The sound of dripping water filled the room. Slow and rhythmic. The kind of sound that made silence worse.
Grey sat across from the rebel. His elbows rested on his knees, his fingers clasped tight inside the gloves. The lantern overhead swayed very slightly, giving little light across the damp marble stone. The air was thick with the smell of oil and blood, sharp enough to taste.
The man across from him shook. He wasn't just afraid anymore, he was way past that point already. His left hand was completely ruined, his fingers bent the wrong way, nails torn open. Tools spread across the floor, all of it made purely to make people stop pretending to be brave.
Grey's uniform was spotless. Not a crease, not a speck of red. He didn't even look tired.
He didn't need to shout. He never did.
"Let's start over, shall we," Grey said quietly, his tone patient. "I'm your friend, aren't I? You can trust me."
The rebel tried to spit at him, but his throat was way too dry. His effort only sent a thin line of blood sliding down his chin.
Grey let out a quiet breath, he wasn't angry, nor was he even irritated. It sounded more like disappointment, the kind that came from someone who'd already expected the worst outcome. He leaned forward and took the man's right hand, gently spreading the fingers apart one by one.
"Now as your friend," he said, his voice steady but soft, "I don't want to do this. So why don't you make it easy for the both of us and tell me what I need to know?"
The man's breath hitched. He looked ready to speak—
Crack.
Grey twisted the first finger until the joint broke. The sound was small, but it filled the room. The man screamed until his voice tore.
Grey waited. Always patient. He didn't speak again until the sound died down.
"Where's your base?" he asked.
The prisoner tried to form words, gibberish, half names, anything.
Crack.
The second finger folded backward.
Grey didn't blink. His eyes stayed calm, almost sad. "You know," he said, "it hurts to see a friend like this. Friends are supposed to trust each other. With everything."
The man whimpered, shoulders jerking weakly.
Grey rested his thumb on the next finger. "Where?"
"N-North, north of—"
Crack.
Grey exhaled. "You know friends shouldn't lie to one another right?"
The rebel cried through clenched teeth, his body trembling. But Grey's tone stayed even, almost conversational.
"And here I thought we were friends."
The door opened before he could finish. A soldier stepped in, helmet under one arm, his face pale.
"Captain," he said, "we've got a distress signal. Priority seal. Noble house."
Grey didn't look up right away. "A noble?"
"Yes, sir. Lady Valen's estate. They're requesting immediate assistance."
Grey let go of the man's hand and stood, brushing nonexistent dust from his coat. "Handle cleanup," he said. "Keep him alive. I'll finish later."
The soldier hesitated. "Sir, should we—"
"Alive," Grey repeated.
He left the chamber. The sound of his boots echoed down the corridor, steady and clean. The rebel's cries followed him, small and broken, until the door closed and the noise vanished.
Outside, the hall was much brighter. The cold light spilled from the strips. Grey adjusted his gloves, fixing a seam that didn't need any fixing.
At the comms terminal, another officer stood waiting. "Captain. Priority alert from Central Command."
"Report."
"Distress call from the Valen convoy. Ambushed mid-transit."
Grey raised a brow. "The Valens," he said, his tone flat. "How unfortunate. Prepare a rescue team."
"Sir… the convoy's already been recovered, before we arrived."
Grey's hand stilled mid-motion. "Recovered by who?"
"Not confirmed. Reports say the Black Vultures were involved, but when patrols arrived, every hostile was dead."
That made him pause. The Black Vultures weren't easy prey, armed and led by someone competent. "So someone else beat us to it," he said.
"Yes, sir. Central wants confirmation and assurance that no property was compromised."
Grey's expression didn't change, but something behind his eyes shifted. "Of course they do."
He tugged at his gloves again, pulling the leather tight against his knuckles. "Prepare a ship. I'll need to visit the Valen Estate."
The transport cut through the clouds like a blade. Inside, Grey stood by the viewport, watching the capital unfold below, layers of steel, glass, and exhaust, a city that never slept because it didn't know how.
His reflection looked back at him: sharp eyes, straight posture, the calm of someone used to control. He hadn't slept in two days. It didn't show.
The Valens were old blood. And old blood always came with buried secrets.
He let out a quiet breath. "A noble rescued by an unknown hero," he said. "How poetic."
The officer beside him didn't respond. He knew better.
They landed just outside the Valen sector. Guards straightened at the sight of the insignia on Grey's coat.
He walked through the avenue, soldiers behind him, boots clicking against polished stone. Every movement measured. Every breath under control. The faint smell of smoke lingered in the air, old smoke, not recent.
Then something changed.
No sound. No flash. Just pressure. A weight that settled over him like a hand pressed against his chest.
Grey stopped walking. The air felt thicker, heavier.
His instincts screamed before his mind could catch up. Whoever it was… they weren't human.
He turned sharply, then he looked around.
The street was quiet. Servants passed by. A merchant laughed with a guard. Nothing stood out. But his pulse was climbing fast, a cold line of sweat crawling down his back.
"Captain?" his lieutenant asked quietly. "Something wrong?"
Grey didn't answer right away. His eyes drifted to the far end of the street, where light bounced off the windows. For half a second, he thought he saw a shadow of a figure there.
Then it was gone.
He forced his breath steady. "Nothing," he said finally. "Just..."
"Sir?"
"Forget it." His voice went sharp again. "Let's move. I want to speak with Lady Valen."
He didn't look back. But his hands, the very same hands that had never once trembled, felt unsteady.
He clenched them until they stopped.
Whatever had passed him on that street wasn't anyone ordinary.
And for the first time in years, Captain Grey felt anxious.