“Restraint”

The basement was suffocatingly silent, save for the rhythmic dripping of water from a rusted pipe in the corner. The air was thick with dust, the scent of dried blood clinging to the walls like a ghost of past lessons. A dim, flickering bulb cast jagged shadows over the room, illuminating the figure slumped in the chair at the center.

Marcus.

His wrists were bound tight, the coarse rope digging deep into his skin, leaving angry red marks. His dark hair was damp with sweat, strands clinging to his forehead. He breathed heavily through his nose, his lips cracked, his jaw clenched. He looked like a wounded animal—one that had been backed into a corner too many times but still refused to die.

You should have walked away. Should have left him there, let Master Lin’s lesson run its course.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you leaned lazily against the doorway, arms crossed over your chest, watching him with something between amusement and curiosity. He was different from the rest. He wasn’t a legacy, wasn’t born into this life of blood-soaked prestige. He was a stray, a nobody. And yet, here he was, surviving where so many others had failed.

Marcus must have felt your stare because he let out a sharp exhale, lifting his head with effort. His dark eyes locked onto yours, laced with exhaustion but still smoldering with that signature defiance.

“Shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, voice hoarse from whatever Lin had put him through.

You stepped forward, slow and deliberate, your boots clicking softly against the cement floor. “And yet, here I am.”

His gaze flickered, a mixture of wariness and intrigue. Everyone wanted something at King’s Dominion. He was trying to figure out what you wanted.

“You should be upstairs, with your little court of killers,” he said bitterly, his head lolling slightly against the back of the chair. “Not wasting time with the school’s charity case.”

You smirked, crouching in front of him, your fingers trailing lazily along the arm of the chair. “And yet… you’re still talking to me…”