Chapter 7

Chapter 7 — The Noose (1)

She had no choice but to admit it. Eighteen years spent running toward revenge, eighteen years spent sharpening herself into a weapon, and still she had been defeated—utterly, unambiguously, helplessly.

Even after he walked away, the hollowing spell of futility he left behind bound her from head to toe, as though some invisible rope pinned her to the bed. All she could do was lie there, staring blankly up at the ceiling. Never in her life had humiliation tasted so thick on her tongue.

“Then we’ll meet again, won’t we?”

The voice that mocked her when she could do nothing, the lips that grazed her ear, the teeth that had briefly, almost idly, closed around her throat—those sensations clung to her skin like the afterimage of a wound.

And even now, she could still feel the way his hand had stroked her chest, as if consoling her. That phantom touch alone was enough to make her want to die.

No one would ever understand how deeply she wished for death in that moment.

Despair devoured her whole and then began to tear her apart, thread by thread. She had built her strength for so long, climbed so far—and yet in the end she had been unable to do anything. She couldn’t accept it. Not when she had sworn, down to the marrow of her bones, that she would never give up killing him.

…I’ll meet him again. And I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him.

Erin ground her teeth as she forced herself upright. It would have been better for her body if she had remained still and let her regeneration handle the damage, but lying there—lying still—only made her feel more powerless, more disgusted with herself.

To anchor herself, she walked slowly toward the mirror positioned beside the bed.

With every step she took, her reflection sharpened into view.

She saw the wobbling, limping gait caused by a leg whose bones had not yet knit correctly back together. She saw the red mark blooming at her nape—his mark. And she saw her own eyes, darker than ever, sunk deep as an abyss.

A true loser’s face. A sight so repulsive she felt her stomach twist. Erin clenched her jaw, lifted her fist, and drove it straight into the mirror.

The shattering rang out in a single brittle crash. The glass broke without resistance, and splinters of it embedded themselves in her knuckles.

The pain was nothing. Nothing at all. The real agony was the fact that she had allowed herself to be toyed with.

Breathing hard, Erin lowered her gaze to where several shards still clung to the frame. Through their ruptured surfaces, she saw Gabriel appear behind her—his figure fractured, multiplied across the pieces.

And just as before, he slid his arms around her from behind, as if to mock her, holding her gently, possessively, like a noose tightening around her ribs.

No matter how she strained, she would never escape him. His hands made that promise as they slid upward and wrapped around her throat.

He could have snapped her neck with the slightest pressure, but instead he held her lightly, as if granting mercy. The hypocrite. The liar. And in her ear, he murmured a useless little piece of advice.

“Keep your composure. The right amount of anger can drive you forward. But too much only makes it easier to break you.”

Composure?

Erin stared at his reflection in the broken glass, at that insufferably relaxed expression that implied he would always—always—be above her, no matter what she did. Her lips curled upward in a twisted smirk as she glared back at him.

What a joke.

Grinding her teeth, she slammed her fist into the broken mirror again. And again. And again. She knew better than anyone that destroying her own body was foolish, especially in a rage. But if she didn’t let the fury escape somehow, she would never be able to think clearly afterward.

Each time her fist hit the splintered surface, the mirror shattered further, fracturing into smaller, finer pieces. Not enough. It wasn’t nearly enough.

More.

More, more, more, more—

Her struggle to reclaim composure continued. Even as tiny shards worked their way deep into her skin, even as her nerves began to dull from overuse, she kept going—until the moment someone rushed to her side.

“Commander!”

A pair of hands grabbed her arm and stopped her. Instinctively, Erin tried to shake off the interference, ready to tear apart whoever dared restrain her. But something in the desperate, near-panicked grip gave her pause. It reminded her sharply—too sharply—of the way Gabriel had held her earlier.

She bared her teeth and glared murderously at the person who had dared to grab her.

“I’ll rip you apart before—”

But then she saw his face. And she froze.

