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Moonlight slipped through the thin curtains of your small apartment, casting pale silver lines across the carpet. Dust floated lazily in the still air, undisturbed. Outside, the distant groans of the dead echoed faintly through the streets of Marseille - a constant reminder that nowhere was ever truly safe anymore.
But here, for now, it felt like nothing could touch you.
You lay on your side beneath a thin blanket, bare shoulder brushing the cool night air. Beside you, Stéphane Codron rested on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other tracing circles on your back as you leaned into his chest.
The world had been dead for years, but somehow moments like these still existed in the shadows.
And for a man who commanded soldiers, and who's name many dreaded, Stéphane rested surprisingly peacefully.
Your fingers drifted along his side, passing over the faint ridge of a scar along his ribs.
“Did you get this one before the fall too?” you murmured, your voice soft enough to barely disturb the quiet.
Stéphane let out a low hum, eyes still closed, chest rising slowly beneath your cheek.
“No,” he said after a moment, his voice rough from the weight of a long day finally settling into his bones. “Three years after.”
Your brow lifted. “From what?”
“Knife.”
You tipped your head back slightly, studying him more carefully now, your fingers still lingered against his side.
“You were stabbed?”
“Mm.”
“You say that like it’s nothing.”
Finally, his eyes opened. Blue-grey, dulled with exhaustion, but softer than you’d ever seen them - heavy-lidded, unguarded in a way that only seemed to exist when it was just the two of you.
They found yours without effort.
“It was nothing,” he said, shrugging slightly, as if the memory itself was lighter than the air around you. “Just a scratch.”
“Just a scratch?” you echoed, part teasing, part disbelief curling in your voice.
“Mm.” A small, easy smile curved his lips. “Doesn’t matter. Didn’t even slow me down.”
“You’re impossible,” you murmured, but the tension left your shoulders as he hummed softly in reply.
The room settled into a comfortable hush. You could feel the night pressing gently against the windows, heavy but safe, as if it had decided to let this one room breathe.
Stéphane’s eyes blinked once, twice, then closed again. His hand on your back settled completely, thumb resting lightly as if afraid to disturb the stillness. You let yourself sink a little closer, allowing the calm to seep into your own bones.
For a while, there was nothing but the quiet.
No groans, no wind, no thought of what waited beyond these walls. The moment stretched, intimate and peaceful, until your words came it softly.
“You should stay tonight.” You whispered softly, almost to yourself.
Stéphane gave a quiet exhale.
“I cannot.”
“You say that every time.”
“And every time it remains true.”
Your fingers slid up to his jaw, forcing him to look at you again.
“You have soldiers,” You said quietly. “An entire squad. One day won't collapse the military.”
“That is not what worries me.” His hand lifted, moving over yours and capping it lightly. The warmth of his palm pressed softly against your skin, firm enough to hold you in place, yet careful, almost reverent.
You tilted your head.
“No?”
He watched you for a heartbeat before answering.
“If someone sees me leaving here..,”
The words hung heavy in the small room.
Your throat tightened slightly.
Right.
That.
The secret.
You leaned back against the matress, staring at the ceiling, the way he had been.
“You mean your brother?,” you asked in an attempt to subtly revisit the subject.
Stéphane huffed quietly.
“Michel finding out isn't what worries me.”
Silence lingered between you - not heavy, but aware. Stéphane didn’t move, didn’t add anything. He seemed lost in his own thoughts.
You shifted slightly, letting your fingers brush his, wanting to reach him.
“Does it ever scare you?” Nudging at the quiet, you tried to steer the conversation somewhere else, a new angle but not far away from the original. “Living like this?”
“Living with you?”
“Living like we’re something that has to be hidden.”
To that, Stéphane's gaze softened. He was aware of how this way of life - this endless caution - wasn't ideal. Not for him, not for you. But he had no other choice to keep you both safe.
“If they knew… it would make you a target. Genet values loyalty above all else. She values discipline. Attachments complicate things.”
“So I’m a complication.”
Turning fully onto his side to face you, his eyes held yours, steady and unflinching.
“You’re the only thing that isn’t.” He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face, letting his hands rest along your jaw and the sides of your neck, fingers grazing just behind your ears.
“I like it here.” His voice was low now, carrying a quiet tenderness. “With you.”
"Then stay." you say, the words leaving you more fragile than you meant them to be. "At least until dawn."
He didn't answer.
The silence stretched - thin, fragile, unbearable. It filled the space between you, settled into your chest, made it hard to breathe.
"Please" you added, softer this time, leaning just a fraction closer.
Finally, he nodded, a faint exhale escaping him.
