Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Another message is coming….?

"HQ, copy: switching to Plan Zeta. Jam all signals. Occupy Sandrock. Cut the rail links! Signal blackout NOW. Whale express in route!"

Everyone turned back to the telegraph in disbelief.

“Fuck,” sighed Grace. Lucy watched as Justice and Trudy shook their heads.

Justice spoke. “Whale? They’re sending an airship to invade us?”

Lucy thought of all the possibilities racing through her mind. If Duvos was planning to invade Sandrock, what did that mean for the Alliance? And what did that mean for Miguel and Pen? She remembered that fateful night after breaking into Sandrock storage and learning of their betrayal.

“They must be finishing their extraction,” Lucy chimed in.

Everyone turned to look in her direction. Even Qi, who often wore a look of dismissiveness, seemed surprised.

“Extraction..that’s the first thing they said in the report,” said Grace. “Maybe they're not trying to extract their agents—they're trying to extract something. Something that’s worth crossing all political and military red lines over!”

“Who cares who's extracting what? We need to mobilize! They basically said to occupy Sandrock now! We don't know where they're coming from or how many there are, but we don't have a lot of time!” Justice exclaimed.

Trudy suggested we send people on horseback to Atara and Highwind to get aid from the Free Cities. Lucy recalled her run-ins with monsters and forays into the Hazardous Ruins. Slaying monsters was easy, but could she take another human’s life? She felt the weight of the pistol on her hip and grimaced.

“So, Lucy, can you do it?”

Her attention snapped back to Qi, who was looking at her inquisitively.

“Can I do what?”

“Lucy, were you even paying attention to what I was saying?”

“I’m sorry. I was just thinking about preparing for the invasion.” Lucy felt the weight of Sandrock on her shoulders. They depended on her, and she was afraid to let them down. A wave of nausea washed over her.

“Oh, right. Well. I was wondering if you could build this air cannon I designed. It’s non-lethal, of course. I can get you the diagrams before the end of the day.” He looked at his feet, suddenly embarrassed. Why would he have the diagrams ready so soon? Had he already designed this weapon?

“I will get it to you as soon as I can. Who would man it?” Lucy was afraid she already knew the answer.

“Well. That’s another thing I wanted to ask. Justice said that he and Unsuur would be at Martle’s Square defending the air cannon. I was hoping that you could— I mean, if you didn’t mind. I cannot pilot the turret in a real battle. I am... scared.”

Lucy felt a pang in her stomach. “Of course. I’d be happy to.”

“That’s great!”

“That’s very brave of you, partner” Justice said.

A blush crept across her cheeks. Why was it so hard to accept praise?

Mayor Trudy broke the silence. “...Yes. I trust all of you to come up with the best defenses we can manage on such short notice. I must admit, I’m far from any kind of military expert…” She added, “I need to warn everyone now. Lucy, thank you for stepping up to help. I’ll let you know if I need anything else. The budget doesn’t matter—you and Mi-an do everything you can to protect this town.”

Trudy would want to hold a fireside meeting to discuss the incoming invasion. Lucy knew the other Sandrockers would ask too many questions—questions she didn’t have the answers to, or couldn’t reveal.

As Lucy left City Hall, she paused, just for a moment, to make a decision. As she passed Water World and the Civil Corps, she turned her head left, glancing at her workshop before continuing toward Gecko Station.

Lucy felt the heat of the summer sun on her back, burning her nape and making sweat form. She squinted and lifted her hand to her forehead, gazing toward the ruins. She knew she should be there for Trudy, but she needed resources to prepare for the battle ahead.

The rest of her worries melted away as she donned her jetpack and goggles, ready to mine until late in the evening.

Lucy saw the glow coming from her workshop as she carried her tired feet and aching arms back to its warm embrace. As she walked along the tracks, her eyes lingered on the door to the Civil Corps building.

She thought about who was in there and felt a stab in her chest. She’d never paid much attention to Miguel—she was never really interested in being involved in the church. Instead, she thought about Pen in that small jail cell with cuffs around his wrists.

The betrayal still stung like a knife to the heart. Lucy had considered him a good friend, all things considered. Sure, he was a vapid egomaniac, but he was easy to talk to and made her laugh. She remembered his so-called “space punch lesson” and felt the corner of her mouth twitch into a half-smile.

She shook her head, letting the feeling pass as she furrowed her brows and continued forward. She was ready to sleep—hoping that when she woke up, this would all turn out to be just a nightmare.

Chapter Text

A few months earlier…  

Pen sighed as he strode over to his dresser, pulling off his gloves. Bruises bloomed along his legs and abdomen—souvenirs from his latest sparring match. Lucy had bested him in the arena with nothing but a pair of daggers and the stubbornness of a yakmel. She’d anticipated every strike, parried every punch.

Sparring with Lucy had started not long after she arrived in Sandrock. He remembered the first time well—how easily he’d flattened her, barely breaking a sweat. She had confidence, sure, but not much finesse. When he offered to train her, it was more for his own amusement. Watching her flounder had seemed like fun.

He hadn’t expected her to accept. Or to improve.

Their weekly sessions became routine. At first, it was just another task on his schedule. She was a decent distraction, easy on the eyes, but little more. Until that sixth session.

She’d shown up wearing a sandrunning skirt and a cropped top—an outfit better suited to the blistering Eufala heat. But what caught him off guard wasn’t the outfit. 

It was her. 

Her shoulders were firm from ruin diving, her abs subtly defined, her arms strong. When she moved, she glowed—sweat-slicked and sun-kissed.

He’d stared too long, and she’d landed her first real hit.

He blamed the heat. But deep down, he knew it was something else.

Now, hours later, he stood in his quarters—chuckling softly to himself as the ache in his body stirred something lower in his belly. Her voice echoed in his mind, teasing:

"How does it feel to lose, oh mighty Protector?"

He grinned, picturing the smug tilt of her mouth, the glint in her green eyes.

"Oh, skinny," he had said then, "didn’t they teach you at builder school to be humble?"

"Shut up, Pen. I just got lucky this time."

His grin faltered as the memory took a firmer hold, turning vivid. He shrugged off his breastplate, his cape pooling at his feet. The fantasy edged forward again, uninvited but irresistible: Lucy, fierce and flushed with victory, standing over him like a goddess carved from sweat and sun.

She haunted him. Waking or dreaming, she was there. Her laughter, her strength, the glint of her daggers in the arena sunlight. Every time she dodged his punch, every time she cut across his guard, she left him breathless—and not just from exertion.

The room was quiet, save for the whisper of fabric sliding off his shoulders. How had she come to mean so much? He hadn’t even realized when it happened. Somewhere between bruises and banter, she’d bewitched him.

And now... she wouldn’t leave his mind.

He recalled the triumphant look on her face and felt his cock twitch. She had bewitched him, body and soul. In all his years serving as the Protector of Sandrock, Pen had never felt anything like this. From the moment he woke until sleep claimed him, Lucy haunted his every thought — and not even his dreams offered him escape from her presence.

As he pulled his tracksuit down, he felt the pressure of his cock against his briefs. 

How long has it been since he felt the touch of another? Pen was no stranger to sex, as he had welcomed many lovers to his bed in Duvos. Since settling in Sandrock, Pen hadn’t shared his bed with anyone—not the fleeting tourists passing through, nor the townsfolk who admired him from afar. 

Now, almost fully nude and feeling the weight of his desire flooding his senses, Pen came to the realization that only Lucy could quell his lust. 

Slinking to the bed in the corner of his room, Pen could only think of Lucy and her gorgeous arms. 

He imagined them back at the training ring just before she bested him in battle. 

Lucy looked like a vision—hair falling wild across her face, daggers gripped tight, eyes blazing with fierce determination. She bit her lip, swift and sure, slipping past his super space punch as her skirt twirled with the motion. Just as she dodged, a sharp sting flared across his right forearm—her dagger slicing through the air between them.

He gasped, caught off guard, struggling to catch his breath before throwing another punch. “Feeling tired, skinny?”

“I can go all day”, she replied, feeling an impish smirk cross her face. 

Before he could react, she was on him again, her daggers dangerously close to his perfectly chiseled jaw. Just as he was about to fire off a clever comeback, she kicked him hard to the ground and stood triumphantly over him.

“How does it feel to lose, oh mighty Protector?” Lucy smirked, her green eyes a dazzling emerald in the evening sun. 

“Oh, skinny, didn’t they teach you at builder school to be humble? That’s no matter…I suppose instead of skinny arms I should be calling you ripped arms! Unless you want to keep skinny arms an inside joke between us.” He chuckled, looking up at her blushing cheeks.

“Oh shut up, Pen. I just got luck y this time. You put up a really good fight.” 

Lucy yelped as Pen suddenly leaned up, grabbing her thighs and pulling her onto his chest.

“Pen! What in Peach’s name are you doing?” she exclaimed, pushing against his chest as a blush bloomed across her cheeks, reaching the tips of her ears.

“Shouldn’t the champion get a prize for besting me, Lucy?” he asked, sliding one hand from her thigh to the hand resting on his chest and giving it a gentle squeeze.

Pen squeezed his eyes shut as he imagined Lucy on top of him. He moved his hand toward his underwear, pulling them down just enough to allow his cock to spring free before taking himself in his hand. 

“What kind of prize did you have in mind, Protector?”. Fantasy Lucy batted her eyelashes, far more compliant than the real one. 

“I think as the fighting champion, you deserve a reigning throne. And what better throne than me, skinny?” he teased, tightening his grip on her thighs, pulling her closer against him.

Lucy squealed as he positioned her over his face, the front of her skirt tickling his chin. 

He moved a hand up her thigh sensually, letting his calloused hand glide up her sweat-slicked skin. As his hand reached under her skirt, he hooked a finger under the side of her underwear and pulled down. 

Her wetness was apparent from her underwear and he licked his lips in anticipation. “Already so ready for me” he remarked, letting his eyes rake over the sight before him. 

He pulled her closer to his face and hiked up her skirt to get a better view of her. 

Pen pumped into his hand, letting the fantasy take over. He has dreamed so many times of what Lucy looked like, of what she tasted like, since that day in the ring. The cut in his forearm stung and spurred his lust further, the pain mixing with pleasure and reminding him of what his Lucy could do to him. 

"Wow, skinny, I knew you were toned but I didn’t expect you to have such a carved form.” He cooed. 

Pen was surprised at the praise coming from fantasy Pen’s mouth. 

Pen pulled her thighs downward, her pussy resting on his face. He flicked his tongue upward, tasting the saltiness of her arousal mixed with sweat from their fight. 

Fantasy Lucy let out a gasp as he flicked his tongue forward again, lapping at her. He nuzzled forward, his tongue circling around her clit. She started moving her hips as he sucked, her hands running through his hair. 

Pen gave his cock a squeeze and pumped harder, picking up the pace as he sucked in a breath. 

He sucked harder, twirling his tongue around her clit as his hands raked up her hips to cup her ass. 

Lucy began grinding harder against his face, giving his hair a sharp tug as she moaned sweetly. Pen hummed in appreciation as he began licking her again, his tongue penetrating her. He thrusted his tongue in and out, moving his hand closer to her entrance. 

He swiped his tongue back up to her clit, a single digit replacing his tongue. Fantasy Lucy gasped as he began to suck again, his finger curling inside of her to reach her sensitive spot. 

Pen huffed as he was working his cock, his eyebrows furrowing. He was trying to focus on the fantasy as he was nearing his own edge. 

Lucy began panting as he picked up the pace, her face contorted in a sweet look of pleasure. “Oh, Pen, I’m so close.” 

Pen felt his own release spill over with a loud moan, his mind preoccupied with the image of Lucy coming around his fingers. His cum splattered across his sweaty and bruised abdomen, leaving him breathless. 

Pen collapsed into the mattress, the release doing nothing to quiet the storm inside of him. His body hummed with the afterglow, but his heart felt hollow—like he’d desecrated something sacred just by imagining it. What right did he have to imagine her this way? To crave her as if he hadn’t killed, conquered, and betrayed everything she stood for?

His hand dragged across his face. He shouldn’t have let it get this far—not in his head, and definitely not in his heart. Lucy was his friend. His student , for all intents and purposes. And yet, his fantasies had been growing more vivid. More real. She occupied his thoughts from sunup to sundown.

And she wasn’t his.

He knew that. Lucy had never said a word to suggest otherwise. Still, that didn't stop the jealousy from creeping in—sharp and unwelcome. The way townsfolk looked at her, the way she lit up a room... If she ever chose one of them, someone lesser, someone who couldn’t protect her—

He clenched his jaw.

It wasn’t just desire. It was something deeper. A pull he couldn’t ignore. Her laughter, her grit, the way she never backed down—she saw him, past the armor and the bravado. And that scared the hell out of him.

Why did he always imagine yielding to her in those fantasies, letting her take control? Maybe because deep down, he wanted to surrender. To someone strong enough to meet him blow for blow. Someone worthy.

But that wasn’t the life he’d been trained for.

Duty first. Always.

Pen sat up, wiping the sweat from his chest with the corner of his cape. The shame lingered, not from what he’d done, but from what he felt . From the ache of knowing he couldn’t have her—not the way he wanted.

Not unless he took her with him.

A dangerous idea began to take shape. He was leaving soon—his mission back in motion, his obligations pulling him from Sandrock. But Lucy… Lucy had carved out a place in him, and the thought of her staying behind, free to choose someone else, made his blood run cold.

She wouldn’t understand yet. But she would. In time.

He stood, muscles tense with purpose now, not lust. He would give her space. Let her come to the truth on her own.

But one thing was certain.

When he left Sandrock, he wasn’t leaving without her.

Chapter Text

Lucy faltered as she reached her workshop, a sharp pang twisting low in her belly. Her hand trembled as she opened the mailbox, fingers brushing over Qi’s letter. The diagram for the Air Cannon Turret peeked out, cold and clinical. Lucy let out a frustrated huff — she’d have to upgrade her assembly station yet again to build the weapon. Another hurdle in an endless line of them.

The next day

Lucy marched toward City Hall, every step weighted with the dread of a soldier heading into battle. As she neared Martle’s Square, she spotted Justice, Trudy, and Qi already waiting, their faces grim under the pale morning sun.

“Fantastic. This will be the centerpiece of our defense,” Justice said, eyes sharp as he caught the hesitant flicker on Lucy’s face. “You ready, Partner?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Lucy replied, swallowing the knot tightening in her throat.

Trudy’s voice was low, edged with weary resolve. “When I took this job, I never imagined I’d be a wartime Mayor. But here we are.”

As the two dove into planning, Lucy’s mind spiraled inward—back to Pen. Her chest clenched painfully, memories flooding her: his interrogation, the biting words, the secret shadows behind his gaze. Was Miguel really controlling him? The doubt gnawed relentlessly. She feared not only what he was but the parts he refused to show. Lucy knew he was lying — terrified of what truth lurked behind his silence.

His claim of multiple lovers didn’t cut as deeply as the hunger she’d seen in his eyes during their fights. Hunger, desire, and something darker she couldn’t name—something that made her pulse quicken and freeze all at once.

At her workstation, Lucy let out a frustrated breath. She prepared everything she could—crafting more pistol bullets, sharpening her daggers until the blades gleamed, drying rations carefully for the fight ahead. Sleep would elude her tonight, she knew it.

The workshop was bathed in the pale moonlight, humming with the soft clatter of machines and the warm glow of furnaces. Her eyelids finally betrayed her, drooping heavy and reluctant. She forced herself to rest, knowing the battle would demand every ounce of her.

Morning came harsh and unforgiving. Lucy woke with a leaden weight pressing on her chest, the sun’s rays searing through the small window where she had slept. Three hours, maybe less, had slipped away. Her mind raced with the thought of Duvos invading Sandrock — her home, fragile and unsteady. All she wanted was a fresh start. Now, she had to fight for her life.

As Lucy made her way to City Hall, the town was alive with preparation. Barricades and fences crisscrossed Martle’s Square, stacks of weapons gleaming under the rising sun like offerings to some war god. 

Justice, Trudy, Unsuur, and Fang stood near the steps, waiting.

“Everyone that can’t fight’s already evacuated to the Temple. Rocky, Zeke, and Elsie are there guarding that place. Cooper and Owen are covering the rooftops,” Justice briefed, his voice steady but tense. “But I keep thinkin’ I forgot something…”

“Must be nerves, sir, you’ve gotta learn to be like a rock.” Unsur quipped,  catching Lucy’s eye with a faint grin before looking away.

Trudy looked at Fang, “Doctor Fang, what of the Minister?”

“I left her at the Temple…Sheriff said you needed a field doctor.”

“We do, thank you.”

Trudy glanced at Lucy, who gave a steady thumbs-up. Heidi’s voice trembled with a mixture of hope and fear.

“You think we’ll all be okay, Trudy..?”

“They tried to destroy us from within, and they failed. Now they think they can take us by force. Well, to that I say…Let. Them. Come! We’re stronger than they think!”

“Yeehaw to that!”  Justice barked just before a thunderous bang exploded from the far end of town, near the train station.

Every head snapped toward the sound. Justice drew his pistol, eyes narrowing.

A cloud of dust billowed, and through it marched a wave of soldiers in Duvos uniforms, at least thirty strong. Grace and Hugo arrived behind them, ready for the fight.

Lucy’s breath caught. Her heart slammed against her ribs as she scrambled to the Air Cannon, Qi’s invention humming with deadly potential.

“Don’t hold back!” Justice shouted as the first bullets whizzed past.

She slammed her hands on the Air Cannon’s controls. The machine hummed, charging, then unleashed a brutal pulse of compressed air.

The blast hit like a freight train.

Five soldiers were ripped off their feet, bodies slammed into a splintering wooden barricade. Bones cracked audibly beneath the force, sending jagged shards piercing through torn flesh. Blood erupted in thick, dark sprays, staining the ground a vivid, sticky red.

A soldier with a shattered mask gurgled, spitting a mix of blood and broken teeth as he staggered up, his face a raw mess of torn skin and exposed bone. His bloodied hands clawed at his face before he collapsed, like a broken marionette with snapped strings.

She fired again — the cannon’s pulse knocking soldiers back like ragdolls.

Limbs twisted unnaturally, blood pooling beneath their mangled bodies. One soldier’s arm hung by a shred of sinew, the muscle shredded, tendons snapping with each desperate twitch. Another’s throat was a torn mess, blood frothing from the ragged wound as they gurgled their last breath.

The square was soaked in gore. The stench of iron and smoke filled the air.

Lucy forced herself to ignore the wet, sickening sounds of bodies hitting the ground, the ragged gasps and screams of agony.

Bodies lay twisted and broken, all in Duvos colors. Qi had said the cannon was non-lethal, but the damage was devastating. Lucy felt bile rise, the morning’s meager breakfast threatening to revolt.

Trudy proved surprisingly capable in battle, and Lucy felt a swell of pride knowing that her newfound home could defend itself so efficiently.

Another wave surged forward. Lucy caught Justice aiming his pistol at a soldier’s head — then heard a sickening squelch as the shot rang out.

So much for non-lethal, she thought grimly, watching the soldier’s head explode like a rotten fruit, blood and brain matter splattering the nearby cobblestones. 

As Lucy aimed the cannon at the next wave of soldiers, one piped up.

“Retreat! That turret is too strong!”

Lucy hesitated, finger hovering over the trigger. Then Trudy’s voice cut through.

“They’re falling back! We can win this!”

With renewed ferocity, Lucy aimed and fired again.

The crunch of shattered ribs and the sickening snap of limbs breaking echoed as soldiers were hurled back like rag dolls, their bodies twisting grotesquely in the air before crashing into the dirt in mangled heaps.

A chilling voice broke the tense silence.

“I’m sorry, everyone.” 

Lucy spun toward the generator and froze—Matilda was there, cane jammed into the weapon’s gears.

“Matilda, what are you doing?!” Trudy’s voice cracked with pain.

Grace’s eyes widened as she shouted, “No way... you’re Tiger!”

The revelation slammed into Lucy like a blow to the gut. Then why had Matilda taken a bullet meant for Logan?

Justice raised his gun toward her, “Get your hands off ofa-”

Before he could finish, Pen appeared like a shadow, kicking Justice hard to the ground. Duvos soldiers swarmed in to seize him.

How did Pen escape jail?

Pen dusted off his chestpiece, eyes gleaming with cold amusement as he faced Lucy.

“Well, well, Skinny,” he drawled. “Looks like you made a mess.”

He walked toward her. A slow stalk. A predator.

Lucy’s heart pounded painfully. He wants to fight me.

His eyes raked over her, hunger and something unreadable beneath the surface.

“You know I can’t let you walk free,” he said, voice low, “and I don’t expect you to surrender without a fight.” He beckoned with a crooked finger, the invitation deadly.

“Stay back. This one’s mine,” he barked to the soldiers, cracking his knuckles.

Lucy drew her daggers, steel gleaming. She met him in the center of the square, every nerve alight — ready to give everything.

Chapter Text

Pen brushed his dark hair back as Lucy strode forward, heart pounding so loud it felt like a drum in her ears. She knew—no, felt—that he wouldn’t hold back. Not now. Not ever.

His eyes locked onto hers with fierce intensity, sharp and unyielding. His jaw clenched, muscles taut beneath his armor, every movement deliberate, predatory.

“I suppose you should be thanking me first,” Pen said, chest rising arrogantly, a familiar smirk twisting his perfect face. “For teaching you how to fight. You wouldn’t have lasted this long without me.”

Lucy fought the urge to punch that smug expression away. Instead, her daggers caught the fading light like twin promises, sharp and deadly.

Pen’s eyebrows shot up, then he dropped into a fighting stance, poised to give everything he had.

“Ready to lose, Skinny?” his voice was low, rough— a challenge and a tease all at once.

Pen lunged first — fast, brutal, desperate. Lucy barely dodged, feeling the rush of air as his fist barely missed her. The heat of his body was nearly suffocating, his proximity setting her nerves alight.

As Pen readied another strike Lucy slashed her daggers with fatal precision, steel grazing his arm. A spark of something flickered in Pen’s eyes — pain? Surprise? Or was it something darker, more primal?

“Is that the best you can do?” he taunted, voice rough, before swinging again, expecting her to dodge.

But Lucy didn’t.

She blocked his punch with her left arm.

A sickening crack echoed as his knuckles slammed into her bone. Pain exploded through her arm, sharp and fierce.

Pen faltered—just for a heartbeat—giving Lucy an opening. Gritting her teeth through the pain, she swung her right dagger.

Her right dagger flashed, slicing across his cheek. It split skin and muscle in one clean stroke. Blood spilled fast, thick and glistening down his jaw, staining his lips.
Pen didn’t pull back. He surged closer.

His hand clamped around her wrist—tight, possessive. She could feel the tremble in his grip, the restraint threaded through his fingers. And then—
He licked the blood from his lips.

“I see I taught you well,” he murmured.

His voice scraped against her skin, raw and husky. His breath fanned her face—hot, metallic, laced with something intimate and terrifying.
Lucy gasped, her skin prickling where his gaze roamed. The pain in her arm pulsed. But under it, something far more dangerous bloomed—heat. A low ache, deep in her belly, a traitorous spark that made her hate herself.

Why now?

Why with him?

She swallowed it down, forced steel into her spine.

Lucy gritted her teeth, pushing the feeling down before responding, “I would never give you the satisfaction of an answer,” she spat, “Not after everything you have done”

Pen chuckled at her response, releasing her wrist. “You don’t know the half of it.”

“Don’t let your guard down,” he snapped, breaking the moment.

The dull ache in Lucy’s arm pulsed as adrenaline surged through her veins.

She raised her daggers again, wincing but steady.

Pen’s expression shifted—determined now, but with a flicker of worry in his eyes.

His next punch came slower and Lucy easily dodged him.

She swiped at him, blades clinking loudly against his breastplate.

Her sneer deepened as she struck again, but Pen’s parry was sharp, deflecting her with practiced ease.
She stepped wrong. A loose plank caught her foot.

And in that instant, he struck.

His fist cracked against her face. Bone crunched—sharp, final.

The pain hit like a tidal wave. Her nose shattered, blood flooding her mouth, vision going white around the edges. She stumbled. The world tilted.

No—no, don’t fall—not now—

Strong arms caught her before she hit the ground. One under her knees, one behind her shoulders. Her daggers slipped from her fingers. Her body betrayed her, slumping against his chest, bloody and broken and burning.

Pen held her like she weighed nothing.

Lucy’s breath came in shallow gasps. Her vision blurred. She tried to fight—tried to twist away—but her limbs didn’t obey.

His heartbeat thudded against her ribs. Steady. Calm.

“Got you,” he whispered.

And the world went dark.

Chapter Text

Pen’s breath came in ragged pulls, his lungs barely keeping pace with the blood roaring in his ears. Lucy’s body was limp in his arms, her weight a contradiction—light as a feather, but heavy as consequence. His arms ached from holding her, but it was the guilt that hollowed him out. He should have shielded her. Instead, he’d hurt her. Fought her. Beat her.

Her nose was crooked, already swelling, blood smeared across her lips like warpaint. Even like this—especially like this—she was devastating. Vulnerable, wild, defiant. His.

Each step toward the Civil Corps felt like penance. Her scent clung to him—dust, copper, sweat, something sweet beneath the carnage. He shouldn’t have noticed. But he did. And it made something low and hot curl in his gut.​​

As he made his way up the steps, he heard the cries of the Sherrif cut through the silence.

“What the hell did you do to her, man?”

Pen didn’t answer. He just knelt, gently laying Lucy down on the bench as if she might shatter. He brushed her blood-matted hair from her brow, fingers lingering a moment too long on her cheek. His fingers hovered at her cheek, trembling with the urge to stay there. She looked like a fallen war goddess. Violent. Vulnerable. Beautiful.

“Don’t fucking touch her”, the Sheriff spat, his voice dripping with disdain, “Haven’t you done enough.”

Pen didn’t argue. What could he say? He’d fought her—hurt her—and now, even unconscious, she had his heart in a chokehold. He rose slowly, his fists clenched, knuckles white, and walked out without a word. He had no right to speak.

But he wasn’t done. Not yet

Pen knew what he had to do. If he wanted to keep her with him, he had to reason with Matilda before they left. He needed to fix this—whatever this was. He needed to keep Lucy safe… even if it meant lying to himself about why.

He halted when he heard a commanding voice echo from inside. Commander Lefu.

Pen rolled his shoulders, straightened his spine, and stepped inside—mask firmly in place.

Yan was there too. Of course he was.

Pen’s lip curled.

He didn’t expect to see Yan—the sleazy, loudmouthed commissioner—lounging there like he belonged.

Pen’s lip curled in disgust. He hated that greasy little weasel. Hated his smug grin, his stupid mustache, and most of all, the way he ran Lucy ragged without so much as a thank you. She deserved better than that.

Pen’s jaw tightened, fists balling at his sides as he turned his attention to Matilda, barely holding back the urge to wipe that grin off Yan’s face.

“My, you have quite the company tonight.” he said with acid-slick charm, eyes narrowing on Yan.

