An oppressive energy blanketed the training room as its heavy steel door burst open at a speed that would have been difficult to achieve for most of the insurrectionists.

Most of them.

The trainees fell silent as Wren’s towering frame stepped through the door. Aislin went still beside Caen, as if the blood had turned to crystallized frost in her veins.

She was _terrified_ of him.

The revelation had Caen’s temper rising dangerously. He watched the crowd of highly-trained and fearless recruits part for Wren, as if he could stop their pulse with his eyes alone.

Wren was death incarnate, draped in a shade that was so dark, he’d blend in with the velvety black of night itself. His heavy boots echoed under the weight of his portending gait as they connected hard and fast with the grated floor, designed to filter out discarded shells and blades.

Caen shifted his body in front of Aislin as he calculated Wren’s trajectory— right towards them. Wren walked the most direct path, right through cordoned off training simulations, effortlessly dodging various blades and bullets that flew in his direction from the automated systems installed throughout the room. The trainees gasped with each narrow miss of whirring bullets, shifting uncomfortably on their feet as each rogue blade clanked onto the floor. Anxious muttering exploded around the room as Wren reached them at last, gathering Caen’s collar in his fist to push him against the eastern wall.

Caen coughed as the wind was knocked from his chest, Wren’s ring digging painfully into the flesh of his neck.

“I asked you to _protect_ her, not train her!” Caen eyed Wren’s furious face, marred from a past both of them would rather forget, but one that demanded it be remembered in the face of the resurgence.

“Her training _will_ protect her.” Caen retorted through gritted teeth. Wren’s dark eyes flashed in warning as they bored into his skull.

“Training will only guide her into the heart of this war! Just like it did with Céline!” Wren uttered harshly under his breath.

“She will guide _herself_ into this war— just as Céline did.” It never got easier to hear his lost lover’s name, to recall the way she’d gone out. He’d been just a few strides away from her when it had happened, and it had been a few strides too late. “Perhaps if we had bothered to train your sister despite you, her story might be different!” Caen’s voice broke despite himself, old emotions clawing their way out of his throat.

Wren looked as though he'd been slapped across the face. If Caen had the capacity to feel satisfaction through his grief, he would have savoured it. Wren’s piqued expression only lasted a moment before he reared up to knock Caen’s head against the wall.

“Enough!” Aisling’s voice trembled as it drifted towards them. Before Caen could process, she had grabbed onto Wren’s arm to hold him back with whatever strength her bodyweight provided to her— which was not a lot. It appeared to be enough however, to distract Wren from issuing the blow.

His fist remained suspended, the muscles in his arm rippling under the weight of her body trying to force it away. Caen knew he could still do it if he wanted to, Aislin hanging from his arm or not. The rest of those in the room knew it just as well, seemingly holding their breath for the impending violence. Caen took the opportunity to attempt to buck out of his grasp while he was still hesitating. To his surprise, he managed to release himself, collapsing to his knees.

Aislin stepped between them, getting much closer to Wren’s hardened expression than anyone else would dare. Caen both reproached and admired her behaviour. Despite what Wren might think, she had the heart required to be a part of this. It could lead to her ruin— but it could also lead to all of their victory.

“How dare you!” She shouted, clenching her fists. “How dare you try to control me when you know what I’ve suffered!” She scowled, eyes watering with frustration as she struck his chest. He remained steadfast on his feet, unwavering and expressionless as she beat into his chest again. “I am not going to sit here helpless and I refuse to remain tractable to you of all people!”

As she spoke, Caen wondered if he might have mistaken her terror for a visceral contempt of Wren. Or perhaps her terror had been drowned out by her growing fury. He knew she had never liked to be leashed, and had fought adamantly against his own efforts before he had come to his senses and had brought her here. She despised authoritarian people— and Wren was nothing but.

“Of all people?” Wren smirked, parroting her words to her. “Would you rather I assign someone more amenable to keep you in line?”

Aislin’s green eyes did not break from Wren’s, rather she drew her face in closer. Wren’s shoulders rose and dropped under his heavy, but steady breaths. Gasps chorused throughout the room as she spit directly in his face a moment later. Wren’s jaw ticked, but he did not flinch or falter as her saliva dripped down his cheek.

“Since when do you take leave of your luxurious chambers to take interest in what goes on beneath your high and mighty nose?” She goaded furiously. He captured her chin in his large grasp, leaning in closer so she would be forced to listen, to see the words leaving his lips.

“Since it involves you.” His expression grew dour as he stared down at her. “You will heed me when I say that you will not be stepping a foot outside of this safehouse.” Wren commanded, his voice low and dangerous.

“I will do as I _please_.” She muttered angrily, pulling away from his grasp. “I will _die_ if I please!” She was shouting now, blurting out a truth she had only just come to terms with herself. “There is nothing you can do to stop me.” Her voice trailed off, cracking under the implications of her own testaments. Wren’s grasp faltered at her words, an expression passing over his face that to the untrained eye would be unreadable. It was gone as soon as it had appeared, and he was tightening his grasp on her once more.

Caen, having known Wren for over a decade, was not unfamiliar with his expressions. He’d seen that same one six years ago, when his sister had defied his orders to pull back. That was _worry_ on his face. Now, there was worry on Caen’s face too. Wren was not supposed to feel such things being who he was— he was supposed to be their dauntless and determined leader. The humanity that crept into his expression as his mind was forced to consider the possibility of losing Aislin entirely, shook Caen to his core.

Wren said nothing in response. His face hardened once more as he released her chin, grabbing for her arm instead. Aislin’s fervent demands that he let go of her were lost on him as he led her forcefully out of the room. He took a safer path this time, avoiding the projectile sensors while he dragged her with him. The crowd parted once more to make way for him, murmuring nervously as they observed the pair.

Caen’s shoulders dropped in defeat as he watched them go. If Wren, who had appeared impenetrable, was beginning to fracture— what hope did the rest of them have? He loosed a heavy breath as they careened out of view, idly wondering how many more steps it would take to save Aislin when it all came to a head.