Luckily for her, Samara had never been careless enough to walk unarmed, and a dagger rested hidden beneath her clothes.
Without hesitation, her fingers slipped beneath the fabric and drew it out in one fluid motion, the familiar weight settling into her hand.
Yet the moment the blade met the air, something felt wrong.
A strange lightness spread through her body, subtle at first, almost easy to ignore, but it grew steadily, pulling at her control in a way she could not immediately understand. Her grip weakened slightly, not from fear but from something far more unsettling, as though her body was no longer responding entirely to her will.
Her breath caught as the sensation deepened.
It was not pain.
It was distance.
Slowly, her awareness shifted, no longer fully anchored within herself but drifting just behind her own eyes, as if she had been pushed back while something else stepped forward.
She was still there.
Still conscious.
But no longer in control.
I will handle this, Adrian said, his voice calm and certain, leaving no space for resistance.
Before she could react, her body adjusted on its own.
Her stance steadied, her footing grounding with precise balance as the dagger settled more firmly in her grip. Every movement became sharper, more refined, stripped of hesitation and unnecessary motion in a way that did not belong to her.
Then the attack came.
A dagger cut through the air with lethal speed, its aim direct and unforgiving.
Adrian moved just enough.
He tilted slightly, shifting his weight with careful precision, and the blade passed by her face with only a breath of distance between steel and skin.
Another followed.
And then another.
Each strike came faster than the last, measured rather than reckless, as if whoever was attacking was testing their limits instead of rushing blindly.
Adrian did not retreat.
He did not panic.
He responded with quiet efficiency, evading each attack with minimal movement, as though he already understood where each blade would land before it reached him.
Then he advanced.
The decision was immediate and deliberate as he pushed forward, his body moving swiftly through the forest, closing the distance between himself and the unseen attackers.
The ground blurred beneath his feet as he moved, branches shifting overhead while the stillness of the forest gave way to the force of his motion.
After a short distance, he stopped.
The silence returned at once, heavy and watchful.
Two towering trees stood ahead, their thick trunks rising into the canopy, their branches spreading wide and casting shadows below.
At first glance, there was nothing.
No movement.
No sound.
But Adrian's gaze lifted slowly, his focus precise.
And there they were.
Two figures stood perched on separate branches, partially concealed by leaves and shadow, their forms still and controlled. They wore dark clothing that blended into the forest, their faces hidden behind black masks.
Watching.
Waiting.
"Kaelen and Virek."
The names left his lips with quiet certainty, as though he had expected this all along.
For a brief moment, neither of the figures moved.
Then, one of them shifted.
The man with blonde hair tilted his head slightly to the side, the motion slow and almost curious, as though studying something that had just proven more interesting than anticipated.
They dropped from the trees with effortless precision, boots striking the ground in perfect unison, as though their movements were tied to the same pulse.
"You know us," they said together.
Even their voices matched.
Adrian did not answer. His gaze remained fixed on them, steady and unreadable, though his grip on the dagger tightened just slightly.
A faint flicker passed between the two.
Recognition.
Amusement.
"Well… since you know us," one of them said, tilting his head, "we might be a little lenient."
The forest seemed to grow quieter around them, as if listening.
"What do you want?" Adrian asked, his voice calm, almost detached.
"Not so fast," the other cut in, sharper. "Let him finish."
A small muscle shifted along Adrian's jaw.
Kaelen stepped forward, just enough for his presence to press against the air.
"As I was saying," he continued, his tone light but edged with something dangerous, "we will let you go… if you defeat me."
Adrian did not respond immediately.
He knew them.
Not by name alone, but by reputation.
The brothers were not men. They were weapons shaped over years, their movements refined into something precise and merciless. Their youthful appearance meant nothing.
Facing one of them was dangerous.
Facing both was death.
In his own body, this would be simple.
But this was not his body.
He could feel its limits with every breath. The slight delay in response. The lack of strength beneath the surface.
Samara's body was not built for this.
He calculated quickly.
One opponent meant risk.
Two meant certainty.
"Fine," Adrian said at last. "Let's begin."