“Commander Lefu was just saying he needs a builder,” Matilda said smoothly. “And Yan, of course, offered to help us find one.”

Yan sniffed “Yeah, I was thinking of newbie - not that slacker Mi-an.”

“I already took Lucy to the Civil Corps,” Pen cut in sharply.

Yan’s expression soured “You better not have hurt newbie. It’s hard to find someone to depend on these days.”

“She’s fine,” Pen snapped—too fast, too defensive. “She’s stronger than she looks. I’d know. I trained her.”

“Ah, the star builder,” Lefu mused. “She’ll do perfectly. I’ll assign Stev to watch her.”

Something primal surged inside Pen as he felt a growl of possessiveness leave his throat. “You’re entrusting a lackey to watch her? Why not a knight?” He stood taller, leering over Lefu.
“You forget your orders,” Lefu replied coolly. “Tiger is your priority.”

“And she is. Matilda, don’t you think you can head to the northern plateau without me? I can meet you there. Let me stay.”

Before Matilda could respond, Lefu scoffed “Has a pretty face made you soft? You know what your duty is”

“Pen took a step forward, shoulders squared. “You wish you had half her fire. She nearly killed me today—and I liked it.”
That silenced the room.

“Settle down, y’all. If Pen wants to stay with Lucy instead, he can. She’s a strong fighter and could easily slip away from us.” Matilda continued, “Now Commander, would you leave us? I would like to speak to Pen alone”

“As you wish, I will be at the saloon” He scoffed, before making his way to the threshold of the door.

Matilda looked at Yan, who clearly wasn’t reading the room.

“Oh, you want me to go too?”

“Get the fuck out” Pen growled as Yan bolted.

Matilda watched him, arms crossed, expression unreadable. “Was that really necessary, Pen?”

He didn’t answer.

“Now, what is this about Lucy?” she asked, her eyes narrowing with something between curiosity and accusation.

Pen shifted, jaw tense. “I thought I’d be better equipped to watch her.”

Matilda tilted her head, unimpressed. “You want her.”

Pen’s jaw tightened. “I want her safe.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Still lying, I see. Don’t tell me you actually fell for her.”

Pen didn’t answer.

“Hmm”, she sighed, his silence giving away the answer. “Commander Lefu thinks highly of her, you know. Wants her to be his personal builder.”

Pen was looking at Matilda now with a firm expression sprawled across his face. “He wants to take her back to Duvos?”

“Yes, he thinks she is very capable after seeing her handle those soldiers.”

“Of course she is.” Pen’s voice sharpened, defensive and dangerous. “I taught her how to fight. I taught her how to win.”

“I wanted to take her with us, when we leave.” His eyes darting away from her in embarrassment.

Matilda’s gaze softened for just a moment, then hardened again. “It seems like you will get your wish. But she isn’t yours to take”

Pen looked away, shame and possessiveness warring in his gut. He stepped toward the door, one hand on the handle.

“I know.”

Outside, the night air hit him like a slap. Cold. Clear. Unforgiving.

Duvos soldiers littered the streets of Sandrock like a slow-moving infection. It made his skin crawl. Made him remember things he’d buried.
Was it guilt? Or something darker?

He stalked along his usual route, fists in his pockets, heart in his throat. In the morning, they’d come for Lucy—drag her out of the cell like a prize. Like property.

He thought back to their fight, the rush of her body against his. That look in her eye. The way she’d moved—like a wild thing, unbroken, even when she bled. The way she bled and still kept coming. The cut she left on his cheek—a mark, a warning, a gift. Pride twisted in his gut.

And lust.

Light, she was breathtaking in that Civil Corps uniform. Her pants hugged her ass just right, every muscle moving beneath fabric like a weapon she didn’t even know she carried. Even with blood on her face, she looked like a goddess—brutal, glorious, untouchable.

And yet he’d touched her. Held her down. Felt her breath on his skin when he leaned in to praise her—and for a second, just a second, he swore her lips had parted like she might kiss him.
Or bite him.

That fire in her eyes—it wasn’t just anger, was it? It was hunger. The same hunger that burned in his gut every time she looked at him like she hated him.
Did she want him the way he wanted her? Did she burn too?

Pen shook his head and let out a breath as he thought of Lucy, his Lucy, feeling the same want he did.

Pen exhaled hard, pacing in front of City Hall like a caged animal. He couldn’t stop thinking about the curve of her waist under his arm, the way her fingers had clenched in his shirt before she passed out. Even unconscious, her body had leaned into his.

She fit there.

He stared at the faint light glowing from the Civil Corps building. She was inside. Vulnerable. Hurting.

Come morning, they’d come for her—drag her out and put her to work under Duvos command. She’d be building for them, not by choice. Just another asset, another set of skilled hands.

Unless he was there.

Pen clenched his fists,the thought of Lefu—or worse, some faceless soldier—putting a hand on her made his blood boil. No one else got to watch her like that. No one else deserved to see her brilliance up close. The way she worked with that quiet intensity, jaw set, brow furrowed in focus—it was intimate. Sacred

She’d probably hate him for it. She’d glare at him across the workbench, bite back barbed words between hammer strikes. But he’d be there. Watching. Protecting. Wanting.
And maybe, if she looked at him again with that flicker of heat in her eyes—like she did during their fight, like she did when he touched her—maybe he’d see more than hatred. Maybe she’d feel it too. The fire. The pull.

He could meet her there—where violence and desire blurred. Where obsession twisted into devotion.

She was his.

And Pen would kill anyone who tried to take her.

Chapter Text

All of Lucy’s memories had skipped away momentarily. All that remained was the relentless ache of her body being bruised, beaten, kicked, and used like a broken toy.
She had heard it. The wet, sickening sound of phlegm drawn deep from within a throat, followed by a sharp whistle as it was spat out. Her left cheek suddenly burned with a sticky, disgusting warmth. Someone had spat on her.

Who would do that — when she was like this?

A harsh voice exploded into her ear.

“Wake the fuck up… NOW!”

Lucy’s eyes fluttered open slowly. The first thing she saw was a goggled soldier’s face, grinning down at her with cruel satisfaction.

“Nice of you to finally join us,” he said with a half laugh. “Though maybe it would’ve been better for you if you stayed asleep.”

Lucy’s heavy, half-closed eyes were not deceiving her. Five more Duvos soldiers stood before her. Foot soldiers. Battered and bloodied, ragged from battle.
One from the back of the group stepped forward. Without warning, he pressed the sole of his boot against her cheek, grinding the spit deeper into her skin.

“You caused us a lot of trouble, killed and injured most of our platoon.” Said the soldier, now stomping harder. “It seems like you deserve a bit of punishment for your actions.”
The burning sting of spit and sand seared through her already bruised face. A hollow numbness was spreading through her limbs, but her mind screamed in a desperate defiance.

How many more times will they break me?

Lucy fought to push away the wave of shame curling in her chest, the bitter taste of humiliation mixed with the metallic tang of blood in her mouth.
Even as pain pulsed from every nerve, something fierce flickered deep inside of her. A fragile ember refusing to be snuffed out.

They seized her by all fours, hauling her up despite the agonizing throb in her left arm. Pain sharper and deeper than anything she had ever known. A high pitched scream tore from her throat as they dragged her into the main hall of the Corps building.

“Hold her steady, boys.”

The soldiers’ voices rose into a rough chant, mingling with harsh hollers that echoed through the room.

Lucy’s hands and legs were yanked and held tight, but she refused to go quietly. She thrashed wildly, kicking and screaming at the top of her lungs. One frantic, desperate kick connected solidly with a soldier’s chest, knocking him to the floor.

This is my chance, Lucy thought, summoning every last ounce of strength.

She slammed her elbow into the soldier at her right, twisting and writhing fiercely, desperate to break free… Until her body gave out and she crashed hard onto the cold floor.

The harsh grip on her hair pulled her backward, scraping raw patches of skin against the gritty floor. Lucy bit down on her trembling lip, tasting blood.

Her mind raced. She needed any distraction. Any moment to turn the tide.

Suddenly, the soldiers began to move her outside of the Civil Corps building. Each drag of her body inching closer towards the shimmering pools of water of the oasis — it’s rare coolness mocking her burning skin and aching muscles.

A soldier moved in an instant, his hand grasping her broken arm with a cruel twist. The sound of frogs and crickets filling her mind, grounding her from the white hot pain that shot up her arm.

Another soldier kicked the backs of her knees, her hands shooting out as she attempted to catch herself. She bit the inside of her cheek, her brain going into overdrive as the soldier that had grabbed her arm moved to fist her hair, pulling her closer toward the water.

Her boots drug ruts in the earth as they pulled her nearer to the oasis. The cool mist of the water began to touch her face. The reflection of the sky rippled beneath her, broken by her trembling reflection.

“Go on then,” one soldier muttered. “Make a wish.”

With a final shove, Lucy’s face was pushed towards the water, just inches above the surface. She could see her reflection more clearly now. Broken, bloodied, but alive. Her breath changed from a fast pace to one more controlled, more deep.

“Let’s see how long she can hold her breath.” the soldier chuckled.

His grip in her hair tightened as he forced her downwards. Her face plunged into the cold water, and bubbles rushed to the surface — panicked bursts of breath she hadn’t meant to release. The muffled roar of her own scream echoed in her ears, swallowed by the water.

Her lungs burned almost instantly. The water, though shallow, felt endless. She kicked weakly, her broken arm limp, the other thrashing in resistance. Her vision blurred, whether from the water of the rising panic, she couldn’t tell.

Not like this.

Please, not like this.

Just as darkness began to creep from the edges of her mind, the pressure on her scalp released. She yanked up violently, air hitting her lungs in a cold slap. She gasped, coughing, retching. Her eyes wide open, stinging. The oasis glittered mockingly beside her — cool, serene, as if it hadn’t just been used as a weapon.

Low and cruel laughter broke around her.

“Didn’t last long,” one of the soldiers muttered. “Tough girl, but not that tough.”

Lucy collapsed forward, propped only by her knees and one trembling hand in the sand. Her breath came in ragged shudders. Her nose was bleeding, mixing with the water dripping from her chin. She wanted to scream, to spit something back at them, but her throat was raw and her voice was gone.

And yet, her gaze lifted. Defiant.

The sun beat down mercilessly as they crossed the shifting sands towards the abandoned silo — its rusted frame looming, cold and empty.
Her ragged breaths came shallow, her body trembling from exhaustion and pain, but her eyes never left the soldiers who hauled her forward. Then, suddenly, one of them slowed and pulled something from his belt.

Her breath hitched.

It was a dagger — her dagger.

She knew that handle anywhere. The sinew wrapping, painstakingly bound to ensure a strong grip. The worn leather edges, softened by hours of sweat and toil.

She had spent endless nights shaping, sharpening these blades with Hugo’s advice echoing in her mind — how to carve the perfect edge for swift, precise combat.

And now it was in the hands of a man whose eyes burned with something darker — rage, cruelty, and a twisted hunger to make her suffer.

The soldier’s grin twisted, his fingers tightening around the hilt as he stepped closer, eyes gleaming with wicked intent.

Lucy’s heart pounded in her chest, a storm of fear and fierce defiance crashing against one another.

“You slashed our boys up pretty badly,” the man said, eyeing Lucy as he tested the sharpness of the blade in his hands. “In Duvos, we believe in an eye for an eye. But you see, we have orders not to kill you.”

The words struck Lucy like ice — a promise wrapped in a threat. Not death, but something far worse. The weight of her shattered body pressed down harder, but her spirit flared stubbornly, refusing to bow.

“Fuck you, Duvos scum.” Lucy spat, pulling, gnawing to get away from the soldiers’ grasps.

The daggered soldier scoffed, but his smile quickly returned, cruel and mocking. “Big words,” He said, circling her like a vulture. “Especially from someone who can barely stand.”

Lucy stared at him, her body trembling from exhaustion, but her spirit refusing to give in. Pain pulsed through her broken arm, though the raw skin of her wrists where the soldiers had dragged her. Even through all the pain, she refused to drop her gaze.

He crouched in front of her, holding up the dagger, her dagger, with a sick kind of reverence. “You made this, didn’t you?” he asked, flipping it in his hand. “Craftsmanship like this… wasted on someone like you.”

Lucy’s jaw clenched.

Then, slowly, he pressed the flat of the blade against the bridge of her nose. The cold sting made her flinch, but she didn’t give him the satisfaction of pulling away. Not until he twisted the blade, just slightly, and dragged it down in a sharp, shallow cut.

Pain bloomed instantly. Hot blood streamed down her face. Her nose now throbbing heavier than before.

Lucy scrambled to grab her face, and reluctantly, the soldiers loosened their grip. Lucy pressed on her nose hard, attempting to stop the blood, to stop the pain. The pressure on her already broken nose made her sputter into a coughing frenzy.

“Caving after so little pain?” The soldier laughed.

Lucy didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her breath hitched as she coughed, thick and wet, a crimson streak slipping between her fingers.

The blood came faster now, hot and sticky down her chin, staining the sand beneath her knees. The pressure she applied to her nose only made it worse, every nerve in her face screamed with boiling hot pain.

But she kept pressing anyway. Not to stop the bleeding, she knew it was futile, but to stop herself from screaming. Her shoulders trembled. Her body shook. Not from fear, but from the sheer effort it took to hold herself together.

The metallic taste in her mouth was stronger now, more bitter. Her broken arm throbbed louder than her heart, radiating a deep, sharp pain that traveled up to her shoulder. Her eyes burned.

And yet, she forced herself upright. Just a little. Just enough.

“I’m still here,” she whispered hoarsely, through gritted teeth. “And that’s more than I can say for your men at Martle’s.”

The air turned heavy.

The soldier’s grin faltered, but he quickly masked it with a sharp kick to her side. It knocked the wind out of her, and she crumpled again, coughing, sputtering harder.

But even with her face in the sand, Lucy smiled faintly. Not because she enjoyed the pain, she definitely didn't. But because she knew every time she spoke, every time she rose, she stole a piece of control from them.

Another kick. Then another.

Lucy didn’t react.

Her limbs twitched, a flicker of resistance, or maybe a final reflex. Her body was shutting down. Every nerve in her body screamed in alarm, but she couldn’t cry out anymore. Her voice had gone raw, her throat dry, filled with blood and sand.

“Had enough yet?” one of the soldiers jeered, but there was no satisfaction in it now. Just the bitterness of their own losses, redirected at the one woman who had cost them too much.

“We need to move,” said another, tense and alert. He was staring at a crackling device in his hand. “The Knight’s surveying the outer rim. He’ll be close soon.”

That got their attention. All five stilled.

“Damn it. If he sees this, we’re dead.”

“Then finish it.”

Another blow. A blur of fists and boots. The kind of violence that wasn’t about punishment anymore, but instead of fear, control, and the need to erase the proof.

Lucy felt herself slipping, the edges of the world turning soft and distant. Her vision blurred, fading in and out. She caught glimpses of sky, sand, of that same dagger glinting faintly at one soldier’s hip. Her dagger…

She thought of her workbench. Of light drifting through the workshop window as she studied a blueprint. Of Pen’s voice, once calm and proud. She clung to that sound, just for a moment, before the black finally swallowed everything.

The soldiers stood over her, panting.

“She’s out cold.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

They hoisted her up again, not with the anger from before, but with urgency. Like a mess that needed cleaning fast. Her head lolled, blood trailing down her temple, soaking into the collar of her shirt.

The sun was lower now, casting long, red shadows as they reached the Civil Corps building. They slipped through the entrance, and dumped her onto the floor of the holding cell like a sack of torn cloth. The door slammed shut.

Outside, the world went on. Patrols changed shifts. Radios cackled. No one knew what had happened just beyond the oasis.

Inside the cell, Lucy didn’t stir.

But she was breathing.

Broken, yes.

But still breathing.

Chapter Text

Needles struck through the sides of Lucy’s temples.

She tried to rack her brain to find answers as to what happened, but her memory was foggy - empty - and nothing came no matter how hard she searched.

Her splitting migraine moved from the sides of her head to the lower back as she tried to open her eyes. Her body ached everywhere. Her left arm throbbed with a pain unlike anything she had ever felt. A break surely. Hopefully clean. There was no doubt that it was broken, but the worst pain radiated from her nose. It pulsed with an unbearable pressure.

Lucy could feel a crust of blood covering a line above her lip, almost blocking off her nostrils. Between her eyes her sinuses felt full of bloody globs of coagulated blood, each heavy breath feeling like a sneeze.

Everything hurt all at once. But she was alive.

More importantly, Lucy could make out two blurry figures sitting in front of her. It was unmistakable; Unsuur and Justice were alive, their shapes wobbling in Lucy’s peripheral vision. Thank Peach — Oh thank Peach they were alive, she thought as she hovered barely in consciousness.

“Dang, Matilda really pulled a fast one on us!” sighed Justice as he shook his head in disbelief.

His words were barely audible behind the ringing in Lucy’s ears.

Everything was spinning and it was hard to make out where she was. But one thing was for certain, the cold concrete floor adjourned with jail cell bars signified her worst nightmares.

Duvos had won, and they had been captured in their own cell. The blinding lights in the Civil Corps building made Lucy lurch as she flinched and slammed her eyes back closed.

The yakmel jerky she had eaten as rations before the battle began to bubble inside of her, and eventually they spilled from her mouth into her nose. It was a miracle, she thought, that the vomit could seep in through her nostrils past the barricade of dried blood. Violent snorts accompanied with gurgling coughs erupted from Lucy as she struggled to breathe on her back, struggled to breathe through the mess of what was left of her nose.

Unsuur perked up and shook Lucy’s shoulder, moving her from her back to a right side-lying position to where she could easily empty what was left in her stomach without choking on it again.

“Lucy, are you okay? You… You took a pretty good beating there…”

Justice knelt beside her, pulling off his jacket as wiped the vomit from Lucy’s mouth, mopping the nauseating mess of blood and stomach bile covering her lower face and nasal area. He worked quickly, wordlessly. His jaw clenched.

“She’s not in the best shape, we’ll need to sit tight until the cavalry gets here.” Justice whispered under his breath to his partner, trying his hardest not to be heard by Lucy, or maybe by anyone who could possibly be listening in on the conversation.

Lucy’s mind had caught up with what had happened. Pen had succeeded. Matilda… She had betrayed them. And Miguel, he was here too, slumped against the wall in the far corner with his head buried in his arms.

Who else?

Burgess? No… He couldn’t have been involved as well.

Had the whole church been involved?

But more importantly, who else was hurt? Peach forbid anyone else was hurt, fuck… This was not how it was supposed to end.

Could backup really come in time to help everyone who had been injured?

“Will they really come?” Lucy asked meekly in a scratchy voice as she used her right sleeve to wipe away the saliva that had begun to dribble from the corner of her mouth.

Lucy could see Justice take a deep breath, relieved that she was at least okay enough to speak, as he responded in a hushed voice.

“Yeah, Rian sucks at riding, but the desert has been pretty calm as of recent, and I’ll place all my bets on Haru getting there first and getting there fast. It might take them a few days to make it, but when they arrive in Portia and the other Free Cities, the Alliance will take this peace infraction seriously. They’ll send everything they’ve got.”

Justice sighed, exhaustion dripping deeply in his eyes

“Lucy… Don’t worry. Get some rest for now, please.”

Lucy tried to lift her left arm to push her short brown bangs out of the way of her vision. Pain struck and heat began to pool. Her left arm was useless, and she began to shake. If it was from pain or fear, she couldn't tell. Unsuur realized what Lucy was trying to accomplish and combed her hair back, placing the loose strands behind her ears as he propped Lucy’s spinning head on his lap.

“You’re like a geode.” He said softly, brushing sweat from her brow. “All busted up on the outside, but inside? Shiny as ever.”

He meant well. He always did.

He was so silly, so blissfully unaware that his words had meaning. Was he really just fond of her as a friend or was this something more? He was so dense that she refused to believe he would actually choose to flirt with her at a time like this.

Lucy couldn't help the small giggle that escaped her throat, which only made the pain worse and caused another sneezing-choke fit.

“It’s ok Lucy, just rest for a while.”

Unsuur cheered as he propped Lucy’s head up even straighter to prevent the blood in her nose from going down her throat.

“I have more than enough rock stories I can share! It doesn’t matter how long we’re in here, I have a rock story for everything. Rocks are cool, you can never get enough of them. ”

Peach. He was serious.

Somehow, between endless rambling about sediment layers and mineral formations, the world started to slow. Lucy’s vision began to steady and the ringing in her ears subsided. Probably a concussion - again. Not her first one either, not thanks to Pen.

The memories returned, bitter and sharp.

She remembered past spars with Pen, especially when she first arrived in Sandrock. It had taken her a while to be able to stand a chance against Pen in the ring.

Back then it was nearly a weekly occurrence to get a concussion, much to Dr. Fang (or moreso X’s) lament.

Surely they would have been left alive with all the Duvos soldiers that had been injured. Would she be taken to Dr. Fang soon? Surely she would be helped and kept alive… Surely no one else would be killed. Surely the people of Sandrock could be used as bargaining chips and traded with the Alliance, if nothing else. The lives of the citizens for Duvos to have the right to keep Sandrock?

Matilda wouldn’t hurt them. She seemed to care enough for the people of the town. She would not let us be hurt, would she? No matter how clouded by Duvos she was, she was still a minister… She was a woman of the light, wouldn't she keep us alive at least?

Suddenly, a barking voice erupted from outside the cell accompanied by the jingle of keys and the loud bang of the steel jail cell bars.

“Will you just shut it? If I hear one more damn word about rocks…”

Lucy’s eyes quickly jumped to the now opened cell door. Every last muscle twitched, ached to run, escape, yet ended with a demoralizing spasm.

A Duvos soldier in a neatly pressed uniform stood tall over Lucy’s limp body which was clutched protectively in Unsuur’s arms. Justice flailed to his knees, holding his hands up in surrender, stuttering as he rushed to speak up.

“Listen, she’s not in the best shape man, none of us are… We aren't in the position to bargain, but is there anything you can do? Just please, man. Help her.”

The soldier laggardly cocked his jaw to the right side, eyeing Justice with a look of utmost disgust, and spit a hurl of saliva with crisp precision that landed dangerously close to Justice’s knees.

“I’m here for the builder.” The soldier spat as he eyed the kneeling sheriff.

That was all.

Justice’s question was ignored. No nuance or any hint of what was to come leaked from his mouth as he spoke it. No explanation. No context. Just that one chilling sentence.

Dread filled Lucy’s chest and her breaths began to quicken.

What did they want with her? She had nothing to give with the condition she was in. No matter how good of a builder Lucy was, she certainly wasn't in a position to manufacture any machines or wield a pickhammer. She couldn’t run. Could barely think.

The only possible reason they were here was to kill her, Lucy thought. They had done worse already.

Two additional goggled soldiers followed into the cell, smirking at each other. Their scuffed and slightly blood soaked military attire stood in stark contrast from the first officer. Lucy could feel her shoulders being lifted and the pain in her left arm morphed from a stinging discomfort to searing agony.

Unsuur’s hand tightly squeezed Lucy’s, not wanting her to be taken from him. Lucy squeezed his hand back twice before the soldiers yanked her away. I’m okay. I’ll be okay. Hopefully he would understand, he would know she was trying to comfort him, even though he could be a bit dense at times.

Lucy could feel the veins in her left arm pumping, jouncing, beating louder and stronger than they had ever done before. The pain from her arm suddenly rushed towards her brain all at once and she felt her heartbeat pounding in her temples and ears.

It took everything for Lucy to keep from throwing up again, although bile was probably the only substance left in her stomach at this time, and covering their uniform with her stomach contents would probably not end in her favor.

Lucy could hear Justice begging the soldiers to leave Lucy here and call a doctor for help.

She needed to tell him everything was okay, like how he promised her before, but nothing in her body seemed to want to work.

Lucy’s throat ached, and nothing would come out besides a few small dry coughs. As the soldiers turned to drag her backwards from the jail cell, she could see Justice attempting to close the distance with an on the knees crawl-lunge. Lucy could see small streams of tears falling down Unsuur’s silently sunken face with his arm still in the same position as before when he grabbed her hand. Miguel, surprisingly, had actually looked up, although she could not make out his emotions. He just looked… empty.

As Justice’s screams reverberated across the Civil Corps building Lucy’s eyes lulled shut. The pain from her arm had caught up with her, and her consciousness yet again left.

Chapter Text

When Lucy regained consciousness, she was lying on a far too familiar feeling cot. The sterile scent of antiseptic and the slight dip in the mattress beneath her back told her exactly where she was —Fang’s Clinic. A place she had come to know far too well since arriving in Sandrock.

She’d woken here before, more than once, when her spars with Pen had gotten out of hand. He never held back, and sometimes, she didn’t want him too. But this pain was different. This wasn’t just a bruised rib or a black eye.

Lucy blinked, trying to steady her spinning head. Please let this be another spar. Please let her open her eyes and find X and Fang fussing over her while Pen loomed nearby, sitting awkwardly in a chair too small for his size and his ego.

Maybe he’d offer her a damp cloth for her forehead while making a dumb joke about how someone “as tiny as you should know better to challenge a wall of muscle.”

The memory stung more than it soothed.

He betrayed us.

Lucy’s stomach churned. The word betrayal didn’t sit lightly on her tongue —especially not when it came to Pen. He had stood for Sandrock. Declared himself its protector with an almost comical pride. He was the loudest voice, firmest stance, and always the first into danger…

Lucy’s heart pounded as her mind began to race, spiraling deeper. Pen’s face flashed through her mind. The way his grin would slowly curve upwards when she dodged an attack he assumed he would surely land. His laugh when she slowly tired of his teasing and would decide to act coy and take a jab at his ego. How she noticed a happier, more cheerful demeanor leak from behind his mask of impudence when she showed up earlier and earlier each time to spar. How he would give any excuse to be around her. And most dangerously for her, how Pen had begun to sneak looks at her whenever he thought no one was looking. She could remember the nights when Pen would quietly follow behind her until she finally pretended to notice him.
“Stealth training” he called it.

Was any of it real?

Lucy had always known that Pen was trouble, somewhere deep down inside of her. Arrogant. Impossible. A walking, talking ego. That’s why she had created boundaries and pushed him away anytime he inched too close. She’d drawn a hard line, hept him at arm’s length, because Lucy knew herself. She knew that if she let him in, she might fall. Maybe she already had.

A rumbling noise caused Lucy to snap back to the present. Her eyes flashed to the medicine cabinet, where Dr. Fang stood rummaging through medical supplies.

“Fang… oh, thank Peach!” Lucy rasped, coughing as she attempted to roll over to face the doctor better. “Are you okay? How… How is everyone?”

Fang jumped slightly before freezing, dropping the gauze and a pair of medical shears off the top of the pile of supplies he was holding. He turned his head slowly, and the weariness in his eyes nearly broke her.

Fang’s eyes traveled around the room, hovering for a suspiciously long time near the door to the entrance before he spoke in a deep growl.

“Lucy… Rest… Now. Please.”

