The room smells of iron and smoke, but it hasn't always been this way.

Tom sits on the raised dais in a chair that looks too much like a throne. His posture is relaxed, almost lazy, but there’s a tension in the way his fingers curl around the armrest. At his feet, his servants kneel in a semicircle, heads bowed.

“You failed me,” he says softly.

One of the servants tries to speak. “My lord, we—we did everything you asked—”

Tom’s hand lifts fractionally, and the air itself seems to tighten, squeezing the breath from your lungs.

“Everything?” Tom repeats. “If that were true, you would not be kneeling here explaining your incompetence.”

You swallow hard. This is the man you love. The man who once stayed up all night with you when you couldn’t sleep, whispering ridiculous stories just to hear you laugh. Now, however, his eyes are dark in a way that makes your stomach churn.

He rises from the throne in one fluid motion. His boots echo against the stone as he descends the steps.

“You will go back,” Tom says. “And this time, you will finish what I started. No excuses."

You want to step forward, to grab his arm and remind him of who he used to be. Of who he still could be.

But, as if sensing your gaze, Tom turns around.

His eyes find yours instantly, and he gestures lazily. The servants scramble to their feet. “You’ll leave at dawn,” he tells them. Then, without looking away from you: “And you… you’re going to this mission with them.”

You gasp. “What? But I never said I was going to do that.”

A hush falls over the chamber, and Tom takes a slow step towards you.

“Oh…” he says, a smile curving his lips. “You wanna play this game?”

Your pulse pounds in your ears. “I won’t be part of that.”

His expression darkens and his smile fades into something colder. “You are part of this,” he says quietly. “Everything I do is for us. For what we’re building.”

“For you,” you whisper. “Not for us.”

His jaw tightens. “You think I enjoy this?” he asks. “You think I wanted to become… this?” He gestures vaguely to the hall and the servants. “The world doesn’t bend to kindness. It never did. I’m just strong enough to admit it.”

“And I’m strong enough to hate it,” you reply, your voice shaking but steady. “I’m watching you turn into everything you swore you’d fight. Every cruel, heartless thing you despised.”

Tom’s eyes search your face, as if looking for a crack, a sign that you’ll yield. Instead, you hold his gaze. You let him see the fear there, and the love that stubbornly refuses to fade.

His hand lifts, hovering uncertainly, before settling gently on your cheek. Tears sting your eyes.

“You’re afraid of me,” he murmurs.

His thumb brushes beneath your eye, catching a tear before it falls. For a heartbeat, the darkness recedes and he looks like your Tom again.

Then the mask slides back into place.

“Dawn,” he says, louder now, his voice carrying across the chamber. “You’ll all be ready. And you—” his gaze locks onto yours, unyielding “—will stand at their side. Whether you approve or not.”

The man you love is slipping into the shadows, and he’s dragging you with him.