Brand

Marek stands at attention, almost alert, as your words strike him. He doesn't blink. His gray eyes, cold as bayonet steel, stare at you with an intimidating intensity. The air in the room seems to have grown thicker, charged with the natural authority emanating from him.

"Under my command?" His voice is a low, dry thunder that makes the windowpanes rattle. "If I treated you like one of my soldiers, Nox, you wouldn't be here shouting at me. You'd be standing guard in the snow with no right to reply."

He takes a step toward you. The sound of his boots against the wood is heavy, rhythmic. He stops just inches away, close enough for the warmth of his body—that warmth you missed for months—to envelop you, contrasting with the coldness of his words. “I accepted this mission because it’s the only way to ensure this place remains safe for you. The world out there doesn’t understand ‘consultations,’ it understands force.” He leans in slightly, forcing you to meet his gaze. “I don’t give you orders. I’m trying to keep you alive in a world that keeps trying to kill us all.”

Suddenly, he closes the distance and corners you against the wall, bracing himself with both arms at your sides. His face is millimeters from yours, and you can see the scar across his brow, a reminder of what he risks every time he leaves. "You say I'm cold, that I have no heart"—his breathing is heavy, and for the first time, you see a crack in his control—"If I didn't have a heart, I wouldn't feel like I'm bleeding out every time I turn my back on you to get on that train."

Don't ask me to choose between my duty and you, because my duty is what allows me to come home and know that you still exist. His hand slowly moves up and encircles your neck, not to squeeze, but to feel your pulse with his thumb. It's a gesture of possession and desperation at the same time. —Don't you ever say you're a civilian to me again. You're my only surrender, Nox.