X fluttered from his perch to retrieve the gauze, setting it delicately on a small table beside the cot. Fang followed suit, stacking supplies methodically with trembling hands.

Fang moved to retrieve the fallen shears as he looked at Lucy intensely with a hard blink before he moved his eyes back to the door. Lucy followed his gaze, her eyes landing on a Duvos officer. Not one of the grunts. His posture was too precise, his mask too refined, his uniform immaculate. A commander. Her blood ran cold as she carefully eyed the masked man.

The soldier slowly walked towards Lucy’s cot before speaking in an unsettlingly calm voice. “I see you’re awake,” he said, his voice muffled behind the mask but laced with cockiness. “It seems you’re lucky. Duvos HQ has reason to believe you will be important to our cause. My name is Commander Lefu.”

Once again Lucy’s eyes flashed to Fang’s face as her throat tightened. Fang was watching Lefu with a guarded, almost unreadable expression. What she could tell was that he was slightly distressed, probably from being bombarded by questions that he had to struggle to formulate into words, but he looked alive, and in one piece. That was something.

“I’m Lucy. I’m a builder.” She quietly stated, unsure of the position she was currently in.

Lefu nodded once. “We’ve heard. You’ve been quite the thorn in our side, and caused me a lot of extra work. But don’t worry. You'll be kept alive for now.”

Commander Lefu paced across the clinic carefully as he spoke, his hand glossing over the medical supplies that lined the walls.

“We’re under orders not to harm you or any of the other townsfolk. As long as you behave.”

Fang sighed as he wet a cloth and began to gently work at the dried blood covering her left arm.

“Everyone survived,” he murmured. “You are the… most injured.”

A wave of relief washed over Lucy as her nervous breaths slowed. Everyone was okay, and she was alive. And everyone would continue to be okay, as long as she followed what this man told her to do. The situation was not ideal, and while she was in rough shape, she had made up her mind on the spot that she would do anything they asked as long as it meant the safety of the townsfolk.

Lucy decided the best course of action was to stay quiet. Fang was quickly finished with cleaning her arm, and began to assess the injury, silently palpating the swollen area before bringing out a portable machine for closer examination. The machine produced a fuzzy, black and white photograph rather quickly, and the doctor studied its readings for a brief second before responding.

“Transverse fracture of the ulna” Doctor Fang sighed as he began to mumble with as few words as possible. “Clean. Will heal.. Quickly...”

X flew from the table holding the supplies, making a joyous loop before nesting in Lucy’s hair with a squawk.

“LUCKY BIRDY! Clean break, clean break! Lucky Lucy!”

X began to root in Lucy’s hair, scratching and pulling at her nappy and tangled bangs. Lucy didn’t mind, she let him fuss. It was a small comfort, anything to take her mind off of the glares from the commander.

Fang began to cast Lucy’s arm in a slow, methodical, but well educated and fine tuned pattern. Lucy winced several times but grit her teeth through the pain. If the Duvos soldiers truly knew how much pain she was in, they would abuse it for their own benefit.

The pain wasn’t the worst part of the process. Lucy was surprised she could smell the strong scent of the plaster through her broken nose. In the Eufaula broken bones were somewhat common. Owen had suffered a broken arm at Lucy’s first Running of the Yakmel. Elsie had a camel step on her foot once, resulting in two broken toes. Sandrock had always had its dangers, but this was different, and she knew that Fang would be busy for a while helping the townsfolk who were injured during the battle.

Fang quietly turned to Commander Lefu with worry dripping from his face.

“No lifting… no hard work… for three weeks… Will heal fully… in six.”

X lifted his head out of the nest he was making in Lucy’s hair and began to chatter once more.

“No building Builder! What a shame, shame! Take ‘er easy - lots ‘o rest!”

Commander Lefu sighed and tugged at his collar, turning his gaze to Lucy’s arm.

“Too long,” Lefu said coldly. “She gets two days. She’ll return to work with supervision. The girl with goggles is behind schedule. This one is more efficient.”

Lucy tensed. Work? With a shattered arm?

Fang’s eyes studied Lucy’s body. His eyes lingered for a few seconds at each bruise and cut before he quietly spoke.

“Needs help… Can’t work… For long. Lots of rest… but can work…”

X jolted from his resting state and flew to Fang, pulling at the cuffs of his shirt and pecking his wrist.

“Sick sick! Needs rest! No building!! No lifting! No stress!”

“Not now, X!” Fang barked, shooting a cold glare towards the bird as it flew back to Lucy’s side.

“Two days Builder, we will find you someone to accompany you. You aren’t in a state to swing a pickhammer, not that we would let you get your hands on one anyway. Someone will be assigned to keep an eye on you.”

Commander Lefu scoffed, but Lucy could hear the twisted smile in his voice that was muffled behind his mask.

Fang quickly finished wrapping the last of the cast, checking her circulation with a press of his thumb.

“Keep dry… No moisture” Fang said while pointing to the cast.

Fang cleaned his workstation before moving onto her nasal area. The break was messy, but there was not much that he could do for it. The area that had been cut by the dagger needed stitches. Fang pulled out a bloody orange colored chemical and began to disinfect the cut. Lucy gasped in pain. Her nose tingled and throbbed from the movement.

Fang sighed, knowing what had to be done next. “Lucy, hold your breath…”

Fang suddenly moved the tip of her nose, realigning it with the bridge as Lucy gasped and sputtered in pain. The pain was sudden, blinding. Nausea took over again and her head began to spin dangerously. This was not a pain that she could hide from the commander.

Suddenly the door to the clinic whipped open, hitting the wall with a unpleasantly loud strike. Lucy squeezed her eyes shut, the footsteps could only be those of one person.

The last person she wanted to see, the last person she wanted to think about.

“Well, well. Heard you weren’t feeling so hot after our battle, Skinny! You sure had me fooled, I thought for a minute there you were going to beat me!”

Lucy shivered, the sound of his voice made her stomach lurch.

Of course it’s him.

Pen…

The man who had made her laugh when she didn’t want to. The man who had looked at her like she was something worth fighting for. The man who had betrayed all of that… Betrayed her.

What double meaning was hidden behind his words. She was too tired and too hurt. Of course he would not let her go, wouldn’t leave her alone. She should have known that at her weakest point he would be there to mock her.

Lucy didn’t open her eyes. She couldn’t.

“Aw, come on. Are you seriously ignoring me, Skinny? That’s not very nice, I thought we were pals?”

No response.

Lucy could hear Pen chuckle as his footsteps drew nearer.

She could hear him as he passed the commander, shoving the masked man out of his way as Lefu stumbled to regain his footing. The rattling sound of the screen being pushed back made her breath momentarily hitch. It had been the only thing that stood in between Lucy and her worst nightmare.

Pen’s footsteps slowed, and he came to a halt. She was too afraid and too exhausted to open her eyes. The smell from the cast’s plaster had given her a migraine, the sharp movement of her nose had caused her stomach to churn, and the thought of Pen seeing her in this state had pushed her nausea past its breaking point. A minute had passed as Lucy lay there awaiting a snarky remark, although it had felt like an eternity.

Finally Pen spoke, shakily at first, but ending in a blunt snarkiness. “Come on Skinny, I didn’t hit you that hard.”

It was an innate response as her eyes fluttered and rolled open, suddenly shooting towards the man. Every muscle in her battered body protested, but she raised her head enough to meet his gaze.

“Fuck off” she whispered, the last of her strength behind every syllable.

Pen didn’t flinch at her words, but his smile faltered.

Only slightly.

Just enough for her to notice.

Lucy didn’t have the energy to deal with this right now. She let her head drop back down onto the pillow with a sigh. She wanted nothing more than for Pen to vanish.

Pen studied Lucy intently.

She looked ragged, her skin pale beneath smears of grime, her clothing stiff with dried blood. The sight made something twist in his gut. Had he really let it go this far? He was supposed to be her protector. Her knight.

How could he… How could he have done this to her?

His gaze shifted towards Fang and they locked eyes as the doctor was carefully preparing a vial and syringe. The clatter of glass against metal betrayed Fang’s momentary fumble.

“What is that?” Pen asked, his voice low and frayed, like an animal trying not to bare its teeth. “What are you giving her?”

Fang eyed Pen carefully before speaking “Local anesthetic… Numbing agent. For stitches.”

Pen didn't reply. Instead, he turned and grabbed the nearest chair. One far too small for someone of his bulk.

Lucy snuffed a laugh before it came to fruition. He always did this — hovered too close whenever she was hurt. Too close for anyone, especially Fang, to work in peace.

It used to annoy her.

Now? Now it was strangely comforting. If only this were just another sparring injury.

Fang drew the medication into the syringe with practiced hands. The small, sharp click of the needle being flicked made Pen flinch. A barely perceptible motion — the kind only someone watching closely would notice.

But Lucy saw it.

The tremor in his voice, the flicker in his expression —she had never seen Pen shaken before. Not like this. It seemed that the invincible “Protector of Sandrock” was human, after all.

The stiff silence was broken by the cold touch of an antiseptic towelette and Fang’s stoic voice.

Silence settled in the room like the sand outside, brittle and tense. Then, the cool swipe of an antiseptic pad broke the stillness, followed by Fang’s soft but firm voice.

“This will be over… Quickly.”

Pen’s eyes flicked toward the door, tracing invisible lines across the walls and floor — calculating exits. It was instinctual, primal, something buried deep inside of his psyche. So subtle, so quiet. No one else but Lucy could have noticed.

Then sharpness.

Several slow jabs of needles into the bridge of her nose made Lucy wince and snap her eyes shut, her thoughts of pen scattered faster than the sand in a storm.

Fang moved efficiently, rifling through supplies, selecting two suture kits. Lucy braced for pain… but only felt a few faint tugs. She wished she could stay in this state forever - not just her skin but her soul. Numb. No pain. No worries. Just… stillness.

Soon, Fang was done. He lingered only to clean the area with precise, almost admiring care.

Pen scoffed, the sound thick with irritation or jealousy - Lucy couldn't tell.

He rose and walked over to Commander Lefu, his voice lowered but still loud enough for her to hear.

“She needs to be watched, right?”

The commander turned his head and tried to hide a subtle wink back at Pen.

“Seems like you’re volunteering then?”

It seems they had already discussed this…

“It shouldn’t be a soldier’s duty to play bodyguard for the enemy.” Lucy spat, sitting up wobbly on the side of the cot.

Pen exhaled sharply. Of course she wasn’t going to make this easy.

“You’re too feisty for someone inexperienced to handle, sweetheart.” He shot back.

“And that means it has to be you?” Lucy spat disgustedly, her cold eyes searching his demeanor for any small falter.

Pen hesitated. Barely. His breath caught, and his eyes softened, just for a second. Then he smirked.

“Because if it wasn’t me,” he said, his grin curling into something sharp and dangerous, “they’d send someone worse.”

He turned slightly towards Lefu, his voice mockingly cheerful now.

“Isn’t that right Commander? Sure I’m scary, but there are beasts in our ranks that make me look like a house pet. And Lucy here?”

He nodded towards her with something almost akin to respect. “She’s quick witted. I know how she thinks. She’s not slipping past me.”

Lefu barked out a laugh. “Sounds like you really do like her. Fine, I'll bite.” He shrugged. “I needed someone to keep her in line anyway.”

The clinic felt too small.

Too many words left unsaid hung heavy in the air as Fang finished cleaning up. With a curt nod from Lefu, Pen stepped forward, his broad shadow stretching across the cot.

“I'll take her,” Pen said, arms already moving with startling gentleness for a man so large. “She can’t walk like this.”

“I broke my arm. Not my leg.” Lucy growled as Pen slid an arm beneath her knees.

“Don’t lie, Skinny. I saw you try to stand earlier —You wobbled more than a baby yakmel.” He offered a lopsided, sheepish grin.

Lucy realized no amount of protesting would result in any other outcome. She swallowed her pride and nodded, attempting to hide her embarrassment as she huffed weakly into his shoulder.
Her senses were too scrambled to argue —the scent of dust and the faint metallic tang of dried blood clung to him like armor. Still, he carried her like she was something fragile. Breakable.

Fang made a low noise of protest, but paused when he saw the way Pen held her - not just carefully but reverently. He simply nodded.

Sandrock under Duvos control felt like a nightmare made real, but Pen’s steady gait —even through the ruined streets and broken silence —was strangely grounding.

He said nothing during the walk. No jabs, no nicknames, no unnecessary words. He just… walked. And for once, neither of them tried to fill the silence.

By the time they reached her home, Lucy was half asleep from the fatigue. Pen nudged the door open confidently with his boot and stepped inside like he had been there a hundred times before.

Lucy was almost grateful when he finally set her down, carefully laying her against the soft comfort of her bed. She winced, and Pen froze mid-motion.

“Sorry,” he said barely above a whisper. “Didn’t mean to…”

“It’s fine.” She said, brushing him off. But even she heard the softness in her voice - the unintentional warmth that slipped through.

He glanced at her awkwardly. It was rare to see him uncertain, almost… nervous?

Lucy narrowed her eyes. “Let me guess. You’re playing babysitter full time?”

Pen scratched the back of his neck, his eyes glancing sideways at the bedroom door.

“Yeah. Orders. Someone’s gotta make sure you’re not cooking up any sneaky buildery plans. Or doing something stupid. Or both.”

Lucy didn’t answer right away. Instead she just stared at him, deeply. The man who nearly killed her. The man who now carried her like she was something precious to him, something easily broken.

It didn’t make sense. None of this did.

Pen cleared his throat, his tone shifting to something lighter, almost childlike and bubbly.

“I can’t ask you to let me stay in here, now could I?”

Lucy snorted, unsure if he was genuine or not “Hell no. Couch. Blankets are in the closet.”

Pen gave a mock bow. “It seems I’ve been put in the doghouse for tonight.” Pen chuckled, still making no effort to leave the room.

He smiled — the kind of smile that was more of an innate defense mechanism than for charm. A familiar, crooked smile that never quite reached his eyes.

“Not your first time kicking me out of your bed, huh?”

Lucy didn’t have the energy to fight back. She just let her head sink into the pillow with a quiet groan.

Pen hesitated again. “You need anything before I..?” This time asking in a low, quieter, more serious tone.

“Yeah. Silence.” She mumbled. “Maybe a million gols. And to never see your stupid face again.”

A devilish grin snaked across his face as he turned towards the door.

“Got it then.”

As he disappeared through the doorway, Lucy closed her eyes again. Her arm throbbed. Her face stung. Her thoughts twisted and tangled. And Peach, she realized she didn’t get any pain meds from Fang.

This wasn’t how things were supposed to go, especially not with how much they prepared. And especially not with Pen.

And yet… Even now… Even after his betrayal, she could still feel the echo of his heartbeat as he carried her home.

Fast. Fluttering. Uneven.

Afraid.

Not of her

But for her.

And Peach, she hated how that tiny thought nestled deep in her chest, and hated even more how it refused to leave.

Chapter Text

Pen stood silently in the doorway, eyes fixed on the figure curled in bed. He had left the room already. He should have stayed gone. But something stronger than shame dragged him back — guilt, maybe. Or the unbearable need to see for himself just how badly he had failed her.

Lucy. His Lucy.

Her breathing had evened out in sleep, but her face was still twisted in discomfort. The bruises on her arms, the way her broken nose had swelled — it was more than what should’ve come from their fight. Pen’s hand gripped the edge of her duvet, knuckles whitening.

Had he really hit her that hard?

He never intended to. He’d trained for years to control his strength, to hold back enough when sparring — but that wasn’t what this was, was it? This had been combat. Still, even that didn’t excuse what he saw. No fight should have left her like this. Not a fight with him.

His stomach turned, bile crawling up his throat as he stumbled from the room.

Pen barely made it down the hall before the nausea caught up with him. He fumbled through doors until he found the bathroom, where he collapsed at the sink and splashed cold water over his face.

Pen cupped the water into his mouth, gulping it down like a dying man. The taste did nothing to clean the sick, metallic tang in the back of his throat. His body trembled. Not just from adrenaline, but from something deeper. Fear.

Would she ever forgive him?

His hands trembled violently. The reflection that met him in the mirror was unfamiliar. He leaned forward, eyes locking on what he thought was a crack in the mirror — no, it was the cut on his cheek. Dried blood ringed the edges like a warning. He stared at the wound. It should have been a point of pride. Proof that Lucy had grown sharper, stronger. Instead, it mocked him. A reminder of how far he’d fallen.

This was rock bottom. Pen had never felt so hollow, so revolted by his own skin. The thought that he had done that to Lucy twisted in his chest. She was strong — strong enough to go toe-to-toe with him, even at full force, even with his relic weapon humming at his side. But this? That wasn’t a fight. That was destruction. It had to be the programming. The buried commands waiting to override him the second adrenaline surged. He must have lost control. He had to. Because if he hadn’t… then that meant the worst thing of all. Some part of him wanted it.

No.

No.

He couldn’t believe that. He wouldn't. No matter what they'd done to his brain, no matter what chemicals they injected into his blood as a child, he would never — never willfully hurt Lucy that badly.

And yet, she was hurt.

His mind drifted backwards, back to the moment it all went wrong. She’d taken the hit, hadn’t dodged, just so she could land that clean slash across his cheek. A trade. A calculated sacrifice. She had known it might be the last move that mattered.

Peach, she was smart. Smart enough to risk everything to end that fight.

But had it really been life or death for her?

Had she looked into his eyes and seen only a weapon? A threat so dangerous she was willing to let herself break in order to stop it?

His stomach clenched. Hard.

He remembered the moment too clearly. The flash of her blade, the red line of pain it drew across his face. And how he swung. Reflex or instinct? Brainwashed fury or something deeper? He couldn’t tell. That was the part that terrified him.

Even now, in the stillness, he could feel the Institution’s ghost tugging at the edges of his mind. He was built for war. Modified. Conditioned. Broken down and rebuilt in their image. Twisted into a weapon. And when the switch flipped, when the haze settled in, Pen ceased to be himself.

And something else took his place.

And that something had hurt Lucy.

When had the switch flipped? Was it the moment her blade split skin and blood rolled across his lips? Or had he disassociated before then, slipped into that blank, obedient state the Institution had carved into him? Had he already disappeared behind the haze of conditioning? Of orders and old pain?

The nausea swelled. He bent forward, gagging once, then again, until the bile surged up and out of him in violent, body wrecking heaves. Water, fear, shame — it all poured out. He gripped the edge of the sink, shaking.

He deserved it.

When he finally looked up, his pitifully pale, blotchy face stared back at him — vacant, ruined. His tracksuit was soaked with sweat and vomit. He looked like the ghost of the man he used to be.

And he couldn’t stand it.

With a snap of his fist and a flick of one finger, the mirror crackled, then shattered, cascading, into beautiful shards of falling glass. Good. One less thing to see himself in.

Lucy would be furious. Not just at the mirror. At him.

He grabbed a washcloth, folded it with stiff fingers, and soaked it under the faucet. The cool fabric touched his skin as he wiped the nauseating mess from his face. But it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

He’d failed her. Ruined Sandrock. Failed himself

Peach, he really had fucked up.

He staggered away from the sink, body rebelling with each step, and dropped to the cold tile floor. The shock of it helped a little — cut through the fog, anchored him.

Pen’s head was spinning more violently now. The nausea wouldn’t pass. Not this time. He wasn’t just sick in the stomach. He was sick in the head.

Pen's head hit the ground as slumped beside the tub, half curled in defeat. A pile of used towels brushed his arm. Damp, cool, smelling faintly of her.

He pressed his face into them.

He wanted to disappear.

Not onto the couch. He didn’t deserve the comfort. He didn't deserve the peace. All he wanted was to sleep in this heap of guilt, half buried in the scent of the only person who had made him feel human again.

Pen tucked his knees into his chest, whispering the truth he couldn’t outrun.

“I hurt her.”

His hands, the same ones that had held hers, had also struck her. The same fists that one protected Sandrock had broken her nose.

What was he now?

Pen’s eyes stung, the burst capillaries painting red webs through the whites. He didn’t wipe them. He didn’t move.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered to no one. “I didn’t mean to.”

But maybe he had. Maybe the boy who’d been forced to fight in training pits, whose mind had been scrambled by drugs and orders, hadn’t entirely left him.

Maybe the monster was still in there. Waiting.

The bathroom was quiet, save for the sound of his heavy breaths. He closed his eyes, his face now pressed heavily against the slightly moist, definitely used, towels.

Pen buried his face deeper into the pile, the scent of her clinging to the fabric like a memory. Something floral scented with the faintest hint of something wild and green. Lucy. Even here, in this pathetic heap on the bathroom floor, she was everywhere. Her presence enveloped him.

Would this be the last time he felt it?

When had it started — this aching, all consuming pull towards her? The way her laugh playfully danced from her lips, the way her eyes never looked towards him with contempt. Somewhere along the way, the admiration had become something sharper, dangerous. A sickenly sweet obsession. It was eating him alive.

He — Pen — Duvos’ perfect weapon, the Knight with no weakness, was unraveling over her. And the worst part? She hated him now. Deserved to.

How could she not?

His fingers clenched deeper into the towels. Was there a road back from this? Any apology strong enough, real enough, honest enough, to undo what he had done?

Peach, he was screwed. Beyond screwed. There was no redemption waiting at the end of this — no clean slate, no heroic act to wash away what he had done. Not this time.

His thoughts clawed at each other, looping in tangled, frantic knots. His chest heaved, his heart jackhammering against his ribs like it wanted to escape. Sleep was not coming. Not with this poison in his veins. Not with her blood still on his hands.

So Pen did the only thing he knew how to do when sleep became impossible. He had already screwed up beyond repair. This one unhinged, desperate act would complete his downfall.

Pen groaned as his hand reached the waistband of his track pants. This was truly a fucked up thing to do, but he needed to destroy himself and wash away every worry that plagued his mind, just for one night, just to fall asleep.

Pen pulled down his pants. He would need to do laundry later anyway. There was no reason to keep his pants on while he slept. Yeah, that justified it. But his body would not move, and he could not bring himself to get up and search for Lucy’s laundry room.

“Fuck…” Pen sighed.

He knew what his body wanted. This was not something that he could ignore.

Pen’s cock twitched. He was in Lucy’s bathroom, he’d seen her bedroom. He had tucked her into bed. She looked beautiful as she slept, like something ethereal, untouched by their brutal world. As if everything he had done to her was just a bad dream.

Pen shuddered as his right arm reached for the waistband of his boxers. His left hand gripped the bridge of his nose and massaged his sinuses as he let out a sigh. He had to do this, anything to help him fall asleep, no matter how fucked it was.

Pen’s hand slowly moved to his cock, eyeing the bathroom door.

Had he locked it?

No, but surely with as soundly as Lucy had been sleeping she wouldn't wake up to this. He prayed she wouldn’t see him in this state, so pitiful, so lustful. Longing for her.

Pen’s cock grew as his fingers slid slowly downwards, towards his shaft. His calloused fingers rested beneath the head, as he slightly rubbed the rim with his thumb.

“Fuck,” he sighed. “It really is over for us.”

Pen grasped his shaft firmer, more violently. He started from the base, slowly, roughly working his way up and down, until it fully hardened. His breath was rough, panting — begging almost — as he continued to massage his base.

His left hand that was once occupied with his sinuses drifted down to the cut on his cheek — the mark that Lucy had placed. His fingers traced its raw edges, slow and searching, as if trying to understand the shape of her resistance. It was still bleeding, though just barely now, each pulse echoing with shame.

His bloodsoaked fingers danced dangerously close to the corner of his mouth as he wiped his face, smearing red streaks down the side of his jaw. A smirk curled at the edge of his lips — not from amusement, but from something darker. This was her doing. Lucy had carved into him, had changed him. Broken him open and filled the cracks with something he couldn’t name. He was the way he was now because of her.

Images surged behind his eyes, images of Lucy. He could still see her, the way she stood in Martle’s Square, back straight, shoulders squared against the weight of what she was about to do. She hadn’t flinched. Not once. Not even when she knew it meant going against him. That fierce determination carved into her expression. The way her gaze tracked his every move, sharp and focused, reading him like no one else ever had.

Her body, honed by his own routines, was stronger because of him. Because she wanted to fight him. She had taken his teachings and turned them into weapons — not just to survive, but to stand against him.

Peach, she was brilliant. Brave. And cruel in the most beautiful way.

He had trained her hands to strike. And now she bore the wounds he couldn’t take back. There was something sick and sacred in that — as if the pain between them was proof of how deeply they were bound.

Pen let out a breath, shaky and low, edging closer to climaxing.

“You always did know how to hurt me” he whimpered.

Pen knew now — undeniably, irreversibly — that it was definitely over for him. He was lost, completely consumed. Obsessed with every fractured, stubborn, brilliant piece of the puzzle called Lucy. And he didn’t want to be free of it.

Pen writhed on the floor from the pleasure, the temple of his head rocking against the cool, tile floor. He imagined Lucy, fumbling with his cock for the first time. Would she know what to do, or would he have to teach her how to pleasure a man. Of course she was a good student — she would learn quickly. And she would far surpass what little her teacher could do for himself.

Would she hold it carefully, sputtering and laughing at the absurdity of the situation? He was large, even if she had sucked another man off before, she would truly gawk at the size. It was not something that could fit so easily in one’s mouth, especially not down their throat. But Lucy, his Lucy. She was brave. And never backed down from a challenge.

Pen’s grunts and pants escalated into louder moans as his hand continued to move along his shaft. He was nearly there. He just needed something else. One more thing that would push him over the edge.

Pen’s eyes fluttered open as he eyed the pile of towels.

“Fuck” he grunted, the shame from his insanity almost fully sinking in.

Pen bit down hard on a towel at the top of the pile. It held no taste, but the feeling of having something in his mouth drove him deeper into ecstasy.

Pen shifted more so to his stomach, resting on his left knee, while still massaging his cock thoroughly, slowly, methodically. Pen’s hips began to rock at the same pace of his strokes, as he nuzzled deeper into the towel. His bites and speed of thrusts become more erratic, more lustful. His canines gnashed into the thick towels as he imagined marking Lucy.

How beautiful would she look covered in his marks of passion?

She would enjoy it, he raunchily thought. He imagined how she would react to the bruises the morning after. Her fingers would glide across her neck covered in a mosaic of blossoming purple, each spot throbbing with a dull pain. She would definitely think of him each time she felt the blood pool to each area. And upon seeing her marked, no man would dare to come close to her.

She would be his.

Pen sputtered and fell into a loud moan as his cock began to twitch, throbbing, releasing everything that had pent up inside of him. The sweet release of semen was followed by a deep feeling of fatigue. He had no time to feel embarrassed or ashamed, he had to take advantage of this opportunity.

Pen sighed as he reached his hands into the now violated pile of towels, grabbing one to hide the mess on his hand and the floor. Guilt slowly began to well up inside of him as he studied the thick globs that puddled underneath him, but he pushed the guilt deeper inside of him. His sins were something he could deal with in the morning, not now.

