Chapter Two
𝖁EIANA'S 𝕭RIEF 𝕽UN-IN

𓃖

𝖂arner had given Veiana a simple instruction: take a walk.

No explanation. No reasoning. Just a command, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Veiana clenched her jaw, a flicker of annoyance flashing across her face, but she nodded all the same. She didn't need to take a walk. She didn't even know why Warner had suddenly decided it was necessary. Perhaps it was the bruises on her knuckles, the ones that had formed after she'd lost track of herself during training, her fists relentlessly hitting the punching bag until she could hardly feel her hands anymore. She couldn't remember when the aggression had shifted from physical to something deeper. But the idea that Warner was worried about something as trivial as her hands seemed absurd.

She doubted that was his reasoning.

Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something else at play-something unsaid, lingering in the space between them, something that made her feel small and insignificant despite the power that coursed through her veins.

She could've ignored the order, refused to go. But there was something in Warner's tone that made defiance feel futile, like there was more to it than just the request. So, despite her frustration, she decided to do as he asked.

Maybe it would clear her head. Maybe it would give her time to think.

She wandered through the long, sterile corridors, the harsh, fluorescent lights casting sharp shadows against the cold, metallic walls. Each step felt heavier than the last, her boots clicking softly against the polished floor, the sound echoing in the stillness of the empty hallways. She passed empty rooms, their doors closed tight, and each one seemed to taunt her with its silence. The air felt thick with something unspoken, as though the walls themselves were holding their breath, waiting for her to figure out what Warner really wanted.

The occasional guard would cross her path, his face expressionless, offering nothing more than a curt nod as she passed. She didn't acknowledge them, and they didn't acknowledge her beyond that brief gesture. It was the kind of interaction that suited her-brief, impersonal, without the weight of expectation. In this place, where the air was always thick with tension, the last thing she wanted was to engage in small talk. Words felt too heavy here, too much like a reminder of everything she'd lost and everything she was trying to suppress.

She wasn't good at talking. It was something she'd learned long ago, when words only ever seemed to betray her or make things worse. Silence, on the other hand, was something she could control. It was a comfort she could wrap herself in, something familiar in the cold, sterile world Warner had created.

As she continued her walk, her thoughts drifted, though she couldn't pinpoint exactly where they were heading. Part of her was angry-angry at the situation, angry at Warner for keeping her at arm's length, angry at herself for never being able to hold onto what mattered. Another part of her was curious, though, uncertain why Warner had ordered her to do this, why he'd insisted. It wasn't like him to make such trivial requests. She couldn't remember the last time he'd asked for something so simple.

It felt... deliberate. Like he was trying to force her into something. But what?

Her mind raced, but she refused to let it spiral. Instead, she focused on her surroundings-the hum of the lights above her, the distant clink of metal echoing from somewhere further down the hall, the chill in the air that never seemed to leave.

The world outside felt far away.

She walked, and with each step, she pushed her thoughts further back, focusing only on the rhythm of her footsteps and the silence that enveloped her. The solitude was both a relief and a burden, and she wasn't sure which one weighed more.

She had always preferred to be alone. But lately, the silence was beginning to feel like a cage.

As if fate had a personal vendetta against her, Veiana turned the corner and collided straight into someone.

The impact was jarring. They both stumbled backward, their bodies jerking in different directions like two magnets repelling each other. Veiana's heart skipped, a surge of irritation flaring up in her chest. She quickly regained her footing, glaring at the stranger who had crashed into her, the sting of the unexpected encounter still lingering.

The man in front of her was just as startled, his eyes wide, his hands awkwardly lifting to try to steady himself, as though he might fall any second. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, his face flushing a deep red.

"Oh! I'm-I'm sorry, are you alright?" He stammered, his voice rising in pitch, a clear sign of his nervousness.

Veiana felt the heat of her annoyance growing, but she suppressed it.

She brushed herself off in an exaggerated motion, trying to make it clear she wasn't particularly interested in engaging with him. Her eyes flickered over him for a moment-he was tall, maybe even a little taller than Warner. He was stupidly handsome.

She shifted uncomfortably on her feet, preparing to move past him. But as she stepped to the side, she realized the man wasn't moving. He stood there, still frozen, staring at her in a way that made the back of her neck prickle with unease. He grinned, his eyes narrowing almost joyfully. "Hi."

Veiana shifted again, narrowing her eyes at him, a sharpness in her voice creeping in. "What?"

"I said hi?" the man repeated, his voice tinged with confusion as if her reaction-or lack of one-had thrown him off. He blinked rapidly, his gaze darting from her face to the floor and back again, like he was trying to piece together a puzzle she had no interest in solving.

