Illusion

EZRA

Illusion. That's what this is, right? Just a cruel trick my mind is playing on me, twisting my thoughts until I can't tell what's real anymore. Because there's no way this , whatever this is…can be real. Not after everything.

I sit on the edge of my bed, gripping the sheets so tightly my knuckles turn white. My heart is still racing, and my head is a mess of tangled thoughts. I keep telling myself it doesn't matter, that Malachai means nothing, that I mean nothing to him. But I know I'm lying.

Because if it meant nothing, why did it feel like everything?

I squeeze my eyes shut and exhale, trying to shake the ghost of his touch off my skin. It lingers like a brand, burning into me, making it impossible to forget. The way his hands felt rough, warm, desperate. The way his lips crushed against mine like he was trying to carve his presence into my bones.

Why?

Why would he do that?

I thought I had it all figured out. I convinced myself that whatever I felt toward Malachai was just misplaced hope, a desperate need for something, anything to cling to in this hellhole. But now? Now I don't know what to believe anymore. Because the way he looked at me… it wasn't just lust. It wasn't just desperation. It was something deeper.

Something dangerous.

And I can't afford to believe in something that isn't real.

I push off the bed and pace the room, raking my fingers through my hair. My mind replays every moment over and over, like it's trying to torture me. I should hate him. I want to hate him. But the truth is, I don't. And that terrifies me more than anything Lucius has ever done to me.

Malachai is a soldier. A weapon. Just like me. We don't get to feel things like this. We don't get to want.

Yet here I am, wanting.

The air feels too thick, pressing down on me from all sides. I stop at the window, staring out at the endless stretch of sea. The waves crash against the rocks, violent and merciless, just like the world I live in. Just like Lucius.

Lucius.

A bitter laugh slips past my lips. What would he do if he knew? If he even suspected?

I already know the answer.

Malachai would die.

And I would be forced to watch.

That's how this world works. Lucius doesn't allow weakness. He doesn't tolerate disobedience. And this? This is the ultimate betrayal. The thought makes my stomach turn. I hate that Malachai put us in this position. I hate that I let him. But most of all, I hate that, despite knowing all of this, I still crave more.

More of his touch.

More of his warmth.

More of him.

I slam my back against the wall, frustration and something dangerously close to grief clawing at my insides. This isn't real. This can't be real. I have to bury it, shove it so deep inside that even I forget it exists. I can't let this illusion consume me.

Because that's all it is.

An illusion.

A lie.

And if I don't destroy it now, it will be the death of us both.

My breathing is uneven, my pulse erratic. I need to clear my head. I need to remind myself of who I am, of what I am. A weapon doesn't hesitate. A weapon doesn't feel. A weapon obeys.

But as I stand there, staring at my reflection in the window, I don't see a weapon.

I see a boy.

A foolish, broken boy who let himself believe, even for a second, that he could have something more.

I let out a shuddering breath and press my forehead against the glass. I need to get a grip. I need to shove all of this away and focus on surviving.

Because at the end of the day, that's all that matters.

Survival.

I hate that malachai is weak, I hate that he is under Lucius.

And if I want to survive, I have to forget Malachai ever touched me.

Forget he ever looked at me like I was something more than a prisoner.

Forget that, for one fleeting moment, I actually wanted to believe in something other than pain.

It's just an illusion.

And I refuse to let it destroy me.