The fatigue hit him like a wave, dragging him down into a half lucid haze. His limbs were heavy, useless — there was no strength left to even pull his pants back on, let alone make it to the couch. So Pen sank deeper into the pile of towels, resting his head where her scent lingered the most. If he couldn’t be forgiven, couldn’t be near her without ruining everything, couldn't fall asleep with her in her arms, then this was fine.

At least for now.

Chapter Text

Lucy woke up to sunlight striking her face, her left arm pulsing with pain and a dull headache already rooting itself behind her eyes. She groaned. Too bright. Too late. She'd slept far longer than she should have.

And then it hit her: Duvos.

And Pen.

She sat up fast, immediately regretting it. Her head spun, her arm throbbing in protest. She blinked hard and looked down at herself, grimacing. Her uniform was stiff with blood, streaked with vomit and dirt, and she reeked of it.

She needed to get clean. Now.

Lucy staggered to her dresser, grabbing the first clothes that would let her move: a pair of old work shorts and a cropped tank that clung to her ribs.

She trudged toward the bathroom, her eyes flitting toward the couch as she went—devoid of occupancy.

Peach, where did he go? Outside?

As her hand moved to the doorknob, pushing it open—she was met with resistance. She frowned. Then came a low, masculine groan from the other side.

What the hell?

She pushed the door open just enough to glimpse a bare, muscled shoulder—broad, scarred, too familiar. Her eyes trailed down on their own accord, catching the cut of his torso beneath a tangle of towels before she snapped her gaze up, heat burning her cheeks.

Pen.

Shirtless.

Curled like a beast on her bathroom floor.

Shards of glass glittered across the tile like ice, the remains of her mirror scattered around him.

“Get. Out,” she growled, kicking him hard in the leg.

He let out a low grunt, eyes cracking open. “Good morning to you too, Skinny,” he rasped, voice thick with sleep.

She refused to look lower than his collarbones, even as her cheeks betrayed her—burning hot. “Get. Out. I need a bath. And what the hell happened to the mirror?”

Pen’s expression shifted, just for a second. Guilt? Regret? She couldn’t tell.

He adjusted the towels as he sat up, slow and stiff. “Doc said no soaking that arm,” he muttered, motioning to her broken arm.

Then his gaze dropped —dragged—over the rest of her.

Her skin prickled under the heat of it. She knew what he saw. Sweat. Dirt. The grime that was associated with battle.

She flushed harder, furious at her own reaction to his stare. “You could have slept on the couch instead of, you know, dirty towels.” She huffed.

Pen was silent, his eyes tracing every visible injury with an unreadable intensity.

He rose in one fluid motion, looming over her, the heat radiating from his body palpable. Her breath hitched as he stepped closer. Too close.

He reached for her slowly like he expected her to bolt, and tilted her chin up between his fingers.

His touch was disarmingly soft. Her pulse throbbed in her neck.

“You look like hell,” he murmured, voice low and rough in the quiet.

“Peach,” she muttered, dizzy with the scent of him—sweaty, masculine, and something else entirely Pen. Her stomach flipped. And still, she didn’t pull away.

“You took quite the beating,” he said softly, his eyes dragging over the over the bruises on her cheek, her swollen nose. “Nose looks… well, fucked.”

She sucked in a breath before she could stop it, a shallow stutter that gave he away.

His thumb grazed her jawline. Warm. Solid. Calloused. It took everything in her not to lean into the touch.

“But scars can be hot,” he added with a crooked smile, flexing his bare arm. “Means you went toe to toe with someone powerful and survived.”

Her voice scraped out of her.“And let me guess…you're the powerful someone?”

He leaned in, slow and deliberate.

The bathroom seemed to shrink around them.

“Damn right,” he whispered, lips brushing the edge of her cheekbone without quite touching. His breath, warm and heavy, fanned across her cheek. “And don’t pretend it didn’t excite you.”
Her pulse spiked, skin burning where his breath kissed it. The scent of him clawed at her—familiar and dangerous.

“Get. Out. Of. My. Bathroom.” Lucy barked, her hand quickly slapping away the hand that held her chin.

He laughed, low and deep in his throat. “Fine. But don't take too long, Skinny. We've got important work to do.”

As he brushed past her, his hand ruffled her hair he gave her a pat on the head—the kind of touch meant to rile.

Peach, it was too early for this.

Lucy peeled off her filthy clothes carefully, wincing at each movement. She glanced at the broken glass scattered on the floor, stepping around them gingerly as she moved toward the tub.

She ran a bath, careful not to fill it too much. She was thankful to her past self for asking Qi to draw up diagrams for a water heater so she could actually take warm baths.

Sliding into the water, she hissed as it lapped against every cut and scrape, careful to keep her cast above water. She scrubbed hard, trying to wash away the ache—but her mind betrayed her.
She hated how fast her mind went to him—how his voice echoed when she closed her eyes, how the smell of him clung to her towels.

Why did he sleep on them?

And why the hell did she care how she looked?

Why did it matter what he saw?

She didn’t want to care. Didn’t want to feel this hollow heat curling up inside her. Pen was chaos wrapped in muscle and smugness. Dangerous. Off-limits.

And yet—

She forced herself to think about something else instead—why they needed her. And why was Pen watching over her? Did he not have a more important job?

As she donned fresher, cleaner clothes, she paused just before reaching for the doorknob. From the next room, she could hear him shifting on her couch, probably still half-naked. The thought twisted something tight and uncomfortable within her.

Lucy shook off the hesitation and strode out, not daring to glance in his direction

“Where are you going?” he called, his voice lazy but sharp.

“To work. And seriously—put a shirt on.” she snapped, irritation flaring as she slammed the door behind her.

Lucy was exhausted, but rest wouldn’t come easy. Her mind was a mess, her body aching, and her heart still felt unsteady. So she did what she always did when life cracked open around her—she worked.

If she was stuck helping Duvos, she might as well take on extra commissions. A few more gols wouldn’t hurt.

Approaching the Commerce Guild, her footsteps slowed as she caught voices—two soldiers just ahead, voices low but sharp.

“I’ve heard some things about the knight called Pen…”

“If nothing else, he sure was arrogant”

A chill brushed her skin as the first soldier lowered his voice further. “I heard from someone in the capital that they experimented on him to make him stronger”

“..Woah, seriously?”

Lucy froze, heart stalling in her chest. Experimented? The word hit her like a slap, jagged and raw.

Then her foot scuffed against the ground —sharp, loud in the sudden silence.

Both soldiers snapped their heads toward her.

“How much did you hear, builder?”

Peach. Not now. Not like this.

“I—” She tried to speak, but the words caught in her throat before they could form.

Then, a heavy hand landed on her shoulder—firm, claiming.

“She’s under my watch” Pen’s voice cut through the tense air like a blade.

He stepped in behind her, closing the space until his chest brushed hers, his warmth seeping in, breath warm against the back of her neck.

Lucy’s heart hammered wildly, caught somewhere between wanting to pull away and needing him closer.

“You best mind your own business,” he growled. “Unless you’re in a hurry to lose your head.”

The soldiers stiffened, then backed off.

Lucy exhaled shakily, the heat of his palm still burning into her bare shoulder. His grip didn’t waver.

Pen leaned down, breath brushing her ear. “Tsk. Wandering too far from your workshop without me, Skinny?”

“I can handle myself” she said, her voice cracking from the intensity of his closeness.

She turned to face him, taking in the clean lines of his uniform, the arrogant tilt of his lips. “What did they mean… that you were a knight?”

His eyes flicked away, the teasing vanishing in an instant.

“It doesn’t concern you.”

Lucy crossed her arms defiantly. “I think it does.”

A tense pause hung between them. Then, finally: “Yes. I’m a knight. How did you think I learned to fight like that?” His voice was low, and something bitter laced the edge. “Commander Lefu also wants you to make a bathtub or something.”

A bathtub. Of course.

Lucy snorted before stepping into the building, her thoughts not leaving the revelation that Pen was a Duvos Knight. Did she really know him at all?

Inside, Yan was sitting at his desk, feet propped on the table. “Ah, Newbie! And…friend?”

If looks could kill, Lucy would have killed him twice over.

“Surprised to see me?” Yan continued, grinning like a fool. “ I’ll have you know that once I’m in Duvos, I’ll be the richest commissioner there ever was! The President of ‘em!”.

Lucy rolled her eyes, ignoring him as she crossed the room to the commission board.

Yan, of course, couldn’t stop talking.

“Pen! So you got your way—watching over Lucy yourself, huh? Jealous of Lefu, are you?”

She froze, her hand clutching requests.

What?

“Don’t try me today, weasel.” Pen snapped. “As much as I’d love to smash your skull in, I have better things to do.”

Yan snickered “Yeah, yeah. You wish. I bet she hates your guts.—”

Before he could get the last word out, Pen grabbed the nearest object—a cash register—and hurled it.

Yan yelped, ducking just in time as it collided with the wall, the clatter sending gols flying.

“That’s coming out of your paycheck, Knight!”

Lucy grabbed Pen’s cape and tugged, ushering him to the door. His jaw was clenched, eyes still locked on Yan like he wasn’t finished throwing things.

“Come on Pen, let’s go.” She tugged again, his eyes softening as he looked down to meet hers.

They left the building in tense silence, the streets oddly quiet.

Pen walked beside her, his silent but watchful eyes scanning the streets like a soldier still at war.

Lucy clutched the commissions tightly in her hands, but her thoughts weren’t on work.

They were on him.

On what Yan said. Pen was jealous of Lefu, already planning to watch her himself.

The way his breath ghosted over her skin, hot and possessive, as he teased her like she already belonged to him.

Was it true? Had they really experimented on him?

She wanted to stop thinking about it. About him. But the dull throb in her arm was nothing compared to the low, insistent ache blooming in her chest.

Even now, after everything.

The stolen glimpses. The unsaid words. The way her name sounded different in his mouth.

Yeah. She was fucked.

Chapter Text

Pen’s gaze never left Lucy—her arms glistening with sweat as she hammered at the worktable, muscles flexing beneath sun-kissed skin. She was all precision and fire, carved like a sculpture brought to life. His pulse quickened, his breath hitching as he drank her in.

She raised her arm again, hammer in hand, the flex of her back taut with effort. The little grunt she made with the movement went straight to his cock.

He shifted in the chair, subtly at first, but there was no hiding the way his pants tightened. He exhaled slowly, through his nose, trying to will his blood to cool.

“Have something to say?” Her voice cut clean through the silence. She didn’t look at him, but the flush on her cheeks betrayed the heat of her labor—and maybe something more. “I can feel you staring.”

“Oh, Skinny,” he drawled, lounging deeper into his chair like a cat in the sun. “I’m just admiring the view.”

He dragged his gaze down her back, lingering far too long on the curve of her ass, the swing of her hips as she shifted her stance.

Lucy scoffed, turning to face him. “You watching over me just to gawk like I’m some animal in a cage?”

Pen grinned, teeth flashing. “No one else is competent enough to stop you from bolting the second I blink.”

She paused. “From the way Yan put it, you were hoping I’d have a different reaction to you being here.”

He arched a brow. “Do you not? I mean—look at me, Skinny. I’m the pinnacle of perfection. You’re saying I don’t do it for you?”

Pen flexed his bicep theatrically, hand tucked behind his head like some self-satisfied statue. For a heartbeat, Lucy’s eyes widened. But she turned back just as quickly, hammering harder. 

Gotcha, he thought smugly.

Pen studied her as she raised her good arm again and began hammering at her worktable. 

Her cropped shirt rode up each time she moved, flashing bare skin—smooth, sun-warmed, glistening with sweat. Her back arched with the effort, the muscles beneath her tanned skin flexing in a tight rhythm, her waist narrowing into hips that shifted just enough to drive him mad. 

A single bead of sweat slipped down the hollow of her spine, vanishing into the waistband of her low-slung shorts. It was obscene how much he wanted to follow it with his tongue.

She wasn’t even trying. That was the worst part. She wasn’t teasing him—she didn’t need to.

He wasn’t even supposed to be looking at her like this. Wanting her now made him feel monstrous—and yet he couldn’t stoop. 

To think that anyone else would have the pleasure of witnessing her in her element? Unbearable.

But watching her move—struggling subtly as her injured arm wavered—wiped the grin from his face. She wasn’t at full strength. Her movements were careful, slower. And every time she winced, guilt slammed into him like a hammer.

He had hurt her.

He’d broken her nose, her arm, her bathroom mirror—and something far more delicate: her trust.

The memory of her expression when he admitted he was a Duvos Knight—stunned, betrayed—was seared into his mind.

A frustrated huff pulled him from his thoughts.

You owe her more than silence .

He had to make it up to her. To show her that he cared. Even if some fucked up part of him wanted to whisk her away to keep her for himself. 

He stood up, careful not to make a sound as he stalked toward Lucy with determination.

Pen’s breath hitched as he caught her scent, thinking back to that night on the bathroom floor curled around her towels. He was ashamed that even the lingering scent on her towels could turn him on so easily. He felt like a villain, out to defile the perfect builder, the hero.  

He shook away the feeling as his arm curled around her to steady the wooden box she was working on, her broken arm unable to do it. 

Lucy jumped. “What are you—?”

“If you needed help,” he murmured, voice rough, “you could’ve asked.”

His body stayed an inch from hers. Any closer and she’d feel exactly what she did to him.

“Pen—”

“I’ve got it. Just hammer.”

He could feel her hesitation. Could practically hear her thinking. But she didn’t stop him.

Every movement from her was a test of his resolve. The tiny shifts of her hips as she adjusted her stance. The quickening of her breath.

He was hard. Shamefully, painfully hard.

But he didn’t move. Didn’t touch her more than he had to.

She faltered—but only for a breath— before working on the box again with ease, now that Pen was steadying it for her. 

He held still, silent as a statue, his hand resting firm on the box. She worked, he watched.

Then she stopped. Turned slowly. Their faces were inches apart.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Her eyes were dazzling in the light, lips parted from the words that left her, and it took every part of his resolve to not lean into the moment, to kiss her. To taste her, to lose himself in the way she made him ache.

Pen stared at her lips. His pulse was thundering. Kiss her. Just fucking kiss her.

Her gaze roamed across his face, no doubt looking at the cut that marred his reflection. “A battle scar” she raised her hand, dragging her fingers across it with precision “I was told they are hot.”

“Are you teasing me, Skinny?” he choked out, his mind racing at the contact of her featherlight fingertips dancing across his face.

As he breathed in, his senses flooded with her scent.

Her. Lucy. His.

She raised an eyebrow. “What, I can’t tease you back?”

“Fuck,” he muttered “You’re going to kill me.”

He wanted her so badly it hurt. Wanted to fall to his knees and beg. Wanted to drag her into his lap and kiss her until she forgot why she hated him.  

“Do you hate me, Lucy?”  he asked, voice low and tight, like her name itself cut his throat on the way out. He rarely said it. Maybe once or twice before. It felt too intimate, too dangerous. But now he clung to it like a prayer.

She dropped her gaze, setting her screwdriver down with a sigh. “No, Pen, I don’t hate you. I hate what you’ve done. I don’t think I could hate you though.”

Pen felt a pang in his chest. She definitely could hate him after knowing everything. She would hate him.

“You shouldn’t say that,” he whispered. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”

“I have a couple of guesses”, her gaze still on her workstation “But deep down, I think you want to change, that you can. ”

His hand moved gently to her chin, tilting her face to meet his. “You’re a builder, Lucy. But some broken things—you just can’t fix.”

Her eyes were wide with worry at his admission— it was too raw, too honest. 

He had dreamed of this. Countless nights alone, desperate and aching, twisting in sweat-soaked sheets with her name on his lips. But reality was worse. Reality had her in arm’s reach, breathing the same air, her lips so fucking kissable. 

His hand hovered near her waist, trembling with want and hesitation. Every nerve screamed to close the gap, to claim her.

Lucy’s lips parted, soft and tempting—but just as he moved in—

A deliberate throat clear cut through the air like a gunshot.

“Builder,” came a cold, razor-sharp voice, “seems you’re very busy not making my jacuzzi.”

Lucy jumped, almost shoving Pen aside as she scrambled away, breath catching in a sharp, uneven gasp. Her wide eyes locked on the figure looming in the doorway—Lefu, arms crossed, his presence like a storm cloud ready to break.

“You have work to do,” Lefu growled. “It looks like you’ve been… terribly distracted.”

He turned his masked face toward Pen, venom curling through every word. “And you. You begged to be assigned to her. Said only you could handle it. Can’t even keep your hands to yourself.”

Pen’s fists clenched at his sides, jaw tight. Shame warred with fury in his chest.

“I would like to take a bath tomorrow evening. If my jacuzzi isn’t there, it will cost you dearly.” 

Lefu turned on his heel and vanished, leaving only silence and the echo of ruined intimacy behind him.

Lucy was still breathing hard, her face flushed not with desire now—but humiliation. She opened the drawer with stiff fingers and pulled out the jacuzzi diagram like it physically hurt to look Pen in the eye.

“That was… beyond embarrassing.” she muttered. 

Pen stood frozen for a moment before finally exhaling, his voice low, almost bitter. “I’m not letting him get to you. Not now.”

He dropped back into the chair, his desire soured by the taste of failure on his tongue. His eyes never left her—even as she avoided his, and began working on the jacuzzi. 

But he watched her anyway. Watched the way her fingers traced over the diagram, the way she bit her lip in concentration.  And he hated himself for what he’d almost done. For how badly he still wanted to do it.

He didn’t deserve her. Not really.

But for tonight, he still had her near.

And that would have to be enough

Chapter Text

Lucy was dripping with sweat from the heat of the furnace, hoping that the chromium steel bars and magnesium aluminum alloy would be done before midnight. The glow of the furnaces cast a warm amber hue across her workshop, but even the rhythmic hum of her machines couldn’t drown out the thoughts gnawing at her.

She was conflicted—helping Lefu with such a frivolous request. Why did he want something so trivial so badly?

She tried to lose herself in her work, tried not to think about the man who never strayed far from her peripheral vision.

Pen.

She winced, the memory still too fresh—his arms around her, the weight of his voice asking if she hated him. If Lefu hadn’t interrupted... would she have kissed him?

She shouldn’t. It was wrong.

She felt his gaze burning on her back, though she never looked him in the eye since Lefu’s interruption. His proximity set her on edge.

Was he truly the monster he wanted her to believe he was?

She should hate him. Part of her did. And yet... the way he helped her, like it meant something. Like she mattered. And when he teased her—why did she tease him back?

He was Duvos—a Knight. A weapon shaped by whatever horrors they called enhancement. That alone should have been enough to keep her heart in check.

But it wasn’t. Because when he looked at her, it wasn’t like she was a prisoner. It was like she was his.

And worse, she let him look.

She wanted to punch his stupid, beautiful face.

Her stomach growled, a crude reminder she hadn’t eaten since lunch. How late was it?

She glanced out through the open gate and spotted the Blue Moon Saloon’s familiar glow. Maybe Owen was still there... Maybe there was food.

She fed more power stones into the furnace, then grabbed a rag to wipe her hands. She didn’t look at Pen.

“I’m going to the Saloon to get dinner” she huffed, her stride filled with purpose, “You don’t need to follow me”

“Skinny,” Pen said, voice taut. “you know I can’t let you out of my sight. What’s stopping you from running?”

Don’t look at him. Don’t. Look.

“You’ll see me from here. Where the hell else would I go?” she spat, not breaking her stride.

She heard him mutter something behind her—she didn’t care. She walked faster, as if putting distance between them could silence the ache in her ribs.

Lucy couldn't get the picture of him out of her head—eyes burning with desire—as she tried to steady her breathing.

The saloon door creaked open, and she froze.

Lefu sat alone at a table, surrounded by an assortment of horrid-looking dishes. The smell alone—sour and sharp with vinegar—almost made her gag.

It looked like something Grace would have made. Only with less sand. And less color.

“Oh, Builder! Have you been working all day? Come, sit.” Lefu gestured to the empty seat across from him. Lucy hesitated before realizing she didn’t have a choice.

She didn’t want to sit. She also didn’t have a choice.

“You’re just in time for dinner. Can I get you something? Some cabbage soup? Perhaps a drink?”

As she scrambled for a polite way to refuse, Lefu fiddled with his helmet—and pulled it off.

She blinked.

He was younger than she expected. Handsome, even, in a soft, forgettable sort of way. Brown eyes, steady and warm, expectantly looked at her.

“It is nice to talk to you. Face to face”

“Uh…you too?” she responded, confused by his change of tone. He was so pissed earlier, what changed?

He chuckled, clearly amused. “I’m sure you’re hungry. You have been working hard all day.”

Peach, how many eyes were on her? Watching her every move?

He pushed a bowl of cabbage soup across the table, motioning her to eat.

“A Duvosian delicacy. Try it!”
As the spoon of cabbage soup crossed her lips, she tasted the bland, salty flavor and internally cringed.

“Mmm!” she hummed, lying.

As she struggled to eat the cabbage soup he continued, his gaze never leaving her “You know, I’ve always wanted to get to know the people of the Free Cities. We aren’t so different from you, you know. We all want the same things.”

He picked up a glass of brown liquid, taking a sip before sliding an identical one toward her and motioned. As she picked up the glass and put it to her lips, a burning sensation filled her nostrils. Whiskey. Lucy hesitated before taking a large swig, eliciting another chuckle from across the table.

The predicament she found herself in was likely the lesser option to having him accompany her. It felt too familiar? Too real? The setting was reminiscent of a date, and Lucy wondered if he expected her to show up.

Was this a dinner or a warning? Her hands were steady, but only because she refused to let him see them shake.

She took another swig from the glass before setting it down, her mind fixed on why he was here.

“You did quite the number on our soldiers, and from my understanding, some of them weren’t so kind to you either” he motioned to her injuries and an all too familiar flush of embarrassment crept across her face. Did he know what the other soldiers did to her, after she was jailed?

“I suppose they wanted to get revenge for the air cannon.” she winced, her mind flashing back to the soldiers that had dragged her to the oasis, shoving her head underwater just long enough that she felt the sensation of drowning.

Lefu let out a sigh. “We are on strict orders to not harm any civilians. The soldiers responsible have been reprimanded for their actions.”

She could only hum in approval as she took a long swig from the glass, hoping that the brown liquid would dull the mixture of emotions she had been feeling since the attack in the square.

“Careful,” he teased “Unless you want to be carried home. Speaking of, where is the Knight Pen?”

“I told him not to follow me.” she replied.

“You are supposed to be attended to at all times.”

“I guess I am.” She met his eyes, then looked away.

He chuckled. “You’d be a celebrity in Duvos. Builders are honored. Respected. You could have anything you want.”

“I won’t betray my friends,” she snapped. “Especially not for you.”

The tone in the air shifted as Lefu scoffed, He pushed his bown of soup aside, ceramic scraping against the table, as he leaned in. He was close enough that she could smell the brine of vinegar and whiskey on his breath.

“I don’t think you have a choice at this point, Lucy.”

Her head pounded—whether from adrenaline or alcohol, she couldn’t tell. She tossed back the last of the drink anyway, letting in burn all the way down.

“ You asked me if I wanted to go” She muttered. “I said no. You can’t just take me.”

“You disappoint me, Lucy.” He reached across the table, his gloved hand brushing hers. “I want you to be my builder.”

—What?

Lucy recoiled from the contact, her leg jolting the table. The dishes rattled, a discordant clatter that spiked her pulse.

“I—I should get back. The jacuzzi,” she stammered, standing a bit too fast.

Lefu rose with her. “I’ll walk you.”

“That is…unnecessary.” she choked out.

Lucy’s eyes were fixed on the exit.

“I do not want you to be hurt again.” he spoke softly, his hand resting on the small of her back as he guided her to the door.

She stiffened, but let him guide her outside. The crisp air hit her face—welcome and sobering. Her balance faltered and suddenly, his unwelcome hand was the only thing keeping her upright.

Peach, she would not feel good in the morning.

As Lucy and the commander crossed the familiar path to her workshop, a large figure stood up suddenly, causing her breath to hitch in her throat. Pen.

He stood just behind the gate, his face twisted into a sour expression. His eyes dropped—slow, deliberate— to where Lefu’s hand still rested on her back.

“Too much to drink,” Lefu said, clearly enjoying himself. “Didn’t want her to stumble.”

Pen’s expression didn’t shift as he stepped forward and took her wrist, grip firm and possessive. A silent claim. “Didn’t ask you.”

Lefu straightened. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Knight. Make sure my jacuzzi’s done by tomorrow evening.”

He turned, leaving them in a silence that was palpable.

Pen’s hand didn’t let go.

“What the hell was that?” he asked, low. Measured. Almost like he didn’t want to know the answer.

She turned to him, her features soft with exhaustion. “Don’t, Pen. Not tonight.”

She crossed the threshold to her home, knowing he was going to follow her.

“Couch is yours,” she muttered over her shoulder. “Try not to sniff my dirty laundry while I sleep.”

Her bedroom door shut before he could reply.

Chapter Text

Pen could feel the anger simmering just beneath his skin as the door slammed shut in his face.

The sound echoed in his skull like a warning bell. He stood there, jaw clenched, fists trembling, trying to breathe through the wildfire raging in his chest.

He was like a viper, coiled and ready to strike. The image of Lefu’s hand on Lucy’s back was carved into his memory, searing into every nerve. He couldn’t get it out. Couldn’t stand it. 

That smug fucking smile. 

That touch.

Spinning on his heel, he stalked off with one destination in mind: 

Paradise Lost.

He should’ve stayed on the couch. Should’ve done the job he gave himself—watch her, protect her. But being that close to her, to her warmth, to her scent lingering in the air—it was torture. He wanted her too badly. He wanted to claim her, to show her how he felt. It scared him.

His hand dipped into his pocket, fingers brushing the weight of the bracelet. A reminder of the line he was toeing. He was losing himself. Forgetting what he was.

What he was made to be.

As he neared the ruins, something in him buzzed, electric and sharp—an old instinct waking up. 

He welcomed it.

Tonight, he would remember what he was built for.

Tonight, he would kill.

The next day

Pen woke earlier than usual—his body aching from the unforgiving couch and the aftermath of last night.

He’d practically cleared Paradise Lost, leaving nothing in the ruined mall. His tracksuit reeked of sweat, engine oil, and smoke. 

A sudden crash from behind Lucy’s door snapped him from the testosterone-soaked satisfaction.

“Skinny?”

Silence.

He was on his feet in two strides, hand already twisting the doorknob. “Skinny,” he called again, voice sharp. “Answer me.”

No reply.

A spike of panic ran down his spine. Had she escaped out the window?

He opened the door.

And froze.

Lucy was standing there, nearly naked, her good arm crossed over her chest, eyes wide with alarm. The ceramic base beside her bed was sprawled at her feet, shattered into over a thousand tiny pieces. 

“Pen! What the fuck?” she shouted.

He whipped his head to the side, flushing with heat. But not before the image was burned into his brain—black panties, bare skin, messy hair, startled eyes.

Light.

He cleared his throat, voice hoarse. “I thought you ran.”

“Again, where the hell would I go?” she snapped.