"Why?" Veiana asked flatly, her brows pulling together. The question slipped out before she could stop it, annoyance creeping into her tone. She regretted it immediately. Engaging was a mistake, but she couldn't help herself. Guards didn't talk like this-at least not to her. They gave curt nods, muttered brief acknowledgments, and went about their day. They certainly didn't... grin.

"Well, because I'm a gentleman, obviously." His grin widened, so confident it bordered on obnoxious, and for a brief moment, she felt her resolve waver. She forced her gaze upward, refusing to let her eyes drop to his mouth where that smirk lingered. Instead, she met his eyes-a dark brown so warm and open it was unsettling.

Big mistake.

There was something about the way he looked at her that made her feel caught, like he was seeing too much, even though they'd barely exchanged three sentences. She stiffened. What was his angle?

"And," he added, gesturing dramatically as if this was some grand introduction, "I'm Kenji. Kenji Kishimoto. Pleasure to meet you."

Her lips pressed into a thin line. She stared at him for a beat longer than she meant to, her mind scrambling for an appropriate response, but all she could muster was irritation. His voice was light, teasing, like he didn't take anything seriously.

She hated it. She hated that it felt... disarming. She didn't know how to deal with this-with him.

"I have to go," she said sharply, her tone leaving no room for argument. She sidestepped him, quick and deliberate, brushing past as if the conversation hadn't even happened. Her boots clicked against the cold tile, the echoing rhythm oddly loud in the empty corridor.

"Wait! I didn't catch your name!" Kenji called after her, his voice carrying down the hallway, laced with playful curiosity.

She didn't turn around. She didn't even slow down. If anything, she picked up her pace, her shoulders rigid, her jaw clenched. She knew exactly how this would go if she let it-she'd stammer something nonsensical, he'd grin wider, and she'd leave feeling ten times worse than she already did. So, she didn't look back. Not even a glance.

The further she walked, the more her frustration simmered, threatening to boil over.

What was that even about? Who just... talks like that to someone they don't know? The guards weren't supposed to talk. They weren't supposed to smile or tease or make her feel like her pulse was doing something it shouldn't. She tried to focus on her steps, on the steady rhythm of her boots striking the tile, but the encounter replayed in her head, over and over again.

The way his grin lingered, the way his eyes lit up when he spoke-it was infuriating. Distracting.

And the worst part?

She knew she wouldn't forget. Not anytime soon. Even as she willed herself to, even as she tried to shove the entire exchange into some dark corner of her mind, it stayed. His voice, his smile, the stupid warmth in his eyes-it stuck with her, unwanted and uninvited. The thought made her stomach twist with frustration, and she quickened her pace, determined to walk it off, to burn away the irritation.

This is why I don't talk to people, she thought bitterly, her fists tightening at her sides. All it ever did was make things messy.

𝖂arner, as was becoming routine, gave Veiana her instructions for the evening. This time, she was to meet him at the asylum.

When she arrived, Warner was already seated, perched on a plain folding chair that he occupied with the air of a king on his throne. Two bodyguards flanked him, silent and motionless, their presence a reminder of his constant vigilance. The room was harshly lit, the fresh glow of new bulbs stark and artificial, making everything seem sterile. Veiana couldn't fathom why such brightness was necessary for a place so devoid of purpose.

He didn't greet her, didn't explain. Instead, Warner gestured silently toward the left wall. It wasn't an order spoken aloud, but it didn't need to be. Veiana understood and moved without hesitation, positioning herself where his gesture had directed. She didn't bother to question him.

She never did.

She stood there, the silence stretching uncomfortably. Minutes passed. Or perhaps it was longer-she wasn't sure. The room felt oppressive, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly in the stillness, the sound gnawing at her nerves.

And then, the doors burst open. The sudden noise snapped through the quiet, the sound reverberating off the walls. Veiana's gaze snapped to the figure shoved roughly into the room. A second later, there was a sickening thud as the person crumpled to the floor, a blow to the back from the butt of a gun forcing them down.

Juliette.

Veiana's chest tightened as recognition hit. Juliette squinted against the glaring lights, her hands trembling as she struggled to orient herself. Her eyes, glossy and unfocused, darted around the room, confusion and fear etched into her features.

No one moved. No one spoke. They just stared.

Behind Juliette, a soldier loomed-Weston, a man Veiana recognized all too well. He was stone-faced, unflinching as he pressed his boot firmly against Juliette's back, keeping her pinned. The weight of it allowed her only the barest of movements, just enough for her to shift uncomfortably under the pressure but nowhere near enough to free herself.

