Sylene never slept deeply—his body simply refused. The habit had been carved into him through years of conditioning.
In the early years, scientists often decided that midnight was the perfect time for ambush training. The experiments would begin and end before dawn, their twisted logic insisting that survival be tested under the cruelest conditions.
More than once, he had woken in a cold sweat, heart pounding, instincts screaming to react or die. That reflex still lingered. Sleeping alone wasn't so bad—at least then, there was room to relax. But in a group, surrounded by unfamiliar scents and breathing patterns, his guard never fully lowered.
Which was why, the moment raised voices cut through the quiet outside the carriage, sleep vanished entirely. Muscles tensed. Senses sharpened.
Michel, still deeply asleep, didn't stir, but Sylene shifted quietly, peering outside. A new group of carriages had arrived. From his position, he could see Bire standing at the front, his broad back turned toward Sylene's carriage as if shielding it from view. It wasn't hard to tell—Bire didn't want the newcomers noticing them.
Not long after, Bryent emerged, stepping into the fray. The owner of the new carriages finally came into view, and the moment Sylene recognized him, his stomach twisted.
"What the—why is he here?" A deep frown settled between his brows. That creepy man from the bathroom.
The mere sight of him made Sylene's skin prickle, a cold, crawling sensation creeping down his spine—as if he could still feel the shadow touch of a hand he had long since escaped.
The man's sharp gaze flitted around as he spoke, searching for something—or someone. His lips moved in negotiations, but Sylene wasn't fooled. He was looking for an opportunity.
Beyond the argument, a cluster of elegant carriages and hovering automobiles stood just outside the camp, stark against the rugged terrain. After a few tense exchanges, the man returned to one of the vehicles, retrieving something before striding back to Bryent.
The discussion resumed. Bire's posture was rigid, his stance clearly opposing whatever was being said, while Bryent looked caught in contemplation before finally shaking his head. He refused. And then refused again.
Eventually, the man gave up, moving his people to a nearby spot before they dispersed.
At that moment, the familiar thud of an exoskeleton's movement drew Sylene's attention. Simon approached the carriage, his heavy frame casting a shadow over the entrance.
The creak of the door opening stirred Michel from his sleep, blinking groggily just as Simon stepped inside, his solemn gaze settling on Sylene.
With a sigh, he handed them each a piece of bread. "That rich man from the inn is looking for you. He wants to hire us to protect his group."
Sylene took the bread, his expression unreadable.
"Seems like he's just looking for an opening," Simon continued, casually breaking his own piece and chewing as he spoke. "Says he lost some of his guards in the forest, but he still has plenty of people with him."
Michel, now fully awake, stiffened. His grip on the bread tightened as his expression darkened. "We shouldn't accept," he muttered, voice laced with disgust.
"Bastards like him deserve to be eaten by ghouls like yesterday."
Sylene let out a quiet chuckle, his lips curling into a small smile. There was something strangely warm about Michel's anger—like the rare sensation of having someone on his side. It was… nice. It made him feel less lonely.
"Thank you," he murmured, digging into his small bag. "I'll give you some of my bacon."
Michel's mood lifted almost instantly. Accepting the dried meat with a pleased grin, putting it between the bread, he bit into it eagerly.
"Where do you even get this?" he mumbled through a mouthful.
"It's amazing." The outer layer was crisp and sweet, while the inside melted with savory richness.
"You have to be careful. Stick close to me," Michel said, glancing at Sylene.
Before Sylene could respond, the carriage door suddenly swung open, and Bire stepped inside, his ear enhancement antenna twitching.
Michel barely had time to react before Bire shot him a pointed look. "And what?" Bire scoffed. "You want to get kidnapped too?" His tone was clipped, his frown one of deep disapproval.
The young man glared but stayed silent.
Bire exhaled through his nose, arms crossed. "That man has ties to the slave trade," he stated flatly. "You were almost one of their victims once, remember? If we hadn't been keeping an eye on you back then, you wouldn't be sitting here now."
Michel's jaw tightened, but he didn't reply. His silence spoke volumes. Something flickered in his expression—something raw. Sylene didn't quite understand what it was, but the tension between them was palpable. It also surprised him that Michel was not a stranger to this side of the trade.
