I step toward the inner hall. Toward him.
Toward Nux.
The observation chamber doors are already ajar. Sunlight slices across polished stone. He stands there, hands behind his back, calm. Perfect. Still.
"You've left quite a mess," he says, voice soft but deliberate. "I expected… more finesse."
My grin spreads. "Oh good. You noticed."
He tilts his head. Scans me. Catalogues everything. Fourteen guards incapacitated? Fifteen, I correct cheerfully. One in the tapestry hall. He slides, I add silently.
Nullifiers hum faintly. The room is a hush. The city oblivious below.
"You are precise," he murmurs.
I tilt my head. "That's the fun part."
For a heartbeat, the castle holds its breath with me. I bounce lightly on my heels. Alive.
And then — he moves.
Not forward. Not a step. Not a gesture. Just the faintest flick of his wrist.
A shadow detaches from the sleeve of his robe. Small. Almost laughable. A blade.
I blink.
Too late.
It flashes, hidden under his arm — precise, clean, aimed directly for me.
Pain blooms. Sharp, sudden, shocking. My side burns as metal sinks just enough to draw blood.
The castle stops spinning only for a fraction of a second, but it's enough.
I stumble. Almost trip. Almost — but not quite.
My hands clench. Breath hitches. Shock, adrenaline, disbelief.
The first mistake I make is thinking I can recover calmly. The second is underestimating him.
I reach for my mechanical satchels without a pause, pulling them free. My bombs. Crushed stinging nettles, compacted in thin steel.
A toss. Quick. Precise. Perfect.
The projectile arcs through sunlight and shadow, and lands just where it should.
He drops. Screams — not loud, but low and ragged. Pain and frustration rippling through him as the nettle-blood mixture erupts across his robes. He clutches his side, grimacing, twisting on the floor like a marionette with snapped strings.
Guards rush forward. Instinctive, trained, disciplined.
Mistake.
I pivot, springing to the edge of the railing, sliding behind pillars, leaping over stairwell edges. They can't touch me. Not fast enough. Not coordinated enough.
"Too slow," I whisper, almost delighted, even with the blade's bite burning through my ribs.
The floor shakes with movement. Shouts. Commands. The chaos I thrive in expands instantly — controlled, precise, engineered.
And yet, he isn't done. Not by a long shot.
From the corner of my eye, I see him — Nux, flat on the stone, writhing, but still calculating. Still thinking.
And that realization, more than the pain, more than the adrenaline, makes my grin widen:
He underestimated me.
He's smart. He's dangerous. But he still doesn't know how far I can go.
And neither does anyone else in this hall.
Nux lifted his head, and just like that, his calm, measured composure returned. My stomach twisted. That look—patient, calculated, dangerous—meant trouble. My eyes darted for an escape, but two of his guards were already on me, yanking my arms behind my back.
"Ugh! Seriously? You couldn't let me go for, like… five seconds?" I snapped, struggling against their grip.
Nux's faint smile made my stomach drop. "Execute her," he said.
My jaw tightened. Great. Just great.
Then the chaos hit.
A shadow dropped from above with a metallic crash, and the guards stumbled. The Debt Collector. My eyes narrowed—part relief, part irritation.
He moved like a storm, taking down one guard, shoving the other back. "Oh, look at this. What a mess you've gotten yourself into," he said, smirking at Nux.
I yanked my wrist free before he could even react. "I didn't need you! Really, I could've—ugh—handled this on my own," I muttered, trying to sound annoyed but failing spectacularly at hiding the relief heating my chest.
He raised an eyebrow, sarcasm dripping from every word. "Uh-huh. Totally. You've got this all under control. I just happened to drop by for fun."
"Yeah, well, your 'fun' almost got me killed!" I shot back, letting my teeth grit on the words, though my heart was hammering with gratitude. "Not that I needed saving or anything!"
He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Classic Springtrap. Always charming, always cooperative. Lomor really raised you well, huh?"
I scowled, crossing my arms. "Don't get smug. I'm fine. Could've handled it myself—probably better than you, in fact."
He gave me a sharp, sarcastic nod. "Oh, sure. I'm trembling. So, where are the others? Liora and Roald? I assume you didn't bring them along for moral support?"
I rolled my eyes, trying to sound casual. "They're fine. Thanks for asking, Captain Obvious. We—uh—we came here to rescue Lomor, in case that wasn't clear."
"Ah, of course. Rescue missions. How original," he said, voice low and heavy with sarcasm. "And you? Still alive, miraculously?"
"I'm alive," I snapped, a little louder than intended, "not that I needed anyone rescuing me. Really. You're just… extra."
He sighed, exasperated, shaking his head. "Right. Extra. That's me. Let's move before I start enjoying your company too much."
I let him pull me toward the shadows, pretending to glare, but inside I was practically bouncing with relief. Yeah, yeah, I'd hate to admit it—but I was grateful. More than grateful. I might even… be glad he was here.
Just don't tell him that.