The body was gone by morning.
Not ceremonially. Not respectfully. Just efficiently erased, like most things were in this place. By the time the light filtering through the alley cracks shifted from grey to dull amber, there was no sign anyone had died there at all.
I didn't feel relieved.
I sat on the edge of the cot Cager had pointed out days ago and watched dust float through the air like it was something alive. My hands rested on my knees, steady now, though I kept expecting them to shake again.
They didn't.
That scared me more than the blood had.
I'd slept, apparently. I didn't remember when it happened. Just one moment staring at the ceiling, counting cracks, the next waking up with the faint ache of stiffness in my neck and the echo of something unfinished in my chest.
The knife lay on the table where I'd left it.
Clean.
That mattered more than I wanted it to.
I stood and crossed the room quietly. The lair had its own rhythm in the mornings — low voices, the scrape of metal, the distant hum of the city pretending not to know what lived beneath it. Grim sat near the fire, nursing something that smelled like burnt coffee. Mako sharpened a blade with slow, reverent strokes. Faye leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching everything and nothing at once.
And Cager—
Cager stood near the back, shoulders squared, attention fixed on a map spread across the workbench. She hadn't noticed me yet.
Or maybe she had, and pretended not to.
I didn't announce myself. I never did anymore. I'd learned quickly that noise drew attention, and attention wasn't always something you wanted. Instead, I leaned against one of the support beams and observed.
She looked different in the mornings.
Less like a weapon being wielded, more like one being sharpened.
Her hair was pulled back, exposing the pale skin of her neck and the faded scar just below her ear. The tattoos on her arms were partially obscured by a sleeveless jacket, but I knew them well enough now to trace their lines from memory. She moved with the same precision she always did, but there was something tighter about her posture, something coiled.
I wondered if she'd slept.
I wondered if she ever did.
"You're awake," she said without turning around.
"Yes," I replied.
A pause.
"Any shaking?"
"No."
That pause stretched longer this time.
"Good," she said finally.
I didn't know whether that was praise or assessment. With Cager, it was often both.
She gestured to the map. "Come look."
I obeyed.
Standing beside her felt different now. It always did after something irreversible happened. The space between us felt charged — not awkward, not heavy, just alert. Like the air before a storm that might never break.
She pointed to a series of narrow lines cutting through the map. "Saints don't send one scout unless they're testing response time. That means they're watching. Learning."
"What do they learn from one body?" I asked.
"That we're awake," she said. "And that we don't hesitate."
I nodded.
My eyes lingered on the place where her finger rested. I didn't know why I noticed small things like that now. The shape of her hands. The faint scar along her knuckle. The way she pressed just a little harder than necessary, like the map might resist her if she didn't assert control.
"You're thinking too loudly," she said.
I looked up.
"Sorry."
"Don't apologize," she replied. "Just tell me what you're thinking."
That was new.
"I'm thinking," I said carefully, "that if they're watching, they'll change tactics."
"Yes."
"And that the next time won't be a scout."
"No."
Her eyes met mine then. Dark. Steady. Searching for something I didn't yet know how to hide.
"Good," she said.
I should've felt proud.
Instead, I felt exposed.
The rest of the morning passed in drills. Not the flashy kind. Not combat. Repetition. Control. Discipline. How to move through tight spaces without making sound. How to read a room before entering it. How to breathe when everything in you wanted to run.
Cager corrected me less than before.
That unsettled me.
When she did step in, it was precise, a hand at my shoulder, fingers guiding my elbow, her voice low and even near my ear. She never lingered. Never touched longer than necessary.
I noticed anyway.
I told myself it was because she was my instructor. That awareness was survival. That my body was still wound tight from last night.
But some thoughts don't listen to reason.
During a break, Faye approached me, leaning against the table beside mine. "You're adjusting fast," she said.
"So I've been told."
She smirked. "Careful. That kind of thing makes people nervous."
"Does it make you nervous?"
She studied me for a moment. "No," she said. "It makes me curious."
"About what?"
"About why Cager hasn't broken you yet."
I didn't answer.
I didn't need to.
Later, as the lair settled again, Cager called me aside.
"Walk with me," she said.
We moved through a narrow corridor I hadn't been through before. It smelled older here damp stone, rust, something faintly medicinal. She stopped near a reinforced door and leaned against the wall.
"You crossed a line last night," she said.
I stiffened. "I know."
"Not the one you think," she continued. "You didn't hesitate. That's expected. What you did was look at the body."
"Yes."
"Most people don't. Or they look too long. You did neither."
I waited.
"That means you're trying to understand what this costs," she said. "Not just what it gives."
"That makes me a liability?"
She shook her head once. "It makes you dangerous."
The word settled into me, heavy and strange.
"You won't always have me close enough to correct you," she added.
"I know."
Another pause.
"I don't like surprises," she said.
"I don't like them either."
Something in her expression shifted approval, maybe. Or recognition.
She pushed off the wall. "Get some rest. Tomorrow changes."
"How?"
She hesitated.
"Tomorrow," she said, "you stop being just someone I'm training."
My pulse kicked up. "And become what?"
She met my eyes. Held them.
"Someone the Saints will start noticing by name."
The thought should have terrified me.
Instead, it grounded me.
As she turned away, I realized something else had changed too.
I was no longer just reacting to her presence.
I was watching her.
Learning her.
And whatever this was becoming between us whatever it would one day be it wasn't something either of us could afford to misunderstand.
Not anymore.