Jace found himself transfixed by the menacing black barrel of the gun, its cold metal surface gleaming ominously as it hovered inches from his forehead. A wavering shimmer of heat radiated from David, warping the space around the muzzle and casting its edges in a surreal blur, like the wavering horizon on a scorching day.
Panic coiled within Jace, a tight ball of instinctual dread that constricted his chest and made it hard to breathe. It was a primal fear, rooted deep in his bones and suffocating, yet beneath that raw terror lay a flicker of something unexpected—hope.
The memories of David flooded back to him, unbidden. The man standing before him was not the same cold executioner he knew; the David from his past would have squeezed the trigger without a second thought the moment he laid eyes on Jace. No words, no hesitation—just the finality of a bullet.
But now, with David questioning him, there was a glimmer of possibility. Each word hanging in the air opened a door to survival, casting a fragile thread of hope that maybe, just maybe, he could navigate this deadly confrontation and emerge alive, yet beneath that raw terror lay a flicker of something unexpected—hope.
The memories of David flooded back to him, unbidden. The man standing before him was not the same cold executioner he knew; the David from his past would have squeezed the trigger without a second thought the moment he laid eyes on Jace. No words, no hesitation—just the finality of a bullet.
But now, with David questioning him, there was a glimmer of possibility. Each word hanging in the air opened a door to survival, casting a fragile thread of hope that maybe, just maybe, he could navigate this deadly confrontation and emerge alive.
Still, Jace knew the truth carried in those crimson eyes:
One wrong word, and he could die. Instantly. Cleanly.
Before Jace could force out a response, another motion sliced through the air.
Felix moved.
After standing frozen, shock-struck, he suddenly snapped back into existence—as if his mind had finally caught up to the danger. His teammate—his responsibility—was one heartbeat away from execution.
Felix refused to let that happen.
Despite the exhaustion dragging at his limbs and the wounds burning across his body, Felix surged forward. He shoved aside the pain. He pushed aside Eryn's hand as she tried to stop him.
Nothing mattered except getting between Jace and death.
He drew his sword in one swift arc, the metal catching the faint red glimmer radiating from David's aura.
He pointed the blade straight at the man.
"Drop the weapon."
David glanced at the sword—not in alarm, but with the cold indifference one might give to a draft of wind.
His expression didn't shift; his posture remained perfectly still. However, a few moments later, the atmosphere changed.
Heavier. Thicker. As if gravity itself deepened.
The squad reacted instantly.
Weapons slid from their sheaths, boots scraped against fractured concrete as everyone shifted into formation.
Ethan and Philips exchanged a quick, tight look, then flicked their attention toward the Tiger—ready for an ambush they were too tired to handle.
But the said tiger was lying on the ground, huge frame stretched out, eyes closed in tranquil rest. The little girl slept soundly on his back.
It should have signaled safety. It didn't.
Because even without the tiger rising… the real danger was standing right in front of them.
Even Eryn lifted her staff, as she had no choice. Her heart hammered, dread tightening around her ribs like iron bands.
David slowly let his gaze drift across the squad. Not rushed. Not startled.
Just observing. Measuring. Deciding.
Then his eyes returned to Felix.
His voice came out calm, stripped of warmth, emotion—so simple and so cold that it felt like a blade gliding across his skin.
"Put that back," he said."Suppose you know what's good for you. And for your whole team… Mr. Hero."
No threat. No anger. He said it as if he were stating a fact.
Felix felt the chill run straight down his spine. His fingers tightened around the sword hilt, but his stance faltered—just slightly.
Something in David's tone told him he had just stepped onto a cliff's edge.
He opened his mouth to argue—
—but Jace's voice cut through the tension.
"Felix. Stop."
Felix's breath hitched as he turned toward him. Jace's expression was steady, but pale—eyed, focused, understanding exactly how close they all were to dying.
"Even at your best," Jace said quietly, "all of you together still wouldn't be able to beat him."
A beat passed.
"Especially not now. Not like this."
Felix swallowed hard. His blade dipped a fraction.
Jace exhaled—slow, controlled—then made his decision.
He lowered himself onto his knees.
The movement was deliberate, calm, and devastatingly sincere. Dust rose around him in a soft cloud as he settled.
He looked up at David, not with defiance—but with the acceptance of someone who understood the weight of the man standing over him.
"Don't worry about me," Jace said. "He won't kill me."
Then, slowly, he looked into those crimson eyes.
And spoke the one title David hadn't heard in a long time.
"Isn't that right… Captain?"