Night had deepened by the time he reached the healer's district.
The streets were quieter here. Lanterns burned lower, their flames swaying lazily in glass cages, casting long amber shadows across pale stone walls. The scent of crushed mint and dried bark lingered faintly in the air—remnants of herbs burned earlier for purification.
Gavrilo Russell walked with unhurried steps.
Black pants.
Dark fitted jacket.
Long hair—white threaded through black—resting over his shoulders like a streak of winter caught in shadow.
A mask covered the lower half of his face, though the streets were nearly empty. It was habit now. Distance was safer than recognition.
He paused across from the healer's clinic.
Green eyes studied the small building in silence.
Inside—
Reina rested.
He waited until the lantern in the main hall dimmed and only a single light remained burning in the private room.
Then he moved.
Softly.
Efficiently.
No sound announced his entry. The healer had been paid well; she would not question occasional visits from the one who paid in gold.
He passed through the corridor like a quiet draft of cold air.
When he reached her room, he stopped at the doorway.
She was asleep.
The moonlight slipped through a narrow window and pooled gently across the wooden floor. It traced pale silver along her hair where it fanned softly over the pillow.
The bandage around her neck stood out against her skin—white cloth wrapped carefully where the poison had cut close to life.
Her breathing was steady.
Shallow—but stable.
He stepped inside.
The room was simple. A wooden chair near the bed. A small table to the side holding folded cloth, water bowl, medicinal paste.
He placed a small bundle of fruit he had brought onto the table.
Fresh.
Clean.
Red and gold skins catching faint light.
An unnecessary gesture perhaps.
But necessary to him.
He stood beside her bed.
Did not sit.
Did not touch her.
Gavrilo Russell would not linger.
Kel wanted to.
His gaze fell to the bandage again.
A faint tightness formed behind his ribs.
Slow.
He had been slow.
The memory replayed.
The dagger flashing.
The cut landing.
Her blood against morning light.
He should have anticipated the feigned unconsciousness.
He should have ended all five decisively.
He should have never allowed relaxation.
He whispered inwardly.
"I was careless."
Sairen stirred faintly within him.
You acted as human.
"That is the problem."
He lowered his eyes.
Her eyelashes rested softly against pale cheeks. Even in sleep, her expression held quiet strength.
She had trusted him.
Followed him into city shadows.
Walked beside him without hesitation.
And he had let poison reach her throat.
He reached into his inner pocket and withdrew a folded parchment.
Already written.
He unfolded it carefully.
Placed it on the small table beside the fruit.
The ink was simple. Direct.
Rest and do not attempt to leave the bed until fully recovered.I am handling my work.
No signature.
No explanation.
No warmth.
No reassurance.
Because reassurance invited questions.
And questions invited movement.
If she knew he had taken another identity—
If she knew he had entered the Mercenary Alliance—
She would not remain in bed.
She would rise.
Injured or not.
And that—
He would not allow.
Not while she carried poison's residue in her veins.
Not while her aura pathways remained fragile.
He stepped back slightly.
Green eyes—Gavrilo's eyes—softened briefly.
Then hardened again.
Distance was necessary.
He could not associate openly with those who knew him as Kel.
Not now.
Not while he walked among those who had ordered her poisoning.
Not while eyes observed and connections were traced.
Gavrilo Russell could not be seen visiting Reina too frequently.
Kel could not be seen at all.
So he came only when she slept.
Left before she woke.
It was cruel.
But safer.
His gaze drifted once more to the bandage.
White cloth.
A reminder.
Of slowness.
Of indulgence.
Of weakness.
"I guess," he murmured inwardly, voice so quiet even Sairen barely felt it.
"I truly do not deserve happiness."
The words did not tremble.
They were flat.
Measured.
He continued silently.
"I could not even save someone standing beside me."
"How could I relax… when there are countless waiting to kill me?"
His jaw tightened faintly beneath the mask.
"I despise myself for being slow."
"For letting my guard drop."
"For allowing myself to feel… light."
The memory of yesterday—walking freely with Reina through markets, allowing brief carelessness—cut deeper than any blade.
"I do not deserve those moments."
He looked at her again.
"She did not deserve this."
His hands tightened at his sides.
Gavrilo Russell would chase coin.
Gavrilo Russell would manipulate.
Gavrilo Russell would infiltrate.
But Kel—
Kel carried this.
Responsibility.
Failure.
The weight of it pressed heavier than any enemy.
He forced his breathing steady.
Spiral-circles rotated quietly within him.
The incomplete third core flickered faintly—reacting subtly to emotional turbulence.
He stabilized it.
Emotion was liability.
Attachment was vulnerability.
And vulnerability—
Had nearly cost her life.
He stepped closer once more.
Close enough to see faint pulse at her throat beneath the bandage.
Alive.
Because he had reached in time.
Not because he had prevented.
That difference mattered.
He lowered his head slightly.
Not in apology.
In promise.
The Mercenary Alliance would fall.
Not because of anger.
But because it had dared to touch what stood near him.
He straightened.
Adjusted his mask.
His posture shifted again.
Gavrilo Russell returned fully.
Green eyes sharpened.
The softness receded.
He walked toward the door.
Paused briefly without turning back.
He did not want the image of her sleeping weakness to linger too strongly in memory.
He needed clarity.
Not guilt.
But guilt was there regardless.
And perhaps—
He would carry it deliberately.
As reminder.
To never slow again.
He stepped into the corridor.
Lantern light flickered softly as he passed.
Outside, the moon had climbed higher.
Stars scattered cold across black sky.
He walked away without looking back.
Footsteps quiet.
Measured.
Somewhere inside the clinic room, Reina stirred faintly in sleep.
Unaware of the silent visit.
Unaware of the fruit left carefully arranged.
Unaware of the letter's restrained instruction.
And unaware—
Of the man who blamed himself more harshly than any enemy ever could.
Gavrilo Russell disappeared into the night.
Kel remained beneath the surface.
Silent.
Unforgiving.
And colder than before.
Because happiness—
Was luxury.
And luxury—
Had cost blood.
He would not forget that.
Not again.