A/N: I'm always starting a chapter apologizing for how long it took to write, oopsies! Sorry my lovelies <3

── ⋆⋅☾ ☼ ⋅⋆ ──

Judith's POV

"Oh, so nice of you lovebirds to stroll on back," a voice drawls sarcastically, cutting through the evening quiet like a blade.

Derek.

I stop dead, my pulse thundering in my ears. Beside me, Finn stiffens, the easygoing demeanor he wore moments ago vanishing as tension coils through his body. Derek leans against the porch railing, the knife still in his hand, the blade catching the yellow glow of the porch light. The cruel twist of his smirk makes my stomach flip, dread pooling like ice in my gut.

The light casts jagged shadows across his face, hollowing his cheeks and sharpening his features. His hazel eyes—usually flat and unreadable—burn with something predatory as he watches us trudge up the steps, guilt heavy in every step, like kids caught sneaking in past curfew. Which in some ways, we are.

"Have a good date?" he asks, his voice slick with mockery, each word dripping with condescending contempt. He stretches out the syllables, lazy and deliberate, letting them sink under my skin like barbed hooks.

I swallow, trying to force my face into something neutral, to hide the way my heart stutters in my chest. "We were just—"

"—I don't want to hear your fuckin' excuses."

The pretense of humor vanishes, stripped away like a discarded mask. His voice hardens, each syllable cutting, sharp and precise, slicing through my composure. He straightens, pushing off the railing in a fluid, almost graceful motion. He's already tall as hell, but standing three steps above us, he looms, a dark silhouette against the porch light, like a vengeful god looking down on mere mortals.

"It's almost eight o'clock," he says, his voice cold, unyielding. "You two have been gone since three." His gaze lands on me, heavy and unrelenting, scrutinizing every detail, every weakness. "Should've known it'd be you breaking the rules, Grimes. You don't think they apply to you, do you?"

Heat floods my face, anger and shame swirling together, molten and volatile. But I force myself to stand tall, locking my knees to keep them from buckling, refusing to let him see me falter. "Finn and I were having dinner with my family—"

"And you missed dinner here," Derek snaps, voice cutting through mine once again like a blade. His gaze flicks to Finn, assessing, cold. "Meals are eaten at the townhouse. I don't know what kind of shit you ate back at Mommy and Daddy's, but I do know you sure as hell didn't eat the high-protein, high-fiber meal I have my soldiers eat so they're the goddamn best."

Finn, ever the peacemaker, steps in—though I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way he swallows his pride before speaking. "Commander, I'm sorry. I knew we were out longer than we should've been. I should've gotten us home sooner, Judith just enjoyed being with her family."

I bristle, fists clenching at my sides. Finn means well, always willing to take the blame. It's something I admire about him. But the way he talks about me—like I'm some helpless kid who needs his protection—grates against me, raw and jagged. Like he doesn't believe I can stand on my own two feet. Like he thinks I'm weak.

Derek scoffs, shaking his head. A muscle ticks in his jaw, his expression one of complete, exasperated disbelief. He doesn't acknowledge Finn's apology. "Hope seeing the in-laws was worth it, Hawes," he mutters.

In-laws.

The words slam into me with a force I wasn't prepared for. Heat flares up my neck, my stomach twisting into something knotted and tight. It's not just the insinuation of Finn and me being married—which is a dream come true—it's that Finn is right here to hear it.

Finn shifts beside me, uneasy, looking anywhere but at Derek. His obvious discomfort at the idea of marrying me only fuels the fire rising in my chest, anger mixing with the insecurity clawing under my skin. It catches like a spark in a dry brush, burning too fast to control before I can stop it.

𝙁𝙞𝙣𝙣 𝙞𝙨 𝙚𝙢𝙗𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙖𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙙. 𝘿𝙞𝙨𝙜𝙪𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙙. 𝘽𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙮 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪?
𝘿𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙠'𝙨 𝙝𝙪𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙮𝙤𝙪, 𝙢𝙤𝙘𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙮𝙤𝙪, 𝙏𝘼𝙐𝙉𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙮𝙤𝙪—

"Maybe I wouldn't want to be around my family so much if I didn't have a psychotic dick for a commander," I snap before I can stop myself, the words lashing out like a whip.

The second they leave my mouth, I see the ripple effect. Finn's eyes widen in horror, his face draining of color. Derek's brows lift slightly, but it's his slow, amused smirk that sends a fresh wave of dread through me.

"Is that right, cadet?" Derek's voice drops lower, quieter. Dangerous. He steps forward, deliberately slow, descending one step like a predator closing the distance to its prey. His eyes narrow, locked onto mine, studying me with unnerving patience. "I'm a... psychotic dick?"

My pulse spikes. He's too close now. Not touching, not even overtly threatening, but his presence alone is suffocating.

His expression remains unreadable, calculated, but there's something there—something electric, something alive—that coils tight in my stomach. And the worst part? I have this feeling, deep down, that he won't hurt me. It's ridiculous. Because this is Derek Smith, it's probably his wet dream to see me and all of my family lifeless in a pile.

"She didn't mean it—"

"Jesus Christ, let her speak for herself," Derek cuts Finn off, his irritation snapping out like a blade, his gaze flicking to him with pure, unfiltered disdain.

The air shifts, charged and heavy. Finn stiffens beside me, his frustration barely held in check. While Derek remains calm and controlled, exuding the kind of authority that makes it brutally clear who holds the power here.

I inhale sharply, forcing the protective fire in my chest to simmer down. My nails dig into my palms as I exhale, willing myself to let it go, ignoring the whispers of his voice in the corners of my mind. "Look, I'm sorry," I force out, because I know it's the only way to end this.

Derek and Finn both turn their attention back to me, waiting.

"I just... didn't think it was that important," I admit, hating the way the words taste on my tongue. "I... hadn't seen my family in a while."