That usual bite in her tone, the fire—it somehow made it worse. Or better.

He couldn’t help himself. He turned back toward her, eyes tracing the curve of her body like he was seeing her for the first time. 

Bruises bloomed purple and red across her tanned skin. She was breathing hard, her perfect chest rising and falling with each inhale. 

 His body reacted faster than his thoughts.

He moved.

“—Pen.” she gasped softly, voice trembling he stepped in to close the distance between them.

That pull from the night before returned, stronger now. 

No interruptions. No more pretending. 

His hands cradled her face as he leaned in, kissing her like he’d waited a lifetime. She tasted like sweat and heat and something only she could be.

She gasped into him, breath hitching. Her body stiffened—just for a heartbeat—but she didn’t pull away.

Her lips parted, tongue flicking across his lower lip in invitation. A low, desperate groan rumbled from within him as the last of his restraint crumbled. 

Light, she was everything. 

Her hands roamed his chest—greedy, searching—each stroke lighting a fire beneath his skin.

He couldn’t stop touching her. His hand slid from her cheek, trembling as it traced down her waist before moving slowly back up to cup her breast. He squeezed gently, and the moan she gave him nearly broke him.

She was his. Completely, utterly his. 

Her fingers curled into his shirt like she needed him. Like she wanted him.

And Light help him, he would do anything to keep that look on her face. 

When she finally broke the kiss, she was panting, her eyes wide and dark with something that made his chest ache.

“What are we doing?” she whispered.

Pen’s breath hitched. “What I should have done a long time ago.”

He closed his eyes, trying to steady the fire burning under his skin.

Lucy reached up, her palm resting against his cheek. “And you choose now? After everything?”

He looked at her like he was drowning.

“I didn’t think I’d get another chance. Not after what I did.” He swallowed. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Lucy. But I did. And I hate myself for it.”

His voice was tight. Raw. “When they said they needed a builder, when I realized it was you ... I panicked. I thought if someone else got to protect you, to be near you—”

He faltered. Then:

“I’d lose you.”

The words hung there between them. Vulnerable. Unmasked.

“I couldn’t let that happen. That’s why I volunteered. That’s why I’m here.”

She didn’t speak.

She just pulled him in again.

The second kiss was rougher. Desperate. Not sweet—just real . Full of pain and hunger and something that might’ve been forgiveness.

Pen groaned as he kissed her back, hands desperate as they found her waist. He walked her backward, step by step, until the backs of her knees hit the bed.

He eased her down, mouth never leaving hers, as he hovered above her—lost, found, and burning alive.

She was here. Real. Beneath him.

And he couldn’t get close enough.

Pen’s hands danced across her body, tracing every curve as if he would carve her from memory. He was slow and possessive, his mind clouded by her scent and the heat of their bodies. 

His mouth found the hollow beneath her ear. He kissed her there, then nipped—just enough to hear her gasp. Her breath hitched as he dragged his mouth down her neck, then bit harder at the curve of her collarbone, like he couldn’t help himself.

She tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled, a broken moan escaping her throat as he licked over the mark he’d left. The taste of copper and sweat lingered on his tongue.

“What if someone sees?” She panted, her question half-drowned by another moan.

“Good,” Pen growled, his voice rough with need. “I’m making sure everyone knows you’re mine,”

He moved lower, his mouth descending on her breast. He latched onto her nipple and sucked—hard, hungry—dragging a cry from her throat. His free hand claimed her other breast, fingers pinching and rolling, demanding every gasp, every shudder.

Lucy arched into him, writhing as he marked her again, lower this time. 

He trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses down her abdomen, his pace unhurried but intense—like he needed her to remember it.

When he reached her underwear, he paused, letting his breath ghost over the thin fabric. His eyes met hers, and the look in them was feral. Dark. Starved.

“I’ve wanted to taste you for so long,” he murmured, voice wrecked.

“Pen—” Lucy breathed, a plea of both warning and want. 

His hand gripped her thigh firmly, guiding her leg aside to give himself better access. His tongue drew a slow, deliberate lick up her center, savoring the first taste with a low groan.

Pen’s eyes never left hers as his other hand hooked into her underwear, tugging it aside. He licked again—this time with nothing between them—and Lucy gasped, her hips twitching t oward him.

She was divine . No amount of daydreaming had ever prepared him for this—the weight of her beneath him, the way every soft, helpless sound she made shredded what was left of his control. 

It sent him spiraling deeper into madness.

“You taste like sin,” he rasped, voice hoarse, broken. “Like you were made to destroy me.”

Maybe she had. Maybe he wanted her to.

He licked her again—slower this time, drawn out, almost shaking with restraint. He needed her to feel how much he was falling apart. 

Every flick of his tongue was a confession. 

Every moan she made was a knife in his chest—and he welcomed it.

She rocked against his mouth, breath splintering. “Please, Pen. More.”

“Don’t ask,” he growled, lips slick with her. “I’m yours to command. Use me, take what you want.”

His hands tightened—one digging into her hip, the other gripping the sheets like if he didn’t anchor himself, he’d fall apart. His tongue surged forward, urgent and frantic, desperate to chase down whatever wild hunger clawed inside him—something raw and uncontrollable.

Lucy let out a sharp cry as his lips suctioned around her clit, tongue swirling in low, torturous circles He lifted his eyes to her face—twisted with raw, desperate pleasure. “Grip my hair—hard.” He pleaded, “I want it to hurt.”

He hummed low around her, pausing only to nip at her inner thigh as her hands tangled in his hair, yanking hard. 

Pen groaned, teeth sinking into the same spot before his tongue traced over the bite, flicking and swirling with want. “Show me how much you need me.”

She tugged at his hair again, pulling him back to her wet entrance. 

His tongue dipped lower, giving teasing licks as his hand slid bewteen her legs to spread her open.

Lucy choked out another moan as his tongue moved in and out of her, the taste of her sweet arousal flooding his senses. He picked up the pace, his tongue lapping at her with ruthless greed as he chased her over the edge. 

A groan ripped from his throat as he ground hard against the mattress, driven by the torment of wanting more. Needing more.

Pen’s cock ached, painfully straining in his sweatpants—but none of that mattered. Only she did. The sounds she made, the way she writhed under him.

It was everything. It was too much.

“Cum for me, Lucy.” He demanded, voice ragged and thick with need. 

Her legs clamped around his head as she reached her peak, hands clutching his hair like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. 

She cried out his name like it meant something—like he meant something. A confession. A curse. A surrender.

Pen didn’t stop, not even as her body arched and shook beneath him. His mouth stayed relentless, determined to etch himself into her memory the only way he knew how.

Because this was the only way he knew how to say it.

That he loved her.

That he’d break every rule and burn every bridge if it meant she’d let him stay.

“Too…much…” she panted, tugging at his hair to pull him back. 

He pulled away slowly, the loss of her like a wound in his mouth. The taste of her still lingered—thick, sweet, damning. 

She was better than anything he had imagined—laid bare, breathless, ruined for anyone else. Her skin was mapped in bruises and bite marks, the evidence of his reverence. She was an altar, and he was the sinner on his knees.

Pen crawled up her body, catching her hair as he leaned into her lips. But he didn’t kiss her. He pressed his mouth to her ear, voice low and frayed. 

“You have work to do, Skinny”. 

“—What?” she breathed, her voice thick with desire. 

He adjusted himself with a groan, trying and failing to hide the strain in his pants. Then he gently pulled her upright, his large hands gripping her waist as if she might fall apart without him.

“I recall Lefu threatening you multiple times.” he muttered “ I would rather not have to kill him for laying a hand on you.”

Lucy blinked up at him, her green eyes wide and dark with lingering desire. “What about you ?”

He shut his eyes, jaw clenching so tight it ached. Her voice—pleading, wrecked—would be his undoing.

“I’m not done with you,” he said, voice cracking. “Not even close.”

He leaned back, just enough to look at her flushed face. “I needed to taste you. But when I take you…it won’t be fast. I want to ruin you slowly. I want you so sore you can’t hold a pickhammer.”

He bent down, placing a kiss—chaste, cruelly tender—on her forehead before pulling away. His restraint hung heavy between them, a storm waiting to break.

“I’ll be outside,” he said, voice tight. “Get dressed.”

Chapter Text

The silence that followed Pen’s departure was loud, Lucy’s heart thrumming in her chest like it might explode.

She let out a shaky sigh, her body still trembling from his touch, his mouth. Without a second thought, she had given in to the desire that stirred within her.

What would the others think of her?

Who he was, what he was made to do—it terrified her. He was the enemy, a man molded by war, built to destroy. She shouldn’t have let him in.

And yet.

The only thing on Lucy’s mind was the way he touched her, the trail of bruises blooming beneath her skin in the shape of his mouth—how his sharp canines broke skin and made her bleed. She should have pulled away, but instead, she arched into it. She raised her hand, delicately tracing over the love bite he left on her collarbone. 

The look in his eyes when he pulled away from her, like she was the only thing in the world he saw—that was what truly scared her. It wasn’t just desire. It was obsession. Worship. Madness.

And the worst part?

She wanted more.

She wanted him to wreck her—mind, body, and soul.

Peach.

As she got dressed, her thoughts drifted back to his apology—raw, desperate, honest. She knew they couldn’t keep working side by side, pretending nothing had happened. But facing him again felt impossible. Her fingers trembled on the doorknob as she took a breath and opened the door.

Pen was sitting on the couch, hair still mussed from her hands. He was dressed in his usual attire with a familiar look of self-assurance written across his face. 

Arrogant bastard. 

His head turned lazily in her direction, blue eyes raking over her with no attempt to hide the want still simmering beneath the surface.

Lucy opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

He smirked. "Lost for words, Skinny?"

"No. I… I wanted to ask you if you knew what happened. After our fight."

His smirk faded. He sat forward, suddenly focused like she was the only thing in the room. It made her want to run.

“Some Duvos soldiers took their revenge after Martle’s Square,” she whispered, swallowing hard. “They yanked me by my hair to the oasis and held me under until I thought I’d drown. When they tired of that, they beat me senseless.”

She closed her eyes, her voice catching. "I thought I was going to die. I thought maybe I deserved it, for the air cannon. I can still hear their bones breaking, see the blood. But worse than that is the feeling of almost drowning. You hurt me, Pen… but nothing like that."

Her knees buckled. She slid to the floor as the sobs overtook her, everything she had buried crashing into her all at once.

And then his hands were there. Gentle. Steady. Cupping her face, brushing away her tears.

"They will pay for this," Pen whispered. "No one touches you."

"That’s what scares me," she whispered. "What I’ve heard about you, what you’ve done… And still, I want you. Even though I know you’ll hurt me again."

He scooped her up like she weighed nothing, holding her against his chest, his warmth wrapping around her like fire. He sat with her on the couch, one hand stroking her hair, the other firm around her waist.

"I know this won’t work," she whispered. "I can’t betray my friends. I can’t go with you."

He was silent. Then she felt it: the sharp inhale. The shift in his body.

"I didn’t expect you to," he said finally. "But I can’t live without you, Lucy. I mean that."

He moved slightly, and she felt something click around her wrist.

She looked down.

A bracelet. Heavy, gleaming, a red diamond pattern around the band. 

"In my country, it’s a tradition to give this as a courting gift,” he murmured, his hand threading gently into her hair, "A profession of love." 

"You don’t mean that," she said hoarsely. "You don’t love me. You’re obsessed. Possessive. That’s not the same."

His fingers moved to her chin, gripping it gently but firmly, forcing her to look at him.

"It’s the only way I know how."

She stilled.

His gaze pinned her in place. There it was again. That terrifying, unflinching devotion.

"I told you that you would hate me," he whispered. "That you don’t know what I’m capable of. I am possessive of you, Lucy. When I leave Sandrock, I want you by my side—no matter what it takes."

"I guess I need to get to work," she said, pushing gently off his chest. She should argue. Push back. And yet, part of her felt bound to him—by a force as terrifying as it was tempting.

She stood, trying to steady the tremble in her hands as she stepped toward the door.

Because surviving him meant knowing him. And if she was going to find a way out, she had to know just how far Pen would go—and what part of her might want to stay.

Hours passed as Lucy worked outside, the familiar sense of someone watching her prickling the back of her neck. Pen was never in her way, but always close enough that he was never out of sight.

She caught glances, the hunger in his eyes as she bent over to feed her furnace with power stones. She flushed under his gaze, self-conscious of her old bruises and the new, tender ones adorning her skin.

Lucy felt the weight of the bracelet on her wrist, a reminder of his declaration of love. It wasn’t love. It couldn’t be. But as she worked, she thought of him and the way he held her—tender, patient.

Lucy hated it—hated that some secret, treacherous part of her ached for him. For his hands, his fire. For the monster who held her like she was the only thing in the world worth saving.

She stepped away from the assembly station, satisfaction blooming in her chest as she beheld her newest creation—a luxurious jacuzzi.

Thank Peach, she thought. Just in time before dinner.

She turned to look at Pen, his gaze already on her as she spoke. “Do you mind carrying this for me, Protector?”

Pen chuckled darkly as he strode toward her, arms crossed against his chest. “Are you teasing me again, Skinny?” He brushed past her, leaning in before grabbing the tub. “Remember what I said earlier? I im going to ruin you—slowly, deliciously.”

She sucked in a breath as his voice, hot and damp, danced across her neck.

With a swift motion, he hoisted the tub effortlessly onto one shoulder. His other hand settled firmly in the small of her back. “Come on. The sooner this is done, the sooner I get to have you all to myself.”

The walk to Matilda’s old house was uneventful, the peppering of Duvos soldiers spread across the town an all-too-familiar sight.

Lucy hesitated to knock on the door, her mind racing with the thoughts of what Lefu would say to her after the events of last night. Before she could, the door opened.

“Ah, builder!” Lefu said, his voice humming with approval. “This is excellent quality! Do you mind installing it for me so I can take this baby for a test dunk?”

Pen groaned behind her. Lefu’s attention snapped to him.

“Knight. Here to help the builder? Perhaps you can leave her to keep me company. Need to make sure it works and all that.” He reached up to give the tub a pat.

If Lucy could see Lefu’s expression under his mask, she knew he would be smirking.

“I will take that as a joke,” Pen spat. But something in his voice turned darker, lower.

He didn’t speak again. Just stared. Cold, unblinking, like he was calculating how many bones he’d need to break before Lefu stopped talking.

Lucy’s gaze never left Pen’s as they worked quietly on installing the jacuzzi, the silence between them louder than words.

“Begone! I must be nude now!” Lefu barked, a playful tone to his voice.

As they left to go back to her workshop, Lucy’s breath hitched when Pen caught her arm.

But instead of guiding her home, he steered her toward the church dormitory.

Her breath caught as he dragged her behind him—not rough, not kind, just inevitable. Like gravity. Like fate.

Pen was silent as they moved, only stopping once they reached the door to his room. His hand trembled on the doorknob, the restraint in his shoulders drawn so tight it looked painful.

He closed the door swiftly behind them. The heat of his body pressed close enough to make her head spin.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he murmured, voice low and raw. “The sounds you made… the way you looked when you gave in to me.” His lips ghosted over hers, breath warm, words barely a whisper. “I need you, Lucy. Like I need air. Like I’ll die without you.”

Lucy’s heart thundered in her chest, caught between fear and longing. She didn’t know who moved first, only that her mouth found his in a kiss that tasted of surrender—of something wild and burning.

Her hands slowly roamed across his chest, committing his form to memory as she mapped every ripple of muscle under his skin. Then, with a sharp breath, her hand slid lower—closing around the heat swelling beneath his pants. 

His length strained against the fabric, hard and demanding beneath her teasing touch. Lucy let her fingers trail just above his belt buckle, slow and deliberate—holding him on the edge, making him hungrier for more.

Pen’s lips parted against hers, hissing a breathless surrender. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

She smiled against his mouth, her teeth grazing his bottom lip as she whispered, “I want you, Pen. Please.”

He groaned at her admission of want, his hands cupping her ass as he lifted her with ease. Her legs wrapped around him instinctively as he carried her to the bed, laying her down like she would shatter under his touch. 

“Say you’re mine,” he breathed against her neck, lips hot and demanding. “Even if it’s a lie.”

Lucy didn’t answer—she didn’t need to. Her fingers dug into his back, nails scratching down his spine as her hips rolled up into his.

“Tell me you want it” He murmured, teeth grazing her skin. 

Lucy’s hand palmed his cock as she surrendered herself to him, “I want it, Pen. Please, fuck me .”

Pen shuddered, tugging at her clothes frantically. “Off.” His lips caught hers in a quick kiss before he began tearing at his tracksuit, his cape and breastplate clattering to the floor without care. “I need to feel your skin on mine.”

Lucy’s shirt came off first, tossed aside in a blur, her fingers fumbling with the clasps of her bra. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her breath hitching under the weight of his gaze.

As she worked on her pants, her eyes never left his—locked in place, caught in that terrible gravity between them. She drank in his form as he stripped himself bare with one swift tug of his pants, every scar and line of muscle a testament to violence, power... and raw, aching want.

He stepped forward, breath ragged with need, and leaned down over her, laying himself bare before her eyes. Pen’s hands traced slow, possessive paths along her waist. “You’re perfect.” His voice was low, almost a whimper. “All mine.”

His mouth found hers, their kiss a clash of teeth and tongue—desperate, all-consuming. Pen’s arousal was noticeable—hard and warm against her stomach. His hand moved between them, finding her clit and rubbing in circular motions before his fingers dipped lower toward her entrance. “Already so wet for me.” He purred, a finger slipping inside of her as she let out a gasp. 

Lucy bucked in response, her hands clawing at his back as he added another finger. His hand worked fervently, massaging the spot that left her breathless. 

“Do you have any condoms?” she asked, barely holding herself together.

Pen gave a low, hungry laugh. “I want to feel you— all of you. When you come undone for me.”

It was reckless. Stupid. But her moan was answer enough.

He pulled back just enough to withdraw his fingers, and Lucy whimpered at the loss.

He sucked his fingers into his mouth, groaning at her taste. “I’ll never get tired of the taste of you.” He continued singing her praises, his eyes never leaving hers as he spoke. “I’d bleed for you. Kill for you. Anything to have you—all of you—forever.”

“Are you ready for me, Skinny?” Pen’s voice was low and rough as he positioned himself at her entrance.

Lucy could only nod in response, her mind swirling with desire. She wanted him— needed him. 

She hadn’t expected him to be that big—long, thick, veined. Her breath caught.

“I—it’s been a while.” She gasped as he stroked his cock, giving her a mischievous grin as she continued. “I’m a little nervous.”

Pen caught the hesitation in her eyes, leaning down as his hand cradled her cheek, thumb brushing lightly over her skin. “I won’t lie—I need you, badly. But if it’s ever too much, you tell me. I promise, I’ll listen”

The tip pushed into her, slow and burning. Her body tensed, stretching to accommodate him as he moved deeper. 

His hand was in her hair, stroking her gently as his body trembled above her. The attention he gave her was tender, domestic. 

“Fuck” he hissed, drawing himself out before slowly thrusting inside her. “You feel amazing—like something I was never supposed to have. And I’m not letting go.”

He drove into her in one claiming, punishing thrust. She bit down on his shoulder, muffling the cry that tore from her throat as he filled her completely.

She licked the mark she’d left on his skin, tongue tracing sweat and heat. He fucked her slow and deep—eyes locked to hers, raw with desire.

Pen slowly increased his pace, leaning back to admire her face. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

Lucy could barely breathe, barely think. She couldn’t lie. 

“I’m—” she choked, a moan escaping her lips as he angled himself deeper inside of her. “I’m yours, Pen. I’m—fuck—I’m yours.”

His mouth crashed into hers again, his rhythm growing erratic, harder, driving.

Teetering on the edge, mind a haze of reckless lust, she begged,  “Don’t stop—please—don’t—”

“I’m not stopping until you fall apart around my cock” he rasped, his pace becoming more sporadic. 

She shifted, her legs wrapping around his torso—encouraging him to drive deeper into her. “Please, Pen,” the words were leaving her lips before she could think, “Please—ah—cum inside of me.”

He groaned, his hips snapping at a faster pace, the sounds of their moans and their bodies slapping together filling the room. 

“You want me to—fuck.” His hand moved to her throat, giving it a light squeeze that was intoxicating. “Do you really want this? To be mine like that?” His voice was both a question and a plea as he continued fucking her—faster, harder. “I’m going to fill you—make you never want anyone else.”

She was so close—her body threatening to snap like a band as he looked down at her hungrily, his hand around her throat making it hard to reason. 

Lucy’s orgasm ripped through her body, her cry muffled against his shoulder as her walls clenched tight.

Pen groaned—sharp, guttural—before he came, flooding her with heat.

He pulled her to him as he laid on his side, still buried within her. His arms enveloped her completely, the warmth mixed with the sticky sweat of their joining. 

“I’ll protect you. From everyone. From yourself, if I have to.” His lips ghosted across her hair as he planted a kiss. 

It should have scared her. It did scare her. 

But she leaned into him anyway, lulled by the rise and fall of his chest, his body wrapped around her like shelter.

“You know, I can’t think straight when you touch me.” She admitted, hating how fragile she sounded. 

“Good,” He said, pressing another kiss to her temple “That means I’m doing it right.”

She closed her eyes, surrendering—for now—to the quiet, the heat, the terrifying comfort of him.

Chapter Text

A battlefield sprawled before him, the air thick with the stench of gunpowder, copper, and rot. His face, hands, and armor were smeared with the viscera of his enemies. His eyes stared straight ahead as he walked toward a man in a decorated uniform.

“—Pen,” the man called out, his expression unreadable. “Did you leave any survivors?”

“No. They’ve all been taken care of.” His body trembled with the adrenaline of war, fists clenched so tightly his nails left crescent-shaped marks in his palms.

“Good. Your extensive preparation has proven useful on the battlefield.” The man’s face felt almost familiar, like a distant memory he couldn’t place. “You’re on your way to becoming a Duvos Knight, Pen.”

“—Pen.”

“PEN!”

Pen’s eyes shot open, his arms tightening around something warm —Lucy.

Her soft squirming against him had his cock swelling instantly, the shift from violence to craving so sudden it made him dizzy. His grip loosened, his hand moving to stroke her back gently. 

“You were squeezing me like you wanted the air out of me.” She murmured, turning to face him. Her hand cupped his cheek, eyes full of concern.“Bad dream?”

“I had a nightmare.”

“Don’t want to talk about it?” she said, her eyelashes fluttering as she looked at him—a mixture of worry and skepticism. 

Pen groaned, guiding her hips forward so she could feel him, hard against her. The effect she had on him was undeniable.

Lucy rocked into him in return, her fingers threading through his hair, giving a sharp tug as her tongue explored his mouth.

“I want to wake up to you every morning,”  he said, panting into her mouth. “Want to wake up hard for you. Every fucking day.”

She shifted, hooking her leg over his hip and flipping them, settling on top of him. He exhaled sharply, winded by her sudden dominance, by the sight of her—sleep-tousled hair, flushed skin, love bites painting her body.

“Let’s worry about now—while we still have time to ourselves,” she said, grinding slowly against him. The slick heat of her arousal sent a jolt through him. “I’ve been thinking about repaying you… for the other day.” She flushed at the confession, glancing away shyly.

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow, one hand curling behind his head lazily. Tease . “You think about pleasuring me, Skinny?”.

“Yes. I want to leave you breathless.”Her lips found his chest, open-mouthed and eager, her tongue tracing heat along his skin. 

“You already do.” 

His eyes drank her in as she continued her trail down his abdomen, teasing him with her delicious tongue. 

She stopped in front of him, breath hot against his cock as her hand wrapped around him, her other arm bent at the elbow to position her upright without putting weight on her arm. 

His gaze on her was burning, her expression filled with determination as she looked up at him. 

“I don’t think I can take all of you.” She whispered. “But I want to try.”

Fuck.

The words hit him like a punch to the gut.

Ruined for anyone else. 

Then her tongue was on him, a long, slow lick up his shaft that left his mind blank.

“You’ll be the death of me, Lucy,” he hissed, hand tangling in her hair, worship and desperation mingling in his voice.

Lucy said nothing, her tongue tracing another slow path up his length, a deliberate tease that made his toes curl. She kissed the tip, her tongue darting out to lick before taking him in her mouth—her soft lips forming a perfect seal around his head. 

A low groan escaped his throat, one hand in her hair coaxing her forward while the other fisted the sheets beside him. 

She moved slowly, her gaze dark, deliberate, proud. She wanted to make him come undone. And he wanted nothing more than to let her. 

“Light, yes—just like that. Look at you.”

Lucy looked at him with burning desire as she took him deeper in her throat, her cheeks hollowing to create a perfect suction. His hand trembled, gently coaxing her deeper. 

She kept going. Deeper. Sloppier. He could hear himself—filthy, desperate noises escaping him as her mouth worshipped his cock.

“Fuck, Lucy—stop—I’m going to cum.”

But she didn’t stop.

His plea only encouraged her mouth to work fervently as she took him almost completely, her eyes welling with tears as he hit the back of her throat. 

“You want to make me lose control? Huh?” His voice broke, desperate. “Want me to cum down your throat like a filthy little thing?” Lucy moaned around him, the vibrations sending a shock down his spine.

He forced himself to pull out of her mouth, even as she whimpered at the loss.

Her lips were swollen. Her face a mess.

He stared at her, undone.

“Turn around,” he ordered, voice low and deadly serious. “Now.”

She obeyed, crawling onto her hands and knees. Her ass in the air, her legs spread just enough to show him everything.

“I want to cum inside of you instead.” He leaned in, teasing her entrance as he kissed the back of her neck. 

“Pen, I—is that a good idea?” she said, arching her back as he slid his cock between her lips. 

“You begged for it last night— for me to claim you.” He slowly slid inside of her, the warmth enveloping him completely. 

Pen closed his eyes as he steadied himself, his hands gripping her hips tightly as he pushed deeper. “Do you still want it?” His heart raced.  

The ache of longing weighed heavy in his chest. He expected her to say no, to admit she was caught up in the moment. 

“Answer me, Skinny.”

“Yes. I want it, Pen. I want you” she moaned, pushing against him. 

“You asked me to make you mine forever,” he snarled. “So I will.”

He bottomed out inside her with a groan, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. She shook, hands clutching the sheets.

His rhythm turned brutal. Hungry. His hands gripped her hips like he’d die if he let go. Every thrust a vow. Every stroke inside her a promise. 

“Do you even know what you’re asking for? For a Duvos Knight to fill you up?” His breath was ragged as he picked up the pace, one hand fisting her hair as he pulled sharply. “You’re not as good as you think.”

Pen came undone, his voice guttural as he whispered against her neck. “What would the town think, their star builder being such a good little slut for me?” He yanked harder, hips slapping hers as he drove in. “Begging for my cock.”

The hand on her hip moved to her clit, rubbing circles as he yanked her upright by the hair, her body pressed against him as he thrust upward. “Let your release be mine, sweetheart.”

Her body tensed, walls clenching as she screamed his name.

