I, the slave boy, awaken with the most potent seed!!

Maze's hurried footsteps echoed off the shattered arena floor, each step loud in the haunting quiet left in the wake of Zafron's departure.

She reached Steele's side, her expression a mix of pity and anger. He was still on his knees, one hand pressed to the cracked ground for support, blood dripping from his nose and lips. His face was contorted with pain, but his eyes burned with a familiar, furious intensity.

"Steele," she murmured, trying to keep her voice calm. "Come on, get up."

He met her gaze with a look that silenced whatever words she'd been about to say, then turned his head to spit blood. "Where is he?" His voice was low, dangerous.

Maze hesitated. She knew this tone—she'd seen Steele on missions before, seen him push past injury and exhaustion to complete the task. But this was different. This wasn't just determination; it was a thirst for vengeance. And in this moment, it made her uneasy.

"He's gone," she replied softly. "Left before you could stand up again. There's no point in trying to follow him right now."

Steele grit his teeth, struggling to rise to his feet. His hands shook, fingers slick with blood and dirt, but he pressed himself up with a grimace, one leg wobbling under his weight. Maze instinctively reached out to steady him, but he swatted her hand away, though barely had the strength to stand on his own.

"I don't care if he's gone," Steele hissed. "We have to find him. He can't be far. Just… follow Matilda then. He'll be after her sooner or later."

Maze's eyes narrowed, a flicker of anger breaking through her mask of calm. "You're barely standing, Steele. Think about yourself for once, not chasing someone who's already out of reach." She shook her head, incredulous. "He could've killed you, but he didn't. Can't you see what that means?"

Steele's eyes flared, his lips pulling back in a bitter sneer. "What it means?" He laughed hollowly, the sound cutting through the stillness. "It means he thinks he's above me, that he thinks he can play this game his way. But I'm not done. Not yet."

Maze frowned, her grip tightening on his arm as he swayed. "You're not thinking straight, Steele. You've bled enough today."

"I'm thinking perfectly straight, Maze," he spat back, wrenching himself free of her grasp and stumbling forward. His knees buckled slightly, and he caught himself with a wince.

Pain radiated through his ribs, his battered body protesting every movement, but he ignored it. "We didn't come all this way to let him go. You know as well as I do why we're here. We're here to end this—to stop him."

Maze let out a frustrated sigh, crossing her arms as she held her ground. "Maybe we are. But right now, I'm more concerned about what you're doing to yourself. This isn't just some mission, Steele. You've been acting like this is personal. You were trying to kill him, not capture him."

Steele's face twisted, and for a moment, his expression softened, a brief flash of something raw and vulnerable breaking through the hard exterior. He looked away, his voice dropping. "It is personal," he admitted, barely more than a whisper. His voice trembled, almost lost in the quiet, but Maze caught it.

Maze sighed, her frustration slipping into her voice. "You're obsessed, Steele. That's all this is now. You don't care about justice—you just want revenge."

His gaze snapped to hers, hard and unyielding. "And you don't?" he demanded, a harsh edge to his voice. "After everything he's done?"

Maze's jaw tightened, and for a moment, she considered arguing. She felt the same anger, the same sense of betrayal.

But something in her couldn't ignore what she'd just witnessed. Zafron could've killed Steele—could've ended it, but he hadn't. Instead, he'd let Steele walk away. She didn't know what that meant, but it was enough to give her pause.

"No," she said finally, her voice quiet but firm. "Not like this. We're supposed to be better than them, Steele. You're supposed to be better than this."

Steele shook his head, letting out a bitter chuckle. "Better? Fuck it."

Maze's face hardened, but there was a flicker of something else in her eyes—doubt, perhaps, or pity. She sighed, stepping closer to him, her hand firm on his arm as she braced herself to lift him up. "Fine. But I'm getting you out of here before you pass out."

He looked at her, his expression defiant, but he didn't resist as she helped him up. His body screamed in protest with every step, pain lancing through his side, but he gritted his teeth, refusing to show any weakness.

As they moved toward the exit, Maze's mind whirled. She couldn't shake the image of Zafron standing over Steele, bloodied but victorious, and then… sparing him. It didn't fit with everything she'd heard about him, with the monster Steele claimed he was. And the doubt gnawed at her, persistent, unsettling.

Could it be that Zafron wasn't the killer they thought he was? Was there more to his story, something Steele refused to see?

Deep down, Maze knew there was only one way to find out. Her grip tightened on Steele's arm as they walked, her resolve hardening. She'd find Zafron herself, get her answers. Not for Steele, not for their mission, but for her own peace of mind.

As they walked away from the shattered arena, the whispers of the crowd fading behind them, Matilda's eyes narrowed as she watched Steele and Maze from the high tables.

She folded her arms, her gaze drifting between Steele and Maze. Why was this Enforcer so obsessed with catching Zafron? Whatever it was, Steele wasn't fighting for justice. She could tell that much.

