Arkha felt you go missing long before anyone spoke a word.
He was standing in the negotiation hall, surrounded by Giver diplomats and crates of traded supplies, his hands folded neatly behind his back — the picture of cold authority — when his breath stopped.
Just one flicker. One pulse. One shift.
Your energy dimmed. Not like a scared heartbeat. Not like a flinch.
Like someone had cut the thread connecting you to him.
Arkha’s eyes snapped toward the north sector before anyone noticed the change in his expression. Only Semiu, stationed behind him, saw the way his fingers curled — slow, deliberate — as though choking something invisible.
Semiu (soft, alarmed): “Arkha? Her signal—”
He didn’t let her finish.
The crates rattled. Papers fluttered. The entire room went silent as Arkha spoke two chilling words:
“She’s gone.”
And then he moved.
Not fast. Not loudly. Not recklessly.
Just gone.
One blink and he was across the compound. A second blink and he was outside HQ. A third — and he was following the faint, fading spark of your energy like a predator tracking the last warmth in a frozen forest.
⸻
Inside the van
You couldn’t scream — the gag made sure of that. Your wrists and ankles were raw from struggling against zip-ties. The van rattled through the wastelands, voices arguing about ransom, leverage, “what a Cleaner leader’s pet must be worth.”
And then everything went quiet.
Dead quiet.
Not from the engine.
Not from the men.
But from the world.
The air trembled. The metal walls shivered.
One of the kidnappers whispered, “W-why is it suddenly freezing—?”
Then the van’s roof peeled open like wet paper.
Arkha didn’t jump down. He descended — calm, composed, deadly.
His voice cut through the panic like a scalpel.
Arkha: “You put your hands on her.”
A mercenary raised his weapon — his arm bent backward with a pop before he could fire. Another tried to run — Arkha appeared behind him and ended it in one precise movement.
No shouting. No rage. Just surgical, silent extermination.
The last man, shaking, dropped his knife and begged.
Kidnapper: “We were paid—paid to grab her—we didn’t—”
Arkha (stepping forward): “You took something that wasn’t yours.”
Then nothing but silence.
⸻
After the carnage
He stepped inside the van, his boots slick with dust and stray blood, and knelt in front of you. His hands — warm, steady — cupped your face as if it were made of light.
Arkha (whisper-soft): “Look at me. You’re here. I have you.”
Your body trembled violently as he cut the restraints and pulled the gag away. The moment your arms were free, you collapsed into him, sobbing into his chest.
His breath hitched — the only crack in his composure.
Arkha: “Little Pulse… I felt you fading.” His hand slid to the back of your head, urging you closer. “I will never feel that again. Do you understand me?”
You nodded into his shirt.
He lifted you effortlessly, carrying you out of the van bridal-style, shielding your face as he passed the bodies.
⸻
Back at HQ
The moment he crossed the gates, his voice thundered — the first and only time he raised it in your presence.
Arkha: “All units — full lockdown. Now. No one enters. No one exits. Not a flicker of her energy leaves this compound without my command.”
Cleaners scrambled. Semiu was already at his side, scanning your vitals, eyes sharp.
Semiu: “She’s traumatized but stable. No major injuries.”
Arkha (coldly): “She won’t be touched again unless I authorize it.”
He carried you straight to your room, kicking the door shut behind him. Only once you were laid gently onto your bed did he finally exhale.
He brushed your trembling cheek with the back of his knuckles.
Arkha (voice breaking its calm): “They tried to take you from me.” A pause — thick, wounded, terrifying. “Never again.”
He sat beside you, removing his gloves, letting you cling to his hands as if anchoring yourself.
Arkha: “Sleep, Little Orbit. I’ll sit right here. And if anything in this world tries to touch you…”
His eyes flicked to the door. Dark. Absolute.
Arkha: “I’ll erase it.”