Derek studies me for a long moment, his hazel eyes flickering with something I can't quite decipher. Then, slowly, he exhales—a quiet breath, measured and controlled—before shaking his head like he's disappointed. He can't seriously be disappointed I'm not lashing out more... right?

"Seems like you two don't understand," Derek murmurs. His voice is softer now, but there's an edge to it, like a blade hidden beneath silk. Smooth. Sharp. Lethal. "Maybe it was my mistake trying to be nice. Letting my whiny little cadets see their families."

Bitterness drips from his words, thick and unshakable. But underneath it, there's something else. Something deeper. I don't have time to process it before he continues.

"So, you two won't be dealing with it."

My brain lags for a second, the words taking too long to register.

"Wait—" Finn starts, his spine straightening.

"You no longer have a free hour to do as you please," Derek continues, his voice a steel trap snapping shut. Any trace of his usual mockery is gone, replaced by cold detachment. His expression is unreadable as he looks down at us, hazel eyes like shards of ice. "You'll be assigned to other tasks while your fellow cadets enjoy their privilege."

"That's not fair!" The protest rips out of me before I can stop it, my chest tightening as panic claws its way up my throat. I just got to see my family, and now it's being ripped away like it means nothing.

"What's not fair," Derek counters, his gaze locking onto mine, cold and unwavering, "is leaving your teammates to pick up your slack for four hours." His eyes narrow, pinning me in place. "Maeve had to clean the bathrooms alone, despite both of you being the ones who didn't finish training. Actions have consequences, Princess. Now stop complaining and get inside. You've got a long fucking day tomorrow of making this up to me."

I suck in a sharp breath, my nails biting into my palms as my fists clench. A hot, wild fury coils inside me, tangled with desperation. I want to scream. I want to slap that smug look off his face. I want to grab the nearest heavy object and smash it against his perfectly composed, infuriatingly cold expression.

𝘿𝙤 𝙞𝙩. 𝙎𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙛𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙚𝙧 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙣𝙨 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙩𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙛𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙮. 

My body trembles, every muscle poised to spring. I grit my teeth, forcing myself to stay rooted, to not give in to that tempting, vicious voice. Not this time. Not when the stakes are this high.

But it hurts. God, it hurts. My family is everything to me, and now I won't get to see them at all. It feels like a piece of me is being ripped away, leaving a raw, aching void behind.

But beneath the anger, beneath the frustration, and the helplessness, a bitter truth settles into place.

I broke the rules. I knew I only had an hour and I stayed longer anyway. 

It's my fault. The words taste like ash, bitter and heavy on my tongue.

"Bed. Now," Derek growls, his voice slicing through the night like a final warning. His patience is gone, his hazel eyes hard and unyielding. The street is eerily silent, as if the universe itself is holding its breath.

The universe, which knows Judith Grimes is fucking insane on the inside and could ruin everything if she doesn't get her goddamn emotions under control.

I feel the rage clawing at my chest, demanding release. But I grit my teeth harder, the metallic taste of blood on my tongue as I bite back the scream building in my throat. Without another word, I shove past Derek, storming through the doorway before I do something reckless—like kick my commander in the balls.

Behind me, Derek mutters something low to Finn, his voice a jagged whisper that barely reaches my ears. Whatever he says makes Finn's jaw clench, a scoff slipping out before he follows me inside, his shoulders rigid with barely concealed frustration.

As we climb the creaking staircase to the second floor, the silence between us feels heavy, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface. Maeve and Maliah's doors are closed, the faint hum of music leaking from under Maliah's, but otherwise, the townhouse is eerily quiet.

I stop just outside my door, turning to face Finn. My voice drops, softened by the lingering sting of Derek's words. "What did he say to you?"

For a heartbeat, Finn's eyes flicker—hesitation tightening his jaw. He looks away, his lips pressing into a thin line. I can see the turmoil flickering across his face, the way his shoulders slump under the weight of whatever Derek told him. But instead of answering, he shakes his head, brushing past me without another word. "Goodnight, Judith."

I reach out, fingertips grazing the fabric of his sleeve, but he's already gone, his door shutting with a soft, resolute click that echoes down the empty hallway.

Alone, the events of the evening replay in my mind—Derek's mocking voice, the cruel twist of his smirk, and the way his hazel eyes seemed to cut right through me. A shiver runs down my spine as I go upstairs to the third floor and step into my room, closing the door behind me. But even then, his voice lingers, curling around me like smoke, suffocating and inescapable.

── ⋆⋅☾ ☼ ⋅⋆ ──

Derek's POV

My hand rests on the cold metal of the doorknob to my room, poised to twist it open, but my eyes flick to Judith's door across the hall. A knot tightens in my chest, an ache I've been trying to bury for far too long. My fingers tighten on the handle, and I force myself to look away, to shove down the longing clawing its way up my throat.

This is for the best. She broke the rules. I had to do it. Even if the image of Cass's disappointed face flashes through my mind, making bile rise up my throat. 

Shaking my head, I push my door open and step inside, my eyes adjusting to the dimness of my room. But then, my heart lurches, slamming against my ribs.

Judith is sitting on my bed, her silhouette bathed in the soft, silvery glow of the moonlight streaming through the window. Her face is turned towards me, eyes wide and shimmering, her expression raw and vulnerable in a way that steals the air from my lungs.

My entire body locks up, muscles freezing as I gape at her. It's such a shock that I almost trip over my own damn feet, struggling to keep on my usual mask for a moment. 

"Ju—Cadet, what are you doing in here?" I breathe, the words tumbling out unevenly, laced with panic. My heart races, each beat thundering in my chest, echoing in my ears.

Judith rises slowly, her movements graceful, deliberate. She walks towards me, her gaze never leaving mine, her face etched with pain and confusion. Her brows are drawn together, eyes shimmering with unshed tears, her lower lip trembling. 

