Marry or Kill

12

M I N A

Noah slumps into the chair positioned in the corner of the dimly lit room, where the light barely reaches him. From across the room, I can discern his disinterested expression and the drowsiness that lingers in his eyes. Folded into the shadows, he sits, an observer in the half-light, quietly studying me.

An audible sigh escapes him as he drops his hands onto his lap, his gaze wandering around the barely illuminated space. "I should be in the middle of training, but here I am dealing with this instead," he mutters, his words carrying a tinge of frustration as if it's my damned fault.

I scoff, sending him a glare from the monitor. "I wasn't aware that you lacked the capability to stand up and leave."

"Tempting as it may be, I'm not allowed to," he replies, his tone laced with a hint of restraint.

"Well, apologies for being a bother. It's not like I like the idea of sitting here either," I retort, my fingers busy logging in on the monitor. The clacks on the keyboard between us seem to heighten the tension, creating an fiery atmosphere of crackling energy.

Noah sighs, his features etched with visible annoyance. "I hate skipping training days. Bothering you isn't my intention."

Suppressing a subtle eye roll, I respond with a teasing edge, "Oh, the poor baby might lose his precious muscles."

"You're starting to remind me of Sol."

Suddenly, a chill grips the atmosphere with an iron fist as her name escapes his lips. My fingers, poised over the keyboard, freeze in a suspended dance. I bite down on my lip, acutely aware of the weight her name carries on my tongue—I find myself unable to say it.

I release a breath I didn't realise I was holding as I finally ask, "Why did she do it?"

Noah's voice falters, shrinking in the sombre realisation. "For her family, unfairly imprisoned, they exiled her from The North as a punishment. She was promised a reunion and the opportunity to come back here." Time, once fluid, now feels clenched in an iron fist. "I'm sorry—"

"No need to apologise," I respond measuredly, attempting to conceal the lump forming in my throat. "I guess I'm just relieved it wasn't some flimsy excuse—that she was forced to make a choice between her family and friends."

"You're allowed to be upset, you know," Noah replies, his voice carrying warmth, a comforting presence as I sense his gaze on my back.

I force down the acrid taste rising in my throat. "Am I being selfish? Is it wrong of me to feel this way when she had no other choice—" I halt abruptly, the discomfort weaving through my body.

Noah, attuned to the shift in atmosphere, lingers close.

"Listen, we need to cut short this therapy session. I have to report something, and all I can say is that we talked about Sol." I sense the roll of his eyes behind my back. "God knows her ego doesn't need any more inflation."

I share a small laugh with him.

As I start scanning the system, the West's firewalls prove to be formidable—really formidable. Examining their attempts on our system, I can't shake off this unsettling feeling.

Out of curiosity, I check our own cameras, rewinding to the moment they tried to breach. The footage takes me back to when I was dragged into the bedroom after getting shot. My arms are bound behind me, and I appear completely unconscious. Blood seeps through the bandage, staining the floor.

I grimace, realising this must have happened not long after I lost consciousness.

With a weary sigh, Noah's eyes flutter open, lifting his head from the brink of near-slumber against the wall. A sharp inhale punctuates the fatigue etched across his face as he mutters, "Elias is already onto the camera hacking."