"Quite the show, wasn't it?" Raxus's voice interrupted her thoughts, snapping her back to the present.

He chuckled, shaking his head in admiration and continued. "Slimy really knows how to put on a performance, doesn't he? I swear, it's like he enjoys it more every time."

Matilda raised an eyebrow, nodding. "He does have a… certain way about him," she replied, her voice calm, though her mind was elsewhere.

Raxus studied her with a glint of mischief in his eye. "Come on now, Matilda, don't hold back. I know you enjoyed it too. Who doesn't get a thrill out of the pit?" He leaned in closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "It's the perfect place to see who's truly made of iron and who just melts under pressure."

She managed a slight smile, nodding. "I suppose there's a certain thrill in it," she admitted, though her eyes flicked over to the staff he carried, gripped loosely in his hand. That staff… it was their way out of this Wasteland, and she'd been subtly eyeing it since the start of the match.

If she could find a way to get hold of it, she'd have a real chance to slip away from Raxus and whatever else this place had in store for her.

Raxus seemed to notice her distraction. He cocked his head, watching her with a curious frown. "You alright?" he asked, his voice light but his gaze sharp. "You look like you're a thousand miles away."

Matilda shook her head, offering a quick smile. "No, it's nothing. Just… I guess it's the tension from the match. You know how it is."

Raxus chuckled, his eyes softening as he looked at her. "It's the Governor, isn't it?" He lowered his voice, almost as if sharing a secret. "You're still thinking about him."

Matilda felt her stomach twist, but she kept her face composed, feigning a small laugh. "The Governor? Hardly. Not after all this. He's the last thing on my mind."

Raxus studied her, his expression thoughtful, then shook his head, a strange smile crossing his face. "Good. You shouldn't be thinking about him." His gaze lingered, a hint of something darker flickering beneath his usual charm. "You deserve someone who actually sees you, who'll treat you right."

Matilda raised an eyebrow, keeping her tone neutral. "And who would that be, Raxus? You?"

He laughed, but there was an edge to it, something almost possessive. "Maybe," he said, leaning a little closer. "Let's just say the Governor's got his eyes everywhere but where they should be."

Matilda gave a polite nod, her gaze still darting to the staff in his grip, calculating her next move. The crowd was dispersing, and she spotted Maze giving her a subtle glance before disappearing into the throng with Steele.

That glance felt like a warning—perhaps a reminder that she wasn't out of the woods just yet. She wasn't sure if she was safe or if they'd still be keeping an eye on her.

Steeling herself, Matilda decided to take a gamble, playing into her instincts. Raxus had been hovering around her the moment she arrived, clearly interested.

The plan was working.

"Well," she said with a sigh, feigning fatigue, "I think I need a bit of air. This match was… intense." She gave him a brief, teasing smile. "I'm not as hardened as you are, Raxus. Can't just keep watching fight after fight."

Raxus's eyes lit up, and he chuckled, clearly pleased. "Come on now, stay for the next match! You'll like this one—it's a real brawl, full of grit." He gestured to the pit, his grin widening. "You'll miss out if you leave now."

Matilda shook her head, managing a faint smile. "Tempting, but I think I've had enough for one day. Besides, I need a bit of time to… process everything. You understand."

He hesitated, watching her with a look she couldn't quite read. "You sure? I mean, it's no trouble to keep you company, just to make sure you're alright."

She offered a gracious nod, letting a hint of playfulness color her voice. "I wouldn't want to trouble you, Raxus. Stay here. Enjoy the next match. I'll be fine."

Raxus seemed momentarily taken aback, but he quickly recovered, nodding as if to reassure himself more than her. "Of course," he said, his smile a little too forced. "If that's what you want."

Deep down, Matilda felt a flicker of triumph. Her plan was working; a bit of distance would make him miss her, stir his interest even further. If she could keep him on his toes, maybe she'd have a chance to make her move when he least expected it.

He cleared his throat, shifting his weight uncomfortably. "Well… alright then. But don't wander too far, alright? The wastelands aren't exactly friendly for someone as… refined as you."

Matilda fought the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she softened her expression, offering him a warm look. "You worry too much, Raxus. I can take care of myself."

With that she turned to leave, but she caught the look on his face—a mixture of longing and frustration, as if he were trying to reconcile the feelings she'd stirred in him with his usual sense of control.

For a split second, she felt a pang of sympathy, realizing how far she'd gotten under his skin.

He turned away, forcing himself to look at the pit, but his thoughts were miles away. The thrill of the fight, the roar of the crowd—all of it faded in comparison to the pull he felt toward Matilda. She was unlike anyone he'd known. Unpredictable, mysterious. And every instinct told him to hold on, to do whatever it took to make her his, even if it meant bending his own rules.

Whatever it took, he'd find a way to make her his.

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