I've never seen her like this. Never.

What the hell...? Was I really that harsh?

"Princess—" The nickname slips out before I can stop it, the word heavy with guilt and affection I've kept buried for too damn long.

Judith's shoulders tense, and she lets out a shaky breath, her voice breaking. "I know."

I blink, stunned. "....What?"

Her eyes lock onto mine, intense and unwavering, making my skin crawl. "You've been pretending this whole time," she whispers, her voice so soft it feels like a punch to the gut. "Pretending to be like your father. Pretending to be mean. But it's just a mask, isn't it?" Her voice wavers and she takes another step closer, so close I can feel the warmth radiating from her. "You don't have to pretend anymore, Derek."

My heart seizes, hearing that honey-smooth voice murmur my first name. "I don't... I don't know what you're talking about." I try to sound firm, but my voice shakes, betraying me.

Judith's eyes soften, glistening with tears. Her bottom lip trembles, and she lets out a broken sigh. "Oh, Derek..." She reaches out, her fingertips brushing against my arm, so light I barely feel it, but it sends a shock through me, electric and paralyzing.

I'm terrified. Every defense I've built, every wall I've raised, it's crumbling, and I have no idea how to stop it.

She moves closer, her gaze searching mine. "You're not the monster you pretend to be." Her voice is laced with certainty, with compassion. "You're just... hurt. And lonely."

A sharp pain shoots through my chest, my throat closing up. I want to deny it, to scoff and tell her she's wrong. I want to push her away before she gets too close, before she sees too much. But I can't move. Can't breathe.

How does she...?

Judith's face crumples, a tear slipping down her cheek. "It's okay. You don't have to keep pretending." Her voice is so gentle, so full of understanding that my heart aches, a deep, agonizing throb.

Before I can even process what's happening, she throws her arms around me, burying her face against my chest. Her body presses against mine, warm and soft, and I stumble back, my hands instinctively coming up to catch and steady her.

Her shoulders tremble as she sobs quietly, her breath warm against my skin. I stand there, frozen, my heart pounding wildly, my chest tightening with a mix of fear and longing. I don't know how to comfort her. I don't know how to handle the way her touch makes me feel like I'm coming apart at the seams.

I should push her away. I should remind her that I'm her commander and that this is wrong, dangerous, and reckless. But my arms betray me, tightening around her, pulling her closer. I bury my face in her hair, breathing in her scent—warm and sweet, achingly familiar—and my eyes close on their own, my chest aching with a need so deep it scares me.

For one fragile, stolen moment, I let myself hold her. Let myself feel.

It's the most terrifying thing I've ever done.

Judith pulls back, her face tilted up, tears glistening on her cheeks, her eyes wide and searching, so full of tenderness it almost brings me to my knees. Her gaze flickers down to my mouth, her lips parting slightly as her breath hitches.

My heart stops.

She leans in, her movements slow, hesitant, like she's giving me a chance to pull away, to stop this before it's too late. But I'm rooted in place, terrified and mesmerized, my heart thundering so hard it's all I can hear.

Her lips brush mine, soft and featherlight, and a shiver races down my spine. I can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything but stand there, caught in the moment, in her touch, in the way she makes me feel like I'm unraveling. This can't be happening.

Judith smiles as she presses her lips against mine, and I—

I jolt awake, my body jerking violently, eyes flying open to darkness. My heart is hammering so hard it feels like it's about to burst through my chest, cold sweat sticking to my skin, my hands clutching at the sheets.

The room is silent, shadows sprawling across the ceiling from the faint light outside the window. No warmth, no softness, no one in my arms. Just me, alone, shivering in the cold grip of reality.

It was a dream. Just a goddamn dream.

But it felt so real.

I sit up, raking my hands through my hair, trying to steady my breathing. Her scent still lingers, her warmth still burns on my skin, and I can still feel the softness of her lips brushing mine, tentative and heartbreakingly gentle. The ghost of her touch lingers, burning, mocking.

"Shit," I mutter under my breath, squeezing my eyes shut. This is bad. Really bad.

I can't feel this way about her. Not her. Not the one person I need to keep my distance from. The daughter of the only woman I trust and love like a mother. The one who asked me to keep her baby safe.

I thought I was past that shit, past dreaming about Judith. Having her around has fucked it all up, just like I worried it would. Goddamnit.

My fists clench, my jaw tightening as I swing my legs over the side of the bed, planting my feet on the cold floor. I need to get a grip. I can't afford to let these feelings take root, can't let them grow into something I can't control.

Because if I do... I'll ruin everything.

I glance at the clock. 3:27 a.m. 

There's no point in trying to sleep now. Not when her face, so unfamiliar in its softness, is still burned into my mind, her voice echoing in my head.

"You don't have to keep pretending."

My throat tightens, that deep, agonizing ache blooming in my chest again. Goddamn my subconscious, you cruel, torturous bastard.

Shaking my head, I force myself to stand, legs stiff and chest tight. I need air. Distance. I need to get her out of my head before I do something stupid. 

I yank on my boots, the laces rough against my fingers, then shrug into my jacket, the worn leather heavy on my shoulders. I slip out of my room, the door creaking softly behind me. The hallway is dark, shadows pooling in the corners, the kind of stillness that only exists in the dead of night.

Pausing, my eyes drift to Judith's closed door. My chest constricts, pulse stuttering as I picture her inside, curled up beneath her blankets, safe and warm, completely oblivious to the chaos she's causing inside me.

My footsteps echo softly as I move down the hallway, each step heavy, weighted. I slip out of the townhome and into the cold night air, the chill biting at my skin, sharp and grounding. The streets of Alexandria are empty, silent, the world asleep while my mind churns restlessly.