“Good girl. Let everyone know who you belong to.”

With one final thrust he burst inside of her, their juices running down her legs as he pulled her close. 

Pen’s eyes flicked to her wrist—still adorned with the bracelet he put on her. His chest tightened as his cock twitched inside of her, their connection driving him half mad. 

“Do you Love me, Lucy?”

The question hung in silence, his heart pounding as he waited. 

And then—

“I—I do.”

He exhaled—like a man surviving execution.

“Good,” he said softly, kissing her shoulder. “It would’ve made things complicated if you didn’t.”

She stiffened.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…” He smiled against her skin, nipping her shoulder. “I would’ve taken you anyway. Kept you. Until you did .”

She squirmed, unsheathing herself from him. The sudden absence of her warmth around him hit like a punch to the gut. 

Her eyes held a look he knew too well—fear. 

“You don’t mean that.”

“I meant every word. You’re mine now, Lucy. Body. Soul. Future.” His voice tensed as he reached out, thumb grabbing her chin to meet his lips before she could pull away. 

He kissed her roughly, a groan escaping as his tongue dominated hers. Lucy didn’t pull away—her teeth grazed his lips before she bit down hard, the taste of iron flooding his mouth. She would be the death of him. 

“Lucy—” he gasped, “I can’t live in a world without you.”

“I know.”

Their kiss was fervent, her sweet taste laced with blood, stirring something dark within him. “I would destroy anyone or anything in our way.” Pen’s hands roamed her body, desperate to touch, to feel, to prove she was real.

She broke their kiss, looking up. “I know,” her voice low. “You make me feel safe.”

His heart swelled, mind reeling from her words. 

“I love you, Lucy. Even if it ruins me.”

She threw her arms around him, catching his lips in a gentle, affectionate kiss. He kissed her lazily, the warmth of her like a blanket of security. 

He broke away, lips close to hers. “I need to check in with Commander Lefu today. Can I trust you to stay at the workshop?” 

“Why would I go?” she murmured.

“We need to get dressed. I’ll walk you home.” He sighed, leaning in for a quick kiss before leaving to find his tracksuit.

They dressed in silence. His eyes lingered on the curve of her back, the way her body moved with quiet grace as she bent down to slip on her shoes. “You’re perfect,” he whispered, “More than I ever thought I could have”. 

She glanced back, eyes shining with a radiance that shattered something inside him—unraveling every barrier he’d built, igniting a desperate yearning that left him breathless.

He wanted her like this, every day—his, entirely. 

They walked through town, his hand on her waist, his gaze daring anyone to speak to her. He wanted everyone to know. To see that she was on his arm , wearing his bracelet . 

Crossing the train tracks, he slowed, wanting to stay in the moment longer. When they reached her fence gate he stopped, leaning down to give her a deep kiss before he pulled away. 

“Stay out of trouble, Skinny.”

He kissed her forehead before turning toward Matilda’s house. He knew their mission had to come first—then home.

His thoughts lingered on Lucy—the way she came undone under him, their bodies melted together in mutual ecstasy. His tongue swiped across his bottom lip, trying to savor the phantom taste of her—soft, demanding, unforgettable.  

The reverence she gave him was hesitant—like she hadn’t quite chosen it. It twisted something inside of him, regret blooming after telling her just how much she meant to him—what he would do to have her.

He knew she feared him. She tried to hide it during soft moments, but it was there. Always there. And he hated himself for it.

No matter how much pleasure he gave her, it would never be enough. Not to undo the damage. Not to make her understand what she truly meant to him.

Pen’s presence was powerful, soldiers moving out of his way as he walked through the square. This was who he was: a weapon carved from flesh and pain.

But none of the drills, none of the years of breaking and reforging, had prepared him for this.

Love.

A weakness. An invisible chain that binds the soul in a way that leaves it defenseless

And still, the only thing that was on his mind as he reached Matilda’s door was getting back to her—and never leaving her side again.

The knock rattled the doorframe—loud, sharp, unmistakably impatient.

When it swung open, Lefu stood in the entryway maskless, his expression a lazy smirk. Mischief danced in his eyes like he’d been expecting Pen.

“Knight Pen,” he drawled. “Did you have a good evening?”

Pen didn’t answer. He pushed past the commander with a grunt, boots heavy against the floorboards as he crossed the threshold like he owned the place.

Lefu laughed under his breath. “What?” he teased, shutting the door behind them. “She was practically eye-fucking you last night.”

Pen froze mid-step.

His jaw tensed. His hands clenched. A slow, dangerous look passed over his face—like someone reaching for what wasn’t theirs.

“She’s mine,” he said, voice low and final.

Lefu held up both hands in exaggerated surrender, still grinning. “Hey, I didn’t say she wasn’t.”

Pen’s eyes burned with a warning, but he moved on, scanning the room.

“Where’s Matilda?” he asked, clipped and impatient.

“She left for the ruins last night,” Lefu replied. “Said you could meet her there today.”

Pen’s gaze narrowed. “And Lucy?”

“I can ask Stev to watch her—”

“I’ll kill him if he touches her,” he muttered, not quietly.

Lefu gave a snort of amusement. “Relax. He’s a grunt, not suicidal. Knows she’s off-limits.”

“She’s not just off-limits,” Pen growled. “She’s mine. Every inch. Every breath. I don’t want his fucking eyes on her.”

Lefu nodded, teasing gone.

“We’ll bring her to the ruins when we wrap up,” Lefu continued. “Yan wants her to fix the statue before we leave. Might as well let her feel useful.”

Pen didn’t answer. His thoughts were already back with her—imagining her hands on stone, grease on her cheek, maybe still aching from the night before, from claiming her again this morning. His. His.

“Alright,” he finally said, jaw tight. “Let’s finish this.”

Chapter Text

Lucy watched Pen leave, his absence a strange mix of relief and longing. She hated the way she felt about him—how he looked at her like she was fragile, something breakable he needed to protect. Like she belonged to him.

She turned her attention to her workshop, dusting off the machines and feeding them more stones. The steady rhythm of work calmed her, until—

Scuff.

The sound of boots on sand snapped her upright. She turned, heart in her throat.

A soldier stood in the doorway, hands slightly raised to show he meant no harm.

“Hey there,” he said, voice careful. “I’m Stev. I’ll be hanging around while you work on commissions. Just till we finish up here.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Where’s Pen?”

“Oh! Uh, the Knight had to attend to other matters. Official business and all that.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Sorry for the confusion.” His voice was firm but reassuring as he continued. “Just let me know if you have any wants or needs and I’ll see if I can help you out.”

Lucy studied him for a beat. He seemed nice enough—awkward, even. Probably young. No point in pushing him away.

“I’m fine,” she said at last, turning back to her work.

Stev lingered by the water tank, clearly unsure of what to do. 

She worked through the day, letting the familiar tasks lull her, steady her. She welcomed the distraction.

But her mind still wandered.

She thought of Pen.

She imagined the way he held her, placing tender kisses in her hair as he praised her. She thought of his burning gaze—the look of desperation in his eyes when she asked him to cum inside of her. 

Peach, what had she done?

Foolish, like a damsel willingly swept into the arms of a dragon. Pen was honest about who he was. She’d chosen to ignore it — to chase some fantasy of normalcy.

There would be no happy ending. 

If Haru and Rian got word to the Alliance in Atara, Pen would be captured. Thrown in a maximum security prison. And if he escaped—if he took her with him to Duvos…

That was worse.

She didn’t know what life in Duvos was like, but the stories haunted her. Scarcity. Control. Soldiers modified like machines. What had they done to Pen? What kind of man do you become after that?

Lucy worked until the late afternoon, the sun hitting her back warming her pace to a slow crawl. She hated how slow she had been working, how badly her injuries affected her work.

Crunch .

A sudden commotion. Boots against gravel. She turned, Stev already moving toward the gate. “Hey! Who are you?” he called out.

Lucy squinted past him to see a Mole. 

—Ged?

“Wait! Citizen, please stop! We have a curfew!” Stev turned toward her, “Ugh…you wait here Builder!” 

He turned, running towards Ged who was sprinting for the Shonash Bridge. 

That was…odd.

And then—

Another crunch of boots, softer this time, came from her right.

Logan.

“Hey,” He said, voice low “You alright?” 

“Do I look alright to you?” she snapped.

His gaze dropped slowly down her bruised body—broken nose, broken arm, covered in bruises.

His eyebrows shot up, her cheeks burning.

“Damn, sorry,” he muttered. “You must've been through a lot. I was wonderin' what was goin' on. I thought one of ya would've came over to my cave and arrested me, but then nobody showed for days! I stick my head out and there's an airship to the north and Duvos soldiers all over town.”

Lucy said nothing as he continued. 

“No worries, we're gonna free everyone, count on it! There ain't much time, we need to go over the plan to liberate Sandrock! Here, take a look at this map!” 

Logan shoved a map in her hands, prominent places in town —the Civil Corps, the apartments, the Temple—circled in red. 

“We’ve got  Sandrockers in these locations. I figure if we liberate them one by one, our little rebellion will grow in size!”

Lucy stared at the map. The red bled into one another like fresh wounds. Her hands trembled. 

The plan was smart. Necessary. 

But her body wouldn’t move.

“I… I don’t know,” she said quietly, her voice paper-thin. “It’s risky. And I think… I think Pen expects me to stay with him.”

Logan let out a breath she hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His hand gripped her shoulder softly.

“I was nervous approaching you with him around. Didn’t want a fight drawing attention.” His voice softened. “You okay, Luce? Why does he expect you to be with him?”

Her mind raced. To admit to her betrayal. Being in bed with the enemy.

“It’s complicated,” she said.

He made a fleeting expression—almost a warning. “Don’t tell me you care about him.”

Lucy closed her eyes, hoping to hold onto the fantasy a moment longer.

Logan’s voice was rougher when he spoke again. “They turn men into monsters in Duvos.”

“I know what they did to him. What they made him.” Her voice cracked, swirling with the memory of him. “I can’t help but care for him. He told me he loves me, that he wants to protect me.”

His eyes searched hers, a tender hand wiping a tear from her cheek.

“That’s not love, Lucy. It’s a cage and a leash.”

Deep down she knew he was right. Maybe Pen loved her, but his obsession was dangerous. Feral. Controlling. Possessive.

“I know that you were friends with him before, but he is not the man ya knew. Any promises he made were lies. Please, help me. Save my town. We need ya, Lucy.”

A strangled sob escaped. Her knees nearly buckled.

Before she could fall, Logan pulled her into a hug—warmth swallowing her whole as she unraveled.

“I will help you,” she whispered.

He didn’t let go, the smell of leather and sweat clogging her senses as she came undone at the seams. 

“There’re people here that care about ya. I care about ya. You can have a good life here.” his voice was low, the confession burning in her chest. 

She could have a normal life. Sandrock was home now. She could marry, start a family.

Pen had promised love and devotion—but was any of it true?

Her emotions settled, resilience bubbling to the surface. She pulled back, wiped her face, and straightened up.

“Alright. When do we start?”

Logan’s eyes were still glazed with worry, but there was a hardened resolve in them now. He nodded—once—then reached for her arm.

“Luce, you good to fight?” His voice was soft. Careful. His fingers wrapped around her forearm, lifting it gently. “Did he—Did he do this to ya?”

“Yes.”

“Shit.” The word came through his teeth, low and seething. His thumb brushed along the cast, his blue eyes stormy with something between guilt and fury. “He’s gonna pay for that. I won’t let him hurt ya again..”

Lucy pulled her arm back, the heat in her mind flaring. She knew he meant well—knew he was trying to protect her—but it felt too familiar. A promise of violence in her name. The same flavor of possession—just a different voice.

She cleared her throat and looked toward the workshop. “I think I’ve still got enough pistol rounds. I’ll keep my distance. Play it safe.”

“Smart.” Logan nodded. “That traitor Yan fixed up the turret in front of City Hall. We need to take it out first. No one’s gettin’ anywhere with that thing active. I reckon we’re gonna have to rush in.”

“Rush in?” Lucy blinked. “That’s your plan?”

He gave her a sheepish shrug. “Ged said we’d need a diversion. Got any ideas?”

Lucy furrowed her brow, thoughts racing as she scanned the cluttered workshop. Her eyes landed on the blender, sitting beside the tailoring machine in her yard.

“I could rig a bomb. Place it by the entrance to the Valley of Whispers, the explosion will be loud enough to draw some soldiers away. Make them think the Alliance is moving in.”

Logan shifted, the faded bandana covering his lower face moving slightly as he glanced at her with a teasing glint in his eyes.

“Well, look at you, Luce—always two steps ahead. That’s the kind of clever I could get used to.”

He let out a low chuckle, voice softening. “You’re full of surprises… I like that.”

She laughed awkwardly, tucking her hair behind her ear before turning to a storage chest to find more ammo.

“I think I have everything I need.” She said before turning back to him.

Lucy could feel the rebellion settling into her bones, heavy and unshakable.

Sandrock was her home. And this time, she wouldn’t let anyone take it from her—not even the man she thought she could love.

Chapter Text

Lucy had quickly cobbled together a remote-controlled bomb from the blender, stashing it in a cache for Logan to find—just before Stev returned.

The gate swung open abruptly, and her attention snapped to an out-of-breath Stev.

Huffing, he gasped, “I went around town chasing that guy—at least twice! Then he just vanished.”

“Oh. Well, did you get any work done while I was gone?” She caught the labored rasp of his breath, and the absurdity of the situation nearly made her laugh. Chasing a mole around town. Ridiculous.

She nodded, careful not to reveal too much. Now was not the time to test her talent for lying.

“Uh, cool. You should probably get inside soon,” Stev said. “Curfew starts soon… I’ll… stay outside.”

The tremble in his voice hit her like a warning bell. Pen must have threatened him.

Lucy hummed softly, her thoughts darting to Logan and the bomb. One of Ged’s friends would set it off at dawn, while Logan and Ged met her outside the Civil Corps building. The weight of the pistol, hidden under her shirt, made her nervous as she crept toward the door, careful not to jostle the ammo stuffed in her pockets.

Instead of pajamas, she pulled on her Civil Corps uniform, the pistol safely tucked beneath her pillow.

Logan’s parting words echoed in her mind— Have a good night, Lucy —and she snorted, the stiff fabric of her pants making comfort impossible.

Closing her eyes, she tried to steady the heart hammering wildly in her chest, surrendering slowly to sleep.

——————————————————

A deafening explosion shattered the silence, jolting her awake. The room was pitch black; no light slipped through the windows. Her gaze found the grandfather clock in the corner.

4:30… A.M.?

Peach.

When she saw Logan, she’d definitely have to reprimand him for his idea of ‘morning.’

Her veins burned like molten lava, adrenaline surging to her head as she jumped up. Heart racing, she sprinted for the door.

Stev was already inside the living room, voice sharp with panic.

“Builder! We have a situation!”

His hand was on the doorknob, already poised to bolt. “Stay put!”

Thankfully, in his frenzy, he didn’t question her clothes. He slammed the door behind him with a force that rattled the frame.

Lucy exhaled shakily, strapping the pistol to her hip. Her fingers trembled as she worked up the nerve to follow.

Pen can only hurt me. 

The thought echoed in her skull, numbed by a determination that gripped tighter than fear. Lucy slipped out the door, heart hammering as she sprinted toward City Hall.

A sharp shuffle of boots made her freeze, ducking behind a stack of crates as a squad of Duvos soldiers stormed past.

The march of feet—steady, brutal—pounded like a war drum in her ears

This is it.

She ran.

Her world blurred as she rushed toward the square, her lungs burning and breath sharp, until she skidded to a stop beside Logan—only to find herself face to face with an all-too-familiar figure, staring back at her with quiet, burning disapproval.

“ What the!? Newbie!? And Logan!?” Yan shouted, his hands balled into fists as he stomped dramatically.

“ Give us the turret. Now.” Logan barked.

“Newbie, newbie, newbie... I give you your job back and this is how you repay me!?” Yan sighed, shaking his head in disapproval. “This is your last chance, Newbie! Join me, and we can rule the Free Cities! As Lord Commander and... dispensable peon! Say "yes" now and I'll only dock your pay by twenty percent!”

Lucy tried to hold her tongue as she looked at Yan, the last shred of decency she had left as she spoke. “Fuck. You. I’ll never get tired of destroying you”

She gripped the pistol on her hip as three officers exited City Hall, halting when they saw her. 

“Suit yourself, newbie! Think of me when you're still out here shoveling coal and I'm sipping gold flake lattes from my penthouse studio atop the highest skyscraper in Duvos. Like I said, I’ll be President of the Duvos Commerce Guild!” 

Logan let out a huff, his head tilting toward her. “Can we just hit this guy already?!”

“Get ‘em boys!” Yan turned, motioning to the soldiers behind him. 

Shit. 

Lucy drew her pistol, her hand shaking as her finger found the trigger. Bile crept up her throat. She aimed, heart pounding, barely aware of Logan sprinting past her toward Yan. The shot rang out, sudden and brutal, slicing through the air like a blade.

The soldier screamed, clutching his mangled leg as he collapsed to the ground. Blood seeped into the dirt, spreading like a dark stain as the other two soldiers descended upon her like wolves. 

She glanced over her shoulder just in time to see Logan’s fist connect with Yan’s jaw, sending him crashing to the ground, knocked out cold. How embarrassing.  

Pain exploded through her body as a baton slammed into her broken arm. She cried out, stumbling, but managed to raise her pistol and fire again without hesitation. The soldier only staggered, holding his upper arm as he barked an order to the other.

“Lucy!” 

She heard Logan yell through the chaos as a hand grabbed her by the hair, yanking her backward. “The Knight wants to keep you alive—he didn’t say in what condition.”

His grip tightened in her hair. “Gonna be a good little builder and come quietly? Or do I get to drag you?”

Lucy squirmed under the soldier’s grasp, slamming her elbow into his gut with everything she had. He grunted, loosening his grip—just enough for her to wrench herself free. She felt, more than heard, a chunk of her hair tear out. Pain flared, but adrenaline drowned it.

Logan dodged a gunshot to her left, his eyes wild as he drew his daggers. In a blur, he lunged forward. 

The wounded soldier screamed as steel met flesh—Logan’s blade slicing deep across his torso, blood spraying as he fell.

Logan didn’t stop. He rammed his dagger into the last soldier’s stomach and ripped it upward, gutting him clean. Lucy tried not to gag as she aimed her pistol at the soldier in front of her, the sound of the other’s entrails hitting the ground with a sickening squelch. 

The soldier in front of her crumpled to the ground with a ringing thud, the hole in his chest evidence that her bullet struck true. 

For a beat, she just stood there—staring at the body.

She just killed a man. 

The cannon was different—cold metal and distance. This had been close. Flesh. Eyes. Breath.

The blood on her hands soaked deeper— into her chest, her bones, her heart. 

What if he had a family?

The pistol trembled in her grip, her finger still on the trigger.

She had done this. 

Before she could breathe, Logan was beside her, his hand landing on her shoulder. His eyes searched hers, wild but focused. “You okay?”

She nodded, but he reached up, brushing fingers through her hair only to recoil—his hand red and trembling. “Luce, you’re bleeding.”

Her own hand flew up, finding warm wetness at her scalp. “I’m okay,” she lied. “Let’s keep moving.” Her gaze snapped to the wounded soldier still groaning on the ground, clutching his ruined leg. “What about him?”

The soldier met her eyes—then, slowly, slid his pistol across the dirt toward them. Surrender.

Logan stopped it with his boot, bent down to pick it up—then froze, turning toward the nearby turret. With a grin, he raised the pistol and emptied the clip into the generator. The turret burst in a shower of sparks, whining like a dying beast before falling silent.

“Turret’s taken care of,” Logan said, dropping the gun with a smug grin.

Lucy blinked. The blood, the smoke, the pistol in her hand—it was all too real now. 

“You ready to start a rebellion?” He added. “Ged’ll meet us at the Civil Corps.” 

She nodded, swallowing hard. 

As she pushed forward, Pen’s parting words echoed like a ghost. 

Stay out of trouble, Skinny.

Chapter Text

Lucy’s mind buzzed—her traitorous heart aching with every step.

She knew Pen cared for her. In his own way.

She didn’t want to think about what would happen after the rebellion—what kind of bed she’d be forced to lie in.

Maybe it was because she hadn’t been loved before.

Not like this.

Not the way he held her—like she was sacred. A relic.

They stopped in front of Ged, his enthusiasm bubbling over as he raised his pickhammer. ”Viva la resistance!”

Logan chuckled. “Ged! Let’s get Justice and Unsuur.” 

The three of them marched to the door, flinging it open with a loud crack.

A scuffle upstairs made Lucy freeze.

“Who’s there?” Cooper yelled out.

She bolted up the stairs, only to be met with Cooper’s delighted grin. “Lucy! Help has arrived at last! They threw me in here, too! Them free-speech-denying fellers said I talked too much! Hurry up and get us outta here!” 

“Yes, pleeease! I can’t take any more of Cooper!” Justice groaned. 

“I thought Cooper brought a nice change of pace from the monotony of before.” Unsuur deadpanned.

Both Civil Corps members turned to Lucy, concern shadowing their expressions.

“Hey, partner,” Justice said, eyes narrowing as he scanned her face. “You alright?”

“I am as good as I can be, given the circumstances.”

“Woah, wait a sec. Ged?!” he added “And you guys look to be fully armed, that means... time to roll?” 

Logan shuffled behind her, his voice booming with energy “Time to roll, Justice, we’re gonna free Sandrock!”

“That’s right, mon ami!” 

Ged had an iron grip on his pickhammer, his unassuming stature making the statement comical. Cooper found it less amusing, his eyes wide as he took on a defensive stance. 

“A talkin’ moley?! Hand me m'shotgun through the bars!”

Justice held his hand out, trying to soothe tensions. 

“Easy there partner, Ged’s on our side!”

“You offensive imbecile! We are here to save you!”

Cooper slowly took off his hat, dazed. “Hark! M'world view! Torn to shreds before my very eyes...! Could it be that these weird half-machine mutant burrowers of my rutabaga garden are in fact saviors in our darkest hours!?”

“Save it for later,” Logan snapped. “Stand back.”

Lucy turned to him. “I’m sure there’s a—”

Bang!

“…key,” she finished dryly.

The cell door blasted open. Justice stepped out first, clapping Logan on the shoulder.

“Good to see you, man.”

Logan’s blue eyes flicked to Lucy before he looked at Justice, “Lucy and I’ll head to the Temple. Justice—go to the apartments. Clear out the soldiers.”

“ Roger. Unsuur, Cooper — with me.” Justice cracked his knuckles. “Let’s go save our city!”

Lucy gave Logan a quick smile before she turned, her mind was made. She was tired of running — it was time to fight back. 

Her pistol was gripped tightly in her hand, finger resting on the trigger as they marched up the steps to the Temple. 

Peach, was she ready for this?

As they crested the steps, her breath caught in her throat. 

Commander Lefu stood waiting—Trudy held in front of him like a human shield. Three soldiers flanked him, their weapons pointed at the pair of rebels. 

“Builder! You betrayyyyyed meeeeee!” he bellowed, moving fast. A gun—one she hadn’t seen—was now pressed to Trudy’s head. Logan instinctively raised his pistol but faltered, his eyes flicking to Lucy, wide with alarm.

“I trusted you. I even recommended you to Duvos HQ. But no, you decided to side with these... peasants…” he added. “What would your precious Knight think—seeing you make such a mess of things?” 

Lucy’s cheeks burned. Logan turned his head slightly toward her, expression unreadable—but the flicker in his eyes pierced straight through her. 

“Now your beloved mayor will suffer the consequence!” Lefu shouted, jabbing the gun harder against Trudy’s temple. 

“Logan!” Trudy cried. “Lucy!”  She moved quickly, her elbow landing on the side of Lefu’s helmet as she slipped through his grasp. 

Logan aimed his pistol, the gunshot ricocheting off Lefu’s armor as he staggered backward. 

Without hesitation Lucy leaped forward, her leg driving like a spear into his chest as she knocked him to the ground. 

As Trudy picked up the abandoned pistol Lucy spun—locking onto the nearest soldier.

The next moments were a blur. 

She aimed for the head. 

Pulled the trigger. 

The bullet punched through his forehead with a sickening crack —his skull bursting open in a spray of blood and brain matter on the marble behind him in a wide, ugly arc.

A cacophony of gunshots filled the air as the soldier in front of her fell to the ground.

The weight of the act settled on her like a dark cloak, suffocating yet strangely real. She barely recognized herself—once so frightened, now baptized by fire and blood.

Is this who I’ve become? she wondered, blinking away the sudden sting in her eyes. I never wanted this. But there’s no turning back now.

A deafening silence filled Lucy’s head, her vision dizzy as the pain in her arm caught up to her. Lefu rose, brushing off his pants before tilting his head to her. “Ah, builder. Always finding yourself in trouble.”

“You know, I don’t recall Pen ever telling me to keep my hands off you.” His hand was gripped around a menacing weapon—a rocket launcher—as he raised it to her chest. 

Lucy's mind was heaving, her body threatening to collapse from the fear. She bit down on her cheek, hoping the sensation would ground her. The world melted away, the glint of Logan’s daggers in the sun and Trudy’s aim fading as she locked in on her target. 

The pistol in her hand felt like a thousand pounds, her trembling hand failing to keep her arm steady. She lifted her left arm, the pain almost unbearable as she placed her hand on top of the other. 

She fired. The bullet deflected off his armor with a metallic clang. He chuckled—low, amused, infuriatingly unbothered. His grip tightened around the launcher, raising it to meet her. 

She heard a click , and then—

A warm chest enveloped her as she was pulled to the ground, shielding her from hitting the hard stone. A deafening explosion rang out, debris flying past them and the smell of smoke filling the air. 

“I got ya, Luce.” Logan’s breath was warm, the heat ghosting down her neck. 

She didn’t see him running to grab her, the impact of their fall making her bones ache. Pain shot up her arm, ears ringing from the explosion as she let out a yelp.

Lucy looked straight ahead— Lefu’s grip still tight on the rocket launcher, entirely unfazed by the explosion. He turned his masked face toward Logan.

“How cute.” Lefu’s voice was laced with dark amusement. “If I don’t kill you, I’m sure the Knight will.” His hand was on the trigger, the target aimed directly at Logan’s chest. 

Logan grunted as he hauled Lucy up, his arms wrapped tightly around her as she leaned heavily on him. Every movement was agony, the pain threatening to seep into her soul. 

With forward momentum Logan pushed her forward, her hands finding a stone pillar to hold on to as the explosion sent tremors through the ground. Stones hit her back as she ducked her head, dust coating the back of her throat. She turned, only to find a smoking crater from where they once were. 

Logan unsheathed his daggers, bearing his teeth with a snarl as he rushed Lefu. Before the commander had time to react, Logan pommeled his arm, sending the launcher flying out of his hands with a sharp clatter. 

Lefu jumped back, giving himself just enough time to unclasp his sword. Logan halted, readying himself in a defensive position as Lefu held up his sword. “You’re too soft, Logan. Can’t even hide how you look at her.”

