Chapter 36

"Scared?"

"N-no, sir."

Lieutenant Erabelle Vermilion denied it even as tears tracked down her face. Commander Dezeb Avganis clicked his tongue dismissively and closed the distance to the bed.

Erabelle tensed, her knuckles white as she gripped the sheets. Yet despite the terror, she did not retreat.

"Keep going."

He ran a hand soothingly over her damp nape while his other worked with slow, deliberate precision. "You said you'd do your best, didn't you?" His fingers traced the jagged, uneven terrain of her scarred skin.

"Hngk...!"

A choked gasp escaped her as she writhed under his touch, her pale skin flushing a deep crimson.

Dezeb went still, stroking her hair as if calming a skittish animal. His fingertips brushed a thick ridge of scar tissue along her inner thigh—a permanent remnant from the time she had been deployed as bait, torn open and left behind.

Bracing an arm above her shoulder, he loomed over her.

"Haah... nnh—!"

Erabelle pressed her hands over her face, attempting to swallow her ragged sobs.

"Stop hiding. Let me see you."

Though weeping openly, she obeyed, forcing her trembling arms down with visible effort. A thin trace of saliva glistened at the corner of her mouth, evidence of her utter exhaustion.

Disoriented, yet so yielding. Always obedient. A faint smirk touched his lips as he fished a cigarette from his back pocket. Years of this, and she had never once deviated from an order.

"No answer? Didn't you miss me?"

"I... I missed you, sir."

The predictable response made Dezeb lick his lips. This isn't my fault, he told himself, watching her strain to suppress her shaking. Her skin flared scarlet once more, slick with sweat and radiant under the low light.

God, she is exquisite.

He seized her jaw, pressing featherlight kisses along her lips before pinning her head between his elbows, bringing his full weight down against her. The unlit cigarette remained forgotten between his fingers.

Closer. Deeper.

He did not pull back until her overheated body finally went slack beneath him.

Later, Dezeb crushed the cigarette into a glass ashtray and pulled her flush against his chest.

She would be covered in bruises by morning. A sharp prickle of irritation ran through him. All that effort, yet no sense of relief—only an unquenchable thirst.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing in the scent of salt and sweat. Tomorrow she would slip away again. Rude little thing.

Dawn broke on schedule.

Erabelle wriggled free, trembling like a newborn foal before scrambling to the far edge of the mattress, gasping for air. Her hands fumbled frantically through her backpack.

Predictable.

Dezeb watched through slitted eyes as she plunged a syringe directly into her spine. Following a brief moment of silent agony, she hastily gathered her belongings and left the room.

A flawless, mechanical routine. At precisely 7:10 a.m., the faint groan of water pipes echoed from the bathroom.

By the time the running water stopped, Dezeb had dragged himself out of bed and pulled on a robe. Erabelle stood waiting near the threshold in her crisp uniform, backpack in hand—completely stripped of last night’s disarray.

She caught sight of the ruined sink, but, true to form, pretended not to notice.

"Did you sleep well, Division Commander?" Her tone was professionally bright.

"Like the dead," Dezeb drawled. "Reporting to the office today, Lieutenant?"

"Unless instructed otherwise, sir."

"Hmm. Weren't you already on duty? I am your assignment, after all."

Erabelle’s posture stiffened. She was always drawing lines—even while panting beneath him.

"Is my home really that unbearable?" he asked, tilting his head. "Can't even bring yourself to sit down?"

"Not at all, sir."

The denial came far too quickly.

"I am fairly certain I told you yesterday. I bought this place for us—so make yourself comfortable. Or... is it too small for your liking?"

"No, sir. Not at all."

"If you are truly uncomfortable, I can arrange better accommodations. I could even have the Dogs scan the satellite listings for something more suitable."

"It is perfectly fine here!"

Erabelle blurted the words out loudly, hastily taking a seat. At her sudden compliance, Dezeb let out a low laugh.

