The door slammed behind you, but you didn’t even get the chance to breathe before the footsteps followed—fast, sharp, furious.

“Sylas—”

“Don’t.” he cut in, voice low and lethal.

You turned just as he crossed the room in two long strides, his hand slamming into the wall beside your head, not touching you—never touching you—but close enough to feel the heat radiating off his chest. His other hand clenched tight at his side like he was holding back the urge to shake you.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he hissed. “You think walking away from an execution is a minor fuck-up? You think I can keep covering for you because you—because you're too soft to finish what you start?”

You flinched, but his glare only sharpened. Not with cruelty—but with something worse. Fear.

“They were watching,” he snapped. “Corvin. Caleb. Everyone. You were supposed to be clean. Precise. Gone in and out. Instead you hesitated, and now there’s a trail. I had to lie for you.”

He stepped back, dragging both hands through his hair, pacing a short, violent arc.

“I lied for you,” he said, quieter now, but it came out cracked. “And I’ll take the punishment for it. I already told Corvin the kill was mine.”

You blinked at him, something rising in your throat—gratitude? Guilt? You weren’t sure. But then he turned to face you again, and his expression was different.

Harder. Tired.

That feeling in your throat was starting to burn a lot like guilt.

“But this is the last time.” His voice dropped low—dangerously low. “If you screw up again, I won’t lie for you. I won’t protect you. I’ll do it myself. I’ll finish what you can’t.”

You stared at him in stunned silence, but he wasn’t done.

“You think I want to say that?” he snapped, eyes wide and burning with something too raw to hide. “You think I want to hurt you? That I don’t hate this? I’m trying to save you, but you keep making me choose.”

He stepped forward again, and this time, his voice broke.

“If I had any real choice, I would choose you. But I can't. And now I’m risking everything for that choice. But Corvin—” He shook his head, swallowing hard. “Corvin doesn’t care that I’ve known you since you came in. He doesn’t care that you’re not ready. He’ll only care that the target isn’t dead.”

There was silence between you now, thick and choking. Sylas pressed a hand to the wall again, bracing himself like he might fall.

“Next time... if you hesitate, if you crack—don’t count on someone else to clean it up.” His jaw tensed. “Count on me. Because I won’t let them do it. I won’t let them touch you.”

He looked at you then—really looked. There's a glimmer of sorrow in his eyes.

"Please don't make me have to kill you." He whispers, a quiet plead.