I keep walking, past the watchtowers, past the perimeter fence, slipping through the gate and out into the wild beyond. My fists clench, my breath fogging in the cold air. I need to burn this out of me. I need to fight it off.

No matter how much it hurts.

Two hours later, the sun is just beginning to rise, pale pink and gold bleeding across the sky. I trudge back toward Alexandria, limbs heavy, muscles screaming with exhaustion. My clothes are soaked with sweat, dirt smeared across my hands, walker blood caked beneath my fingernails.

There'd been a cluster southeast of Alexandria, a dense pack of walkers too close to the newly developed south fields. I tore through them, blade swinging, hacking and slashing until my arms ached and my mind went blessedly numb. I fought until there was nothing left to fight, until the ground was littered with corpses and my chest heaved with exhaustion.

Protecting the home that wouldn't protect me. The people who wouldn't care if I never came back.

I wipe my hands on my pants, streaking them with blood and grime, and keep walking, the ache in my chest only growing heavier.

As I approach the gate to Alexandria, I spot two soldiers on watch at the top, dark silhouettes against the dawn. One of them—a scrawny kid, probably fresh out of basic training—leans lazily against the railing, his head nodding as he fights off sleep. It figures. They always stick the new recruits on graveyard shifts because nothing ever happens.

The older cadet elbows the kid, hard, and he jolts awake, his eyes wide as he spots me trudging toward the gate. "W-Walker!" the recruit yelps, his voice cracking. He fumbles with his rifle, the barrel swinging wildly in my direction, his hands trembling as he struggles to aim.

I stop, exhaustion curdling into irritation. "Seriously?" I glare up at him, arms hanging heavy at my sides, not even flinching as he nearly drops his weapon. "Do I look dead to you?"

The older cadet groans, smacking the kid upside the head. "Idiot. That's Derek Smith—The Soldier." His voice is low, edged with annoyance. "You just tried to shoot a damn commander, you dumbass."

The recruit's face drains of color, his hands shaking as he lowers his rifle. He stares down at me, wide-eyed, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

I cross my arms, arching an eyebrow, fighting to keep the smirk off my face. "You two gonna stand there all day, or are you gonna let me in?" My voice is cold, clipped. I'm too damn tired for this.

The older cadet's face flushes, his movements jerky as he scrambles to work the gate mechanism. "S-Sorry, sir—Commander, sir." He fumbles with the controls, nearly dropping his weapon in his rush.

The recruit chokes out an apology, his voice a terrified squeak. "I-I didn't know—thought you were—" He cuts off, swallowing hard, his shoulders drawn up like he's trying to make himself smaller.

I bite back a laugh, my irritation softening just a fraction. They're over eighteen, sure, but they're still just kids. Barely old enough to grow a damn beard, let alone stand guard in a world like this. They don't belong here. Hell, none of us do.

The gate creaks open, metal grinding as I step through, boots heavy on the dirt. I pause, glancing back at the recruit still standing on the scaffolding, his face pale as he watches me with wide, fearful eyes.

The kid nods frantically, his head bobbing up and down so fast I half expect it to fall off. "Y-Yes, sir. Understood, sir."

I turn away before I do something stupid, like soften my tone or pat the kid on the shoulder to reassure him.

I keep walking, my shoulders tense, exhaustion dragging at my limbs. I need a shower. And coffee. And about three more hours of sleep.

But most of all, I need to get Judith Grimes out of my goddamn head.

── ⋆⋅☾ ☼ ⋅⋆ ──

Judith's POV

"Hey, I'm sorry about last night," I say, my fingers curling gently around Maeve's elbow. Her skin is warm and delicate under my touch, and she turns to me, surprise flickering in her wide blue eyes. The morning light pours in through the kitchen window, washing over her and igniting her golden hair like a halo.

I wish I had eyes like that—bright, striking, the kind people notice. The kind my dad and both my brothers have. Instead, I got dull, muddy brown.

Thanks, Shane.

Maeve blinks, her confusion so genuine it stings. I wonder if she expected me to ignore it, to act like nothing happened, like I usually do.

"I was gone too long last night," I continue, my voice low, each word heavy and sharp as it scrapes against my tongue. "You were left cleaning the bathrooms. That was my punishment too, after not getting that damn pushup. So... I'm sorry."

The apology tastes bitter, like swallowing broken glass. Humiliation prickles hot under my skin, a familiar burn that digs deep, twisting around my spine, wrapping tight. I've never been good at this—admitting I was wrong, taking the blame. It feels like carving out a piece of myself and handing it over, raw and bloody, for someone else to judge.

I'm not like my mom, who bends and yields, who takes the blame even when it's not hers to carry. Who's good, down to her bone marrow. I may not be her, but I can act like her. I can make this right.

Maeve's face softens, the tension draining from her shoulders. She shakes her head, a small, gentle movement. "It's alright, I get it," she says, her voice as light as the sunlight pooling on the floor. I'm about to answer when-

"You'll make it up to her. To everyone, in fact."

The words slide in like a knife between my ribs, cold and cutting. My back goes rigid, muscles locking tight.

Derek sits at the kitchen table, leaning back in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the backrest. His other hand cradles his coffee cup, steam curling around his fingers. He doesn't look up, doesn't even spare me a glance, his eyes fixed on the stack of paperwork in front of him. Like I'm not even worth acknowledging.

My jaw clenches, teeth grinding together. Heat burns up my neck, coiling tight behind my eyes. I want to scream, to snap, to tell him exactly where he can shove his smug superiority. But I don't.

I swallow the words down, acid scorching my throat, and force a tight smile for Maeve. My hand drops from her elbow as I turn away, heading for the coffee pot. I can feel Derek's presence behind me, heavy and suffocating, pressing against my spine. Don't rise to it, Judith. You'll only make things worse.

