The sun was sinking, throwing orange streaks across the dusty street.
I stepped outside my shop and saw them again—
the hungry ones.
Eyes hollow, heads lowered, staring at every food shelf as if it were heaven behind glass.
Pathetic…
Predictable…
Perfect.
I cleared my throat softly.
Dozens of eyes lifted.
"Whoever wants food," I said, "I have an offer."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd—hope mixed with suspicion.
"I know you don't have enough money," I continued. "I can help you get food… if you give me information."
A man raised a trembling hand.
"What type of information?"
"Anything useful," I said.
"Who's forming teams, how many people they have, who holds the most coins… anything that affects survival."
Another person asked, voice cracking,
"Will you really give us food if we tell you?"
I softened my expression—not warmth, just strategy.
"Of course. I want everyone to survive."
That line hit them hard.
People always want to believe someone cares.
A young man stepped forward suddenly.
"There's a person in the North," he said quickly, as if afraid he'd lose the opportunity.
"He threatens others to transfer coins to him. He's forming a group."
Bingo.
I nodded. "Good. Come inside, I'll buy your food."
He followed me like a lost puppy.
I pulled a basic pack from the shelf and handed it to him.
People thought I purchased that.
His eyes widened—shiny, wet.
He looked at me like…
I was an angel.
Ridiculous.
"Thank you so much," he breathed. "Tomorrow I'll bring more—better information!"
"Sure," I said. "I'd be happy to give you food again."
One became two.
Two became five.
Five became almost thirty.
They poured out information like water, and I fed them one by one.
The way they looked at me shifted—from fear to admiration… then to dependence.
Good.
Trust is useful.
Dependence is power.
By dusk, the crowd dispersed with full stomachs and glowing hope.
I walked back home, closed the door, and sat at the table.
I spread the papers out and began categorizing intel by region, threat level, groups, coin distribution—
my pen scratching steadily.
I was writing down the last piece of information I collected when the door clicked open.
Kyle stepped in.
I didn't glance up immediately—he usually came in quietly like this, tired from scouting.
But something… pricked at the edge of my awareness.
A shift.
A ripple.
When I finally looked at him, he was standing there, dust on his clothes, breathing steady—completely normal.
"You're here," he said, and then added softly, almost under his breath, "my queen."
I blinked.
"…What?"
He gave a small smile—almost shy, almost teasing. Something in between.
"Nothing. Just… you looked like you were commanding an army in there. And you know, it fits you."
Okay… weird, but not unbelievable.
Kyle had said stranger things accidentally when he was tired.
Still, it made something press against my ribs.
His voice had the same pitch.
His face the same expression.
But the confidence—that was new.
Not loud confidence, just a thread of something steadier, firmer.
He walked over, careful steps just like usual… but his eyes lingered on me half a second longer than they normally would.
I wrote it off.
Maybe he saw me working and thought I was cool.
Fine. Whatever.
"How was scouting?" I asked, pretending everything was normal.
"Good," he said. "People are moving around more. Some are forming groups."
His answer was smooth. A little too smooth.
Kyle usually paused, thinking, fumbling for the right words.
This time he didn't fumble at all.
But again—nothing I could point at.
Not enough to say, Kyle wouldn't say that.
"I brought you information too," he added, placing a small note on the table.
I stared at him for a second.
Kyle rarely wrote anything down—he always came home and gave me chaotic, half-remembered verbal reports.
But maybe he changed his method?
Maybe he got serious?
Maybe scouting stressed him?
People change under pressure.
Right.
I picked up the note, pretending not to watch him watching me.
He didn't move toward me like usual.
Didn't flop onto the chair.
Didn't sigh dramatically about being tired.
He stood a bit straighter.
Just a little.
Subtle.
Barely noticeable.
But enough for my brain to whisper:
Different.
I pushed the thought away.
"You seem… energetic today," I said lightly.
He shrugged, normal enough. "Maybe scouting woke me up."
Reasonable answer.
Acceptable.
And yet his eyes held something deeper. Something aware. Something… steady.
Not in a threatening way.
Just… focused.
On me.
The room felt too quiet.
I closed my notebook. "Alright. Sit. Tell me everything from the beginning."
He smiled faintly—soft, unreadable.
"Of course."
He sat.
Too neatly.
Too calmly.
Too… Kyle-but-not.
But none of it was wrong enough to confront.
None of it loud enough to accuse.
Kyle talked.
But something about the way he talked made me feel like I was being… studied.
Not in a creepy way.
Not in a flirtatious way.
Just… like he was memorizing me as much as reporting.
He gave information in clean, organized pieces—almost too organized.
"North area has a cluster forming. The leader acts aggressively but his people obey. South has scattered individuals, no structure yet. The ones in the East are watching you closely."
I narrowed my eyes.
That last line—Kyle usually hesitated before saying anything about me, always worried he'd overstep.
Not today.
"You sound more… observant than usual," I said, keeping my tone light.
He chuckled. "Is that a compliment?"
It wasn't.
But I didn't correct him.
"I'm just saying," I shrugged, "you're acting like you had a good night's sleep."
"Oh, I did," he said easily. "Best sleep in a long time."
Kyle never slept well when scouting.
He always complained about it.
Always.
My fingers drummed silently against my notebook.
He noticed—his eyes flicked to my hand.
Just for a second.
Then he looked away, smooth, natural… almost too natural.
"Anyway," he continued, "you're making progress faster than anyone else. People are already depending on you."
"That's the plan," I said.
He smiled again—gentle, but there was something sharper under it, like the corner of a blade hidden under silk.
"You like being in control," he said softly.
It wasn't an accusation.
It wasn't a tease.
It was an observation—clean, sharp, correct.
Kyle normally phrased things with soft edges.
This one had edges that fit too perfectly.
I tilted my head. "Is that a problem?"
"Not at all."
His gaze held mine, unwavering.
"I think it suits you."
My heartbeat slowed—not in fear; in calculation.
This is not threatening.
This is not dangerous.
This is just… different.
Something inside him changed, but it wasn't hostile.
Just… awake.
"Why are you staring at me like that?" I asked.
"I'm trying to understand you better."
My breath paused.
Kyle never said things like that aloud.
He would die of embarrassment first.
"Why?" I asked.
"So I can support you properly."
My fingers froze.
Kyle had never, not once, been this articulate about his loyalty.
He always showed it indirectly—following me, trusting me, helping me, but never describing it.
I leaned back slightly.
"Are you sure everything's fine?" I asked.
"Perfect," he said smoothly.
Then, with a soft smile:
"You should trust me more."
Trust?
Kyle rarely used the word.
He earned it, didn't request it.
"It's not about trust," I said cautiously. "I just want to know if something happened out there."
He looked at me… and for a moment
"No," he said calmly. "Nothing happened."
Lie?
Not sure.
He didn't flinch.
His expression didn't shift.
Too controlled.
My instincts whispered again, but there was nothing to grab.
Nothing to accuse.
Just—
Kyle, but polished.
Kyle, but steadier.
Kyle, but… carrying something he didn't have before.
"Alright," I finally said. "Thanks for the report."
He stepped closer—just one step. Close enough that I could see the faint shine in his eyes.
"And Alice?"
"…Yes?"
"I'm always on your side."
A chill—not of fear, of awareness—ran down my spine.
Too sincere.
Too composed.
Too absolute.
But I didn't look away.
"Good," I whispered. "Stay that way."
He smiled.
Not Kyle's usual shy smile.
This one was small, confident… almost reverent.
"As you command."