Lucy’s breath hitched, chest tightening as Lefu’s words cut through the chaos like a knife. Her eyes flicked to Logan — the tension coiling in his stance, the hard set of his jaw.

Logan lunged forward, his daggers swinging dangerously at Lefu’s chest as one met its mark — slicing his chest.

The commander let out a growl, his sword moving swiftly as he swung it at Logan, cutting his shoulder.

Lucy was pulled from the moment, her mind flitting toward the pistol still at her hip. She looked in the chamber, sighing as she took in her situation.

I only have one left. 

She tilted her head back up, Logan and Lefu locked in a dangerous dance of battle. Logan was much slower, the wound in his shoulder seeping his shirt with blood. 

Fuck, what if I miss?

She bit her lip, groaning in pain as she used her broken arm to steady her aim the best she could. 

She tried to find a weak spot in his armor, the sides of his vest leaving an opening. Too risky?

Time was moving slow as she sucked in a breath, squinting her eyes as she locked in on the spot just above his vest.

Click . 

As the shot rang out Lucy closed her eyes, afraid to see what she had done. Adrenaline pumped through her head, her knees buckling as she wrapped her arm around the pillar to stabilize herself. 

 “...Lucy?”

She looked up, Logan’s eyes wide in shock. Blood splatter covered his face, the once-standing Lefu crumpled in front of him with blood pooling around his feet. Her eyes landed on his body, his helmet the only thing holding his head together—his neck a mess of tendons and sinew.

The man she had dinner with just a few nights ago was on the ground, lifeless. For a moment, everything else fell away—the rebellion, the orders, Pen. All she could see was Lefu—his young face, the way he’d looked at her that night. 

Still, as her hands trembled and the world steaded around her, Lucy realized something chilling—she was not as broken by killing him as she thought she would be.

It was a line crossed, a mark on her soul, but it did not shatter her. Not yet. 

Logan stepped forward, his face weary but softened by relief. He took off his mask, using it to wipe the blood off his face before he tucked it in his pocket. 

He reached out to gently brush his fingers against her cheek to wipe away a streak of dirt. 

“…You alright?” he asked, voice low, uncertain.

“I’m fine.” Her hand found his shoulder, flinching at the sight of the deep gash. “You?”

“I—damn, Lucy. You just—” Logan exhaled. “He was gonna kill me. You saved my life.”

Her throat tightened. His thumb traced slow, warm circles on her cheekbone, making her breath hitch. The scent of leather and sweat wrapped around her—a rough, intoxicating smell that made her flush.

His other hand rose to the pillar beside her head as he leaned in. His breath ghosted over her lips, soft and heated. For a breathless moment, their worlds collided—his lips barely brushing hers, the stubble on his face tickling her. She wanted to close the distance, to melt into the warmth of him.

She could feel how it would go — how he’d kiss her tenderly. How his hands would hold her like she wasn’t broken. How maybe, if she let him, she could pretend that she hadn’t already given the worst parts of herself to someone else.

Her lashes snapped open and she pulled back.

“Logan…” she whispered, voice barely steady. 

Lucy moved her hand from the pistol on her hip to his chest, pushing him away gently as she fought to hide the redness in her cheeks.

“Sorry, Luce.” he said, voice thick with want and shame. “Guess I got carried away.”

His gaze flickered to the marks that had been left on her neck, his eyes darkening.“Peach, Luce. You let him touch you like that? After everything he's done, what he is.”

She was silent as he let out a huff of frustration—his body still leaned into hers, hand moving to trace the bite on her collarbone peeking out of her unzipped jacket. 

“I’d never—” He stopped himself, exhaling hard. “You don’t have to live like that, Lucy. It ain’t right, someone thinkin’ they own you.”

She looked away. That hurt more than she thought it would.

“You deserve to be wanted,” He said, voice quiter now. “ without bein’ owned.” 

The words sank deep—too deep. Because the worst part of it was, part of her still wanted to be owned. Just not by Logan. 

She turned to face him, her eyes not leaving his, his voice barely a whisper. “I—I know I’m going to have to fight him.”

She blinked hard, shoulders trembling with a mixture of exhaustion and emotions she was afraid to say. “But no matter how much I hate it—no matter how much it hurts—I can’t let go of what he’s made me feel. Even if it means breaking.”

Logan stepped back like it hurt to be near her, like keeping distance was the only way to keep control. She didn’t stop him. Couldn’t.

And for a second, stupidly, selfishly, she wished she could have wanted him.

Not because she didn’t care. But because it would’ve been easier if she did.

“—Builder, Logan. Sorry to interrupt.” 

They both turned, startled, as if they’d forgotten anyone else existed.“With the Temple secure and the town liberated, we’re calling a town meeting immediately. Pen and Matilda are still out there somewhere.”

His name hit like a brand.

Lucy flinched—barely—but enough.

The reality of what she’d done, of who she’d defied, settled like ice in her spine.

But something darker stirred inside of her—a cold, fierce resolve that eclipsed her fear. She was no longer the prey, no longer the scared girl who hesitated. 

That part of her died today.

Now, she was the wolf in sheep’s clothing—an insatiable hunger seeping into her bones, into a heart fracturing with every beat.

She was not something to be caged, to be owned. She would face Pen—not as something to be protected, but something to be feared.

Pen and Matilda were corned—like beasts in a cave, nowhere left to run.  

Lucy could taste the inevitable victory of the battle ahead. 

And it would be bittersweet.

Chapter Text

The harsh artificial light hurt Pen’s eyes, the ruins roaring to life signifying Duvos control. Soon, they would be able to leave this god-forsaken desert, once and for all. The hum of old-world tech was loud, but failed to pull him away from his thoughts.

His mind went back to Lucy, the way she looked at him after their parting kiss—her expression dangerously close to affection. After the brutal, relentless training to become a Knight, Pen never imagined finding something so fragile — so invaluable — as love. 

He was conditioned to be hard, unfeeling. Such dangerous emotions were a liability, weights that could only drag him down. And yet, the small box in his pocket whispered otherwise. 

Pen knew, deep in his gut, the love he felt so fiercely would tear him apart. She was too good, too pure, too special for him to keep. His hand gripped the railing, looking down into the chasm below—his eyes fixed on the satellite before looking away. 

Pen put his hand in his pocket, his fingers tracing over the velvet of the box that held a ring.

He found it when he went to Paradise Lost—the goal to get his mind off of her. And yet, when he stumbled across the dilapidated jewelry store, he couldn’t help wander in. The dazzling diamonds were still on display—as if time had paused after the Day of Calamity. 

His breath caught when he saw it—a beautiful silver band holding a diamond that was decently sized, both ends tapering to a point. It reminded him of Lucy—stunning and sharp.

He had given her a bracelet—the Protector—as a token of his unyielding devotion to her. She had brushed it off, still unable to fully grasp its meaning. 

Maybe now she will understand .

Pen wanted nothing more than to keep her to himself, unable to stop the possessiveness in his heart from flaring. His heart raced as he imagined her wearing it, a symbol of union across the Free Cities. Would she say yes? 

A brisk set of footsteps tugged him from his thoughts of Lucy, the stride immediately recognizable.

Matilda.

She didn’t say anything at first, her feet stopping beside him as she let out a sigh. The silence stretched long—too long. Something was off. His heart began thrumming wildly in his chest, his mind immediately going to what he left behind. 

“What—”

“The townsfolk took back control of Sandrock.” her voice was tight, eyes darting to meet his. “Commander Lefu didn’t make it.”

His hand gripped tighter on the railing, the glass threatening to shatter as his knuckles turned white. 

“Scouts reported that Logan led the liberation,” She sucked in a breath. “...along with Lucy.”

Pen felt the air leave his lungs. Anger bubbled to the surface as he spun on his heel, fist smashing into the nearest wall. The metal gave in with a crunch , the light above the door flickering at his outburst. 

He turned back to Matilda, her eyes wide in shock at his sudden display of violence. “You’re sure it was Lucy?”

“Yes.”

His mind was reeling, the feeling of Lucy slipping out of his grasp making his heart ache. The last time he was her, she kissed him like she meant it. Like she saw past the rot in ruin in his soul and wanted him anyway .

And now? Now she was gone. On the other side of the line, with them . She’d helped them kill Lefu, rebel against Duvos occupation.

His stomach turned.  

Fighting side by side with the man that kept escaping his grasp—Logan, the beloved ex-bandit.

Of course it was him .

Pen’s hands curled into fists, the image of them fighting together seared into his mind. In his mind, he imagined her looking at Logan the way she looked at him—awe, reverence, desire. 

The thought made him sick. 

Matilda said something—he didn’t hear it. 

All he could see was Lucy, his Lucy—her body beneath Logan’s as they became one.  

Would she make the same sounds for Logan that she did for him the other night? 

Would she beg for Logan to claim her, to make her his?

He turned to Matilda, the thoughts swirling in his head threatening to push him over the edge. 

“She’s still coming with me.”

Her lips turned into a frown, the admission making her eyes grow dark. 

“She chose her side.”

Pen flexed his fingers, his voice a low growl as he spoke. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Pen—they will be coming for us.” She continued. “Let her go.”

“I can’t.”

The admission weighed heavy in his chest, his resolve refusing to halter as he held Matilda’s gaze. “Lucy will learn to love me.”

The ring sat in his pocket—a promise and a penance—as he made his way toward the door. 

Of course she left. Women like Lucy always fell for the goddamned hero—smiling, bright-eyed, full of charm. They never stayed with the villain of the story. Not for long. Not when the smoke cleared. 

Pen’s breath hitched as his thought bloomed fully—breaking in through her window like a ghost in her nightmares, stealing her away from the world. 

She will learn to love him again. 

She has to. 

Even if she spits in his face. 

Even if she claws at his chest while screaming that she hates him. 

He will hold her anyway. Wrap his arms around her and whisper every broken promise like a prayer. 

You’re mine. You were always mine.

She could hate him for the rest of her life—he won’t care.

As long as she lives that life with him.

Chapter Text

Pen and Matilda are still out there somewhere.

Lucy rolled her shoulders back, nodding in agreement at Trudy’s request. 

They would have a meeting immediately to discuss where to go from here. The other soldiers had surrendered immediately, dropping their weapons at the sight of their fallen commander. 

The remorse she felt was fleeting, replaced by immunity knowing that she had protected the town.

“We should round up the others ‘n get to the square.”

She shot a glance at Logan — his eyes refused to meet hers, blushing to the tips of his ears as he pulled his hat lower. 

I almost kissed him . 

She could feel it, that same spark she felt during their first encounter at the water tower. The look in his eyes. But she pulled away, letting the moment wash over her like an ice bath. 

It wasn’t that simple. 

The confrontation on the horizon —the looming dread of facing him . The bracelet she wore, his declaration of love, sat heavy on her wrist like a shackle. 

She hated herself. Not for what she had done, but for what she knew she had to do. 

Pen would go to a maximum security prison, maybe even put to death for his crimes. She couldn’t pretend to be whole. Not when whatever was left of her soul still yearned for him, to feel his body wrapped around hers like he would never let go. 

Her body felt stiff, the ache of combat seeping into her core. Only momentum pushed her forward, knowing that soon she would be able to rest . 

Her thoughts went to Logan. He walked beside her, waiting. Hoping. And she hated herself for letting him hope.

She didn’t know if she should say something, if there was anything left worth saying. 

She had rejected him, even though she should have given in. Maybe in another life, she would have kissed him and meant it. But after the dust settled, she would still be broken. 

After all he’s been through, he deserved someone whole. 

She didn’t have to say it, but she figured he guessed it. Pen still lived beneath her skin—feral, bruising, breathless. The invisible shackle of that hunger still locked tight around her heart. 

The square was alive, the faces of the other Sandrockers bright with hope. They had fought back —and won—against a militant fleet of soldiers. 

All Lucy could feel was a hollowness in her chest as she stood beside Logan. 

“...and with that, I declare Sandrock liberated! We took back what is ours!”

The cheers from the crowd snapped her to attention.

“The Civil Corps has locked up the soldiers that surrendered until reinforcements arrive. Haru and Rian should be nearing their destination by now…Brilliant work!” Trudy motioned toward them. “Special thanks to Logan, Lucy, and our Mole friends. But in my mind, everyone here in Sandrock is a hero today!”

“But..” She continued, her voice faltering. “They still have their blimp in the North. Matilda and Pen are still at large.”

Grace marched forward. “I’ve been observing the airship, it looks like they’re excavating something. And it seems like they're in a hurry.”

“⁠The Northern Plateau is way too high for us to climb, by the time we get over there, they’d be long gone…” 

Justice flicked his eyes toward Lucy, the same look of concern he wore earlier etched onto his face. 

Heidi’s voice was the first to object.

“Logistics aside... we're all safe! Let's quit while we're ahead! Who cares if Duvos steals some of our relics? Let the Alliance forces deal with them now.”

“Afraid I can't stand by on this one, Heidi.” Grace glanced at her before turning to Trudy. “This has been one of the largest Duvos operations in Free Cities history. They've found something big. At the very least, I have to find out what it is…”

The other Sandrockers voiced their concerns, wondering who was there, how many of them were ready to fight, and if it was even logistically possible. The thing that stood out to her was resilience—even Burgess, a soft-spoken pacifist—urged Trudy to take initiative. 

“Daisy! She can help out!”

Elsie. One of her first friends since joining the town, had changed for the better. Practically grown up before her very eyes. 

“Daisy?” Trudy made a step toward Elsie, her hands clasped in front of her. 

“That's my giant duck! It's gotten to know all the folks around town already. I reckon she can take us there, no problem! I drew up a diagram of a Hangin' Basket before. Jus' in case Daisy could take people across the desert, in case of emergency and such.”

Justice chuckled. “Well, I can tell you one thing right now: that basket gets built, I'm ridin' shotgun.”

“Alright. We take the initiative.” The mayor looked at the crowd. “A surprise…duck attack!”

The sound of cheers were drowned out by the pain that buzzed under her skin. Her knees threatened to buckle from exhaustion as a hand reached for her elbow, attempting to steady her. 

“Need ‘t get ya to the doctor.”

Lucy’s breath stilled. The touch was gentle, but the emotions behind them left her feeling a bitterness she didn’t expect. She was tired of being treated as something fragile, something that could break. Her traitorous heart that was still beating, somehow, yearning for the touch of the enemy. 

As Logan walked her to Fang’s clinic, her mind flashed to a pair of blue eyes—not the ones beside her, stealing glances.

 She thought of him . The anger that simmered just under the surface, threatening to explode when he would hear about her betrayal. 

He said he couldn’t live without her—would that still be true? When he would see her again—on the other side of the fight—would he still burn for her? Would he still love her? When she would raise her blade and make him bleed, would he still look at her like she was otherworldly?

Fang was immediately at her side as she stepped into the clinic, his face a mix of horror and sorrow. 

“Lucy…you look…tired.”

X landed on her shoulder, his beak messing through her hair as he found the spot that was once bleeding, now dried and matted in a nest. “Bad Builder! Bad Lucy! No more fighting!”

His head turned toward Logan, the stains on his shirt telling a bloody story. “Logan…needs stitches. I…need to attend to Lucy first.”

Fang grimaced as he held up her arm, the cast busted and covered in gore. Lucy was quiet as he worked, using a small drill to remove her cast before applying an antiseptic. “It’s…worse…badly bruised.”

X nestled against her neck, the small comfort warming her heart. “Be safer! Stay home!”

“I—they’re still out there, on the ship. Matilda…and Pen.”

Fang snapped up to meet her, an expression that didn’t require words. He was there, of course, every time Pen beat her in a fight. 

He must have noticed the way that Pen hovered over her, the way he never left her side as she recovered. And somewhere along the line? Concern became something more—something dangerous. Burning. 

When did she begin to feel it too? Was it when he teased her for besting him in a fight—the bravado he carried melting into awe? Or was it when he pulled her closer to him on the battlefield, his breath mixing with hers in a dark promise?

“Builder miss the bad man?” X nuzzled into her neck, feathers tickling her jaw. 

Logan scoffed, propping up his leg as he leaned back in the chair beside her. It was the same one Pen sat in, before her world shattered beneath the weight of love and war. 

Lucy didn’t answer, focusing on Fang’s hands methodically recasting her arm. He let out a hum of satisfaction before standing up, his hands carefully reaching in her hair to assess the wound on her head. The sting of antiseptic made her eyes water, her hands gripping her thighs as she grit her teeth. 

“All..better.” 

“All better! Lots of rest! No building. No fighting!” X chirped, making no intention to move from her side.

“Give it…a couple of days. I…know you have to go.” Fang pulled her into a side hug, something that she didn’t expect. 

“Are you..ready to face him?”

Of course he knew what Pen was to her. Maybe more than she did. Maybe he saw it before she ever admitted it to herself.

“No.”

X shifted, his beak close to her ear as he spoke. “Bad man loves the builder. Does the builder love the bad man?” 

“X!”

Logan shifted in his chair uncomfortably, his arms crossing over his chest. The scrape of his boot against the floor was the only sound in the room. She looked away, but not before catching the clench of his jaw and an unmistakable look of heartache. 

“Sorry, Lucy.” Fang shot X a look before turning to Logan. “Ready?”

He grunted before standing—Lucy’s cue to leave. Before she could turn Fang placed a hand on her shoulder. “Stay until…done. Need..to be…walked home.”

Lucy was exhausted , each step toward the chair more arduous than the last. She sank down with a hiss, the tiredness that threatened to take over seeping into her bones. He was right—she was in no shape to walk home by herself. 

Logan placed his hat on the table beside the clinic bed, tugging his cape off with one swift motion. As he began to unbutton his shirt she turned her face away, cheeks burning with embarrassment. 

She ran her fingers through X’s feathers, trying to calm her nerves.

The room was silent, save for the soft hums Fang made as he threaded the needle through torn skin—and the low, gutteral groans Logan couldn’t quite hold back. 

Lucy stared at the floor, the smell of antiseptic and blood sharp in her nose. Logan cleared his throat, snapping her attention to him. 

She met his eyes, her gaze tempting to drop lower than it should. He squirmed under her unflinching stare, shaking his head as he broke contact. “How long do we need to rest?”

“Wait…a day. I have…medicine.”

X moved abruptly, flying to rest on Fang’s shoulder as he prepared bags for them. “Drink it up! Yummy! Yummy medicine!” 

Lucy collected the prescriptions as Logan dressed, the image in her periphery causing her to falter. Only for a moment.

“Thanks for patchin’ us up, Doc. I’ll make sure Lucy gets home safe.” 

Fang nodded before giving her a flat smile. “Be…careful.”

Logan was silent as they walked. His hand reached out to steady her, pulling away before he could touch her. 

The crunch of rocks beneath her feet lulled her into a trance, her legs carrying her to the finish line. 

The diagram for the basket was patiently waiting in her mailbox, a harsh reminder that it wasn’t over . 

She twirled to meet Logan, arm outstretched with the medicine Fang prepared. He was glued in place, wincing as he grabbed the bag. 

His other hand reached to rub the back of his neck as he let out a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry. I— ” His voice almost a whisper. “I know that ya care about him. Jus’—try to get some rest.”

His words didn’t match his facial expression, the unsaid words etched across his face clinging to the silence that followed. 

“I will.” 

She turned, already reaching for the gate before he could say anything else. 

Chapter Text

The next day crept by slowly. 

The medicine fogged Logan’s thoughts, warping time and pain until they bled into each other. He couldn’t tell if the ache in his chest came from Lefu’s blade or from something deeper, some innate feeling of self-hatred. His wounds burned hot beneath the bandages, no amount of the pain medication he coaxed out of Fang would help him now. The jagged tear in his shoulder was the worst of his pain though. It throbbed with every shallow, shaky breath. 

Even something as simple as removing his boots had become the most arduous task. 

He hated how weak it made him feel. Trapped in bed while the rest of Sandrock clawed its way back from the edge of ruin. They’d survived without him just fine. Maybe they always would. 

Maybe they were better off. 

Andy was over the moon that he was home, he had been practically glued to his side for the past day. The boy bounced around his house like a stray tumbleweed — bringing him water, folding his shaw inside out, and bombarding him with questions about “top secret” bandit missions. 

Logan forced himself to smile, to sit up straighter, to answer with some half-baked charm. To pretend he was okay.

He’d already scared the kid enough yesterday. 

But as the day wore on, it was getting harder to hide. Every time he moved his shoulder, it felt like his skin was splitting open. When Andy reached to pull up the bedspread, Logan’s vision flared white with pain. 

“I got it” Logan said. Too fast. Too sharp. 

Andy flinched like he’d been struck.

“Sorry” Logan muttered, swallowing the burn in his throat. “Just… tired.”

It was a lie. 

He wasn’t tired. He was furious .

Furious that Lefu had gotten so close. Furious that he hadn’t been strong enough. Furious that Lucy had to step in—that she had to kill to save him .

She hadn’t hesitated. Even with bruised ribs and one arm dangling uselessly at her side, Lucy had pointed the barrel straight at Lefu. No second guessing. No flinching.

She was probably back at work. Back in the workshop like nothing happened. While he was here. Hiding. Nursing wounds he couldn’t admit to. 

She’d saved his life. 

His chest tightened. He hadn’t asked for her to save him.

The first time he saw her—eyes glinting in surprise as she crossed his path near the oasis — he felt something inside of him begin to stir. Not just interest. Recognition . She wasn’t afraid of him. Not then. Nor when she tracked him down at the hideout. She met him with drawn daggers and a look of determination. She had been ready to fight him or die trying. 

She was fire, grit, and steel—and a damn good fighter. 

He closed his eyes, pressing two fingers to the bridge of his nose as the memory twisted his insides. 

“You’re stronger than this” he muttered to himself through clenched teeth. But even that lie rang hollow. 

Lucy had led the rebellion with him, her strength refusing to falter in the face of immediate danger. She was resilient. Breathtaking .  

Logan couldn’t stop seeing her—painted in blood, arms trembling as she stood between him and death. The grief on her face as the man fell. The flicker of something more when she turned back to him. Relief. Warmth, Something too close to love. 

And then the almost kiss. 

Brief. 

Unfinished. 

He’d leaned in, heart thundering. For a second, he thought—he had hoped—that she had wanted it too.

But she pulled away. 

It wasn’t the rejection itself that stung. It was what it meant. 

She still clung to Pen. 

Even after everything. Even after Pen’s secrets, his brutality, his betrayal—she stayed. 

And that made Logan sick. 

The bite peeking above her collar wasn’t for pleasure—it was a fucking claim. 

A brand. 

A warning that she was spoken for. 

Logan drug a hand down his face, his jaw clenched so hard that it ached. She wasn’t his to rescue. She wasn’t his to fight for. Lucy was an adult, she could make her own damn choices. Even if those choices tore her apart.

Even if they tore him apart.  

Andy’s voice snapped him back. 

“You okay?”

Logan turned his head slowly. The boy was watching him with eyes too wide. 

“Yeah, just tired,” Logan lied again. 

Andy nodded, looking down, fingers fidgeting at the edge of Logan’s bedspread. 

And that guilt—sharp, unrelenting—stabbed deeper than any blade. 

He didn't want to be a ghost in his own home. 

He didn't want Andy to see him like this. 

But right now, he didn’t feel like a person at all. 

He was already halfway out the door in his mind. 

Already weighing whether it would hurt more to stay… or to leave again. 

________________

By the time night settled over Sandrock, the storm had already grown. 

At first, Logan hadn't noticed it. The meds dulled everything. But when a sudden clap of thunder crackled overhead, shaking the window panes in their frames, he blinked awake, surfacing from a deep daydream. 

Rain. Real rain. 

Heavy. Unrelenting. 

It beat down on the roof violently and wildly, flooding what once was silence with sound. A storm like this hadn’t touched Sandrock in years. 

It made the walls feel smaller. More pressed in. Trapping him in his own home. 

Andy stirred beside the bed, where he had made a nest of blankets on the floor.

“Guess we got lucky, huh?” the boy said with a sleepy grin, eyes barely open. “Rain like this… maybe the cactuses’ll finally bloom again.”

Logan didn’t answer. Just nodded once, slow and silent. 

Andy yawned, curling deeper into his makeshift bed. 

“G’night Logan.”

“Night kiddo.”

A minute later, soft, even breathing told him Andy was asleep. 

Logan sat in silence, staring at the wall. He didn't move. Didn’t blink. The pain had come back in waves now that the medicine had started to wear off—hot, gnawing, insistent. His shoulder throbbed with every pulse of his heartbeat and the wound in his chest made it hard to breathe deeply. 

Logan leaned forward, slowly pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders. Thunder rolled again. 

The storm matched his thoughts. Violent, messy, impossible to ignore. 

The shaking in his hands was real. This pain he felt was real. 

And so was the voice in his head. 

You don’t belong here. 

Not in this bed. Not in this house. Not in this town. 

He’d tried to forget what he did—tried to pretend like helping in the fight made up for it. But it didn't erase the hijacking, the fear he’d put into the people’s eyes, or the time he spent on the wrong side of the canyon. 

They only welcomed him back because he helped tear Duvos apart. Because Lucy and Grace had vouched for him. The town had forgiven him with their mouths, but not their eyes. People whispered behind corners, averting their gaze. Maybe it would have been different if he had died fighting, Maybe then he’d be remembered as the outlaw who redeemed himself at the end. 

But he survived. Because Lefu didn’t kill him. 

But none of that meant he was forgiven. 

And now?

Now he was a scar the town didn’t know what to do with. 

He didn’t know what he was more afraid of—staying and letting them see what he really was, or leaving and proving them right. 

Logan’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he closed his eyes. He tried to picture a version of himself that stayed. That healed. That built something instead of tearing it down. 

But it felt like trying to fit into shoes that no longer belonged to him. 

The town had already moved on once. 

It would do it again. 

Besides, his work here was done. Lucy and the Corps could deal with tracking down Matilda and Pen without his help. 

With his injuries he figured he wouldn’t be much help anyway. 

Logan rose to his feet, slowly, wobbly, unsteadily. His legs protested the weight. His chest lit up in pain. But he didn’t stop. He had to grit his teeth to keep from crying out. His right side felt like it had been hit by Jensen’s train.

The hideout wasn’t far—not far enough to stop him. 

Not now. 

Logan moved carefully, every move deliberately gentle. He grabbed a cloth and wrapped his shoulder tighter, trembling as he secured it with one hand. He dressed himself as silently as he could, taking twice as long as he should have. He ignored the way his vision blurred as he buttoned up his vest, ignored the way his sleeves stuck to his skin that was damp with sweat. 

Logan made his way back to his room to fetch his holster belt, taking one last look at Andy, still curled up asleep. His fingers fumbled with the fastenings. He could barely hold his knife, let alone swing it. 

Logan hesitated at the door. His hand hovered over the knob, but he didn’t stop.

I’ll be back before he even knows I’m gone, he told himself. 

Just need to breathe. 

Just need space. 

But even he knew it wasn’t true. 

Not this time. 

