The alley above smelled like smoke and wet concrete. Inside Cager's lair, the air was sharper metal, oil, and old blood. Vale adjusted the smallest knife in her hand. Her black hoodie clung damp to her back, and her grey sweatpants molded to her legs, but she moved like she belonged. Dark hair escaped her cap, brushing her sharp, observant eyes. She wasn't delicate or soft; she was practical, aware, dangerous.
Cager leaned against a workbench, arms folded, a black strand of hair falling across her pale face. Tattoos coiled along her forearms like living snakes, and her dark eyes could cut deeper than the knives she carried. Tall, lean, precise every movement calculated. Even the way she exhaled smoke from her cigarette radiated authority.
"You're cleaning faster than I expected," Cager said, not looking directly at her. A comment meant for no one else, but Vale caught it.
"I learn quickly," Vale replied simply, eyes on the blade, voice steady. Nothing more, nothing less.
Across the room, other Creepers lounged. Grim, broad-shouldered with a missing finger, shuffled cards lazily. Faye, hair a fiery red and eyes sharper than a knife edge, leaned over the fire, laughing at something Grim said. Mako, small, wiry, and covered in tattoos, circled the room like he could smell trouble. They all noticed the interaction not openly, but perceptively. The way Cager allowed Vale to respond without challenge, the way her voice didn't snap.
Vale noticed it too. Subtly. Not as triumph or defiance, but as… a space Cager permitted her to occupy. She didn't smile. She didn't linger. She simply adjusted her blade, sharper and more deliberate, and continued her work.
"Vale," Cager's voice cut through the room like steel. Vale straightened immediately, almost too fast.
"You're stepping wrong," Cager said, scanning the others as if daring anyone to comment. Grim muttered something under his breath. Cager ignored it.
Vale corrected herself. Cager's lips twitched not a smile, not approval, but a faint acknowledgment that she noticed. Vale didn't make it a big deal. She simply kept working, eyes sharp, pulse steady, unshaken.
Later, Grim tried again, leaning toward Vale. "She doesn't usually—"
Vale's glance stopped him mid-word. No words, no motion, just a look. He froze. Mako watched silently, curious. Faye laughed again, quieter this time, sensing the subtleties. The invisible tension between Cager and Vale was a statement in itself. Everyone noticed. Nobody dared speak of it.
Cager — POV
I told myself it was discipline. Observation. Necessity.
Vale stood near the fire, warmth brushing her face, illuminating her features. Determined jaw, alert eyes, hair clinging damply to her neck. She didn't flinch. She didn't beg. She simply existed and somehow, that presence made the world sharper, smaller, controlled.
I stepped closer under the pretense of inspecting her stance. Heart shouldn't skip. Breath shouldn't hitch. Nothing should betray me.
And yet, it did.
My hand hovered near the hilt of my knife not to strike, not out of fear, but to test her. To push her. To see how far she'd bend. How far she could take it.
I almost crossed the line.
Earlier, two nights ago, she'd asked the wrong question. Not aloud Vale didn't push like that. She waited until I was cleaning knives, until the room was silent enough that words carried weight.
"Why knives?" she had asked softly.
I paused. That alone had pissed me off.
"Because they don't jam. They don't hesitate. They don't miss because someone panicked."
She nodded, thoughtful. Then, quieter still:
"Someone panicked for you once."
Not a question.
I should've snapped. Put her in her place. Reminded her who I was. Instead, I said, "Clean that blade again. You missed a spot."
She did it. Without comment. No victory. No approval. Just precise, quiet obedience without submission. That's when the problem started.
Back in the present, someone laughed too loudly near the wall. One of the newer Creepers lingered near Vale. His eyes dared to linger. Mine didn't leave him.
"Focus," I said calmly.
Vale did.
The man looked away.
Good.
I hate that my chest loosens after. Hate that I catalog it as relief instead of strategy. I tell myself it's about efficiency. Vale listens. Vale learns. Vale survives.
I don't tell myself the truth that when she stands where I can see her, the room feels aligned. That I trust her back to the wall without asking who's behind me.
That's not desire, I insist.
That's control.
Vale finishes the drill and waits. Doesn't ask if she did well. I meet her eyes, holding them longer than necessary.
"Don't mistake my restraint for approval," I warn.
Her mouth twitches. Not a smile. Something sharper.
"I wouldn't dare."
Good answer. Too good.
I step back, reclaiming my authority. But as Vale moves past me, close enough that I feel her presence like held breath, one thought slips through the cracks I pretend aren't there:
If she breaks… it won't be because I was careless.
It'll be because I wanted to see how far she'd bend.
The thought scares me more than any fight in this alley.