“Alright,” he murmured, gently pulling you closer as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’ll stay until dawn.”
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*A few days later*
The market square smelled of damp stone and fear. Stalls stood half-collapsed, their canopies torn and hanging like ghosts in the wind, while abandoned carts lay tipped over. Broken shutters creaked against nearby buildings, and the silence felt wrong - too empty for a place that once teemed with life.
You had only meant to cut through it. A quicker route, nothing more.
Keeping to the edge of the street, you stepped carefully along the cracked sidewalk beside a line of rusted, broken-down cars. Your bag hung loosely at your side, brushing against your hip with every move, the few supplies inside shifting slightly - proof of a luck that never seemed to last long.
You were just about to turn the corner when you froze.
Voices.
“Identification!” Someone shouted.
Peeking around the stone, you could see a convoy of trucks idling near the fountain. Armed soldiers fanned out, barking orders in clipped tones. They were rounding up civillians.
Another one grabbed an older man by the collar, all because he hesitated, and pushed him to the side, making him fall over.
Your stomach dropped.
The tattoo on the soldier’s arm was unmistakable. That damned fire. You once traced it on Stéphane’s face with a strange fondness, and now, seeing it here, it stirred something cold in your chest.
Genet’s forces.
Guerriers.
You’ve seen them operate before, but never this close. Never this sudden.
A memory of your last meeting came unbidden - Stéphane warning you to stay clear of the southern square, his voice firm, almost commanding.
He’d never lie to you, never play with your safety like that.
Maybe… maybe something had changed - gotten new orders and hadn't had the chance to tip you off.
“They’re taking people again." A woman near you whispered. She appeared out of nowhere, and the suddenness made you startle, hand shooting to your chest.
“What for?” you murmured, regaining your focus.
She shook her head. Then something shifted in her expression. Her eyes widened, not at you, but at something just behind you.
"Hold it right there!"
The command cut through the air, sharp and threatening. You turned, pulse stuttering, and found a soldier advancing toward you, his gun already raised, eyes locked with cold precision.
Beside you, the woman reacted before you could. A sharp breath left her, and then she bolted - sudden, desperate, her footsteps scraping harshly against the ground as she tried to break away. There was no warning beyond the tightening of his grip on the trigger.
The shot rang out - loud, deafening. Her body jerked mid-step, the momentum carrying her forward for half a second before she collapsed hard onto the ground. The sound of it echoed, heavy and final, her movement stilled almost instantly.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
You didn’t think - you just reacted. Your hands lifted instinctively, slow and careful, palms open, empty, your breath shallow as you held yourself still under the Guerrier’s aim.
Don’t run.
Don’t draw attention.
Don't do anything that might give him reason to fire.
"Purpose,” the man snapped, tone clipped and impatient. The barrel of his gun didn’t waver. “What are you doing out here?”
“I - I live nearby,” you stammered, your voice catching as you gestured vaguely behind you, careful not to move too fast. “I don’t want trouble.”
His gaze flicked in the direction you pointed, then back to you.
“Then don’t cause any.”
He turned his head slightly over his shoulder, not enough to take his eyes off you completely, but just enough to address the others scattered behind him.
“Got another stray over here!” he called out, his words laced with something between boredom and disdain.
Bootsteps answered him - two sets this time. They came into view from behind the building, weapons slung but ready. One of them stood out immediately, brunette hair catching the light, his expression more assessing than the rest.
The guerrier in front of you jerked his chin in your direction, lowering the gun ever so slightly. “What do you want done with this one, Michel?”
Michel.
The name hit you like a blow.
No, no, that couldn’t be right.
Your gaze snapped at him.
You’d heard that name before - softly, in quieter moments, spoken with a mix of frustration and fondness. Stéphane had talked to you about his brother plenty. About Michel.
But this - this wasn’t how you were supposed to meet him.
Not like this.
“She’s pretty,” the second new-coming soldier remarked as he circled you, his gaze lingering a second too long as he came to a stop at your other side.
You forced yourself to stay still, even if every instinct screamed at you to shrink away.
Michel didn’t answer immediately.
His eyes were on you, dragging from your face down to your stance, your clothes, the way you held yourself. It wasn’t the look of someone appreciating you. It was colder than that. Measured. Calculating. It made you uncomfortable.
“Load her with the others,” Michel finally said - casually, like he was making a decision about cargo, not a person.
The soldier in front of you huffed a quiet laugh, stepping closer. “You heard him.”
A rough hand grabbed your arm, guiding - no - forcing you forward.
“Move.”
Your heart slammed against your ribcage.
No, you were not going with them.
The thought hit hard and fast, drowning out everything else - fear, logic, the image of the woman collapsing moments ago.