Logan stepped out into the storm. Rambo was still tethered to the hitching post just outside. The cold rain hit him like glass—sharp but cleansing. It soaked him to the bone within seconds. The streets were empty, only filled with a dim light. The water that pooled in the sand-packed roads sucked at the heels of his boots with each step, attempting to keep him in place, begging him to turn back. 

When he reached his goat, he stopped, bracing himself on the post as a wave of nausea rolled over him. 

Rambo nickered softly, nudging him. 

“I know,” Logan muttered. “You’re not the only one who thinks this is stupid.”

Logan reached for the saddle horn and pulled himself up—but halfway up his shoulder screamed in protest, giving out. 

He collapsed into the mud with a grunt, breath ripped from his lungs.  For a moment, he laid there, soaked and shaking, his hair plastered to his face, his heart pounding in his ears. 

You can’t even get on the damn goat. What the hell’re you doing? 

But he couldn’t stay. Not with Andy sleeping soundly inside. Not with Lucy pretending none of it meant anything. Not with Pen’s shadow still looming, still etched into her skin like a curse. 

He forced himself up again, teeth grinding, his right arm useless against his side. He leaned into Rambo, using the goat’s broad frame for support, and tried again.

This time he made it—just barely. 

The saddle horn pressed against his ribs like a cage as he hung onto his goat’s neck, steadying himself.

The rain stung Logan’s face as he nudged Rambo forward with a weak kick. Every bounce, every shift in the goat’s gait was agonizing. 

Logan bit his cheek hard enough to draw blood, just to keep himself awake, to keep himself upright. 

But he kept going.

The hideout wasn’t far. He could reach it soon. Before the town could realize he was gone. 

Before Lucy could stop him. 

Logan continued on. He didn’t look back.

Chapter Text

Andy awoke with a start. 

He had assumed it was just due to the cold. The blankets had slipped off sometime in the night, and the chill in the air was sharper than he remembered. Outside, the wind howled like a wild animal, and the rain hammered against the windows with relentless fury.  

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up, blinking into the dark. 

“Logan?” he whispered. 

Silence . 

The bed was empty.  Andy’s heart skipped. 

He stood up too fast and stumbled, nearly tripping over his pile of blankets. 

“Logan?” he called out again, but louder this time. 

Still no answer. 

Andy’s eyes darted around the room. Logan’s shawl was gone. So were his boots. The door was shut tight, but muddy footprints led away from it—fresh and dripping.

Panic started to rise in his throat, choking him back from tears. 

He’s hurt. He can barely sit up. Why would he leave like this in the middle of a storm?

Andy didn’t stop to think. He bolted to the front window and pulled back the curtain. Sheets of rain blurred the world outside, but he just barely made out the hitching post. 

It was empty.

Rambo was gone too. 

“No, no, no…” Andy breathed, already throwing on his shoes. His fingers fumbled with the laces, but he didn’t stop. 

“He’s gonna die out there…”

He didn’t even bother to throw on a coat, he didn’t have the time to. 

Andy burst out the front door into the rain, slipping on the soaked steps on the way down. Cold wind slapped him across his face, almost tipping him over as he ran. 

There was only one person who could stop Logan from doing something reckless now that Haru was gone.

Only one person he’d maybe listen to. 

Lucy. 

Andy sprinted towards her workshop. 

His feet splashed through shallow puddles that were forming in the sand. The storm swallowed his cries for help. Lightning split the sky over the canyons as the thunder rolled after it like a warning. 

“Lucy!” he shouted into the night, his voice cracking even harder now. “Lucy!”

He didn’t stop running until the door of her workshop was in sight—light still faintly flickering inside. He pounded on it with both of his shaking fists.

“Lucy! It’s Logan! He’s gone! He left! He’s hurt!”

The wind howled behind him. 

The storm wasn’t letting up, and neither was Andy. 

_________________ 

The rain had been coming down for hours now. 

Lucy stood motionless at her workbench, staring down at unfinished daggers.

The ones she’d used before —the spares from Hugo—were just that: spares. Functional but foreign. They didn’t feel right. They weren’t hers . 

Her real daggers were gone, taken by Duvos soldiers. No amount of searching had found them. 

The commission for Daisy’s basket could wait. 

The workshop was dim and cold. 

Usually, she’d open a window to let the sunshine in. Now only a single wall lamp glowed, casting long shadows that flickered with each tremble of thunder.

She hadn’t turned on the other lights. 

She didn’t need light to fix what was lost. 

Because it was her that was gone. And there was no fixing that. 

Her clothes still smelled faintly of blood, but not her own. 

She had scrubbed her skin raw hours ago, but the memories clung like a stain. The way Lefu’s body lay twisted in a pool of blood, his helmet useles against the torn neck.

Logan’s face streaked with blood. 

She hadn’t hesitated. 

She couldn’t afford to. 

But that didn’t mean it hadn’t cost her. 

Her mind kept slipping back to him. 

Logan. 

The way he looked at her after—wide-eyed, wounded, but thankful. As if she’d done something noble, not necessary. 

As if she hadn’t just ended a life. 

And then the kiss. 

Peach, the kiss. 

She hadn’t meant for it to happen. She should have pulled away faster. 

But when his lips barely brushed hers, something inside shattered. 

She felt something with Logan—something dangerous. 

But it was Pen’s name who hovered the loudest in her mind.

Pen — who left bruises blossoming across her neck. 

Pen—whose bracelet dangled from her wrist like a shackle. 

She didn’t know if it was loyalty, guilt, or fear that kept her tied to Pen. 

Maybe all three.

Maybe none. 

Lucy blinked as thunder rumbled overhead. 

Her hand tightened around the handle of a dagger without realizing.

Why hadn’t she gone to check on Logan again? 

Why was she letting him deal with this alone?

Because she was afraid.  Because she didn’t trust herself. 

Because the thought of seeing him again like that—broken, bleeding, dying—made her chest ache in ways she couldn't name. 

Because if she saw him again, she didn’t know what she’d say. 

Which name would come out of her mouth first?

Logan? 

Or Pen?

Another crack of thunder rattled the tools on the wall. 

Then—a noise she almost missed. 

Banging. 

Her head snapped toward the door. 

Someone was shouting.

“Lucy! It’s Logan! He’s gone! He left! He’s hurt!”

Andy. 

Lucy dropped the dagger and bolted towards the door. 

_________________ 

The storm hit her like a whip as she stepped outside. 

The rain pulled her hair loose from its tie, stinging her skin harder than needles. 

Andy clung to her arm, breathless and shivering, frantic. 

“Where did he go?” she shouted over the wind. 

“Rambo’s gone” Andy cried. “He took him—maybe to the wastelands! Or the hideout!”

Lucy didn’t even pause to think. 

She was already running towards her stable. 

Her boots squelched in the mud as she yanked the stable gate open with shaking hands. 

Her horse wasn’t there—of course she hadn’t brought Ace in before the storm. 

The stable was empty besides her tack. 

She grabbed her reins as she spun on her heels. 

Lucy swore under her breath, heart racing. 

No time to call for help. 

Barely any time to track down her mare.

Lucy’s boots skidded in the mud once again as she sprinted towards Cooper’s ranch. 

She knew the layout well enough, vaulting over the fence with the kind of grace only desperation brings. 

Rain blurred her vision. Wind clawed at her face. 

She spotted Ace—her mare’s black coat muddled brown from the weather. 

“Ace… Come here, girl…” Lucy called, whistling loudly. 

No time for brushing. Cooper would have to deal with a missing saddle later. 

“Sorry, Cooper,” she muttered, teeth gritted as she led Ace through the gate. 

The mare resisted at first, hooves stomping in the waterlogged sand. 

Lucy kicked once, hard. 

Ace bolted toward the canyons. 

The storm screamed around them.

Rain hit her face in sheets.

But she rode hard, following the rough trail Andy had described. 

Flashes of memory came sharp and fast.

At the clinic, Logan attempting to hide his wounds from her. 

Fang’s narrowed eyes as he watched Logan stumble home with a fresh dose of painkillers and a few extra bandage wraps. 

They all knew Logan was trying to outrun more than just his injuries. 

By the time Lucy reached the hideout, the storm had calmed slightly.

Still violent but less blinding. 

The cave was dark, half swallowed by the cliffside. 

She leapt from Ace and ran toward the entrance. 

“Logan!” she called. “Logan, answer me!”

Silence.

Lightning lit the inside of the cave for a moment—just enough to see a collapsed figure, half-curled on the cold stone floor by several old crates. 

He was soaked through. His shaw stuck to him like a second skin. 

His hand twitched once. 

“Logan!”

Lucy sunk to her knees beside him, ignoring how quickly her jeans soaked through. 

His skin was ice cold. 

His lips pale. 

He murmured something, barely conscious. 

“Couldn't… stay”

“Shut up” she whispered, pressing her hand to his cheek. “You’re an idiot. A selfish idiot.”

He flinched, eyes flickering open. 

“Lucy..?”

“Don’t talk,” she snapped. “You can yell at me when you’re not dying.”

Logan gave a weak, broken laugh—and suddenly fell limp in her arms.

Chapter Text

Lucy’s breath hitched as Logan’s body went slack in her arms. Panic surged in her chest, something sharp and sudden. She swallowed hard and adjusted her grip, holding him tighter like he might slip away if she didn’t anchor him. 

“No, no, no… not now” she whispered, her voice cracking as she rocked him gently, trying to soothe both him and herself. 

The storm roared around them, thunder crashing against the cliffs. But Lucy could only hear the ragged, uneven hitch in his breathing. Each breath shallower. Each shiver more violent. 

Lucy’s eyes scanned his face. It was pale, drenched, and bruised—far worse than the Logan she had seen yesterday. She wanted to scream, to call for help, but the cave was too far from town, too isolated, too unknown. 

“Hold on, Logan. Please… Just hold on.”

Her hands fumbled with the edge of her shawl, yanking it from her shoulders and wrapping it around his back. It wasn’t enough—too thin, too wet—but it was all she had. Her fingers found his cheek, ice cold and pale, and she leaned in, pressing her forehead against his. 

“Stay with me.”

Logan’s eyelids fluttered weakly. 

“Lucy… why?”

Her heart cracked open. 

“I’m here…” she said, her voice trembling. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His hand twitched in hers. A small, fragile touch. She gripped his hand tighter. If she let go now, she was afraid he might disappear completely. 

“I’m sorry…” he wheezed weakly. “For everything.”

“No” she said firmly, brushing rain soaked hair from his forehead. “You don’t get to be sorry right now. You get to live.”

Logan’s gaze locked with hers, intense but fleeting. And in that moment, she saw everything—greif, guilt, the deep carved loneliness that had followed him like a shadow. Logan had never stopped punishing himself for the past. For the outlaw. For not being enough . 

“I’m scared, Luce” he admitted, his voice barely audible. 

Lucy’s throat tightened as she reached up to cradle the back of his head. “Me too.”

Time slipped by without meaning. 

Lucy didn’t know how long they sat like that—minutes? Hours? The storm outside hadn’t let up, but Logan’s breathing had finally steadied. Not perfect. Not healthy. But enough. 

Lucy touched the side of his temple, fingers brushing damp strands of hair from his face. 

“Logan,” she whispered. “Are you awake?” 

A low groan rumbled from his throat. His eyes cracked open, heavy lidded but aware. 

“Juuuust barely…” he rasped, still clinging to his crooked smile. “You caught me right before I tuckered out.” 

His charm was forced, thinner than usual—but it was still there. A flicker of him beneath the blood and bruises. 

“You’re soaked,” Lucy said, letting out a shaky breath. “If I don’t get you out of those clothes, you’re going to spike a fever. Do you have anything dry in here?”

Logan groaned again, half lifting his head to scan the cave. He pointed vaguely towards a darker corner.

“Yeah… Haru’s side. Look in the wardrobe. Past the tarp… There’s a stash. Emergency get away clothes. Jus’ in case things ever went south.”

Lucy didn’t answer. She just nodded, casting one glance down to make sure he wasn’t slipping again. 

His eyes followed her—hazily, but focused. 

The back of the cave was cluttered with makeshift storage: crates, tarps, luggage. Her fingers worked fast, numbed by rain and adrenaline. She found a case of luggage and unbuckled the hinges. A small breath of relief escaped her lips. 

Dry clothes. A couple shirts, a pair of pants, a half-used can of antiseptic, several rolls of gauze, and even a folded blanket. 

She grabbed what she could carry and rushed back. 

Logan’s eyes followed her, still open, but dim. 

“You always… boss people around when they’re dying?” He muttered. 

Lucy knelt beside him and began unbuttoning his soaked shirt. 

“Only the dumb ones.”

He gave a weak snort that turned into a wince. She pressed her hand to his chest to steady him. 

“Don’t laugh. It makes the bleeding worse.”

“Noted. No more jokes for me.”

When Lucy peeled the shirt away, her breath hitched. 

His bandages were soaked a deep red. The wound on his shoulder was raw, torn open further by his escape stunt. She gritted her teeth and reached for the antiseptic. 

“Sorry, she murmured under her breath, more to herself than to him. “This is going to hurt.”

“Lucy…” 

Her eyes met his. 

“I thought maybe… If I left, it’d be easier for everyone. Easier for you?”

She paused, then shook her head. 

“You think leaving makes anything easier?” Her voice cracked. “You think disappearing helps? Think about Andy. Think about everyone back in Sandrock…” 

Her voice broke. 

“Think about me, Logan. I… watched you almost die.”

Logan didn’t answer at first. 

He couldn’t. 

The words tangled somewhere in the back of his throat, too soaked in guilt to surface. 

He looked away, his jaw clenched, eyes wet—not from the rain, but from something heavier. 

“I’m… I’m sorry Luce. I didn’t mean to hurt ya.” He said finally, his voice hoarse. “I just… I didn’t know how to stay.”

Lucy drew in a sharp breath. 

“And you think I do?” she snapped, her voice trembling. “You think any of this has been easy for me? You think I don’t wake up every damn day trying to figure out how to live my life after everything I’ve done? Everything we’ve done?”

Lucy’s hands were trembling now. She didn’t care if Logan saw. 

“I killed for you, Logan.” she whispered. “I pulled the trigger. I didn’t even hesitate. I looked death in the face and chose you . And now you’re telling me you ran away because it would be easier ?”

Logan closed his eyes. 

“I thought maybe you’d be better off if I wasn’t in the picture. I thought… maybe you’d finally let go of the part of yourself that still holds on to me.”

His voice was barely above a whisper. 

“I’ve never had anything that wasn’t mine because I took it, Lucy. You were different. You were never supposed to be mine.”

Her breath caught. And for a moment, she felt like she was falling. 

Not because of what he said.

But because it was the first time he said it like that. Like it mattered. Like she mattered. 

Lucy sat back on her heels, staring down at him. Her hair clung to her cheeks. 

“You don’t get to decide that,” she said quietly. “Not for me.”

Her thumb brushed across his cheekbone, slow and soft. 

“I don’t care what you were . I care about you . I care about the man who carries the weight of every mistake like its penance. The man who protects the people who spit when they hear his name. The man who still thinks he has to earn a place in the world.” 

Her voice cracked again. 

“I care about the man who saved my life… Even if you tried to vanish from it.”

Logan blinked up at her, stunned, as if he was seeing her clearly for the first time.

“...You do?”

She let out a bitter laugh as her tears finally spilled. 

“Of course I do, you idiot.”

He exhaled shakily, something breaking loose in him. Something softer. 

“Even after… him?”

Even after Pen.

The choice she still hadn’t made. 

Lucy didn’t answer right away. 

She looked away, wiping the rain from under her eyes, even though it didn’t matter anymore. 

“I don’t know what I feel,” she admitted. “I just know that when I found you in the cave, all I could think about was how I couldn’t lose you again.”

A long silence stretched between them.

Then Logan’s fingers found hers. 

Weak. Shaking. But there. 

“Listen Lucy, I really like you,” he said, averting his eyes. “I won’t do anything. Not unless you tell me to.”

She gripped his hand tightly in return. 

“Logan. I… I’m not even sure…” she whispered. “But I can’t tell you just yet. Not until you’re out of the woods. Not until you stop bleeding. Not until I have a chance to breathe again.” 

He smiled, only barely. 

“I’ll try to hold on then.”

“You better,” she said frankly, finally managing a smile through her tears. 

They didn’t speak after that. 

Lucy cleaned the gashes in silence, packed them with gauze. He winced, but said nothing. 

“I need you to sit up for me if you can.” Lucy asked. 

“Yes ma’am.” Logan grunted. “Since when did you become a doctor? This somethin’ they teach you in builder school?”

Lucy snorted under her breath.

“No,” she muttered. “I’ve had too many late nights at Fang’s to count.”

Logan hissed as she pressed fresh antiseptic to his side. “Feels like you’re usin’ me to practice.”

Lucy shot him a flat look. “It’s not like there's any other options.”

He chuckled weakly, then immediately groaned, clutching his ribs. “Okay, you were right. No jokes.”

Lucy steadied him with one hand on his good shoulder. “Then maybe stop talking.”

“But then you’d be alone with your feelings.” He teased with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

Lucy rolled her eyes, but with a soft exhale through her nose—there was a hint of a smile. 

“You really wanna die sarcastic and pathetic?”

“Well, if I gotta go, I’d rather die how I lived.”

Her expression hardened. 

“Don’t.”

The smirk slipped from his lips. 

“Don’t talk like you’re leaving again” she whispered. “Not while I’m still barely holding you together with bandages.” 

Logan looked away, jaw tight. The storm outside had quieted to a steady rhythm, the rain a dull roar against the rocks.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he murmured. “I just thought if I got some space… figured out my head… I’d come back better.”

“You didn't,” she said. “You came back half dead.”

He gave a tired nod. “Fair.”

Lucy finished binding his chest and sat back, wiping her hands on her damp jeans. Her fingers trembled slightly from the cold. 

Logan shifted, slowly reaching out to take her hand again. His grip weak but steady. 

“I don’t want to disappear,” he said. “I just… don’t know how to stay.”

Lucy’s gaze slowly flickered upwards towards his tired face. 

“Then let me help you figure it out.”

Their eyes locked. 

Just the two of them. Soaked. Freezing. But still alive. 

Logan gave a small nod. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Lucy echoed. 

She brushed a strand of wet hair behind her ear and looked down at his bandages, gently not quite ready to let go. 

Then, quietly she spoke. 

“Do you think we’re cursed?”

Logan blinked. “What?”

She shrugged, eyes still on the bandages. 

“You. Me. This town. Everything we touch falls apart.”

Logan considered it, then shook his head. 

“No. I think we’re just… surviving.”

Lucy sat thinking for a while. 

“Pen will kill you when he finds out I was here.”

“I hope he does,” Logan muttered, massaging his temples. 

Lucy looked over. His eyes burned. Not with anger, but with defiance. 

“I hope he sees how close I came to dying. I hope he sees what you did to keep me alive. Maybe then he’ll finally get it—he doesn’t own you.”

Lucy’s breath caught in her throat. 

She had no response. She didn’t want to argue. Not this time. Not after everything. 

“Think you can walk?” She asked, nodding towards the bed. 

“If ya’ help me, sure.” he grimaged as she wrapped his good arm around her shoulder. 

They rose together—slow and unsteady— and made their way towards the bed.

Chapter Text

Lucy helped guide Logan slowly toward the bed, his weight even heavier now that exhaustion had fully set in. Logan grunted with each step, teeth clenched, and she could feel his strength fading with every breath. The bandages around his torso were slowly soaking through.

Logan’s bed was nothing fancy. Barely a cot with a sun bleached mattress, topped with a few old quilts and a pillow that had clearly seen better days. Haru’s bed sat only a few feet away, untouched for a while with dirt beginning to gather at the corners.

Lucy pulled the covers back on Logan’s side and helped him to sit. The cave was colder now, the storm winding down but leaving a biting chill in its wake.

“Lift your arms,” she said gently, as she reached for a clean shirt from the stash.

Logan obeyed with a wince, his muscles aching and slow. He kept his eyes low, his breath shallow, as she peeled away his blood soaked undershirt and began carefully slipping a dry one over his head.

His skin burned faintly with fever. She could feel the heat radiating off of him.

“Sorry,” Lucy murmured as she pulled the shirt past his chest. “It’ll be quick.”

“You’re always quick,” Logan rasped, attempting a faint smirk. “Quick thinkin’—Quick movin’. S’one of the things I like about you.”

Lucy didn’t smile at the flirtation—but she didn’t scold him either. Instead, she stood and turned her back against him, grabbing one of Haru’s oversized shirts from the stash.

Logan watched her from the bed, head tilted against the headboard, eyelids heavy but stubbornly determined to stay open. His gaze softened as Lucy tugged off her soaked undershirt, revealing a vast constellation of bruises across her back before finally slipping the oversized button down over her cast.

It drowned her, hanging just above her knees. The sleeves hung past her fingertips on one side and rumpled awkwardly up over the cast on the other.

Logan cleared his throat, his gaze flicking away as she turned.

“Could’a warned me.”

Lucy shot an icy glance in his direction. “You’ve seen worse.”

“That don’t mean I’m immune.”

Lucy blinked at him, unreadably. She crossed the room and sat beside him, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead.

“Your fever’s still climbing,” she said quietly as Logan bundled himself up tighter in the blankets.

“How do ya’ suppose we fix that?” He asked with a faint flicker of slyness in his voice.

Lucy didn’t answer him right away.

She stared down at him—damp hair clinging to her cheeks, her eyes rimmed with exhaustion. For a moment, Logan thought she might snap at him. Push him away. Retreat to the other bed like what he said meant nothing.

But instead, her expression softened—just slightly.

She let out a slow breath, a sigh soaked heavily in surrender.

“You need body heat,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. “And I’m not sleeping across the room while you freeze to death trying to be charming.”

Logan’s brows raised faintly. “So this is charity?”

“This is survival,” she replied, though her voice was much quieter now. “Don’t fuck this up.”

Logan pulled back the blankets and patted the empty space beside him, his grin faint but eager.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, darlin’.”

Lucy gave him a flat and unreadable look and patted his leg before rising. She crossed to Haru’s bed without another word, stripped the top quilts and pulled the dusty pillow free, dragging everything back to Logan’s side as if she was preparing for war rather than sleeping. She wrapped one blanket tightly around his shoulders, brisk but carefully, then tossed the rest on top of the cot.

The bed was small, barely enough for one person. But Logan shifted as best as he could, inching to one side with a breathless grunt. His eyes never left her. He watched her as if she could disappear at any moment.

Lucy climbed in bed beside him, her movements stiff at first. Her cast bumped against his ribs as she turned on her side, trying impossibly to keep a sliver of distance between them. Despite her effort, her body instinctively curled towards his.

Logan turned his head slowly, his voice low. “You sure?”

She didn’t answer.

Not directly.

Instead she let him move—slowly, cautiously— his arm sliding around her waist, testing her silence, his fingers twisting against the soft fabric of Haru’s oversized shirt.

She didn’t stop him.

Didn’t pull away.

Her head came to rest against his chest, her breath slow and steady against his collarbone, his heartbeat loud against her ear. His body burned with fever, but it was better than the cold.

He felt real.

Solid.

Her hand crept around his ribs. She let her fingers trail the edge of his bandages, slowly and methodically.

Neither spoke.

Then Logan whispered. His voice heavy as if every word would cost him.

“This ain’t saving me, Luce. You’re wreckin’ me.”

Lucy froze, fingers pausing mid motion. Her breath caught in her throat.

He felt the tension ripple through her body. The way her shoulders stiffened—how her spine straightened ever so slightly—like she’d been caught off guard by her own reaction.

Slowly, she lifted her head, just enough to meet his eyes.

“You think you’re the only one?” she whispered.

Her voice wasn’t soft. It was frayed—torn between anger and heartache. She looked at him like he’d said something cruel instead of honest. Like he’d exposed something she wasn’t ready to face.

Logan’s eyes searched hers, quiet and pleading.

“You think I didn’t feel something with you too?” she went on, her voice trembling. “You think I didn’t wonder what it would’ve been like if everything had happened differently?”

Logan swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Then why—”

Lucy didn’t let him finish.

She lifted her hand and pressed two fingers gently to his lips, quieting the question before it took shape.

“I don’t have all the answers,” she mumbled. “Not tonight.”

Her voice was low, laced with something he didn’t recognize—something too honest.

Her fingers lingered near his jaw, tracing the curve of his cheek lightly. It wasn't a confession. But it wasn't nothing.

“You didn’t say before,” he said hoarsely, his eyes searching for hers. “You pulled away.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I was scared…”

His feverish eyes fluttered, slow but focused.

“Of me?”

She couldn’t answer right away.

Her hand drifted, curling deep into the damp strands of his hair at the nape of his neck, twisting gently. She looked down at him, at the bruises, the wounds, the torn up man trying so hard to be whole for her.

“I’m not scared of you,” she said finally, every word deliberate. “I’m scared of what I might do to you.”

Logan’s brow furrowed even deeper, confusion spreading into every corner of his expression.

Lucy continued before he could say anything.

“I watched you bleed trying to save me,” she went on. “Because you wanted so badly to protect me. And now you’re here—hurt—hurt even worse than you were before. And you’re still looking at me like I’m the reason you’re alive.”

Lucy bit her tongue, and for a moment, her expression cracked.

“I’m scared that being near me doesn’t make you stronger, Logan. I’m scared that I’m the reason you keep getting hurt.”

Logan’s lips parted, but the words couldn’t flow.

“What if I’m not someone worth dying for, Logan?” her voice cracked. “What if I take and take and leave you with nothing left?”

Lucy tried to laugh, but it was hollow. “You don’t see it. You look at me like I’m a reason—but maybe I’m just another mistake you haven’t let yourself regret yet.”

Logan lifted a trembling hand, slowly, carefully, his calloused fingers brushing against her cheeks, rubbing the tears that escaped from her eyes.

“You don’t get to go and talk about yourself like that.” He said softly, firmly.

His palm pressed lightly to the side of her face as he stroked her cheek gently.

“You won’t break me, Lucy,” he said softly. “You make me want to survive. I never wanted to live for anything until you.”

She closed her eyes. Her forehead pressed gently against his, their breath tangled in the narrow space between them.

“But I don’t know what I can give you.” she confessed. “I don’t know if I can be what you need. Not now. Maybe not ever.”

“You’re here,” Logan said. “That's enough.”

A long silence settled between them. The storm outside had softened, fading into a distant hush.

Lucy opened her mouth to speak—but the words stayed trapped.

Not now.

Instead she leaned into him, her nose brushing the stubble along his jaw.

“Sleep,” she sighed. “We can talk later.”

Logan didn’t argue, he was already pushing back sleep.

His arm tightened protectively around her waist, his fingers resting against bare skin under the fabric of Haru’s borrowed shirt. He closed his eyes, his breath steadying against her shoulder.

But Lucy stayed awake, staring at the stone walls that lined the cave.

She wasn’t sure if she was finding something in him, or losing something in herself.

But she couldn’t let go.

Not yet.

Not while he still held her like she was the one thing keeping him together.