Silence stretched.
It wasn't the comfortable kind. It pressed into the bones, heavy with calculation.
Finally, the commander nodded once. "Then we'll see if he's worth the risk."
That was when Victor spoke again.
"I want a test," he said. "One on one."
No crowd. No spectacle.
A few of the officers stiffened. One opened his mouth, then thought better of it. Victor's gaze never left Damien. There was no challenge in it. No hunger.
Just assessment.
They met in a cleared training yard at dusk.
The space had once been a factory courtyard. Its walls still bore the scars of artillery and claw marks too large to belong to anything human. The ground was packed dirt and broken concrete, stained dark in places where blood had soaked too deep to scrub away. Old kill ground. Honest.
Felicity stood with the others at the perimeter, arms folded loosely in front of her, tail flicking once behind her ankle before settling. She felt Victor before she saw him move. The subtle shift in air. The way the ground seemed to listen when he stepped forward.
Victor did not unleash devastation.
He tested restraint.
His power stayed tight to his body, coiled like a loaded spring he refused to release. Every strike was measured. Every feint deliberate. He moved like the outcome had already been decided and this was simply the confirmation.
Damien answered with precision.
Not brute force. Not bravado.
Curses layered like lace, intricate and controlled. Poison that didn't kill, only slowed, creeping through Victor's limbs in whisper thin threads before being burned away by heat and frost. Spatial interference that almost matched Victor's own, bending angles just enough to deflect instead of collide.
When Victor pressed, Damien yielded instead of breaking.
Redirected force with patience instead of pride.
The longer it went on, the quieter the yard became. Even the guards stopped pretending not to watch.
It ended with Victor's fist an inch from Damien's throat.
Damien didn't flinch.
Victor held the position for a breath longer, eyes searching, then lowered his hand.
"He doesn't chase power," Victor said quietly. "He carries it."
The commander exhaled, shoulders easing as if he'd been braced for a different ending. "He stays."
Damien bowed his head once. No smile. No relief. Just acceptance.
Felicity hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath until it left her all at once. The smile that broke across her face felt unguarded, almost foolish. Victor glanced back at her, caught it, and something in his expression softened before he turned away.
They were given quarters near the inner wall.
A single room with four mattresses thrown onto concrete floors. Blood stained concrete. History written in rust. A narrow slit window reinforced with metal bars looked out toward the wall's inner curve, where lights never fully went out.
Safe.
For now.
Real.
For once.
That night, there were no alarms splitting their skulls.
No fog creeping under doorframes to choke them.
No dead clawing through windows.
Felicity sank deeper into the mattress, back against the wall, knees drawn up loosely. The room smelled faintly of metal and old disinfectant, but beneath it lingered something warmer. Familiar. The presence of people who could hold ground.
Victor sat across from her, long legs stretched out, one arm braced behind him. Voss occupied the space beside him, maps spread across his lap even though his attention drifted more often than he admitted.
Damien leaned against the wall near her, close enough that their shoulders brushed when she shifted.
The sweet tart burst of mango flooded her mouth as she bit into the fruit, juice threatening to spill down her chin. She made a small sound of surprise, more pleased than she meant to be. Victor's space pocket had delivered again, the impossible miracle of fresh food in a world that had forgotten the taste of it.
Without looking, Felicity extended her hand toward Damien, the remaining golden flesh glistening in the dim light.
Another gift.
He took it, fingers lingering against hers like a brand.
"Thank you," he said, voice rough, like she'd given him salvation instead of fruit.
She smiled at that, eyes soft, then leaned sideways until her shoulder pressed into his arm. Heat bloomed between them, easy and unforced.
Not claiming.
Not yet.
Choosing.
Victor watched from across the room, muscles coiled tight, jaw set, eyes tracking the contact with open awareness. There was no reprimand in it. No command.
Just attention.
When Felicity's gaze drifted toward him, she didn't pull away. Instead, she lifted the mango slice slightly in his direction, an unspoken question. Victor hesitated, then crossed the space in two long strides. He crouched in front of her rather than taking it from her hand, head dipping just enough that she had to lean forward to feed him.
The intimacy of it hit her a half second late.
She felt it in the way his breath brushed her knuckles. In the way his eyes never left her face as he took the fruit from her fingers. In the careful control of his teeth, as if afraid of hurting her even accidentally.
"Good," she said quietly, pleased.
Something dangerous flickered behind his eyes, then banked.
Voss pretended very hard not to notice. His fingers tightened on the edge of the map until the paper creased. When Felicity shifted again, she let her foot brush his thigh deliberately, a small, thoughtless contact born of comfort.
He stilled.
Then, slowly, he exhaled.
Without looking at her, he reached out and adjusted the strap of her pack where it rested beside the mattress, straightening it, checking the buckle like it was simply a task that needed doing. His knuckles brushed her calf in the process, lingering just long enough to register.
Damien didn't push.
But he didn't retreat either.
He let Felicity tug lightly at the hem of his shirt, fingers grazing the skin beneath. Let her press a kiss to his knuckles that seared through him like venom. When she smiled up at him, pupils blown wide in the low light, something feral and possessive locked into place behind his calm.
Later, when darkness swallowed the room and even the distant sounds of the city softened, Felicity shifted restlessly in her sleep. She drifted closer to Damien first, breath warm against his neck, fingers curling in the fabric of his sleeve.
Then she moved again.
Instinct carried her back between Victor and Voss, settling into the solid heat of their bodies like she'd always belonged there.
Victor adjusted without waking fully, one arm angling protectively behind her back. Voss's tail thumped once against the floor before he stilled it, a quiet chuff escaping him before he caught himself.
Damien watched it happen and felt no resentment.
Only understanding.
This was the language of survival.
This was how love began here.
Quiet.
But not gentle.
Earned.
Through blood.
And for the first time since the world ended, Felicity slept without bracing for loss, surrounded by men who would tear reality apart before letting harm find her.