Peter kept glancing sideways as he walked, like he was trying to read Kael’s mood off a profile that refused to give him anything. His shoulders were stiff, his stride cautious, and he kept a hand close to his belt as if rembering he had a weapon was the sa thing as being ready to use it.
The city around them was nothing but dead angles and broken windows, too many places for sothing to watch.
Too many places for a person to hide and decide now was the mont to be brave. The tension couldn’t be described, but it could definitely be felt.
"Where are we going?" Peter asked as he tried to break the tension.
His voice ca out a little too quickly, like he’d been chewing on the question for a while and finally couldn’t stand the silence anymore.
Since Kael had been rather silent for the past half an hour since they split up, he felt the need to at least break the ice or make small talk.
Kael stood still and waited for Peter to catch up.
He didn’t answer right away. Just stopped mid-step, letting the distance stretch. Letting Peter realize he’d drifted behind. Letting him feel that small, stupid vulnerability of being the one who had to close the gap.
He then turned to him and grabbed him by the neck, "When did we ever beco friends?" Kael asked.
It wasn’t theatrical. It wasn’t a bluff. Kael’s hand shot out, fingers hooking under Peter’s jawline with a grip that didn’t need to squeeze hard to make the point. The gauntlet wasn’t even involved, just bare strength, just control, just the raw statent of I can end you whenever I want.
Peter was both shocked and surprised, the force behind Kael’s grip was far too frightening. Especially since it was rely his left hand.
His feet scraped backward on the gritty ground, boots skidding on pebbles and dust, and his hands flew up on instinct, not to strike, but to pry, to plead, to survive. His eyes widened so fast it looked like the thought hadn’t even reached his brain yet.
Kael managed to even raise Peter from the ground a few inches with nothing but a slightly strained expression.
Peter’s toes dragged, just barely, the way they did when a child got lifted too suddenly. His breath hitched, turning into a thin, ugly rasp, and his throat flexed uselessly against Kael’s palm.
"You tried to have drink poison, and now you’re acting all chummy. Do you really want to die that badly? I can easily make it happen."
Kael’s voice stayed level, almost bored. That was what made it worse: no heat, no rage. Just a statent of capability. Peter felt the ssage under the words: I don’t need to shout to kill you.
Peter tapped Kael on the arm in a gesture of surrender.
Fast. Desperate. Two frantic slaps, more a request than a command. His fingers were already trembling, and his face was starting to color wrong, too red, then too purple.
Peter landed awkwardly, knees cracking against the ground. He coughed once, harsh and wet, then pulled air in like he’d been drowning. His hand went to his throat, massaging the spot where Kael’s grip had pinned him. His eyes stayed down for a second, like looking up would invite the hand back.
"Just cause you were asked to follow doesn’t an I have to tell you what I’m doing. So better follow and shut up for now." Kael said and moved up ahead.
He didn’t even look back to see if Peter got up. He didn’t need to. He knew Peter would follow; fear was a stronger leash than loyalty.
He needed to showcase who’s the boss,’ the real boss of this scenario.
Not the Sun Clan boss with his little speeches. Not the clan. Not the contract. Out here, in the rubble, strength wrote the rules in permanent ink.
"I wasn’t the one who put poison in the water..." Peter said.
The sentence ca from behind Kael, strained and hoarse. It wasn’t confidence. It was survival, Peter trying to wedge a sliver of fairness into a conversation that had none.
"But you were still the one who handed it to , knowing it wasn’t drinkable. That doesn’t excuse you, even if he was your boss, at least if you couldn’t go against his orders, you could have at least made it so I knew it wasn’t sothing I should drink."
Kael didn’t slow down, but his tone sharpened, the words clipped. He pictured that bottle again, the system text, the casual betrayal that could’ve ended him if he’d been thirsty enough to trust.
"I’d have died."
Peter said it like it was the end of the argunt. Like his life was supposed to outweigh Kael’s without question.
"And what’s stopping from killing you right now? You think the boss would avenge you? Or can he avenge you?" The last question was implied.
Kael finally glanced back, just a tilt of the head, just enough to let Peter see his expression. Not anger. Calculation. The implied part landed like a cold coin on Peter’s tongue: Even if he wanted to... can he?
To Peter, especially, it was a worriso question; after all, Kael raised Peter from the ground with one hand, not even the Boss could do that now.
So why was Kael acting all sheepishly in front of the boss earlier?
Peter’s gaze flicked away, but the thought stuck. It dug in. If Kael was that strong, why play nice? Why bend? Why not snap the whole clan’s spine and wear the boss’s position like a coat?
The question planted itself deep in Peter’s mind. Kael had a purpose in not challenging the boss’s authority; with that much strength, he could easily beco the leader of the Sun Clan. But he still decided otherwise.
"Keep racking that brain of yours, you’ll never understand if I don’t tell you," Kael turned to the north.
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