Aiden didn’t sleep that night.

The camp was quiet, but his mind wasn’t.

Celestia’s voice echoed again and again, sharp as a blade.

“Shinomi is not a man who loves. He is a man who remembers.”

Aiden stared up at the dark sky, jaw tight.

He knew that already.

Shinomi wasn’t kind. He wasn’t gentle. He wasn’t someone who could be changed with a few words or blind loyalty. In the original story, he had destroyed entire bloodlines for less than what Aiden’s family had done.

And yet—

Aiden exhaled slowly.

He had still chosen to stay.

“Idiot,” he muttered to himself.

Not because Shinomi was misunderstood.

But because Aiden still thought… something could shift.

Even if it was small.

Even if it cost him everything.

---

Morning came cold and unforgiving.

Aiden worked in silence, sharpening blades with precise, controlled movements. The scrape of metal against stone echoed faintly in the still air.

This—this was safe.

Work didn’t question him. Steel didn’t look at him like it knew his past.

Unlike her.

Celestia.

Aiden’s grip tightened slightly.

She hadn’t exposed him.

Which meant she was waiting.

Watching.

That made her far more dangerous.

---

“Sloppy.”

The voice cut through his thoughts.

Aiden stilled immediately and stood.

“My lord.”

Shinomi stood a few steps away, gaze cold and assessing—not lingering, not curious. Just measuring.

Like Aiden was a tool.

Or a mistake waiting to happen.

“You’ve dulled the edge,” Shinomi said, picking up one of the blades Aiden had finished. “Were you half-asleep?”

“No.”

“Then distracted.”

Aiden said nothing.

Shinomi’s eyes flicked to him, sharp.

“Distraction gets soldiers killed,” he said flatly. “Or worse—makes them liabilities.”

The word hung in the air.

Aiden met his gaze.

“I won’t make mistakes.”

A faint pause.

Then Shinomi stepped closer, just enough to invade space—not enough to touch.

“You already are,” he said quietly.

Aiden’s chest tightened, but he didn’t move.

Didn’t look away.

Shinomi studied him for a moment longer, then tossed the blade back onto the table.

“Fix it,” he ordered, turning away.

No hesitation.

No second glance.

Like the conversation meant nothing.

Aiden swallowed hard and sat back down.

His hands were steady.

But his thoughts weren’t.

---

The day dragged.

Orders were given. Tasks completed. Nothing unusual.

Except—

Shinomi never looked at him again.

Not once.

Not even by accident.

Aiden noticed.

He hated that he noticed.

---

By evening, the camp buzzed faintly with low conversation and tired movement. Aiden sat off to the side, barely touching his food.

“You look like you swallowed poison.”

Aiden glanced up.

An older soldier dropped beside him, casual but observant.

“I’m fine.”

“Sure,” the man said dryly. “Everyone’s ‘fine’ when the queen shows up and starts pulling strings.”

Aiden’s gaze shifted toward the command tent.

Celestia was inside.

With Shinomi.

Again.

“She’s dangerous,” the soldier added. “But not the way you think.”

Aiden frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“She doesn’t attack directly,” the man said. “She rearranges things. People. Loyalties.” He glanced at Aiden. “And people like you? You’re the easiest pieces to move.”

Aiden’s expression hardened.

“I’m not a piece.”

The soldier gave a short laugh. “Then stop sitting like one.”

Aiden didn’t respond.

But the words stayed.

---

Later that night, Aiden couldn’t stay still.

He walked past the edge of the camp, the noise fading behind him until there was nothing but wind and darkness.

He stopped, staring at the sky.

“You’re wandering.”

Aiden stiffened.

He didn’t turn immediately.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Shinomi’s voice came again—calm, distant, unreadable.

Aiden finally looked back.

Shinomi stood several steps away, arms loosely at his sides, posture relaxed—but his presence was anything but.

“I could ask you the same,” Aiden said.

“I didn’t ask for conversation.”

Blunt.

Cold.

Aiden exhaled quietly. “Then why follow me?”

A pause.

Then—

“I didn’t.”

The lie was effortless.

Aiden almost smiled.

Almost.

Silence stretched between them.

Then Shinomi spoke again.

“The queen spoke to you.”

Not a question.

“Yes.”

“What did she say?”

Aiden hesitated briefly.

“She told me to leave.”

Shinomi’s expression didn’t change.

“Then you should.”

The words hit harder than expected.

Aiden’s brows drew together slightly. “You want me to go?”

“I want inefficiencies removed,” Shinomi replied. “If you’re becoming one, then yes.”

Aiden felt something twist in his chest—but he forced it down.

“I’m not leaving.”

That got a reaction.

Small.

But real.

Shinomi’s gaze sharpened.

“You don’t get to decide that.”

“I do,” Aiden said quietly. “Until you order me otherwise.”

A dangerous silence followed.

Then Shinomi stepped closer.

Slow. Measured.

Predatory.

“You speak like you have value here,” he said, voice low. “Do you?”

Aiden held his ground.

“I do what you ask. I don’t betray you. I don’t run.”

“That’s the bare minimum,” Shinomi replied. “Not value.”

Aiden’s hands clenched slightly.

“Then give me something worth proving.”

The moment the words left his mouth—

He knew he’d crossed a line.

The air turned sharp.

Shinomi stopped right in front of him now.

Too close.

“You’re in no position to make demands,” he said quietly.

“I’m not,” Aiden admitted. “But I’m still here.”

A pause.

Then, colder—

“Do you know why I haven’t killed you yet?”

Aiden’s breath hitched—but he didn’t step back.

“Because I haven’t given you a reason to.”

A faint, humorless smile touched Shinomi’s lips.

“No,” he said. “Because you’re useful.”

The words were deliberate.

Cutting.

“Nothing more.”

Aiden swallowed.

That should’ve been enough.

Should’ve been a warning.

A boundary.

But instead—

“Then I’ll stay useful,” Aiden said.

Shinomi’s eyes darkened slightly.

“Careful,” he murmured. “Usefulness expires.”

“Then I’ll keep proving it.”

Silence.

Heavy.

Tense.

Then Shinomi stepped back.

Just like that.

Distance restored.

“You’re persistent,” he said.

Not praise.

Not approval.

Just observation.

Aiden didn’t respond.

Shinomi turned slightly, gaze drifting back toward the camp.

“The queen is right about one thing,” he said.

Aiden tensed.

“You don’t belong here.”

Aiden’s jaw tightened. “Maybe not.”

Shinomi glanced at him once—sharp, unreadable.

“But that won’t save you.”

Then he walked away.

No hesitation.

No looking back.

Aiden stood there alone, the night pressing in around him.

His chest felt tight.

Not from fear.

But from something worse.

Understanding.

Shinomi hadn’t softened.

Hadn’t changed.

Hadn’t even wavered.

To him—

Aiden was still nothing more than something temporary.

Replaceable.

Disposable.

Aiden looked up at the sky again.

The stars felt colder now.

But this time—

He didn’t look away.

“Fine,” he whispered.

If Shinomi was a man who remembered—

Then Aiden would carve himself into those memories.

Not with kindness.

Not with hope.

But with persistence.

Even if it meant standing in the line of fire—

Until he became something Shinomi couldn’t ignore.

Or couldn’t afford to lose.