Anthony sits beside Derek, quiet as always, his shoulders hunched forward, his head down as if to make his massive frame smaller. He looks up as I pass, his eyes flicking to mine briefly. Deep brown, soft, and soulful, they catch mine, something like sympathy flashing in them. Then he glances at Derek before his gaze drops to the green apple in his hands, his fingers turning it slowly, over and over. The fruit is dwarfed in his large hands, the bright green peel contrasting sharply with his dark skin.

The kitchen door creaks, the sound slicing through the tension. Maliah glides in, her easy smile brightening the room. But it flickers, faltering as she takes in the scene. Her gaze sweeps over us, sharp and observant, her dark eyes narrowing when they land on me. She sees the tightness in my shoulders, the way my spine is pulled rigid, like a bowstring ready to snap. She catches the hard set of Derek's jaw, the satisfied curve of his lips as he takes another lazy sip of his coffee, still refusing to look at me.

Maliah moves closer, her footsteps light, graceful. She leans casually against the counter, close enough that her shoulder brushes mine, grounding me. Her voice is a whisper, barely more than a breath. "You good?"

Her eyes search my face, cutting through my defenses, seeing too much. Her concern wraps around me, warm and suffocating all at once.

My fingers clench around the coffee pot, knuckles aching, my grip too tight. The muscles in my chest seize, my lungs straining against the pressure, but I force myself to nod, the movement stiff and mechanical. I plaster on a smile, brittle and fragile, ready to shatter if she pushes any harder. "Yeah. I'm fine."

The lie tastes bitter, cold on my tongue. But no one ever notices. I'm too good at it.

I pour the coffee, but my hand is shaking, just slightly, and the liquid sloshes over the rim, scalding my fingers. Pain flares sharp and hot, but I bite down on the hiss clawing up my throat. I watch the dark drops run down my skin, burning, biting, the sting grounding me, keeping me present. But it's nothing compared to the fire blazing under my skin, churning in my gut, clawing up my ribs, eating me alive. Like always.

"What happened last night? You and Finn just—" Maliah starts, her voice soft, gentle.

"Oh they had a little rendezvous with the in-laws," Derek answers before I can, his tone light, dripping with condescension. He still doesn't fucking look at me, his eyes locked on his paperwork, his lips curved in that smug, satisfied smirk. He takes another leisurely sip of his coffee, completely at ease, as if this is just another routine morning for him. As if he didn't just tear away the one thing keeping me sane. My family.

Maliah looks at. mewith confusion and heat floods my face, prickling beneath my skin like needles. My jaw locks, teeth grinding until my skull throbs. Anger flares hot and wild, twisting inside me like a living creature with sharp claws, raking through my chest. I want to slam my fist down on the table, shatter his arrogant calm, watch his smirk disappear. I want to shout, to make him feel even a fraction of this burning humiliation.

But I don't. I stand there, back ramrod straight, every muscle pulled taut, coiled tight enough to snap. The handle of the coffee pot digs into my palm, the heat searing my fingers, grounding me. I grip it harder, letting the pain bite deep, an anchor against the fire raging beneath my ribs.

Derek's voice slices through the room, commanding and cold. "Matter of fact, now that you're all here," he says, finally looking up, his gaze sweeping over everyone but me, dismissing me like I'm not even worth seeing. Finn isn't here, most likely outside as that's how he likes to spend his mornings. I'm sure Derek is fine pretending Finn isn't one of us.

"Now's as good a time as any. While the rest of you stayed here yesterday afternoon, did your chores as expected, Grimes and Hawes enjoyed a lovely evening at the Grimes house, staying past curfew. From now on, they will not have a free hour with you. They'll be assigned other tasks instead." He pauses, letting that sink in, his eyes hard, his authority palpable as he looks at Maliah specifically. "You are not to help them with those tasks. Go about your business as usual. Is that clear?"

His tone leaves no room for argument, his role as commander sliding on effortlessly, like a second skin. Silence settles heavy over the room, suffocating. No one moves, no one dares to speak. Not even me.

"Get ready. Training is in ten." Derek nods once, dismissing us. He stands and walks out without a backward glance, without so much as acknowledging my existence.

"Asshole," I mutter under my breath, the word a low growl meant only for Maliah. She elbows me in the side, a warning to keep my head down, to not make things worse. But the anger doesn't fade. If anything, it grows, pulsing through my veins like poison.

── ⋆⋅☾ ☼ ⋅⋆ ──

The rapid thud of muscle and skin against bone reverberates through the training room, sharp and relentless, punctuated by grunts and the slap of bare feet on worn red mats. Squad one moves in a disjointed symphony, bodies clashing, muscles straining, the air thick with sweat and tension.

I'm paired with Maeve, our forearms crashing together in a punishing rhythm, bone grinding against bone. Her strikes aren't overly strong but are fast, her blonde ponytail whipping with each movement, flyaways catching the fluorescent light in mocking glints. I lock my gaze on those stray strands, use their shimmering distraction to drown out everything else.

But no matter how hard I try, I can't shake the images burning behind my eyes. My mom's warm smile, her gentle hands that could chase away even the deepest shadows. My dad's steady voice, his quiet strength, no longer shown in his actions, but evident enough in everything else. 

I was supposed to have an hour with them today. Just one hour to breathe, to feel like myself again. To let my mom's light banish the darkness that's been clawing at me since last night.

But I fucked up.

𝙉𝙤.... The voice slithers through my mind, a rumbling purr that caresses my thoughts, mangling and twisting them. 𝙄𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙃𝙄𝙈. 𝘿𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙠 𝙩𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙮𝙤𝙪.... 𝙪𝙣𝙛𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙡𝙮... 𝙩𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙛𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙮 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙤 𝙝𝙪𝙧𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪.

A white-hot anger twists inside me, coiling tighter with every blocked punch, every jarring collision. It thrashes, wild and relentless, a living thing trapped beneath my skin. I hate how out of control I feel, how powerless. How he made me feel it.

