The canteen buzzed softly with evening chatter. The clatter of cutlery and murmured voices filled the hall as Elena pushed the last of her meal around her plate. Scarlett sat opposite, nursing a steaming mug between her hands, her thoughts clearly miles away.
Neither had said much since the infirmary.
Elena's leg still ached, though she barely noticed anymore. Her mind kept circling back to Billy — to the image of him lying there, motionless.
"I just wish he'd wake up," Scarlett murmured, breaking the silence. "He saved your life. He should be proud, not hiding from us."
Elena nodded but didn't respond. She wanted to believe that when he woke, he'd grin and make one of his usual jokes — but deep down, she knew something had changed in him.
The doors opened with a soft hiss. Sergeant Smith strode in, clipboard under one arm, looking more worn than usual. He spotted them immediately and made his way over.
"Evening, ladies," he said, resting his hand on the back of a chair. "How's the food treating you?"
"Like army rations usually do," Scarlett replied with a faint smile.
Smith chuckled, then his tone grew more serious. "I've been to see Billy."
Elena's head snapped up. "Is he awake?"
Smith nodded. "Aye. Has been for a while, actually. He's pretending to be asleep."
Scarlett blinked. "What an arsehole... Why would he—?"
"He's… processing things," Smith said carefully, glancing between the two. "Losing an arm like that — it does things to your head. But there's something else. Something's… different about him. Hard to explain."
Elena frowned, her fork smacking against her plate. "Different how?"
Smith hesitated. "When I spoke to him, it was like looking at two people in one body. One quiet… one cold. I think he's angry, maybe scared. He needs his friends right now."
That was all Elena needed to hear. She stood abruptly, pushing her tray aside.
"I'm going to talk to him."
Scarlett followed, worry creasing her brow. "Elena, maybe give him time—"
"I've already given him time," Elena said, her voice firm. "I wouldn't be here if it weren't for him. I'm not letting him rot in that bed."
Smith placed a hand on her shoulder. "Go easy on him, kid. He's not the same as yesterday."
Elena met his gaze, eyes filled with quiet fire. "Neither am I, sir."
Without another word, she turned and headed for the infirmary, Scarlett hurrying to keep up as Smith watched them leave.
He sighed, muttering under his breath, "Let's hope she can reach him in time, before the darkness takes hold."
The infirmary was quieter than before, the low hum of healing machines the only sound. The faint scent of herbs and disinfectant filled the air. Rows of beds lined the room, most empty now, except for one near the far wall.
Billy lay still beneath the white sheets, his shoulder wrapped in clean bandages, the outline of his missing arm stark against the bedding. His breathing was steady — too steady.
Elena walked closer, each step deliberate. Scarlett hovered near the doorway, her fingers twisting nervously in front of her.
"Billy," Elena said softly, standing beside his bed. "We know you're awake."
He didn't move.
Scarlett took a tentative step forward. "The Sergeant told us. You don't have to pretend."
For a few heartbeats, there was silence. Then Billy's good hand clenched the sheet. Slowly, he opened his eyes.
His usual warmth was gone. The blue of his eyes looked colder, distant — like a storm cloud ready to break.
"So," he muttered, voice rough, "the Sergeant can't keep his mouth shut."
Elena crossed her arms. "He's worried. We all are."
Billy scoffed, staring at the ceiling. "Worried? About what — that I'm not cracking jokes anymore? That I lost an arm saving someone who didn't even need my help?"
Elena flinched but stayed composed. "You did need to help me, Billy. I'd be brown bread otherwise."
He turned his head sharply, meeting her gaze. "And what's it worth? I can't fight. I can't train. I'm half a man now, half a friend, half a bloody person!"
Scarlett stepped forward, voice trembling. "That's not true—"
"Don't," Billy snapped. "You don't know what the fuck it feels like. You both still have everything — your strength, your future, your family."
His last word hung heavy in the air.
Elena's expression hardened. "Don't you dare talk to me about family."
