The only sound was the distant hum of traffic and the faint pulse of the city's Essence. "My blade is in your safe. Without it, I am just a boy who shouldn't be here. If I leave, I have nowhere to go. If I stay..."
"If you stay, you help me," Chase interrupted. "The 'Lattice' is vibrating. Other things are coming. Things that don't care about your tragedy or my retirement. I could use someone who knows how to hold a line."
Vincent looked at the glass in his hand, then back at the door where Kaelen was hiding. "I don't know if she can bear to look at me every morning."
"She's a demon. They're built for suffering," Chase said with a grim smirk. "But she's also loyal. Give it time."
Inside, Rixsa emerged from the guest room, her expression weary. She saw the two men on the balcony—two relics of a violent past, sharing a drink in the moonlight. She realized in that moment that Chase wasn't just their protector; he was a mirror to Vincent. They were both monsters trying to remember how to be men.
"She's asleep," Rixsa called out softly through the glass. "Or as close as she gets. She's... she's asking for him. Not the Commander. She's asking for Vincent."
Vincent's hand trembled, the glass clinking against the railing. He didn't move toward the door immediately, but the void in his eyes seemed to fill, just slightly, with a flicker of something that wasn't grey.
"Go on," Chase said, taking the glass from him. "The sofa isn't going anywhere. But she might not be this vulnerable again for another hundred years."
Vincent nodded slowly, walking past Rixsa into the dim apartment. Chase stayed on the balcony, finishing the bottle. He had a feeling the "Warrior's Truce" was only the beginning of a much larger war, but for the first time in years, the silence of the night didn't feel quite so empty.