Thorne 
It had been 24 hours, and my patience was wearing thin. I strode through the Council Hall, my jaw tight, my mind racing. Just as I was about to turn a corner, a knight intercepted me.
“Sir Ackerman, Commander Blackwell requests your presence.”
Without hesitation, I made my way to his office, knocking once before stepping inside.
The room was built of light gray stone blocks, the high-vaulted ceiling giving it an air of authority. Dark reddish-brown wooden desks, cabinets, and chairs filled the space, their polished surfaces gleaming under the dim candlelight.
Blackwell stood at the long table, his usual composed demeanor shadowed by something grim. Several knights flanked him, their expressions tense.
“Blackwell, talk to me.” My voice was firm, demanding.
His eyes met mine. “We’ve located where they’re keeping Zaira.”
I was at the table in an instant. A massive map of the kingdom lay sprawled across it, intricate and detailed. Small figurines marked locations, and a circle had been drawn in the center, surrounded by jagged mountain ridges.
“Here.” Blackwell tapped the circled area. “This is where they’re holed up. I sent North and his team to keep watch all night.”
I studied the layout. “What’s their security?”
“The guards rotate every three hours. It’s well-protected, but not impenetrable.”
He pulled another set of documents from the side. “Luck was on our side—North retrieved the architectural plans for Owain’s stronghold from Zaira’s house.”
One of his knights handed me the aged parchment, detailed with carefully marked Xs, each representing a possible entry point. My mind raced through the possibilities.
Blackwell continued. “Last night, my men reported a cargo delivery. Along with it, an unknown machine was transported… and a man. A doctor.” His lips curled slightly, his distaste clear. “Dr. Macabre from the South.”
I stiffened. The name was familiar—too familiar.
“He was exiled decades ago for performing grotesque experiments on his patients,” Blackwell said darkly. “He’s a man who treats human life as nothing more than raw material.”
A slow, suffocating dread curled in my gut.
A doctor. A machine.
Owain wasn’t wasting time. He knew what Zaira was. He knew about her blood.
“We don’t have time to waste,” I said, my voice edged with urgency. “Blackwell, we have to get her out before it’s too late.”
Blackwell smirked, arms crossed. “Stella pulled some strings and got us backing from the royal knights. We have support, resources… and a tight window.”
I exhaled, tension coiled in my chest. Finally, a damn break in this mess.
“We move out later,” Blackwell continued, his grin turning sharp. “So, ready your ass, Ackerman. You’re about to owe me big time.”
I shot him a look. “I don’t owe you shit.”
He chuckled. “You will after this.”
The cold wind howled through the steep mountains as Blackwell’s men finished setting up weapons for Zaira’s rescue. Thanks to Princess Stella’s backing, we had the support we needed. I secured weapons in key spots—prepared for anything.
Blackwell strode toward me. “Ackerman, it’s time.”
I nodded and turned to go, but his hand clamped down on my shoulder.
“Stick to the plan. Don’t do anything stupid,” he warned.
I smirked as I approached the windglider—the fastest way down to their damn fortress. Blackwell’s face was unreadable, but beneath that tough exterior, I knew he was worried.
“Hug before I go?” I teased.
“Go to hell, asshole,” he spat.
I chuckled, then launched downhill, the wind whipping past me as I closed in on my target, making sure my entrance was unnoticeable. 
When I arrived, I immediately hid my things behind a rock. A single soldier was walking around. Just like Blackwell said. Moving swiftly, I ran toward the wooden boxes and took him down with a quick, silent kill. No pain. No sound. Dragging his body into the woods, I stripped him of his uniform, disguising myself to blend in.
In just a minute, another soldier came to replace him. I slipped inside before he could notice anything.
The first floor of the fortress was quiet. Most of them were asleep, making it easier to move around. I began stripping the room of weapons, hiding them in unreachable places to slow their response if things went south.
I turned a corner—only to come face-to-face with a soldier.
For a brief second, we stared at each other. His eyes narrowed.
"Hey, you. What unit are you from?"
I kept my posture relaxed, rolling my shoulders. "Third squad. Just got assigned here for the night shift."
He scoffed. "Bullshit. We don't have a third squad."
Shit.
Before he could react, I lunged. My hand clamped over his mouth as I slammed him against the wall, muffling his struggles. He thrashed, but I twisted his arm behind his back and pressed a dagger against his throat.
"Make a sound, and you’re dead," I whispered.
He stilled.
I needed answers. "Where are the prisoners?"
His breath hitched. "I—I don’t know—”
“Wrong answer.” I pressed the blade harder.
"Alright! The lower levels! West wing! There’s a guard stationed there—big guy, scar on his jaw!" he hissed.
I nodded, then knocked him out with a swift hit to the back of his head, dragging him into the shadows.
Lower levels. West wing.