I throw a strike harder than I mean to, the impact reverberating up my arm. Maeve grunts, eyes narrowing as she matches my intensity, her movements sharper, faster. She doesn't know that it's not her I'm fighting.

My gaze flickers, drawn to him like iron to a magnet. Derek. His name echoing through my mind like venom.

He paces at the edge of the mats, his posture rigid, arms folded over his broad chest. His eyes are cold, calculating as they sweep over the room, judging, analyzing. He wears that infuriatingly unreadable expression, lips pressed into a thin line, brows furrowed just enough to look serious but not concerned. Not bothered. Not affected.

His gaze flickers over me, a cold, clinical assessment, lingering for less than a heartbeat before moving on. Dismissive. Like I don't even exist. Like I'm nothing.

Why does that piss me off so much?

My teeth grind, tension knotting in my shoulders, muscles coiling tight, the anger bubbling up, hot and searing. I slam my forearm into Maeve's with enough force to make her stumble back a step.

"Jesus, Judith," she breathes, shaking out her arm, blinking in surprise. "What's your problem?"

I can't answer. Not without the words twisting into a snarl, not without the rage clawing its way out of my throat, raw and burning. And sweet Maeve doesn't deserve that. I can't let it out because I might scream, might shout every ugly thought tearing at me, hurl them all at the man who took my hour—my peace.

Derek's head turns, just a fraction, his gaze catching on me for the briefest moment, cold and indifferent, before sliding away, unaffected.

Bastard.

He claps his hands, sharp and commanding. "Alright, enough fondling each other. We're doing real sparring now. Gather 'round to get assigned your partner."

The squad shifts, bodies untangling, moving toward where Derek stands with a baseball cap upside down, a few scraps of paper crumpled inside. Maeve and I separate, and the cool air hits my sweat-damp skin, making my t-shirt cling uncomfortably to my back. Loose curls have escaped my ponytail, sticking to my neck, a constant, irritating tickle.

I force my breathing to steady, falling in line with the others, muscles still thrumming with anger, fingers twitching with the need to hit something. Someone.

Derek digs his hand into the hat, fingers sifting through the crumpled slips before pulling one out. He barely glances at it, his voice clipped and all business. "Hawes." His gaze sweeps over Finn, who straightens, a grin already tugging at his lips.

My heart flutters, hope that I'll be paired with Finn blooming hot and reckless in my chest. I can already feel the adrenaline, imagine the way Finn's breath would mingle with mine, the heat of his body close to mine, muscles straining as we moved together—sparring, testing, pushing...

Derek pulls another slip, his jaw tightening, a muscle ticking just below his cheekbone. His lips press into a hard line. "You're with Asani."

My chest deflates. Maliah gives Finn a nod, a flash of friendship in her dark eyes. Finn's shoulders relax, and he meets my gaze, his expression softening, almost apologetic. I force myself to look away, heat prickling at my neck, refusing to let him see my disappointment.

"Grimes," Derek calls as he pulls my paper, his voice slicing through the air. I flinch, shoulders going rigid, my breath catching. My eyes lock on his hands as they dip back into the hat, fingers curling around another scrap. He hesitates, just for a heartbeat, his throat bobbing as he swallows. His eyes flicker, dark and unreadable. "And Dawson."

My stomach plummets, a cold wave of dread washing over me. Anthony.

My gaze drifts across the room, landing on the largest man in the room. Anthony's broad shoulders are tense, his jaw set, eyes a shade too dark, too intense. When he looks at me, his mouth parts, sympathy softening his sharp features. It makes my skin crawl.

He thinks I'm weak. They all do.

And maybe they're right. Anthony is massive, same towering height as Derek, with broader shoulders that look carved from stone, arms thick with muscle. He could snap my forearm like a twig without breaking a sweat.

"You can't be serious," Finn's voice cuts in, sharp and protective. "He could rip her in half."

Heat flares in my cheeks, embarrassment twisting with anger. Damn it, Finn. I clench my fists, nails biting into my palms.

Anthony's eyes flick to Finn, narrowing just slightly, a flicker of offense there before his face smooths out, unreadable again. But his lips press tighter, and I catch the faintest shadow of tension in his posture. He doesn't like this any more than I do.

Derek's eyes flash, jaw tightening as he crosses his arms, biceps straining against the fabric of his t-shirt. His stare pins Finn in place, the weight of his authority unmistakable. "Relax, Hawes. It's sparring practice, not a death match," he snaps, his voice hard as iron, laced with irritation. "If you can't handle that, maybe you're the one who should sit this out."

Finn's mouth opens, a retort ready, but Derek's glare is unyielding, daring him to push his luck. After a tense beat, Finn clamps his jaw shut, shoulders rigid as he takes a step back, following the rules as always.

Derek's expression doesn't soften. If anything, his eyes harden, sweeping over the room with sharp calculation. "Sloane," he calls, his tone all business, no room for argument. "Because of the odd group number, you're with me."

Maeve's head snaps up, eyes widening. Her gaze darts to Derek, searching his face, looking for any trace of humor, some sign that he's joking. She finds none. 

Maeve's mouth presses into a thin line, resignation settling over her features. She nods, quick and jerky, her movements tight with tension. I catch the flicker of unease in her eyes before she looks away, trying to mask it behind a facade of determination.

Derek doesn't wait for any more complaints. He claps his hands together, the sound sharp and final, echoing off the walls. "Pair up. Get moving."

The room comes to life, bodies shifting, feet scuffing against the red mats as people find their partners. There's a ripple of murmurs, soft and nervous, but no one dares to protest again. Not after the look Derek gave Finn.

Then my stomach twists, cold and heavy, as Anthony steps toward me.