"Good. Then make yourself at home."

Dezeb had come to accept the reality of the situation: he wanted her.

Yet wanting her changed nothing. If anything, it rendered the situation far more precarious.

One day, Erabelle might uncover his true identity and learn to hate him. Or he might grow tired of her and discard her himself. Or perhaps—perhaps he would simply send her back out into the field as bait once more.

Just as she was nothing more than a dirty assignment to him... he was no more than that to her.

Nothing had changed.

Nothing would change, and nothing ever had. All that remained was to continue this shared existence—just like this—as they always had.

Erabelle must have drifted off while watching that film featuring her second and third favorite actors. When consciousness slowly returned, her entire body was burning up.

"Ah... ngh..."

Her stomach was pressed flat against the mattress, his hands clamped tightly around her waist, pinning her in place.

"You're awake?"

Her skin felt inflamed. How long had this been going on? Half-asleep and disoriented, she panted, trying to turn her head toward him.

"Don't move. Stay still. You barely have any stamina left—save it."

"...Nn."

"Try to keep quiet, too. I know it's difficult."

Erabelle buried her face into the sheets, her shoulders trembling violently. She couldn't entirely stifle her breath, her shallow gasps slipping past her clenched teeth.

"So obedient."

Something felt distinctly wrong—a subtle, unsettling sensation. The kind of instinct that urged you to look behind you, yet filled you with dread at what you might see.

A cold shudder ran down her spine, sweat clinging to her skin. Before she could process the foreboding, the feeling consumed her.

Erabelle gripped the sheets until her knuckles turned ghostly white.

...Ah!

She held her breath. No matter how many times she endured this, she could never grow accustomed to it.

"Hngh... ah..."

Her lips parted, trembling, as his fingertips lightly grazed the small of her back.

Something was definitely off. That same icy chill raced up her spine once more.

Suddenly, Aries Cider flashed through her mind—specifically how she had looked when suffering through the height of her severe physical decline. Perhaps there had been a reason behind it all.

"You're thinking about another man."

"Ah—n-no...!"

Erabelle shook her head in a panic.

"Who were you thinking about?"

"Nngh... I... no one..."

She clutched the fabric beneath her and buried her face deeper into the pillow.

"Liar."

His voice, laced with a dark, mocking amusement, made her whole body lock up.

"I-I just... thought perhaps you were angry with me..."

"Oh? So you were thinking about me?"

Before she could spiral any deeper into fear or confusion, everything else washed away.

Please— Her body burned as though consumed by fire, making even the act of breathing an agonizing effort.

"Did the surgery go well?"

Erabelle blinked slowly, her mind hazy. "...What?"

"Your waist. Looks like a scar at least ten centimeters long."

He tapped her flank with a finger.

"I mean the day of the regular report. The day you forwarded that outpost file to me. You mentioned you had surgery—seven hours long, wasn't it?"

"Ah..."

"You kept filing reports as if nothing had happened. I began to think I had misread the file."

Erabelle pressed her face back into the sheets and let out a long, defeated sigh.

"...T-the procedure was successful. I really felt fine afterward..."

Then she froze once again.

"Oh? Is that so?"

His movements turned harsher, more demanding.

Her vision blurred into blackness, her consciousness wavering on the edge. Through a veil of tears, she caught the icy glare in his eyes.

Something is wrong... The thought returned, sharper this time. Terror gripped her, and she squeezed her eyes shut, desperately hoping that if she kept them closed, the nightmare would simply pass over her.

"Besides that successful treatment... what else have you been up to?"

"...Huh?"

Weeping, Erabelle tried to make sense of the question.

"I asked—what have you been doing since then?"

"U-uh..."

Without pause, he pressed her with question after question. Erabelle felt as though she were suffocating. She couldn't hold on, yet she couldn't pull away.

Left with no other recourse, she reached for the only plea she had left.

"P-please... spare me..."