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Summary
They were polar opposites from different worlds. They worked smoothly together on missions, but there was something else between them. It was always there, pushing and pulling, tearing into them.
Napoleon has no idea what to make of this Sentinel who works without a Guide, has never needed one, who functions like clockwork. A man who could blow up in your face, kill you in a dozen creative ways before breakfast, and who never zones. A man he keeps poking and prodding, provoking at every turn.
He should be grateful that Illya needs no one to help him with control, because Napoleon is no Guide. He tested negative. He has a talent, but he is no Guide. Really. He isn't.