Letting out a quiet sigh, Sylene shifted the conversation. "Teach me how to use a VX if you have time," he said casually. "I'll buy one for myself when I have enough money."
"A good choice." Michel turned to him with a spark of enthusiasm. "Let me help you."
He eagerly reached for his VX, but Bire intercepted him. "Use mine. They're ready."
Michel, undeterred, continued reaching for his own. "No need. You have to save your ammo."
Even so, Bire trailed after him, his concern palpable as the young man lead Sylene toward the lake's edge. Snow crunched beneath their boots as Sylene retrieved something—a small, ice-like branch—from the ground, his breath forming ghostly wisps in the winter air.
The mercenary shifted uneasily looking at the young man. "Do you even know how to use the safety lock? Hey, just sit back. Let me show the kid. You go help the others—"
Michel's gaze flickered to him, quiet but piercing. "Am I that unreliable in your eyes?"
Bire faltered. His words caught in his throat, unspoken. The disappointment in Michel's face stung deeper than any reprimand.
"No, I just—"
Michel turned away, his expression worn, unwilling to meet Bire's gaze. "If you want to be useful, go stand watch. Make sure that pervert doesn't come anywhere near us."
"With our reputation, it should be enough to scare off the guards he hired," Michel muttered and ignored him entirely. Instead, he busied himself unlocking the VX's safety and boasting about its features to Sylene.
---
It didn't take long for Sylene to grasp the weapon's mechanics—his mind was sharp, those scientists made his brain more than capable absorbing the details with ease. Meanwhile, Bire lingered at a distance, silently patrolling the area. By the time lunch arrived, Michel was still giving him the cold shoulder.
Their group was moving away from the campsite, but an uninvited guest followed not far behind.
The mercenary group remained on edge, their eyes darting toward the rich man's entourage trailing behind them. Michel lifted his binoculars—sleek, shaped like glasses—and spotted an automobile hovering in the distance. He clicked his tongue in irritation.
"Tomorrow, we'll reach Luen," he announced. "Our journey ends there, and then we'll be heading to another city for our next mission."
His gaze drifted to Sylene, who sat quietly in the carriage. Bire was up front, speaking with the driver, while Simon dozed under the lingering effects of his medication. The only sound in the carriage was the soft rhythm of Simon's breathing.
Michel scratched his head. There were only the two of them awake now.
"I spoke with Bryent," he said at last. "We'll accompany you to the ID place. After that, we part ways."
His voice was even, but there was something unreadable in it—something lingering between the words, left unsaid.
"We're always on the move, going wherever the missions take us," he continued. "But Bryent has a house in Regina…" He reached into his coat pocket, rummaging for something.
"There's a housekeeper who keeps the place tidy. You can use my room if you want—just show this to the housekeeper."
With that, Michel extended a small keychain into Sylene's palm. It was soft, a worn stuffed lion.
Sylene stared at it, speechless. His heart thudded against his ribs, an unfamiliar warmth stirring in his chest—something between anticipation and nervousness.
"Why-why are you so kind to me?" he murmured.
Michel avoided his gaze, as if embarrassed to reveal too much. "I was always the youngest," he admitted. "Everyone looked after me."
"I was an orphan. A lot of people were kind to me, so I just… I want to give back, in small ways. You seem fine on your own, though. After all, vampires—even hybrids—are stronger than normal humans."
His words were casual, but when he glanced at Sylene and saw the way his expression softened, a faint blush crept across his cheeks.
"I-it's not like you're special or anything!" Michel huffed, turning away, clearly flustered. "Don't get the wrong idea!"
Sylene watched him, reading between the lines. Michel had been alone for a long time, hadn't he? The others in the mercenary group were all at least four-five years older than him. Maybe, just maybe, he liked not being the youngest anymore.
"I'll deal with Bire and the others," Michel muttered. "Not that they'd mind. We don't have families either."
"But family is who you make it, right?"
The next day, Sylene stepped into Luen, the tiny stuffed lion keychain clutched in his palm. There was an itch in his heart, a quiet longing, and the unmistakable pull of something new—something like a faint sense of belonging.