Chapter 12: Revien

My routine had been drilled into me since I was five years old: wake up at 5 a.m., eat by 5:30, weights from 6 to 7, weapons training from 7:30 to 10:30, lunch at 11, and education classes from 12:10 to 4.

But today, I broke that routine.

I woke up in Hayeon's room at 7 a.m., feeling completely out of sorts. Watching her sleep felt strange. Her chest rose and fell with steady breaths, and every five minutes, she let out a soft sigh. Her cuts needed tending, and for some reason, that annoyed me.

I ordered the maids to clean her wounds and bring her breakfast, something I never did for anyone. It should've thrown me off—missing my routine—but oddly enough, it didn't.

Hayeon was changing things. And I wasn't sure how I felt about that.

My stomach growled, pulling me from my thoughts, and I left for the dining room. On my way, I ran into Shavon in the hallway.

"You missed your training, Azail," he said curtly.

I smirked. "Didn't realize you were tracking my every move. Thought your job was to watch over Hayeon."

"I checked your room," he countered, his tone sharp. "You weren't there."

"Yeah, I was with Hayeon," I said nonchalantly.

In an instant, Shavon had me pinned against the cold cement wall. His grip was firm, his face mere inches from mine.

"I told you to wait until she's better before seeing her," he growled.

I stared back at him, bored. People walked past, glancing at the scene but saying nothing.

"What are you, her father now?" I scoffed. "She's ten. You think I'd—"

"I wouldn't put it past you," Shavon interrupted coldly, releasing me with a shove.

I straightened my shirt, shaking my head. "You're too protective," I muttered as he stalked off toward Hayeon's room.

With a sigh, I made my way to my father's office, slamming the door open. He glanced up from his desk, setting his pen down as if he'd been expecting me.

"I knew you'd show up eventually," he said, leaning back in his chair.

"You hurt her," I rasped, my voice low with anger.

"Everyone goes through this," he replied, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You should be proud. Your little toy managed to wound me."

He pulled at his shirt, revealing the bandaged cut on his shoulder.

"Give me the ointment," I demanded, my tone leaving no room for argument.

His smile faltered, replaced by a scowl. "That's for special use," he snapped.

"I told you I'd follow your orders, but you went out of your way to hurt her. She didn't wake up for two days!" I yelled.

My father slammed his hands on the desk, rising to his feet. His glare bore into me, but I didn't flinch.

He wanted me under control, and for the most part, I was. But he knew that if he hurt her again, I wouldn't play along.

Rolling his eyes, he turned to the file cabinet, pulling out a small glass jar. He tossed it to me, and I caught it easily.

"See how simple that was?" I deadpanned, twisting the lid in my hand as I left his office.

When I reached Hayeon's room, the door was slightly ajar. I stopped in my tracks, hearing Shavon's voice.

"Why?" Hayeon asked softly.

"Do you really want to deal with Azail?" Shavon whispered. His tone was uncharacteristically gentle.

There was a moment of silence. My body moved on its own, stepping closer, curiosity burning inside me.

"I—"

I pushed the door open, cutting her off before she could finish. My heart pounded in my chest, and I realized I didn't want to hear what she might say.

Shavon stood abruptly, his posture tense. "Azail," he greeted gruffly.

"Shavon," I replied with a cheerful tone, walking past him to Hayeon.

Her face lit up as I approached, her eyes quickly catching on to the jar I held behind my back.

"What's that?" she asked, curiosity dancing in her gaze.

Shavon's eyes narrowed as I revealed the glass jar.

"This is a healing ointment," I explained. "My father got it from a monk. It'll help you heal faster."

"Really?" she asked, her voice laced with excitement.

"You don't believe me?" I teased.

"Why don't I apply it to her wounds, and we'll see?" Shavon offered, stepping forward.

Hayeon nodded without hesitation, her trust in him evident. That feeling in my stomach—one I couldn't quite place—returned, twisting uncomfortably. I handed him the jar, swallowing the odd sensation.

Shavon carefully applied the ointment to each of her cuts before wrapping them in fresh gauze.

"There," he said with a sigh, stepping back.

"Thank you," Hayeon said, her smile soft and sincere.

Shavon blinked, then nodded curtly.

"Why don't you grab her lunch?" I suggested, my tone firm.

Shavon's eyes flickered with annoyance, but he didn't argue. He left the room, leaving Hayeon and me alone.

She sniffed at her bandages, scrunching her nose. "Ew, this stuff stinks," she complained, faking a gag.

I laughed. "Didn't say it wouldn't. At least you'll be better by tomorrow."

She rolled her eyes playfully, then glanced at me. "What were you and Shavon talking about?"

"Nothing," she blurted, quickly looking away.

She was lying, and we'd address that another time. But now I knew—whatever they'd been discussing, it had been about me.

"So," she said, trying to change the subject.

"So," I echoed.

"Where'd you go? Shavon said I had to eat breakfast here, so I couldn't come find you," she murmured.

"I had to get the ointment," I explained.

She nodded, her fingers fidgeting. "You know, I've never had a sleepover before. Yesterday was my first," she admitted, her cheeks turning pink.

My heart skipped a beat, and I couldn't help but smile. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she quickly looked away.

"W-we should make this a tradition," she whispered.

"Really?" I asked, amused.

She nodded vigorously. "Every Friday night."

"Okay," I agreed.

Her face lit up, and for some reason, I couldn't take my eyes off her.