The ropes were merciless. Every time Eren shifted, the coarse fibers bit deeper into his wrists, carving raw burns into his pale skin. His ankles were bound just as tightly, lashed to the legs of the chair that pinned him to the center of the damp, windowless room. His breaths came fast and shallow, fogging in the cold air before vanishing into the heavy silence.
The space around him smelled of rust and mold, of stagnant water dripping somewhere in the dark corners. A single bulb swung overhead, casting unsteady light that stretched his shadow long and thin across the concrete floor.
Behind him stood two men dressed in black. Their faces were obscured by masks, their postures rigid, their silence oppressive. They didn't speak. They didn't move. They simply existed as predators waiting for the signal to strike.
Eren's heart pounded so loudly he swore it echoed through the room. He tried to steady his breathing, but his Omega instincts screamed louder than reason: You're prey. You're trapped. You will die here.
He clenched his jaw, fighting against the panic clawing its way up his throat. Why was he here? Who had taken him? Was this ransom? Revenge? A cruel mistake?
But no—the way the men had grabbed him, the deliberate swiftness of the abduction, the way they'd tied him down without a word—it felt too personal to be random.
And somewhere, buried beneath the terror, was a spark of hope. James.
James would come. James would find him. James always kept his promises. That fragile thought was all that kept him from screaming.
The door groaned open.
The sound was small, but it sliced through the silence like a blade. The guards at his back stiffened immediately, heads snapping toward the doorway, their bodies suddenly alert.
Footsteps echoed into the room—measured, deliberate, unhurried. Whoever had entered carried authority; it was etched into every stride, into the air that thickened with his presence.
Eren's chest tightened. His pulse skipped. He dared to lift his gaze—hope colliding violently with dread.
And froze.
It was James.
Eren's breath caught in his throat, the sight stealing air from his lungs. His boyfriend. His almost-husband. The man who had once held him beneath Christmas lights, hands entwined, whispering forever.
But the man walking toward him now… was a stranger.
The warmth was gone from James's eyes. In its place burned venom and contempt. His jaw was set hard, his gaze sharp as glass. He looked at Eren not with love, not with sorrow, but with something colder than the ropes that cut into his skin.
"James…" Eren's voice broke. "Why? What is this? Why am I here?"
James stopped directly in front of him. He looked down, gaze sweeping over Eren as though cataloging a possession.
"You really don't know?" His voice was low, dangerous, like fire smoldering beneath ash.
Confusion tore through Eren, stronger than fear. "No! I don't—what did I do? Tell me!"
For a moment, James said nothing. Silence stretched taut between them, heavy with words unsaid. Then his lips curved, not into a smile, but into something sharper.
"You'll find out soon enough."
One of the guards moved. From inside his jacket, he drew a pistol—black steel, dull under the swinging light. Without hesitation, he extended it to James.
Eren's stomach dropped. The sight of that weapon stole all the air from his lungs.
James didn't hesitate. He reached out, fingers curling around the grip with unsettling familiarity. He weighed the gun in his palm, tilting it slightly, as if considering its weight, its purpose. Then he lifted it, slow and deliberate, until the barrel pressed against Eren's forehead.
Eren flinched, a strangled sound tearing from his throat. Tears stung his eyes as his body shook against the ropes.
"James…" His voice cracked, soft and desperate. "Please. Don't do this."
James's mouth twitched, and for a fleeting second Eren thought he saw hesitation—until James spoke.
"You think I can't? Men like you don't belong in my family. A cursed omega, daring to seduce my uncle as if you had any worth. You've been nothing but a stain, Eren. And now you'll pay for it."
Eren shook his head violently, denial clawing through him. "No! You know I didn't mean for that to happen. I never wanted—"
"Shut up." James's voice snapped like a whip. His hand didn't tremble. His finger brushed the trigger, tightening by fractions.
The guards loomed closer, one of them leaning in. "Finish him," he ordered.
Eren's blood turned to ice. His body trembled uncontrollably, his Omega instincts betraying him with sharp fear-scent, humiliation burning beneath it.
His tears spilled freely now. "Why?" he begged. "Tell me what I did. Tell me why you're doing this. At least give me that much before you…" His voice broke, swallowed by sobs. "…before you kill me."
James's eyes bore into him—cold, unreadable, a storm raging behind them.
"The truth?" James leaned closer, his words meant only for Eren. "You did nothing. But my uncle has. And because of him, you will suffer. Your death will be his punishment."
The gun pressed harder to his forehead. Eren's heartbeats slowed, each one a pounding drum of finality.
The world shrank to the black metal against his skin, to James's finger curling tighter against the trigger.
If this is the end, Eren thought, then at least let me see his face one last time.
The crack of the gunshot shattered the room.
The sound was deafening, a thunderclap in the silence. Smoke curled in the air, acrid and thick. Eren gasped, certain the searing pain would follow—certain that darkness would claim him.