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All your life, it has always been Lohen and you.. Well, Lohen, Theodore, and your uncle Adorno.
So when people points out the devotion that Lohen has for you, you simply brush it off. Lohen had known you since childhood. Since the day your uncle carried him and Theodore home and placed him within your little circle. Of course he was devoted. Of course he stayed close.
What else was he supposed to be?
Besides, you had never bothered putting a name to whatever existed between the two of you.
Friendship felt too simple.
Family felt too inaccurate.
Yet neither of you ever questioned it.You certainly didn't.
As far as you were concerned, Lohen would always be there.
And Lohen, for reasons you had yet to understand, seemed determined to make sure of it.
Until one day, everything seemed to be answered.
Lohen had never lacked enemies.
Theodore often joked that half the people in the city wanted to punch him and the other half wanted to stab him. Considering the number of fights Lohen willingly threw himself into, it wasn’t entirely inaccurate.
He fought often. He fought recklessly. And perhaps most irritating of all, he seemed to enjoy every second of it.
There was always either a smirk or grin on his face whenever he returned from a mission, whether he came back untouched or sporting a fresh bruise across his cheek. Adorno used to scold him for it. Theodore used to complain.
Lohen would only laugh.
“You should’ve seen the other guy.”
Over the years, people learned a simple truth. Lohen was difficult to intimidate.
Threats and money didn’t work.
Pain certainly didn’t.
The more someone pushed him, the more entertained he seemed to become. Naturally, there were those who became curious.
A man like that had to care about something. Everyone did.
So they started digging. Not openly, of course.
Questions were asked in taverns and marketplaces. A few coins exchanged hands. Someone followed him home. Someone else kept track of the places he frequented.
The answers they gathered were surprisingly consistent.
Your name surfaced again and again, aside from his parents, Theodore and Adorno.
Not because you held any position of importance.
Not because you were particularly influential. Simply because you were always there.
The person he walked home with. The person he searched for first in crowded gatherings. The person whose absence he noticed immediately. The person he never strayed far from for long.
Whenever it came to you, something softened. It did not take long for rumours to begin. Unfortunately, rumours have a way of reaching dangerous people.
The conclusion they arrived at was simple.
If Lohen himself could not be controlled, perhaps the person he cared about could.
Because one afternoon, you never made it home. The memory remained fragmented.
A cloth pressed against your face.
The sensation of falling.
And then came darkness.
When you awoke, your wrists were bound behind your back and your head ached fiercely.
The room was unfamiliar. Damp stone walls surrounded you, illuminated by a single lantern hanging from the ceiling.
Several men occupied the room with you.
Most looked nervous, one looked terrified. Another kept pacing.
You frowned. If you were the hostage, why did they seem more frightened than you?
The answer came sooner than expected.
“He’ll come,” one of them said.
Another glanced toward the door. “What if he doesn’t?”
The older man barked out a harsh laugh. “He will.”
The certainty in his voice caught your attention.
“How do you know?” someone asked.
The man looked directly at you.
“Because she's here.”
The room fell quiet before a scream echoed somewhere in the distance.
Every person in the room froze.
A second scream followed.
Closer.
The sound cut off abruptly.
Then came another.
And another.
The terror that swept across the kidnappers’ faces was immediate.
Someone cursed. Someone else reached for their weapon.
The footsteps that followed seemed impossibly calm. Measured. Unhurried.
Growing louder with every passing second.
You had known Lohen for most of your life. You knew the sound of his footsteps. You knew the way he moved. The way he carried himself.
Yet something about those approaching steps made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.
The door burst inward. For a moment, nobody moved.
Lohen stood in the doorway. Blood stained his sleeves. His karambit rested loosely in one hand.
And for the first time in your life, he wasn’t smiling. You had seen him angry before.
Annoyed.
Frustrated.
Even furious.
This was none of those things.
This was worse.
Because there was absolutely nothing on his face at all. No emotion. No amusement. No excitement. No satisfaction. Only a cold, terrifying stillness.
The room suddenly felt far too small.
One of the men grabbed you and pressed a blade against your throat.
The gesture was desperate. Pathetic, even. Yet the moment the edge broke skin, the atmosphere shifted.
A thin line of red slid down your neck.
Lohen’s gaze followed it.
For the first time since entering the room, he spoke.
His voice was quiet. Dangerously so.
“Take your hands off her.”
The man swallowed, the blade trembled in his hand.
Lohen took a single step forward.
“Touch a single strand of her hair again,” he said, “and I will make sure there isn’t enough left of you for your family to bury.”
No one doubted him.
Not for a second.
And as you stared at him—at the blood on his hands, at the bodies scattered throughout the corridor behind him, at the terrifying certainty in his eyes—you finally understood why Theodore always sighed whenever people mentioned the two of you.
You finally understood why Adorno watched Lohen so carefully whenever your name came up.
The answer had never been hidden.
You had simply never looked closely enough to see it.
Because somewhere along the way, without either of you speaking about it, you had become the only thing in the world capable of making Lohen afraid.
And judging by the expression on his face now, that terrified him far more than any enemy ever could.