When he was about to move, I sighed, slashing him unexpectedly, making a painless and swift death. I heard a slight thud, looking at him as he was lying peacefully. 
“Sorry buddy, I can't take the risk” I whispered as I adjusted my stolen uniform and kept moving. Time was running out.
I immediately went to the west wing, trying to blend in and avoid drawing attention from the guards. Three men were patrolling the hall, their boots echoing against the stone floor. I bowed my head slightly, walking casually, keeping my pace steady.
I thought I had passed unnoticed.
“Hey! Stop right there.”
Fuck it. I don’t have time for this
Footsteps closed in behind me. A firm grip clamped down on my shoulder.
I reacted instantly.
With a sharp pivot, I grabbed his wrist and wrenched him forward, using his own momentum to slam him into the ground. Before he could even groan, my dagger was already slicing across his throat—clean, precise, silent.
The wet gasp behind me was all the warning I needed.
I twisted, spotting two more soldiers raising their rifles. Their hands were steady, but they hesitated. A mistake.
I lunged.
Sliding behind them, I struck fast—an elbow to one’s temple, a swift jab to the other's throat. They staggered, choking, eyes wide with panic.
I didn’t give them a second chance.
My gun was already drawn. Two muffled shots. They crumpled.
The silence returned.
I exhaled slowly, rolling my shoulders. Mortal weapons… truly are more deadly.
Fascinating.
As I was about to move, I heard a sharp, unsteady breath.
A naive teenager. Barely a soldier.
Thin, trembling—his fingers hovered over the dagger at his belt, but it was the horn strapped to his side that made my pulse spike.
That’s not good.
The moment our eyes met, he bolted.
I lunged after him, closing the distance just as he reached for the horn. My blade slashed across his back—not deep enough to kill, but enough to send him sprawling with a cry.
He groaned, gasping, crawling toward the horn like his life depended on it.
“Give up,” I said, watching him struggle.
He didn’t.
I sighed, stepping forward—but before I could strike, he moved swiftly, yanking his dagger free. I swung. He dodged. Again. And again. The little shit was weak but fast. Too fast.
Frustration burned through me. I kicked him hard, sending his dagger flying. He trembled, barely standing, but still… he fought.
Annoying.
My next strike was faster—his body lurched as the blade bit into his shoulder. His eyes darted toward the horn. I knew what was coming. 
I moved to stop him.
But I was a second too late.
The horn’s blast split the silence.
Metal clashed. Shouts erupted. Footsteps thundered down the halls.
Fuck it.
I drove my dagger into his chest, silencing him for good.
Without wasting another second, I sprinted toward the west wing, grabbing my radio.
"Blackwell, I need your scouts. Now."
Zaira 
The moment I woke, a commotion outside the steel door sent my heart into a frenzy. I shot up, pressing my ear against the cold metal, trying to make sense of the shouts and hurried footsteps. Then, the unmistakable sound of a key turning echoed through the room.
The door swung open, revealing a hulking figure. His grin stretched with cruel amusement as he stepped forward.
"Wait…" My voice barely escaped my lips.
"It's time for your extraction, little lady," he jeered, his laugh thick with triumph.
"No… wait—my extraction is tomorrow!" I protested, my breath hitching.
"We don’t have time for that. Now move!"
His grip closed around my arm like a vice, yanking me forward. My pulse pounded in my ears as he dragged me through the dimly lit corridor. Around us, chaos unfolded—guards rushing, voices overlapping, shouts of someone infiltrating the facility. My chest tightened.
Someone was here.
A sliver of hope broke through the fear.
I turned my gaze to the man holding me, his grip tightening with every step. My lips parted, drawing in a slow, measured breath before I sank my teeth into his arm.
A strangled, guttural scream ripped from his throat.
I bit down harder, my jaw clenching until the taste of iron spread over my tongue. His knees buckled, his other hand clawing at me, but I refused to let go. My teeth dug deeper, tearing flesh.
"You—damn bitch!" he bellowed, wrenching his arm away. Blood dripped from the mangled wound, his face contorted in pain.
I didn’t wait. The second his grip faltered, I bolted.
I didn't know where I was going, only that I had to keep moving. My instincts screamed that he was here—Thorne was here.
My hands fumbled against the restraints binding me, my fingers trembling as I snatched a small knife from a nearby table. The blade sliced through the tight ropes, freeing my arms. My breath came in sharp, ragged bursts as I forced myself to push forward.
The corridor stretched endlessly, every shadow threatening to hold another enemy. My legs burned, but I couldn't stop. Not now.
Then—a figure blocked my path.
"You!" The guard’s voice was sharp, filled with anger as he stormed toward me.
I spun on my heel, sprinting down another hall, but he was faster. His hand clamped around my wrist, yanking me back. My chest heaved as I twisted in his grip, the dagger still clutched tightly in my palm.
I didn't think. I reacted.
