The weak

[Tobias's POV]

Rowan barely had a second to breathe before the others closed in around him. Hands grabbing at his arms, voices overlapping in urgent concern. His face twisted, more in frustration than pain, but that didn't stop Talia from hovering, already fussing over him like he was some war hero instead of a blood-soaked brawler who had just lost control.

She didn't see it. None of them did.

To her, he was untouchable, their leader, their answer to every problem. To me? I saw something else entirely.

"Bloody hell," Handy cursed, his thick accent cutting through the commotion. His sharp eyes flicked to the wound, now darkening Rowan's shirt with fresh blood. "Ya pulled yer stitches open again." Then, without missing a beat, he turned to Alicia. "Can you do it?"

Alicia hesitated only a moment before scrambling forward, her fingers already trembling as she fumbled for the sewing kit. Talia was quicker, already digging it out, her movements sharp and efficient.

I stood back, arms crossed, watching. The scene played out in front of me, but my mind was elsewhere.

What the fuck was that back there?

Rowan had lost himself. I'd seen it in his eyes—wild, burning, empty all at once. I'd seen it in his hands, bloodied from pounding that guy's face long past the point of reason. And the worst part?

He was smiling.

Like he wasn't just fighting. Like he enjoyed it.

A cold weight settled in my gut. If this kept up, if he kept spiraling, he wouldn't just be a problem for the Angels—he'd be a danger to us.

A quiet voice pulled me back.

"Tobias, what happened?"

I turned to find Elias standing there, eyes wide with something between worry and suspicion. He wanted answers. The truth, maybe.

I exhaled, pushing down the weight of my thoughts and forcing a smirk, though it felt hollow. "You know Rowan," I said, letting out a small chuckle that didn't quite reach my chest, "got a little too excited and tore some of his stitches."

Elias didn't look convinced. His wide eyes flicked between me and the others, his small frame rigid, his fingers twitching at his sides like he was trying to hold something in. Doubt clung to him like a shadow, and for a second, I wondered just how much he'd really seen.

"Don't worry," I added, more to break the silence than to reassure him. "He'll be alright."

I turned away before he could ask anything else, shifting my focus to the newcomers. Finn and Cade, right? Handy trusted them, but trust didn't come easy around here. Better to start building some connections while I could.

I stepped toward Cade, reading his body language. He was a little older than me, but looked a little green around the edges, but he'd held his own back there. That counted for something.

"So, Cade," I started, offering an easy nod, "appreciate you having our backs tonight."

He turned to me, his grin a little tight, his eyes searching mine like he was waiting to see if I really meant it. Then, after a beat, he exhaled and flashed his teeth. "Sure, man. We did that guy good, right?"

I matched his grin, the tension in my shoulders easing just a fraction. "Hell yeah. Folded him like he was light work."

The energy shifted, just a little. The kind of thing that happened after a fight—like we'd proven ourselves to each other in some unspoken way. But just as that moment settled, a deep voice rumbled beside me.

Finn's voice lingered in the air, his question heavier than it should have been. "What exactly is the plan right now?"

The weight of the night pressed down on me again, a slow, creeping thing curling around my ribs. The fight was done, but the war? That was just beginning. And the worst part? I didn't know a damn thing about Rowan's plans. That frustration burned low in my gut, coiling tight. We'd followed his lead, spilled blood on his word, but he was the only one holding all the cards. It felt like we were just pieces on his board, dancing when he pulled the strings.

I clenched my jaw, forcing the irritation down before it could show on my face. "You'll have to ask the big man for that," I muttered, words stiff, sharp at the edges.

Finn studied me, like he was about to push for more, but before he could, Rowan's voice cut through the air. Strong. Certain. Like he hadn't just lost himself in that fight, like his knuckles weren't still raw with blood.

"Today was a success," he said, standing at the center of us like he belonged there. "We showed them that if they want to play with us, they better be prepared to lose a limb or two."

My gaze flicked to Talia. She was staring at him, her eyes locked onto his face like he was the only thing that mattered. The way she looked at him—like he was something untouchable, something righteous—it made my stomach twist. Why did she only see him?

The silence stretched too long, so I forced out a scoff, cutting through the tension. "What's next, Rowan? We celebrating at a brothel or something?" My voice was light, casual, but the words had an edge, pushing just enough to see how he'd react.

His eyes met mine, unreadable. Then, flatly, "That's right."

The air in the room shifted, heavy with expectation. A pause. A beat. Everyone was staring at him, waiting for more, waiting for the punchline that didn't come.

Then, suddenly, he let out a breath and shook his head. "What?" His lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smirk. "That was a joke. Y'all think I can't make jokes anymore?"

I stared at Rowan, unimpressed. That was a joke? He might need some lessons in delivery because that one hit the floor like a corpse.

The silence that followed was thick and uncomfortable, stretching out just long enough to make everyone shift where they stood. Rowan coughed, breaking it like a knife to glass, then turned his attention to the newcomers. "Finn, Cade, with me. There's something I'd like to talk about."

The two exchanged a glance before nodding, following him without hesitation. The door shut behind them, leaving the rest of us—Talia, Elias, Alicia, and Handy—alone in the dimly lit space. I let my eyes drift over them, a thought pressing in the back of my mind, unspoken but impossible to ignore. How many of us are going to make it to the end?