Billy blinked, caught off guard.
"My father's dead," she said, her voice shaking but strong. "I found out hours after watching you nearly die. So don't tell me I've got everything. Because I've lost, Billy — just like you. The difference is, I'm still standing."
The silence after that was thick enough to choke on. Scarlett looked between them, eyes wide with worry.
Billy's glare faltered for a moment, then he turned his head away. "Maybe you're stronger than I am, then."
"No," Elena said softly. "I just haven't given up yet."
For a moment, there was something almost human in his expression again — regret, pain, confusion. But it vanished as quickly as it came.
"Just get out," he said quietly, pulling the blanket up. "Both of you. I don't want your pity."
Scarlett hesitated, glancing at Elena, who nodded stiffly.
"Fine, you arsehole," Elena said, stepping back. "But when you're ready to stop feeling sorry for yourself, we'll be training — because we're not done yet."
She turned and walked out, her boots echoing down the hall. Scarlett followed silently, looking back one last time at Billy before the door closed behind them.
Alone again, Billy stared at the ceiling, his good hand trembling. His jaw tightened as he whispered to himself:
"Strength, future, family… I'll find my own way."
The shadows around his bed seemed to flicker, darker for just a moment — then still.
The infirmary lights had dimmed to a faint amber glow, signalling curfew across the compound.
Most of the patients were asleep, but Billy remained wide awake — his thoughts spiralling between guilt, anger, and the echo of Elena's words.
He flexed his remaining hand, staring at the bandaged stump where his arm had once been. Every time he tried to move it, phantom pain crawled through his nerves like fire under his skin.
The door creaked open. Heavy boots echoed softly on the polished floor.
Billy didn't look up. "If that's the Sergeant again, save your pep talk. I'm not in the mood."
A low chuckle filled the room — deeper, colder than Sergeant Smith's voice.
"Oh, I'm not here to inspire you, lad."
Billy turned his head sharply. Standing by the doorway was Major Grant, Max's father. The man's presence seemed to fill the entire room — broad shoulders under a pressed military coat, medals glinting faintly in the low light. His eyes were sharp and calculating, the kind that didn't miss a thing.
"What do you want?" Billy asked, his tone defensive.
Grant stepped closer, his boots clicking with measured precision. "I heard about your... Accident. Brave thing you did. Risking your life for that girl."
"She's my friend," Billy said flatly.
Grant tilted his head. "And what did that friendship get you? A bed, a scar, and a life half-lived?"
Billy glared but didn't answer.
The Major folded his hands behind his back, studying him. "You've got power, boy. Something rare. Stopping time — that's no small gift. Even half the brass here don't understand how valuable that makes you."
Billy frowned. "How do you know about that?"
Grant smirked. "Let's just say I have my ways. — the way the world froze when you moved. You've only scratched the surface of what you can do. Boy!"
Billy turned his gaze back to the ceiling. "Doesn't matter. I'm done fighting."
Grant's smirk deepened. "No, son. You're just fighting for the wrong side."
That made Billy look at him.
Grant took a step closer, his tone lowering to a whisper. "This academy limits you. They talk of ranks and discipline, but they're training you to be obedient, not powerful. You could be more than that. More than them."
Billy's breathing slowed, uncertainty creeping into his eyes.
"I can teach you control," Grant continued. "I can give you purpose again. You'll never be pitied, never be looked down on — and you'll never lose another fight. All I ask in return... Is loyalty."
Billy looked away, silent for a long moment. "And what happens if I say no?"
Grant smiled thinly. "You'll keep lying in that bed while the world moves on without you. That girl you saved? She'll forget you the moment she finds another hero."
Billy's jaw tightened.
He turned and walked toward the door. Before leaving, he glanced over his shoulder.
"Oh, and Billy... Strength isn't about what you've lost. It's about what you're willing to take."
The door shut softly behind him, leaving Billy alone in the dim light.
Billy stared into the darkness, his reflection faint in the window beside his bed — eyes harder now, colder.