Anything was better than being taken.
Anything.
You moved before you could second-guess it.
Your leg snapped up, your foot connecting sharply with the guerrier's chin. The impact knocked his head back with a curse, his grip loosening just enough-
Enough.
You tore yourself free.
“Shit-!”
You didn’t look back. You just ran.
Your steps came uneven and frantic, shoes scraping harshly against the pavement. You lurched around the nearest closest corner, one hand catching the wall for balance, your whole body shaking with the effort to keep moving.
A gunshot cracked through the air.
The bullet hit the edge of the wall just seconds after you passed, exploding into dust and fragments. You flinched hard, stumbling but not stopping, the sound still ringing in your ears.
“Stop her!” You could hear Michel shout.
Boots pounded behind you. The street exploded into chaos - a few hungry ones groaning, guerriers yelling. You sprint down a narrow alley, breath tearing at your lungs.
Gunfire cracked somewhere, not aimed at you, but close enough to shatter reason.
“Split up!” Someone commanded.
You risked a glance over your shoulder - quick, sharp.
Two of them. Maybe three. Spreading out, one already rising his riffle to your direction off. Your stomach dropped.
You snapped your head forward again, chest heaving as you pushed harder, legs threatening to give out beneath you.
“Fuck-”
You hear Michel’s voice again, irritated.
“She’s heading toward the north quarter!”
You had to change direction. You couldn’t keep running in that same line, both to stay unpredictable and to make it harder for them to hit you. Instinct screamed at you - left, right, anything to throw them off.
You rounded another corner-
-and slammed straight into someone.
The impact knocked the air clean out of your lungs. Your body rebounded backward, stumbling as your vision spun, a startled gasp teared from your throat and you tried to make sense of the solid figure you’d just crashed into.
Strong hands gripped your arms, holding you firmly, close - too close, your chest nearly colliding with theirs, breath mingling in a way that made your heart stutter.
Your gaze lifted and suddenly time stopped.
Those blue-gray eyes - everything about them screamed recognition, the kind of realization that struck sharp and undeniable. Staring back at you now, they were filled with shock, with worry, raw and unguarded.
Stéphane.
Everything went silent in your head.
Neither of you spoke. You just stared at each other, unable to look away.
Behind you, Michel skidded around the corner, two guerriers flanking him. Their momentum stilled when they saw who you had run into.
You watched it happen - the change. Stéphane’s expression hardened in an instant, whatever had been there before shuttered behind something colder, something precise and unreadable.
And yet -
His grip on your arm eased. Not enough to draw attention. Just enough that you felt it.
Michel’s gaze flicked between you and his brother, suspicion sharpening his features.
“Well?” he said, irritation bleeding through, eyes narrowing slightly. Then, sharper - more pointed: “She’s been causing trouble. We should grab her.”
Your pulse roared in your ears.
Stéphane’s hands remain on you.
Too familiar.
For a fraction of a second, something passed through his eyes - shock, anger, fear - a clash of emotions only you could read.
Then it was gone, mask slipping back into place.
“You ran?” he asked coldly, nothing like a question, everything like a charge against you.
It felt like a slap.
“I-” Your voice failed you.
“She's a feisty one alright. Genet will like her.” Michel smirked, like he’d already decided your fate and found some amusement in it.
Stéphane’s eyes moved past you, to his brother for a brief second, then back to you. His grip tightened, just a fraction, before loosening again. Slowly, deliberately, he released one of your arms, letting it fall back to your side.
Taking a step back, Stéphane put some space between you, noticeable yet enough to still be able to face at you.
“You don’t run from guerriers.” he said flatly, his posture straightening.
You searched his face desperately, chest tightening as panic clawed at your throat. Just days ago, this was the man who had held you close in the quiet of your bed - soft and intimate - and now, he stood there, a proper guerrier, having to pretend to be a stranger framed in the same body you had trusted.
In the body you still trusted.
Somehow, despite it all, you knew he wouldn’t let them take you. But if the others turned on him, even his protection might just not be enough. This could end badly, for both of you.
“Please,” you whispered quietly, unable to form any other words.
Stéphane’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as his mind worked - thinking, calculating, weighing every possible outcome with careful precision.
Michel stepped closer.
“Put her with the rest!” He commanded to one of the other spare guerriers.
Your eyes stayed locked on Stéphane’s, the unspoken bond between you taut and urgent, a wordless plea carried in the tension.
The random guerrier moved forward, but Stéphane lifted a hand - a silent command that froze him in place.
Silence stretched momentarily, a hint of confusion mixed with questioning shadowing the soldiers faces.