Kaelen's smile widened beneath the mask, the corners of it visible in the slight pull of fabric.
I bet he has a wide mouth, Samara's voice slipped into his mind.
Adrian did not react outwardly.
Cracking jokes now. Impressive timing.
Weren't they sent by the institution?
I doubt it. These two do not follow orders.
They kill.
A pause.
Then I'm dead.
Adrian said nothing.
He was already moving.
Virek stepped back, boots brushing against dry leaves as he took position at the edge of the clearing, watching with quiet interest.
Adrian adjusted his stance, shifting his weight and freeing his movement. The dagger settled naturally in his grip, as though it had always belonged there.
"Feisty," Kaelen murmured, almost pleased.
Adrian struck first.
He surged forward, closing the distance in a blink, the dagger flashing toward Kaelen's side with clean, practiced precision.
Kaelen moved just as fast.
The blade met nothing.
Air.
Adrian did not hesitate. He pivoted immediately, dropping low in an attempt to unbalance him, but Kaelen stepped aside with effortless grace, as though he had already seen the movement before it happened.
The difference between them was clear.
Still, Adrian pressed forward.
Faster.
Sharper.
He forced the pace, driving attack after attack, each one calculated, each one precise.
But the body betrayed him.
His muscles began to strain. His breathing grew heavier. There was a delay now, small but fatal, between thought and movement.
Samara's body could not keep up.
Kaelen noticed.
Of course he did.
"That's all you've got?" he said, almost bored. "Disappointing."
"She's weakening," Virek called from the side, his voice carrying easily through the trees. "Disturbingly so."
Adrian's grip tightened around the dagger.
He could feel it now.
Control slipping.
Like sand running through his fingers.
If he lost it.
If Samara took over.
There would be nothing left.
For a brief moment, everything slowed.
The rustle of leaves.
The sound of breathing.
The weight of the air itself.
Then Adrian moved.
And vanished.
The connection snapped.
Samara surged back into her body.
Her breath caught.
Her vision shifted too quickly.
Kaelen was gone.
No—
He was behind her.
She didn't even have time to turn.
Pain exploded through her.
It was sudden. Sharp. Absolute.
The blade drove into her stomach with brutal force, the impact knocking the air from her lungs before she even understood what had happened.
Then it was gone.
Pulled free just as quickly.
Her knees hit the ground hard, the shock sending a tremor through her entire body. Her hand flew to the wound instinctively, fingers pressing down as warmth spread rapidly beneath her palm.
"Damn…" she breathed, though it came out weak, almost swallowed by the air.
Her vision blurred as the world around her began to tilt, the edges of everything softening as though reality itself was slipping out of focus.
Sound faded gradually, not all at once, but in layers, until the noise of the forest and the voices around her felt distant and hollow, as if she were sinking beneath water.
The metallic taste of blood spread across her tongue, thick and unmistakable.
Her body gave in.
She collapsed forward onto her hands, her strength draining with alarming speed as warmth seeped through her fingers and fell in slow, uneven drops onto the ground beneath her.
Somewhere nearby, voices continued.
They felt far away.
Distorted.
"…too far," one of them said, the words barely reaching her.
Another voice followed, sharper, tense with something that almost sounded like concern.
"You were not supposed to take it that far."
The words barely registered before something else drew her attention.
At first, it was nothing more than a shift in the air.
Subtle.
But unmistakable.
The atmosphere changed, growing heavier, as though something had stepped into the space without making a sound.
Samara's fingers twitched weakly against the ground.
Her breathing faltered, uneven and shallow.
She could feel it.
A presence.
Cold.
Controlled.
Watching.
Not one of them.
Something else.
Someone else.
Through the fading haze of her consciousness, a strange familiarity brushed against her senses, faint but impossible to ignore, like a memory she could not fully grasp.
Her heart stuttered weakly in her chest.
She wanted to turn.
To see.
But her body no longer responded.
Darkness pressed in from the edges of her vision, closing in steadily, swallowing what little clarity remained.
And just before everything disappeared completely, a voice reached her.
Low.
Calm.
Certain.
"Indeed, you took it too far."
The darkness took her.