I know, I finally updated this story. I was losing motivation to write this bc the whole thing was just Luka angsting about Jordan, but I found a way to solve that.

(Not in this chapter, tho, this is all angst too)

I sit next to Jordan, his eyes blank, his back straight. Aven always commands for him to wait in silence, right after his… sessions. There's been three since Friday night, all of them making Jordan—and me—cry. The first session was the worst. Aven made Jordan confess everything, made him hurt himself, made him promise to kill the ones he loved. Every moment dragged on and on, Jordan's face slowly draining of life, until he remained like this.

A statue. Emotionless.

Aven hadn't commanded for this, all he said was for him to stay in this room, and not to speak.

Jordo seemed—he was just so lifeless.

Another shudder ran through me as I looked over him, his face blank, sitting as rigid as a board. Aven had killed him, killed any part of the Jordan I know. What were his friends going to think? How would they react to seeing Jordan so… gone?

If Aven ever let him leave.

A pair of shoes thumped down the hallway outside, and Jordan's eyes widened, a faint glisten of sweat across his face.

The door opened to Aven, a radiant smile stretching across his face. "A pleasure to see you, Jordan, I hope your meal was adequate."

There was no meal, and Jordan knew that, his body stilling, muscles tensing and jaw clenched. "What do you want with me?"

"My… dear Jordan, shouldn't you be more polite? That's no way to begin a conversation with your father's guest."

"I don't care," said Jordan. "I hate you. I don't care about being polite."

Aven's gaze darkened. "You should care. Jordan, I command you to be polite to me, and act as a proper host."

No, whispered Luka, as Jordan became white as a sheet. Then, his tension faded, replaced by a polite, mindless, mask.

"I hope you've been enjoying your stay, Aven," said Jordan, his relaxed tone at ends with his wide, darting pupils. "The Chauteau Shondelle has wonderful gardens and an impressive display room. Have you had the chance to look at it?"

Aven became smug, a dark smile growing across his face. "No, I don't think I have, would you like to guide me sometime?" he asked—not a command, but a test.

Jordan blinked, a shallow smile stretching across his face. "It's a shame you haven't seen it, there are many artifacts and rare items, enough to interest anyone."

Adrenaline surged through Luka, the subtle bending of the rules of courtesy, not breaking them, but not quite following them, either, resisting Aven's command.

Aven's face, however, stayed serene. "How's your time at the academy, Master Sparker? I hear you've got a strong circle of friends."

"Yes," replied Jordan, then he held still, his gaze going blank.

"Come on, Jordan. Keep fighting," said Luka, watching his fingers twitch, but otherwise perfectly still.

Aven frowned—the slightest flicker of an eyebrow.

Then, Jordan sprung back to life, every hint of resistance gone. "Yes, I have I strong circle of friends at school. Alexandra Jennings, Delucia Cavelle and Bear."

"Bear?" asked Aven, his voice cold.

Jordan flinched, then said, "Barnold Ronnigan. Son of William Ronnigan, the Warden."

"You must care very deeply about this Barnold, don't you?"

Jordan's eyes widened. "Yes, Bear is a close friend of mine… If you are growing bored of my plain bedroom, perhaps I could take you on a tour of my father's display room. Would that interest you?" he asked, his voice strained.

"Maybe later," said Aven, his tone dull. "Now, I have a very interesting question for you. If you were to kill Barnold, how would you do so?"

Jordan gave a nervous laugh, his eyes darting. "I don't think I have the nerve to do that, Aven. So I wouldn't know."

"Answer the question."

Jordan froze up, clenching his fists, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. His mouth opened, then closed again.

"I grow impatient, Master Sparker," said Aven, tapping his fingers. "Tell me how you would kill Barnold."

"I—I would do it while he…" something snapped, and Jordan's expression fell blank. "I would kill him while he slept. Steal a sword from the combat arena and slice his throat while he laid in bed." Jordan had tears in his eyes, sweat covering his face and was as pale as a sheet.

Aven's face remained neutral. "And what if you were to kill Alexandra?"

Jordan froze for a second, before it all came rushing out. "I wouldn't just try and kill her with a sword, she's better at combat than me. I would get hyroa blood—she's allergic to it—and then I would hide it in some food and make her eat it. I could stab her when the allergic reaction began, or just wait for her to die from it."

A smile flickered across Aven's face. "Very creative, Master Sparker. What about the Princess, Delucia? How would you murder someone like her?"

Jordan looked down, holding silent for just a second too long, before mumbling. "Get a sword and kill her in her sleep."

Aven lifted an eyebrow. "That's not very original, is it now, Jordan. Give me a more creative answer, one where Miss Cavelle will suffer."

Jordan's eyes widened, but the words came rushing out of his mouth before he could stop them. "I would take her for a walk through the woods, then knock her out. I'd tie her to a tree, and when she woke up I would slice open her stomach, then leave her there to slowly bleed out."

"Very interesting, Sparker, it's nice to see your creative side coming out. Unfortunately, I have other matters to attend to, I hope you won't mind if I resume this session later?"

Jordan made no response, trying to look neutral, but failing.

Aven gave one more bone-shuddering—gorgeous—smile, before shutting the door behind him, not even bothering to lock it.

Jordan sat down, his face falling blank. "I don't know what to do," he whispered, rubbing his hands over his face. "I don't know what to do."

"I know," I whisper. "I wish I could help."

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