Then, their leader leaned in, voice low, harsh enough for his men to hear.
“Try that again,” he said, “and we will not be so merciful.”
With that, he shoved you past his shoulder. The movement was so sudden and forceful that you stumbled, almost colliding with the near wall.
You caught yourself just in time.
“Run.” Stéphane command in a same manner.
Michel blinks. “What?”
“Run!” He now shouted at you, drawing his gun and firing a shot deliberately wide against the stone beside you.
You didn't hesitate.
You sprinted.
“Are you insane?!”
You could hear Michel swear in the distance.
“She’s bait!” Stéphane barked. “She’ll lead us to others hiding!”
It was a gamble.
He knew you were good at covering your tracks, at disappearing. He was betting it all on it.
The alley became a maze again, but this time you moved with more caution.
You pushed your body beyond its limits, lungs burning, muscles screaming, until after several breathless minutes the sounds behind you began to faded.
You didn’t stop - not until your legs finally gave out, collapsing beneath you in the quiet of some abandoned courtyard, chest heaving, every nerve on edge.
What the hell had just happened?!
══════⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹══════
It was night when Stéphane came to your apartment.
Not the soft kind of night you’d shared before - not the quiet, fragile peace that let you pretend the world outside didn’t exist.
This one felt heavier.
Colder.
You heard him before you saw him - the faint creak of the window, the careful press of boots against the floor as he stepped inside like a shadow that knew how to belong without being seen.
You were awake - sitting on the edge of your bed, hands clasped tightly in your lap, shoulders drawn in as if bracing for something that had already happened.
You didn’t turn to him right away. You stayed where you were, tense and unmoving, waiting - knowing he would be the one to break the silence first.
“I checked the perimeter,” Stéphane said finally, voice low, controlled - too controlled for your liking. “No one followed me."
You nodded faintly to that, but it was clear your thoughts were elsewhere, his words barely registering compared to what was really weighing on your mind.
Another pause stretched, thicker this time.
“What happened today…” he started, then stopped himself, his jaw tightening slightly. “It shouldn’t have gone like that.”
Still nothing from you.
That’s when he moved.
Slow steps crossed the room, measured, cautious in a way that had nothing to do with enemies and everything to do with you. He stood a few feet away, right infront of you - close enough to reach, if you so desired.
“Look at me."
It wasn’t a command.
Not really.
But there was something behind it - an edge that made it hard to ignore.
Slowly. Reluctantly. You lifted your head.
Your eyes were glassy, distant, like you were still somewhere else. Your breathing had steadied, but your hands hadn’t - fingers curled tightly into your sleeves as if holding yourself together required effort.
Something in his chest tightened.
“I’m sorry.” Stéphane said. The words came quickly, but not carelessly. They sounded genuine, you, however, were too upset to register it.
“For which part exactly?” you asked, your voice quieter than usual. Not soft - just... thinner.
A dangerous kind of calm.
A muscle ticked in his cheek, brief but telling.
“For putting you in that position."
A breath left you - sharp, almost like a laugh, but there was no humor in it.
“You mean pointing a gun at me?” you murmured. “Or your men nearly dragging me into a truck like I’m nothing?"
Each word was steady.
Too steady for his liking.
“The plan changed last minute.” he tried to explain, the words alone carrying his frustration. "I tried to get ahead of it, but…” Stéphane exhaled faintly. “I didn’t know you’d be there.”
“That doesn’t really change much, does it?"
Your gaze finally locked onto his fully.
And there it was.
Not anger - not exactly.
Something worse.
“You shot at me!"
It came out sharp, your breath catching halfway through like your body hadn’t decided whether to fight or fold.
Stéphane stilled completely.
“I would never have hit you!"
“I know that.” Your voice cracked slightly this time, betraying you. “I know you wouldn’t actually-” You stopped yourself, swallowing hard.
There were so many things you had planned to say, but now they were all tangled in your mind, knotting in your throat, refusing to come out.
All it came down to was an aching and rough though:
'I trust you. But for a second… I hadn’t known if I still could.'
Stéphane’s expression shifted, a new kind of emotion washing over him as he took in how shaken you truly were.
“That was the only way to sell it.” He said, quieter now. “Michel was watching. They all were."
You bit your lip, careful to choose your words, measuring each one before it left your mouth.
“And if I hadn’t run?"
“You did."
“That’s not what I asked!"
The air coiled around the two of you.
Stéphane exhaled slowly through his nose, gaze dropping for a fraction of a second before returning to you.
“If you hadn't run,...I would have made you."
A beat.
"Or I would have taken my men and left. Either way, nothing would have happened to you."