The scene made Veiana's blood simmer, but she kept her expression blank. She had long since learned not to show weakness in front of Warner-or anyone else in his presence. Still, a part of her itched to step forward, to intervene. But she stayed where she was, rooted to the spot, waiting. Watching.

"Juliette Ferrars," Warner says smoothly, his voice powerful yet calm, every word carrying an unnerving authority. He stands with perfect poise, his gaze unwavering as it locks onto the girl kneeling on the cold, polished floor. The weight of his attention feels almost suffocating, even to Veiana, who remains pressed against the far wall, silent and watchful. His eyes shift briefly toward the soldier towering over Juliette. "Weston, dim the lights and release her. I want to see her face."

Weston complies without hesitation. He steps back, lifting his boot from Juliette's body with the same detached efficiency he uses to follow any of Warner's orders. He moves to the wall, twisting the dial to soften the harsh glare of the overhead lights. The room dims slightly, but the charged atmosphere remains unchanged. Returning to his position behind Juliette, Weston stands still, no longer pinning her down but keeping his presence known.

For a moment, Juliette doesn't move. But finally, she lifts her head, her gaze sharp and calculated as it locks onto Warner. The hesitation in her movements is subtle, but her eyes betray her caution. She studies him with a suspicion that is almost palpable, as though searching for answers in his composed demeanor.

Warner doesn't react to her scrutiny. If anything, the small, crooked smile that forms on his lips suggests he's enjoying her resistance.

Juliette's eyes flicker away from him, surveying the rest of the room with quick, assessing glances. She notes the guards stationed like statues on either side of Warner, their expressions unreadable and their postures rigid. Her gaze lingers briefly on Veiana, who watches from the side, before Juliette's attention snaps back to Warner.

Her body remains tense, her posture defensive, but there's no mistaking the determination that burns beneath her surface.

"You're so stubborn," Warner says suddenly, breaking the silence with a voice that is equal parts amused and reproachful. He arches a brow as though her defiance is a personal inconvenience to him. "You never want to cooperate. You wouldn't even play nice with your cellmate."

The words hit their mark. Juliette's composure falters just enough for Veiana to notice. A faint flinch runs through her body, her shoulders stiffening under the weight of Warner's observation. The color in her cheeks deepens, spreading across her neck in a telltale flush. Embarrassment, perhaps, or irritation at having her weakness exposed.

Warner catches it all, his sharp gaze trained on her like a predator cornering its prey.

Veiana remains silent, her eyes darting between Warner and Juliette. She can see the cracks forming in the girl's resolve, but she says nothing. Speaking would only draw attention to herself, and she has no desire to be caught in whatever game Warner is playing.

"Well, isn't that interesting," Warner says, his voice dropping into a low, condescending drawl. The amusement in his tone is impossible to miss, as if her reaction has only fueled his curiosity. Then, with a snap of his fingers-a sharp, precise sound that reverberates through the room-he issues his next command. "Kent, would you step forward, please."

The snap hangs in the air for a moment, its sound sharp against the heavy silence that follows.

Veiana doesn't shift from her position by the wall, her expression neutral but her mind racing. She knows Warner well enough to recognize when he's testing someone, and she wonders-briefly-what exactly he hopes to gain from this interaction. Whatever it is, she doubts it will end quietly.

She watches as the soldier, Adam Kent-the one assigned to guard Juliette these past few days-steps forward from the shadows. His movements are deliberate but stiff, his expression betraying nothing.

Adam Kent steps forward from the shadows, his boots echoing faintly in the vast, hollow room. He moves with precision, his strides confident, though his posture is rigid. His face remains a blank canvas, a mask devoid of emotion, but the tension in his jawline betrays a restraint just below the surface. He halts beside Warner, standing at attention with a posture that seems rehearsed to perfection.

With a quick, sharp nod, he greets, "Sir."

Warner doesn't look at him. His gaze remains locked on Juliette, who's still on the floor, her frame visibly tense under the weight of the moment. Yet, despite his lack of acknowledgment, Warner's words are directed to Adam, his voice smooth and casual, like the flick of a blade disguised as a whisper. "It seems you've made quite an impression on her."

Kent doesn't respond right away. His body remains as still as stone, his eyes fixed forward as though he's staring through the room itself. He doesn't flinch, doesn't turn, doesn't allow his gaze to wander in Juliette's direction. His silence isn't a refusal but a shield-unyielding, deliberate.

Juliette, on the other hand, reacts instinctively. Her eyes narrow at Warner, sharp and mistrustful as she scans his every movement, trying to decode the meaning behind his words. Her focus shifts momentarily to Adam, studying him, but his stoic demeanor offers her no insight. Frustrated, she moves her gaze back to Warner, her hands curling into weak fists at her sides.