“S-sorry, Commander. I—I’m really sorry. But your… your hand…”

A familiar voice. A familiar face.

The young man looked as if he were about to cry. Erin stared at him blankly, as though someone had struck her across the back of the head. His green eyes were filled to the brim with tears.

…The color was lighter than Gabriel’s, and yet she had failed to recognize him in time.

“You…”

She tried to speak, but the words refused to form. The young man seemed to think she was scolding him for arriving too late—he flinched as though expecting a reprimand.

“I—I’m truly sorry, Commander.”

His voice trembled. He apologized as though he had committed the crime, though the one who owed her an apology was someone else entirely.

“I—I was patrolling when I was attacked. I didn’t see their face. I’m so sorry, Commander.”

His tears dripped onto her blood-soaked hand, washing streaks through the red.

He never could look her straight in the face. But he was the one who always spoke the truth—not rude, never insolent, but honest when it mattered. The one who always seemed to be there beside her.

“He wouldn’t have died. Don’t worry about him.”

Gabriel’s words, damn him. And he had been right.

“C-Commander. I’m sorry. I should’ve been more careful.”

…It really was Ten.

She didn’t know where he had been kept, but his face and the corners of his eyes were covered with cuts, some scabbed over, others swollen and infected from lack of treatment. Despite his own condition, he held her injured hand as though hers mattered far more than his.

Erin twisted and pulled him into a tight embrace. Startled, Ten went stiff, letting her hold him exactly as she pleased.

Pressed against her chest, his heartbeat thudded wildly—so fast it felt as if it might burst. As if his whole body were saying, I’m alive. I survived. I’m here.

“…I’m glad.”

She breathed the words more than spoke them.

He was alive. Truly alive. And the relief that Gabriel had not taken him from her—had not stolen this too—steadied her in a way nothing else could.

Ten remained in her arms for a moment before awkwardly pulling back.

“L-let me treat your injuries first.”

“They’ll heal on their own, you know.”

She glanced down at her still-bleeding hand in mild irritation. Ten’s expression hardened; ignoring her dismissal, he guided her to sit on the bed.

“There are more shards in your hand than you think. If they heal inside the tissue, it could be dangerous.”

He hardly spoke in most situations, yet in moments like this he could become surprisingly firm. Erin stared at him a moment before sighing and extending her hand.

Ten’s eyes widened slightly at the sheer number of embedded fragments. He clicked his tongue and hurriedly gathered supplies.

You should treat yourself first, she thought, watching him quietly.

“Why are you looking at me like that…?”

Ten knelt on one knee and began disinfecting her hand. The sting made her brows furrow, but the pain was manageable. She watched in silence as he plucked out the shards one by one.

The soft clinking of glass accompanied each piece removed. After a while, Erin spoke.

“When you woke up… where were you?”

“In the basement. This basement.”

His hands never stopped moving. Blood slowed, skin sealed, reopened as he removed another fragment—an ugly cycle of healing and reinjury.

Ten hesitated before continuing, his face tightening with guilt. When he failed to speak, Erin pulled her hand back.

“I’m not done,” he said quickly.

“Then finish your sentence.”

He swallowed and gently drew her hand back toward him.

“…I was patrolling the capital. Near the Taste Bakery alley, I heard a woman scream. I went in—and the moment I did, my memory just… vanished.”

And after that, Gabriel had impersonated him, come to her, reported a murder scene—

He planned everything from the start, Erin realized.

She didn’t know what happened when Gabriel fed someone his blood. But he had deliberately given Ten water laced with it. The same tainted water that had worsened her thirst. It all connected somehow—how, she didn’t yet know.

He had done the same thing to her here, again and again.

Erin kept her gaze on the nearly cleared shards, mind racing.

Gabriel also knew far too much about her starvation, about the exact cadence of her hunger.

How long have you been watching me? Watching me like some rat in a cage?

To know her that well, he must have observed her for years—decades? Hidden in the shadows, eyes always on her.

When had it begun? And how had he done it?