His movements are slow, deliberate, each step measured as if he's trying not to spook me. He keeps his distance, standing just far enough away to avoid crowding me, his broad shoulders angled in a way that feels almost... cautious. His eyes don't meet mine, fixed somewhere over my head, his jaw clenched tight.

But even with that careful distance, his presence looms, a wall of muscle and tension that's impossible to ignore. The air between us is charged, humming with unspoken words and heavy expectations.

I force myself to move, legs stiff and uncooperative, feet dragging as I step onto the mat. My heart is a wild drum in my chest, pulse roaring in my ears, drowning out the muffled sounds of sparring around us. It feels like the room is closing in, like all the air has been sucked out, leaving nothing but the cold knot of dread coiling in my gut.

I stop a few feet from Anthony, fists trembling despite how hard I try to still them. My resolve feels brittle, fragile, threatening to crack under his shadow. Anthony towers over me, his shoulders impossibly broad, his stance relaxed but coiled with a latent power that sends a shiver down my spine.

I swallow hard, forcing the fear down, burying it beneath anger and stubborn pride. I lift my chin, locking eyes with him, refusing to flinch. Refusing to show weakness.

For a moment, his face softens, just a little. His mouth parts, hesitation flickering in his dark eyes, as if he's about to say something. Maybe even try to comfort me.

My chest tightens, fury flaring hot and bright. I don't want his comfort. I don't want his pity.

Because pity would be worse. It would mean he agrees with them—that I don't belong here, that I'm weak, fragile, breakable.

My teeth grind together, muscles going rigid as I clench my fists tighter, nails biting into my palms. I don't need his sympathy. I don't need his concern. I need to prove myself. 

Anthony's face shifts, the softness vanishing, replaced by something colder, more guarded. His eyes darken, his shoulders squaring as he straightens, his jaw tightening. Whatever hesitation was there before is gone now, buried beneath a stoic mask.

He nods once, short and sharp, his voice low and steady. "Ready?"

The word hangs between us, heavy with expectation, a challenge wrapped in careful restraint. It's the first time I've heard him speak. His voice is... softer than I expected.

Am I ready? No. Not even close. But I force the word out anyway, locking my knees to keep them from shaking. "Ready."

I circle Anthony, my eyes locked on his, searching for any crack in his composure, any hint of a weakness. But his face is a mask—blank, calm, unreadable. He stands there, solid and unmovable, arms loose at his sides like this is nothing, like I'm nothing.

It pisses me off.

My muscles are coiled tight, adrenaline buzzing in my veins. I bounce on the balls of my feet, feinting left before darting right, trying to throw him off. He doesn't even flinch. His eyes follow me, dark and steady, tracking every movement with unnerving precision.

He's waiting. Patient. Silent. He just stands there, watching. Like I'm a bug he's waiting to swat.

My jaw clenches, frustration boiling hot and bitter. I can feel Finn's eyes on me from the edge of the mat, his shoulders tense, his worry rolling off him in waves. I don't dare look at him. I don't need his concern. I don't need his pity.

I lunge, fast and precise, aiming a quick jab at Anthony's ribs, following up with a low kick meant to sweep his leg. I'm quick—agile—my form probably less than perfect in my manic speed. But he moves like smoke, twisting away from the punch, his body flowing effortlessly as he sidesteps the kick.

My heart skips. He makes it look easy.

I barely have time to think before his counterattack comes, swift and brutal. His palm strikes out, aiming for my shoulder. I duck, feeling the rush of air as his hand grazes past, missing by a hair. I pivot, launching another punch at his side, muscles burning, determination flaring hot in my chest.

He blocks it without even blinking, his arm snapping down to meet my fist with bone-jarring force, my knuckles meeting pure muscle. Pain shoots up my knuckles, but I grit my teeth, ignoring the sting as I twist, aiming a high kick at his head. Fast, powerful, the move I've practiced a hundred times.

His hand catches my ankle mid-kick.

My eyes widen, heart lurching as he yanks, pulling me off balance. The floor slams up to meet me, the mat jarring my spine as I crash down, the breath whooshing out of my lungs.

Everything spins, pain ricocheting through my body. But I force myself to roll, instincts screaming as I dodge his foot, which crashes down where my chest was a second before.

I scramble up, fists raised, legs trembling. He watches me, calm and composed, not a curl out of place. My chest heaves, humiliation burning in my cheeks. He isn't even breaking a sweat.

I can feel the anger blazing hot and wild, igniting my blood. I charge, reckless, feinting left before twisting right, driving my elbow toward his jaw. I'm fast—faster than he expects. My elbow glances off his cheekbone, and for a split second, his eyes widen.

But then his hand clamps around my arm, vise-like and unyielding. Before I can react, he pivots, using my momentum against me. My body flips over his hip, the world spinning before I slam into the mat again, pain exploding in my back, my spine arching as the air is knocked out of me.

I gasp, blinking away the haze of stars dancing in my vision. But he's already on me, his knee pressing down on my thigh, pinning me in place. His forearm traps my shoulder, his weight crushing, suffocating, unyielding.

I thrash, twisting, bucking, muscles straining, teeth gritted with fury. But he doesn't budge. He's a mountain, immovable, his grip firm but controlled, careful not to hurt me, but unyielding all the same.

"Dammit!" I snarl, frustration burning through me, hot and sharp. I push against his chest, muscles trembling, but it's like trying to shove a brick wall. 

His face is close, dark eyes locked on mine, unwavering. I see something there—regret, maybe even sympathy—but it vanishes before I can be sure.

I need to yield.

My chest heaves, lungs burning, rage twisting with helplessness. I hate this. I hate feeling weak. I hate being pinned. I hate that no matter how hard I fight, I can't break free.

His grip loosens just a fraction, a silent acknowledgment of my defeat, and my pride shatters. I look away, swallowing hard, refusing to let him see the tears prickling at the corners of my eyes.

