Always Played To Win

The days bled into each other. The world outside the outpost continued to spiral into chaos, the remnants of civilization crumbling beneath the weight of their struggle. But inside the walls of their small refuge, a different war was being waged. A war of power, control, and trust. And Lira had learned that in this world, trust was something that could be shattered in a heartbeat.

Lira stood on the balcony, her eyes scanning the wreckage of the city beyond the gates. It had once been a place of life, a place of commerce, of people bustling with ambition. Now, it was nothing but ash and ruins, like the rest of the world. And yet, in this bleak landscape, Lira had found a way to survive. She had carved out a place for herself at the top.

But power was an elusive thing. Always slipping through your fingers if you didn't hold on tightly enough.

And Lira knew that she had to hold on. No one could be trusted. Not even Micah. Not even Daryl. They were all capable of betrayal. She had seen the cracks in them, the hesitation, the whispers when they thought she wasn't listening. They thought they had her figured out. But they didn't. They didn't realize how far she was willing to go, how far she had already gone, to ensure her survival.

The sound of footsteps behind her broke her thoughts. Without turning, she knew it was Daryl. She could feel him before she even saw him. His presence, like a storm on the horizon, always looming, always dangerous.

"You're still out here?" Daryl's voice was low, rough, like it always was. His eyes flickered to the city below, the emptiness reflected in them. "Don't you ever get tired of staring at this wasteland?"

Lira's lips curled into a slight smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "I'm not staring at the wasteland, Daryl. I'm looking at the future."

He stepped closer, his boots thudding on the ground as he moved to stand beside her, though he didn't say anything else. There was a quiet understanding between them, an unspoken truce of sorts. For now, at least. But she knew that the longer they stayed together, the more dangerous it would become. Daryl was patient, calculating he wouldn't make his move until he was sure, until he knew exactly what she was willing to give him.

But Lira wasn't sure herself anymore. She was playing a dangerous game with him, and she was starting to wonder if she was the one losing control.

That night, as the rest of the outpost slept, Lira couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. The tension had been building for days, a quiet storm that was threatening to break. She hadn't been able to focus as clearly as she usually did. Her thoughts were clouded, not by fear but by something much more dangerous.

Desire.

It was more than just the physical attraction that pulled her toward Daryl. No, this was something deeper. It was the way he looked at her, the way he challenged her. He was the only one who had ever made her feel like she wasn't the one in control. And that scared her.

But she refused to show it. Lira had learned to hide her weaknesses, to bury them deep inside where no one could see. The world had taught her that showing vulnerability was a death sentence. And Lira was not going to die.

The sound of the door creaking open snapped Lira out of her thoughts. She had been staring out of the window, lost in the depths of her mind, when the figure entered. It wasn't Daryl this time. It was Micah.

He didn't speak right away. He just stood there, watching her. There was something in his eyes a wariness, yes, but also something else. Something darker.

"You've been quiet lately," he said finally, his voice rough. "Too quiet."

Lira didn't turn to face him. She couldn't. If she did, she might lose control of the mask she had so carefully crafted. She had to stay in charge, in control. If she gave in to her emotions now, everything would unravel.

"I've been thinking," she said, her voice cold, detached. "I think it's time we make some changes around here."

Micah took a step forward, his expression unreadable. "Changes? What do you mean?"

Lira slowly turned to face him, locking eyes with him, her gaze unwavering. "I mean it's time for a new order," she said softly. "A new way of doing things."

He studied her for a long moment, his eyes narrowing as if he were trying to piece something together. But whatever he saw, whatever he thought he understood, he didn't voice it. Instead, he just nodded.

"Okay," he said quietly. "What are you thinking?"

Lira moved toward him, her steps slow, deliberate. There was something almost predatory in the way she walked. She was always in control. Always.

"Everything has been leading to this," she said, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "We've been living in a cage, Micah. You and Daryl—you think you know what's best for everyone. But you're wrong. I'm the only one who knows what's best. And if you want to survive, you'll learn to follow me. Completely."

Her words hung in the air like a heavy fog, thick with meaning. She could see the way Micah's eyes flickered, the hesitation in his posture. It was there again, that fear. But this time, it was mixed with something else. Something darker.

"You're playing with fire," he said softly, his voice tinged with something almost... sad.

Lira took another step closer to him, her eyes never leaving his. "I am the fire, Micah."

He didn't say anything in return, but the air between them thickened, charged with something neither of them could deny. Lira's breath caught in her throat, a spark of something more than just desire igniting within her. It was power. The raw, unfiltered rush of control.

And Micah was starting to see it, starting to feel it too.

Later that night, when the others had retreated into their quarters and the outpost was quiet, Lira found herself once again in Daryl's room. There was no pretense now, no games. She had already made her decision.

"You think I'm playing you," she said as she stepped into the room, her voice low, but firm.

Daryl looked up from the corner where he had been sitting, the flickering candlelight casting shadows across his features. "I don't think anything, Lira," he replied, his voice harsh, but controlled. "I know you're playing me."

She smiled, though it was a cruel thing, a predatory smile. "Then you should know that I don't play fair."

Daryl stood up slowly, crossing the room to where she stood. His body was tense, but there was a fire in his eyes. "You don't have to play at all, Lira," he said, his voice rough with desire. "Not with me."

Lira felt a shiver run down her spine. The way he said that it wasn't just a challenge. It was a promise.

Without another word, she closed the distance between them, her lips capturing his in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was fierce, urgent, like two people who had been denied too much. Daryl's hands were on her immediately, pulling her closer, as if he couldn't get enough of her touch.

And Lira let him. Let him think he was in control. Let him think he had the upper hand.

For now.

Their bodies came together in a clash of heat and hunger, and for a moment, everything else faded away. There were no plans, no calculations, no control. Just the raw, unfiltered need that neither of them could deny.

But as they moved together, Lira's mind was still sharp, still calculating. She knew this moment—this intimacy, this power—was just another weapon in her arsenal. She was using him, just as he was using her. But unlike Daryl, Lira didn't need to feel the weight of this on her conscience. She didn't need to feel the way it tethered her to him.

This was a game. And Lira always played to win