Warner lets the silence hang in the air a moment longer, as though savoring it. Finally, he tilts his head ever so slightly, his expression softening into one of exaggerated amusement. "You have nothing to say about that?"

Kent's jaw tightens even further. His voice, when it finally comes, is clipped and controlled. "Sir."

Warner sighs, though it's more a performance than an expression of genuine frustration. He waves a hand in the air lazily, his tone shifting to one of mock boredom. "Of course. Why should I expect you to have anything to say?"

From her place along the wall, Veiana watches the exchange closely. Her eyes dart between Warner, Adam, and Juliette, trying to piece together the dynamic unfolding before her. Warner's behavior feels off-sharper, crueler, more calculated than usual. His arrogance seems amplified, his words laced with a deliberate edge meant to provoke.

This isn't the Warner she knows.

Not the one who speaks to her in quiet, measured tones when no one else is around, the one who cares, not matter how difficult it is for him to show it. This is Anderson's Warner-the one shaped by years of manipulation, the one who wields power like a weapon because it's the only language he's been taught to speak.

Her thoughts are interrupted by Juliette's voice, cutting through the tension like a blade. "Are you going to kill me?"

The words hang heavy in the air, the weight of them sinking into the room.

Before anyone can respond, a soldier steps forward-Roland-and drives the butt of his gun into Juliette's spine with brutal precision. The impact reverberates through the room, the sickening thud followed by the sound of Juliette collapsing onto the floor.

She lets out a broken whimper, her breath hitching as she curls in on herself, one hand clutching at her ribs. Her breathing is shallow, uneven, as though the blow has stolen the air from her lungs.

"That wasn't necessary, Roland." Warner's voice cuts through the moment, calm but carrying a dangerous undertone. He turns his head slightly, just enough to cast a disapproving glance at the soldier. "I suppose I'd be wondering the same thing if I were in her position."

Roland steps back without a word, his expression unreadable, but the damage has already been done. Juliette remains on the ground, motionless at first. Slowly, she shifts, her movements tentative as though every inch of motion brings fresh pain.

"Juliette?" Warner's voice softens, just a fraction. He takes a step forward, his boots clicking against the cold floor. His expression is unreadable, his posture relaxed but poised, as though every movement is calculated to elicit a specific response.

Veiana holds her breath, her chest tightening as she watches the scene unfold. Juliette looks pale, fragile, utterly broken. Her limbs tremble as she tries to steady herself, her breaths shallow and uneven.

Something twists painfully in Veiana's chest. She wants to look away, but she can't. She wants to intervene, but she knows she won't. Her role here is clear, and any move she makes will only tighten the leash around her neck.

Juliette lifts her head slightly, her gaze locking with Warner's. The defiance in her eyes is faint but still present, a flicker of resistance that hasn't yet been extinguished.

Warner studies her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he speaks again, his voice low and deliberate. "I have a proposition for you."

Juliette remains fixed in her stare, unwavering, as Warner continues. "You have something I want."

A furrow appears in Juliette's brow, a flicker of confusion in her eyes. "I don't understand."

Warner exhales a slow, measured breath before standing up from his crouched position, his movements deliberate as he begins to pace the length of the corridor. Veiana watches from the corner of her eye, her jaw clenching involuntarily as Warner walks past her, his gaze carrying an emotion that eludes her, something she can't quite place.

"You're something of a pet project for me," Warner declares, his voice smooth yet carrying an undercurrent of something darker. "I've studied your records for a very long time."

"What?" Juliette mumbles, her voice thick with confusion.

"We're in the middle of a war," Warner says, his words clipped, tinged with impatience. "Maybe you can put the pieces together."

Juliette shakes her head, her eyes wide, trying to grasp what's happening. "I don't-"

"I know your secret, Juliette," Warner interrupts, his voice cold and unnerving. "I know why you're here. Your entire life, documented in hospital records, complaints to the authorities, messy lawsuits, public demands to have you locked away."

He stops pacing, moving to stand directly above Juliette, who has sat up slightly. "I've been considering it for a long time," Warner continues, his voice low and calculating. "But I wanted to make sure you weren't actually psychotic. Isolation wasn't exactly the best indicator. Still, you managed to fend for yourself quite well."

Veiana's jaw tightens in disgust, the words cutting deeper than she expected. Warner's grin grows, almost as if he's giving Juliette some twisted form of praise, as though she should be proud of her survival in his eyes.

"I sent Kent to stay with you as a final precaution," Warner continues, his gaze shifting to Kent. "I wanted to make sure you were volatile, make sure you were capable of basic human interaction and communication. I must say, I'm quite pleased with the results."