The blade drove into his eye.
A blood curdling shriek filled the corridor. His body convulsed, hands clawing at the dagger lodged deep in his skull. Crimson poured down his face as he crumpled, his screams raw, broken.
I scrambled back, my breaths shallow, my hands shaking. Then, my body moved on its own—I ran.
The halls blurred past me until I burst onto an open terrace. The cold night air hit my skin, my body freezing mid-step. My eyes darted around, heart hammering.
Then—I saw him.
Across the terrace, standing in the dim moonlight, was a figure I would recognize anywhere. Dark hair tousled from the wind, shoulders tense, eyes burning with something unreadable.
My breath caught. My vision blurred with tears.
Thorne.
I took a shaky step forward, my vision still blurred by tears. Across the terrace, Thorne bolted toward me. The weight in my chest lightened—he was here. He came for me.
A sob broke from my lips as I moved to run to him, but before I could, an iron grip yanked me back.
I gasped, struggling, but then—
The thwip of an arrow sliced through the air.
The moment it struck, Thorne staggered. His body lurched, his steps faltering before he dropped to his knees with a sharp, guttural groan.
"Thorne!" My scream tore through the night, raw and desperate.
I thrashed in my captor’s grip, my entire body trembling. "Let go of me! Thorne!"
He clutched the arrow embedded in his side, his teeth gritted in pain. More guards rushed toward him, surrounding him.
No—no, no, no!
I kicked, clawed, fought with everything I had, but the hands restraining me were too strong. My body jerked violently as they dragged me backward, away from him.
"No! What are you doing to him?!" My voice cracked as I fought harder, nails scraping against rough fabric, wrists burning from their crushing hold. "Thorne!"
His gaze flickered up to meet mine, pain darkening his eyes.
Then—he vanished behind the swarm of bodies.
My breath hitched. The walls of the fortress swallowed him whole as they pulled me away, my cries drowned by the chaos.
The next thing I knew, I was shoved into a dimly lit room. My body hit the cold floor, my heart slamming against my ribs.
Glass vials lined the walls, filled with ominous, burning-colored liquids. Machines hummed lowly, their flickering screens casting eerie shadows. But what sent a new wave of terror through me was the steel bed at the center—restraints glinting under the artificial light.
A slow, deliberate chuckle filled the room.
I forced myself to look up.
A man in a white lab coat stood before me, his smile wide—too wide. His eyes gleamed with something manic, something hungry.
"No… please…" My voice came out broken, a whisper of desperation.
Above, from the metal railings overlooking the lab, two figures loomed.
Owain watched me, his face unreadable. But beside him—
Caden smirked.
His eyes met mine, gleaming with satisfaction. Then, without a word, he turned and walked away.
The scientist’s grin stretched wider, morphing into something truly unnerving.
"Please…" My voice trembled. "Let me go…"
He chuckled, the sound low and amused. "Don’t worry now," he cooed mockingly. "We’ll be ending your suffering soon enough."
His laughter echoed through the lab as he stepped away, pressing a series of buttons. The restraints clamped around my wrists and ankles, locking me in place. My breath hitched when a transparent glass barrier rose around the bed, sealing me in.
From the corner of the room, the scientist toyed with a control panel, his fingers gliding over buttons as he yanked down a lever.
A machine emerged from the floor.
My blood ran cold.
It was massive, gun-like in structure, with a long, metallic tube. But at its tip—
A needle.
Not just any needle. It was long, sharp, designed for one thing.
Extraction.
Tears blurred my vision as I stared at it.
Thorne…
The alarm blared red. The machine whirred to life, its metallic arm lowering as the needle pressed against my skin. A sharp sting spread through my body, followed by an unbearable pull, as if something vital was being ripped away. My muscles tensed, breath hitching as the sensation burrowed deep, spreading like fire through my veins. I clenched my fists, my body trembling against the restraints.
A containment jar sat beside the machine, its glass surface reflecting the dim, sterile light of the lab. The liquid inside rose steadily—crimson, thick, my life being drained away. My limbs grew heavy, the edges of my vision darkening.
Somewhere in the distance, an explosion rocked the building. The machine lurched, its process interrupted. A second blast followed, shaking the walls, sending cracks spiraling through the reinforced glass in front of me.
The scientist slammed his hands against the control panel, his eyes wild. "No! No!" His voice cracked with frustration as he pressed the buttons harder, desperately trying to regain control.
A final explosion ruptured through the lab. Glass shattered in a deafening crash, shards raining down like daggers. Smoke billowed through the ruined space, swallowing everything in thick, suffocating darkness.
Then, through the haze, a figure emerged.
His silhouette stood tall against the destruction, his presence cutting through the chaos like a blade. Dark hair, sharp eyes—every inch of him was burned into my soul.
"Thorne…" My voice trembled, barely a whisper, but filled with everything I had left.