Jealous Hamster

The air was crisp, tinged with the faint metallic scent of old blood. The stone courtyard, cracked and worn from years of training, was deserted — save for Ariel.

Her silver dagger danced through the air like lightning. She moved with purpose — sharp, precise slashes that carved through imaginary enemies. Her breath came steadily, her body glistening with sweat beneath her fitted combat gear. Each movement flowed into the next — footwork calculated, her blade flicking and twisting as if guided by instinct.

She wasn't just training — she was venting. Her thoughts churned as her muscles burned. Memories of past battles, recent doubts, and the name she had seen on that document — Leo — coiled tightly inside her. Each strike of the dagger felt like an answer to the storm in her mind.

Frank had only intended to retrieve the photo of her brother, but the moment he stepped into the courtyard, he stopped.

He stood just inside the stone archway, shadowed by the dimming light. Ariel hadn't noticed him yet.

She twisted her body, turning her back to him as she pivoted on her heel, her dagger slicing through the air with effortless grace. Her hair clung to her damp skin, swaying with her every motion.

Frank knew he should speak — call out her name, make his presence known — but the words stuck in his throat.

She wasn't just fighting. There was something raw about her movements — as though she were pouring every ounce of frustration and fear into that blade.

Her eyes — cold, sharp, and unrelenting — locked on her imaginary opponent. Her lips pressed into a thin line. Focused. Determined.

Frank couldn't look away.

He had seen Ariel fight before — fast, efficient, deadly — but this... this was something different. Her blade wasn't just a weapon; it was an extension of her, each motion deliberate yet fluid. For a moment, Frank wondered if she even remembered the world around her — or if she was drowning in whatever demons she was fighting inside.

Finally, he found his voice.

"You're gonna cut yourself if you keep pushing like that," Frank said, forcing a casual tone.

Ariel spun sharply, her dagger flashing to his throat before he could blink.

For a tense second, neither of them moved. Ariel's gaze locked with his, cold and unwavering.

Then she exhaled, pulling back.

"You should know better than to sneak up on someone holding a blade," she muttered.

Frank smirked, trying to mask how fast his pulse was racing. "Wasn't sneaking. You're just too caught up stabbing the air to notice."

Ariel scoffed, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "What do you want?"

"Your brother's photo," Frank said, stepping closer now that the blade was no longer a threat. "You said it's in your room."

"Right." Ariel wiped her dagger on a cloth before sliding it back into its sheath. "I'll grab it."

But as she turned to leave, Frank spoke again.

"You're... good," he said awkwardly. "With that dagger. I mean — I've seen you in the field, but... this felt... different."

Ariel paused, fingers curling slightly at her sides.

"It's not about skill," she said quietly. "It's about control."

"Control?"

"If I stop moving, I start thinking," Ariel muttered. "And right now... I don't want to think."

Frank's smile faded. For once, his usual teasing grin was replaced with something softer — something understanding.

"Yeah... I get that," he said quietly.

For a beat, they stood in silence. The wind whispered against the stone walls, tugging gently at Ariel's hair.

"C'mon," she said finally, her voice calmer now. "I'll get you that photo."

Frank fell into step beside her. He didn't say anything more — just kept pace with her as they walked toward the barracks.

But as they reached the door, he glanced back at the courtyard.

That wasn't just training, he thought. That was someone fighting ghosts.

And part of him wondered if Ariel's demons would ever let her rest.

...

Damon had been awaiting Ariana's return. He had switched on the water heater in anticipation, ensuring she would find the bath warm and inviting after her training. She followed the same routine every day—an hour of rigorous training, then home, drenched in sweat, heading straight for a bath.

Lately, though, something had changed.

She no longer undressed in front of him.

Damon didn't dwell on it. He had healed long ago—well enough to leave if he wanted. Yet, for reasons he couldn't quite grasp, he hadn't. Something tethered him here, something beyond logic or obligation.

Perhaps it was the quiet solace of holding her close at night. The way her warmth seeped into him, chasing away the nightmares that had plagued him for centuries. In her arms, he felt something he never had before—peace.

Then the door swung open, and his ears twitched at the familiar sound of her footsteps. His body instinctively relaxed, his lips curving in anticipation. But the scent that followed made his hackles rise.

A second pair of footsteps.

Not hers.

Frank.

Damon's joy curdled into irritation, his golden eyes narrowing as they locked onto the unwelcome intruder. His muscles tensed, a primal instinct surging to the surface.

He didn't like this.

Not one bit.