Veiana watches Kent carefully as Warner casts a glance his way, acknowledging his role in the twisted game. "Kent, it seems, played his part a little too excellently. He is a fine soldier. One of the best, in fact," Warner adds, his tone laced with a mockery that only deepens the discomfort in the room.

Turning his smile back to Juliette, Warner's words drip with a dark promise. "But don't worry. He doesn't know what you're capable of. Not yet, anyway."

The two of them-Juliette and Kent-briefly make eye contact, and for a moment, the weight of their shared history hangs in the air. But Kent is quick to avert his gaze, as if the fleeting connection between them is something he can't bear to hold.

"I'm not as cruel as you think," Warner continues, his voice taking on a playful, almost musical lilt. "If you're so fond of his company, I can make this," he gestures between Juliette and Kent, "a permanent assignment."

"No," Juliette breathes out, her voice shaky but resolute.

"Oh, yes," Warner smirks, his grin carefree, almost mocking. "But be careful, pretty girl," he warns with an edge in his voice, "If you do something...bad...he'll have to shoot you."

Veiana watches intently as Juliette glances toward Adam, her eyes searching his face, as though trying to gauge his reaction to Warner's words.

"If you accept my offer," Warner's voice cuts through the heavy silence, pulling Veiana's attention back to him, "you will live like I do. You will be one of us, and not one of them. Your life will change forever."

"And if I don't accept?" Juliette asks, her voice firm despite the shaking in her frame.

Warner looks genuinely disappointed, his eyes narrowing slightly as he clasps his hands together in mock dismay. "You don't really have a choice. If you stand by my side, you'll be rewarded." He presses his lips together, the corners twitching with barely contained amusement. "But if you choose to disobey... well, I think you look rather lovely with all your body parts intact, don't you?"

Veiana cringes, a sharp wave of disgust washing over her. Her expression hardens as she struggles to control the emotions rising within her.

Juliette's breath comes in sharp, heavy gasps, her small frame trembling under the weight of what she's hearing. "You want me to torture people for you?"

Warner's face splits into a wicked grin. "That would be wonderful." His tone is almost pleased. Then, he turns toward Kent with an air of casual command. "Show her what she's missing, would you?"

Adam hesitates for a beat, caught off guard by the order. "Sir?"

Warner's gaze sharpens, his voice dropping into a low growl. "That is an order, soldier," he says, his eyes locking onto Juliette's, amusement dancing at the edges of his expression. "I'd like to break this one. She's a little too feisty for her own good."

Juliette spits through clenched teeth, her fury barely contained. "You can't touch me."

"Wrong," Warner singsongs, his voice sweet as honey, yet ice cold. He tosses Kent a pair of black leather gloves, the action deliberate. "You're going to need these," he says with a conspiratorial whisper.

"You're a monster," Juliette spits, her face twisted with rage. "Why don't you just kill me?"

"That, my dear, would be a waste," Warner replies coolly, now slipping on a pair of white leather gloves. He steps closer, lifting her chin with a single finger, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. "Besides, it'd be a shame to lose such a pretty face."

Veiana holds back the scoff that threatens to escape her. She can't watch this any longer without feeling the rage bubble up inside her, the disgust turning her stomach. But before she can even think of saying anything, Warner's cold gaze snaps to her, the warning in his eyes unmistakable.

He steps closer to Juliette, his expression now one of mock tenderness as he brushes tilts her chin up with a finger. His touch is anything but kind, his fingere covered by the white, leather material of his gloves. "Don't struggle, love," he murmurs, his voice oozing with false sweetness. "You'll only make things more difficult for yourself."

"I hope you rot in hell."

Warner's jaw tightens, the flicker of anger betraying his otherwise calm facade. He leans in just enough to make his words feel like a sharp whisper in her ear. "You're a fighter for the wrong team," he declares, "But we can change that."

Kent steps forward at Warner's command, his face betraying little emotion, though his discomfort is evident in the stiff way he moves. Warner turns toward him with an air of finality. "Kent," he calls, his voice sharp. "Don't let her out of your sight. She's your charge now."

Kent's gaze flickers toward Juliette briefly before he nods, his voice stiff as he responds, "Yes, sir."

𓃖

this chapter was... meh. i don't
really like it, i felt it got too long and
boring towards the end? BUT WE
FINALLY GOT TO SEE KENJI AND
VEIANA! my girl's super awkward
when it comes to talking to ANYONE
BUT warner or anderson-but only
because those are people she's sort of
been forced to talk to (although, she'll
grow to actually like aaron)

i hope you enjoyed and don't forget
to share your thoughts 🫶🫶