Slowly, Anthony stands, his movements fluid, controlled. He steps back, giving me space, his expression blank and calm. There's no arrogance, no gloating. Just that same quiet, impenetrable silence.

I lie there, chest heaving, fists clenched so tight my nails bite into my palms. The room feels distant, the muffled sounds of other matches irrelevant. My pride is in pieces, scattered across the mat.

I sit up, muscles screaming in protest, my vision swimming with remnants of pain. My pride is shattered, shards of it cutting deep, but I refuse to show it.

Anthony watches me, his eyes shadowed, unreadable. There's no smugness in his gaze, no hint of satisfaction. Just that same steady calmness that makes me want to scream. His mouth presses into a tight line, his chin dipping in a brief nod—a gesture of respect. Then, without a word, he turns away, his shoulders relaxed, his posture serene, like the fight was nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

I grit my teeth, anger churning in my gut, boiling with humiliation. I want to call him back, demand a rematch, prove that I'm not as weak as he made me feel. But the words die in my throat, heavy and bitter, my body too battered to back them up.

"J!" Finn's voice slices through the fog of my frustration, his footsteps hurried as he leaves Mlaiha on her mat to kneel beside me. I groan, pushing myself upright, my muscles protesting every movement. Pain radiates through my ribs, my limbs already throbbing where Anthony's blows landed. Bruises will be there by tomorrow, ugly reminders of my defeat.

Fuck this.

"I'm fine," I manage, forcing the words out even as my lungs burn. "Quiet guy is fuckin' strong." I glare at Anthony's back as he walks off the mat, barely sparing me a second glance.

Finn scoffs, his jaw clenching. "He's basically a giant. It's insanely unfair Derek paired you with him, God, he's such an asshole." His eyes are dark, a protective fire burning behind them. There's a heat there that makes my heart stutter, just for a moment. Even pissed off and hurting, that look gets to me.

Finn slips an arm around my waist, his touch gentle, careful as he helps me to my feet. My skin tingles where his fingers press against me, and I have to fight a smile, heat creeping up my neck despite everything. Maybe getting my ass handed to me wasn't all bad.

Once the sparring matches are over—Anthony's victory over me swift and brutal, Derek easily besting Maeve, and Finn narrowly losing to Maliah—we all shuffle off to the showers, muscles aching and egos bruised. The water is scalding, washing away the sweat and grime but doing nothing for the ache beneath my skin.

Back at the townhouse, the clock ticks closer to three, each passing minute twisting my stomach with regret. If it weren't for Derek, I'd be with my family by now. I'd be sitting around the table, laughing, feeling my mother's warm hug, hearing my father's voice. Instead, I'm here. Stuck.

The others eventually filter out during free hour, eager to see family, soak in the sunshine, or meet up with friends. Even Maliah leaves, her eyes soft with sympathy as she heads out, leaving Finn and me alone in the living room.

Finn slumps on the couch beside me, his presence a comfort, even if we're both silent. The clock ticks on, each second echoing louder in the stillness. My chest tightens with every chime, the weight of all the things I can't say heavy on my tongue.

The door creaks open. Derek strides in, a stack of papers in his hands, his eyes fixed on them as he crosses the room. He barely glances up, his voice flat and detached. "Hawes, you're on wall duty—front gate. Make sure the recruits stay awake."

Finn's shoulders tense, his jaw tightening as he takes a deep breath. "Yes, sir."

There's a beat of silence, Finn staying seated beside me.

Derek's eyes flicker up, cold and expectant. "Now, cadet."

Finn hesitates, his gaze sliding to me, worry tightening his brow. He doesn't want to leave me alone with Derek. I don't blame him. But we both know he doesn't have a choice.

His shoulders slump as he stands, his fists clenching before he forces himself to relax. He gives me one last look, something unspoken lingering in his eyes, before he heads out, his footsteps heavy.

The door shuts behind him, the silence swallowing the sound.

My skin prickles, a cold chill washing over me. Derek settles into an armchair, his back straight, shoulders rigid. He exhales slowly, setting his papers aside, his eyes finally lifting to meet mine.

"Anthony wiped the floor with you." His voice is tight, controlled, but there's something underneath. Something sharp.

I huff, crossing my arms, the anger flaring hot again. "Yeah, I know. I was there." The words are bitter, laced with humiliation.

His eyes narrow, studying me, dissecting me with that calculating stare. It feels like needles pricking at my skin, peeling back layers, seeing things I don't want him to see—weakness, insecurity, fear, madness.

"You're weak," he says, his tone blunt, emotionless. "The weakest. Even Maeve Sloane held her own better, and she's practically a twig. But she has better form, you're sloppy and let your frustration and anger take over."

Heat rushes to my face, shame burning through me like acid. My fists clench on my thighs, knuckles white, nails digging into my palms. I feel the anger twist, contorting, fighting against the helplessness sinking in my gut.

But I swallow it down, forcing my face to stay neutral, my body still. I won't give him the satisfaction of seeing me crack.

I force the fury down, swallowing it like broken glass, and manage to keep my face neutral, my body rigid and still. "Do I have an assignment for this hour, sir?" I bite out, my words sharp, each one grating against my teeth.

Derek exhales slowly, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes before he leans back, his shoulders relaxed, casual, as if this conversation costs him nothing. "Yeah. You and me, we're training. I can't have a weak little lamb bringing down the rest of the squad." His mouth curls into a shadow of a smile, cruel and mocking. "We need strength. We need power. So, congratulations, Grimes. You're about to get personalized hand-to-hand training from the Soldier."

My stomach drops, a cold knot twisting in its place. I school my expression, forcing myself to nod, to appear unaffected even as dread coils tight inside me. 

Personalized training. With Derek.

Fuck my life.

── ⋆⋅☾ ☼ ⋅⋆ ──