I exhaled, rolling my shoulders, forcing myself to focus. "Alright," I started, glancing at them, feeling their attention shift onto me. The weight of expectation settled in, uncomfortable and foreign. I wasn't Rowan. I didn't have his way of pulling people in, of making them listen without effort. I wasn't a leader. But I still had to say something.

"So… about tonight." My voice trailed off at the end, hesitation creeping in. How the hell was I supposed to bring this up?

Talia's eyes sharpened. "What do you want to say?" Her tone cut straight through the air, as direct as ever.

I met her gaze, then turned to each of them, searching their faces for something—anything—that mirrored what I'd been feeling since the fight. My pulse picked up as I finally let the words out. "Didn't Rowan seem a bit… off tonight?"

Handy's expression shifted—just for a second—but I caught it. A flicker of something, quick as a match strike. Recognition, maybe. Agreement. But he kept his mouth shut, and the silence stretched too long. I needed him to say something, to back me up before this turned into another fight. Because as I turned to Talia, catching the sharp edge of her stare, I already felt the weight of regret pressing down on my shoulders.

"Why do you always have to do this?" Her voice was steady, but there was a bite to it, like a blade hidden beneath silk. "Why are you always looking for something wrong with him? Every single time."

I opened my mouth, ready to push back, to explain that this wasn't just me digging for something that wasn't there, but before I could get a word in, another voice cut through the tension. Small, hesitant.

"W-wait…"

Elias.

I turned to him, surprised. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, his body drawn tight like he was bracing for something. "I saw it too," he went on, his voice wavering. "His face… when you came back. It looked weird. Different."

Finally. Someone else had seen it.

I glanced at Handy again, hoping for some sign of support, but he only let out a small shake of his head, like he already knew where this was heading. Another pointless argument. Another night wasted going in circles over a truth no one wanted to face.

Talia folded her arms, her stance firm. "Different? How?" Her eyes pinned Elias in place, sharp with skepticism. "Don't tell me you're backing out again. Not after all that talk two days ago."

The room felt like it was closing in, the air thick with something heavy, something unsaid. I could feel it pressing down on my chest, squeezing the space between us. I wanted to speak, to break the tension before it swallowed us whole, but before I could, another voice cut through the silence.

"No one is backing out."

Alicia.

Her voice wasn't sharp like Talia's or uncertain like Elias's—it was steady, but low, weighted with something final. "It's too late for that, even if we wanted to."

I studied her, noting the way her arms crossed over her chest, the slight furrow between her brows. This was turning out better than I expected, but I knew Talia wouldn't be swayed so easily.

Alicia pressed on. "We're just worried for him." She hesitated, her fingers tightening around her sleeves. "Not just for him—for all of us." She exhaled, the weight of her next words settling over her shoulders. "I think we all know who the Angels are. They run this place. They don't lose. Ever."

Her voice carried something close to defeat, and I saw the way it made Talia's jaw tighten.

"So what?" Talia's response was immediate, her words laced with something bitter, something sharp. "You just want to sit back and wait for them to devour us? Like some cowards?"

Her eyes flicked between us, burning with something fierce, something defiant. The kind of unwavering certainty that only people like her could afford to have. The awakened, blessed warriors, the kind that my father was telling me tales about... Back then.

I stepped in before Alicia could answer.

"Yeah, we are weak," I shot back, my voice colder than I intended. "We aren't awakened like you, Talia. Don't you get it?"

The words between us crackled like embers in a dying fire, each one hot enough to reignite the flames. Talia's eyes burned with frustration, her breath coming sharp as she squared her shoulders. "So what?! You're just—"

But she never got to finish.

Handy, who had been sitting back, arms crossed, watching us bicker like a pack of starving dogs over scraps, finally let out a long, exaggerated sigh. "Ya lot sure love the sound of yer own voices, don't ya?"

His tone was dry, unimpressed, cutting through the tension like a dull knife.

For once, Talia didn't have an immediate retort. None of us did.

He leaned forward, the dim light catching on the jagged scar running down his jaw as he shot each of us a look, his usual lazy demeanor momentarily slipping into something firmer, heavier.

"Don't ya get it, ya damn cretins? Rowan's gonna do what Rowan's gonna do, and yer all gonna dance however he damn well pleases." His voice held no malice, just a weary sort of certainty, like he was stating a truth as plain as the sky being blue.

"Now, stop squawkin' like a bunch of old grannies in the market and shut it for a second, yeah?"

His words hung there, settling over us like dust after a storm. And for once, no one knew what to say. 

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, like the aftermath of a thunderclap. No one spoke. No one dared. Handy had crushed the argument beneath the weight of a few well-placed words, leaving behind nothing but the quiet shuffle of uneasy thoughts.

I exhaled slowly, letting my gaze flick between the others. Talia's arms were crossed so tight it looked like she was holding herself together. Alicia stared at the ground, chewing the inside of her cheek, while Elias looked like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.

Handy, though—Handy just looked bored, like he had already moved on from this conversation entirely.

But his words gnawed at me. Yer all gonna dance however he damn well pleases. Like we had no say. No choice.

Was that really how it was? Were we just moving pieces in Rowan's game, running forward because he pointed the way?

The thought sat heavy in my stomach. I wanted to believe we were in this together, fighting for something more than just Rowan's vision. But what if Handy was right? What if, without even realizing it, we had already given up control?