Maybe he was a liar. Maybe you were foolish to believe him. And yet, there was a reassurance in his eyes, in the way he moved around you, in the subtle weight of his presence - a quiet proof that, despite all, he truly cared for you.
Your lips parted slightly, but nothing came out. Instead, you looked away, your gaze drifting toward the window like you needed space - a moment to breathe, to gather yourself before facing him again.
The mattress dipped slightly as Stéphane sat down beside you with a quiet, careful motion. He kept a slight distance, not quite touching, but close enough that you could feel him there - grounded, patient, not pushing, just waiting for you to meet him again.
For a moment, the only sound was your uneven breathing.
“There was woman,” you said eventually. Stéphane’s brow furrowed, the way he did when he was confused.
“She tried to ran, but didn't even make it ten steps." Your fingers curled into your palms, fidgeting with one another as you tried to steady yourself. “They shot her like it was nothing. Like she was nothing”
Stéphane's posture stiffened.
“I can still hear it." You choked out.
That landed differently, heavier in a way, and you could see its impact on his face.
He didn’t move right away, but something in his expression darkened - not defensively, not dismissively.
Just… aware.
“I couldn’t have stop that,” he said after a heartbeat, voice low.
“I know."
“And if I had stepped in-"
“I know!” you repeated.
There was silence again. But this one wasn’t empty.
It was full of everything neither of you wanted to say out loud.
You looked back at him, eyes softer, more tired than before.
“That doesn’t make it easier to stand there and watch,” you added. "And it doesn’t make it easier to know you’re part of it."
“I am trying to keep you alive,” Stéphane said. Not defensive - just firm. “Every decision I make out there-"
“I am well aware of what you’re trying to do." You cut him off, but there was no bite in it. Just exhaustion.
Without thinking, you moved closer, your hand finding his arm, warm and solid beneath your touch, your thumb brushing faintly over the his jacket.
“I didn’t freeze because I thought you’d hurt me,” you admitted, and it took everything in you to push the next words past your lips. “I froze because for a second…You looked like them."
He didn’t flinch, didn’t need to. Stéphane already knew what he was capable of, had made his peace with that long ago. But hearing it like that, in your voice, cut somewhere deeper than guilt ever did.
It wasn’t the words themselves, not really. It was what sat beneath them: the fear you hadn’t meant to show, the way it had reached him anyway.
“I had to.” He said, but it came out less certain now.
“I know,” You whispered again. And this time, it sounded like something breaking instead of something reassuring.
There was a long pause before you finally let out a shaky breath, your shoulders dropping.
“I just… wasn’t ready for it to feel that real."
Stéphane closed the last of the distance completely, the line between you blurring into shared warmth. He held there, waiting, giving you time to pull away.
When you stayed, he lifted his hand, the briefest hesitation catching in the motion before he drew you into him.
“I can't promise you the safety of other civilians." He whispered. "But I won’t let anything like that happen to you again.”
You huffed quietly under your breath.
“You don’t get to promise that."
“I do, if I inform the right people."
That caught your attention and your eyes flicked back up to his.
Stéphane’s features changed again, now marked by a decisiveness and the kind of resolve that left no room for doubt.
“I’ll speak to Michel.” he said.
Your stomach tightened slightly at the name, but you didn’t interrupt.
“And a few others I trust.”
“To what end?” you asked quietly.
“To make sure you are not treated like a stray again."
The wording made your chest twist slightly.
“You’re going to tell them about me?"
“Not everything."
A beat.
“But enough so that they won’t touch you. Enough so that you matter."
Your gaze searched his, uncertainty flickering in it.
“And your brother? Will he be okay with this?"
Stéphane’s jaw tightened faintly.
“He will understand.” he said. Not fully convincing. Not fully uncertain either. His little brother could be stubborn, but they were family. And families carry their own rules, unspoken and unbreakable.
You let out a slow breath, some of the tension easing from your shoulders, though not all of it.
“This doesn’t fix what happened.” you murmured.
“No. But it will stop it from ever repeating."
And even as the memories lingered, you felt the quiet steadiness of him holding you, a tether against the unease.
You let yourself sink into it, and Stéphane’s arms tightened around you. His hand remained on your arm, rubbing slow, reassuring circles over the spot he’d grabbed just that morning.
His head rested against yours, the contact firmer now, like he needed to be certain you were still there - still within reach.
“I’ll handle it,” he murmured against your hair.
It wasn’t just reassurance. It was a promise he was already committing himself to.
You stayed there, letting yourself simply exist in the steadiness of him, in the quiet certainty that whatever came next, he wouldn't just stand by and let the world reduce you to something disposable again.