The infirmary smelled faintly of iron and antiseptic, the scent sharp enough to make the air itself seem clinical. Bandages were stacked neatly on shelves, but the rows of beds were scattered with the quiet chaos of hurried recovery—some still marked with scorched fabric, others smeared with soot. Liam, Rylan, and Esther lay on adjacent cots, muscles tense even as the healers' salves soothed burns and abrasions. Their breathing was heavy, not with pain, but with the residue of adrenaline and heat.
The door swung open, cutting through the rhythm of quiet. Sirius entered, leather gloves soft against the wooden floor, eyes cold and calculating.
"Mission report," he said. The words were clipped. Not a request. A demand.
All three froze, reflexively. Esther's jaw tightened. Liam's hand flexed around the edge of the cot. Rylan inhaled slowly, as if trying to draw courage from the sterile air.
"You did not submit your report before arriving here," Sirius continued, pacing slowly. "Protocol exists for a reason. Discipline. Accountability. This is not optional."
Silence stretched, taut. Esther wanted to speak—wanted to argue—but she did not. The cold in the room was sharper than the burn from District Twelve.
"I am changing your sleeping arrangements," Sirius said abruptly, stopping near the center. "You will live together as a team. Effective immediately."
The words landed like a hammer. Liam exchanged a glance with Rylan. Esther's eyes narrowed.
Before anyone could respond, he turned and left. No explanation. No lingering warmth.
The corridor to the new sleeping quarters was dim, the amber lights faint, flickering against the stone walls. When they arrived, they hesitated at the doorway. The room was larger than they expected, four-poster beds lined neatly, each with a frame beside it holding a weapon.
And then they saw him.
A figure sat cross-legged on one of the beds. Shadowed by the muted light, daggers rested in a bronze-hand frame beside the bed. The air around him was calm but deliberate, as if the room itself acknowledged his presence.
Leximus.
Shock rippled through the trio.
Rylan's mouth went dry. He could not formulate words. His mind ran in loops of disbelief.
Liam's chest tightened. Excitement, fear, fascination—it all merged in a single, unrelenting pulse.
Esther's hands curled into fists. Her eyes blazed with pure anger, the air around her starting to hum. Gusts of wind swept across the floor, small but insistent, catching the edges of the curtains and tangling the loose threads.
Leximus finally stood, daggers at his side. His expression neutral, yet aware. "I was told this was my room," he said softly. "And that I would be sharing it with my assigned teammates."
The words hung in the air like suspended smoke.
Esther's fury broke first. She strode forward, elemental force building in the swirl of wind around her. "Assigned teammates?" she spat. "You cannot control your power. You think you are special because Sirius and Calvin are giving you… what? Privileges? This isn't about you. This isn't about what you deserve. This team—this whole organization—is a collection of people using each other as tools for their own survival and goals. You don't get a spot here."
Liam raised a hand, but it fell back limply. He did not intervene. Rylan took a cautious step between them, steadying the air as much as he could.
"Esther…" he began, voice low. "Calm down."
Her winds snapped around him, tugging at the hem of his tunic. He kept his stance firm, the muscles in his jaw taut. "Listen," he said, "they didn't execute him because of what he is, not who he is. They're studying his Element. He's… unpredictable. A wild card. That is why he's alive."
The words seemed to sink, dulling the sharp edge of her anger slightly. Her gusts of wind softened, curling around her as if in reluctant obedience. Yet resentment lingered in her eyes.
Leximus studied her, his own jaw tight. He could feel her judgment, the sting of her contempt. Prideful, arrogant. High-born. Her tone carried the weight of a hierarchy he despised, and it ignited something cold in him—a quiet, simmering hatred for what she represented.
The room was heavy with tension. Silence fell like a thick curtain.
Before anyone could speak again, a girl entered, alert and purposeful. "Leximus," she said, voice clipped. "Sirius requests your presence in his office."
Leximus inclined his head, sighing softly. Without another word, he left.
The trio remained. Esther's fists clenched. "He's going to be a complete hindrance," she muttered, voice tight with anger, shaking as her Element flared, whipping small currents of air around the room.
Rylan stepped close, hands raised slightly, grounding the turbulence. "He's alive for a reason," he said firmly. "And that reason has nothing to do with him personally. He's a study. A tool. You do not tell him this. If he knows the truth, he will surge, destroy everything around him. This is why Sirius kept him alive. This is why the organization keeps wild cards—they are valuable assets, not friends."
Esther exhaled slowly, tension in her shoulders easing, though resentment did not fade. Liam simply looked on, absorbing, calculating.
Leximus walked the long corridor to Sirius' office. Each step measured, quiet, but his mind churned. Why had he been placed on a team with someone like Esther? Her manner, her posture, her voice—it was the same as the aristocrats he despised, the kind of people who existed above others, untouchable and privileged. The thought tightened his jaw. Hatred sharpened in him like a blade.
He reached the door. Voices leaked out. Calvin's, controlled and deliberate. Sirius', insistent, authoritative.
"He is not ready,he might die," Calvin said, firm, unwavering.
"Experience accelerates growth," Sirius replied, voice cold but resolute. "Letting him face reality head-on is exactly what he needs. Exponential growth."
Leximus paused. He knocked. Silence followed. The voices ceased.
"Enter," Sirius called. Calvin left quietly, a subtle glance toward Leximus. Words unspoken: If you die, it will be on me.
"Yes," Sirius said, without a flicker of hesitation.
Leximus stepped inside. Sirius gestured toward the uniform laid neatly on a nearby table. "Wear it," he instructed. "Then meet me outside. You will escort a merchant. Observe from a distance. Keep him safe. Underground elements may attempt interference. This was meant to be a team mission, but your team is injured. You will proceed alone."
Leximus nodded. The lie about the team stung faintly, but he pushed it aside. Growth. Experience. He would face it, endure it, survive it.
As he left the office, A single thought lingered, haunting: IfI truly die… The weight was real. But so was the opportunity.
The uniform fit snugly, familiar yet alien. Daggers strapped at his hips, shadow lingering at his heels, he moved through the facility with quiet precision. His path took him past the sleeping quarters—the trio still within, simmering with their own grudges and unease.
The city beyond awaited. Night air, heavy and thick with anticipation, carried with it the faint stench of industry and danger. Somewhere along the winding streets, the merchant waited—naïve, valuable, unaware of the underground currents that sought his destruction.
Leximus' steps were measured. Shadows clung to him like second skin, responsive, patient. Each echo of his boots was deliberate. He had been handed a crucible, and he would walk it. Alone.
And somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, a cold understanding took hold: the world had already decided he was expendable. Yet even as he embraced the risk, he felt the faint stirrings of power—quiet, obedient, waiting for the moment to define him, not destroy him.
Tonight, he would learn whether shadows alone could guard him.