The next day, Ethan and Bela arrived at the base of the armory stairs. The walk to the armory – and the entire day thus far – had been much like yesterday: cold and quiet. Or, if he wanted to be precise, even colder and quieter.

Bela had put a complete stop to delivering meals to Ethan personally. Their lunch dates were indefinitely canceled, as if Bela could no longer stand to be in the same room as Ethan. The only stretches of time they did spend together were in between breakfast and lunch, when Bela handed him his morning coffee, and that was it.

During those short stints together, Bela completely ceased initiating conversation. She would sit or stand in the corner farthest from Ethan and sip her coffee in silence – like she was there out of obligation alone, and not out of desire. This was only reinforced by the way Bela barely ever looked at Ethan; the times she did, it was as if she was staring right through him instead.

The regrowth of Ethan's fingers was the only topic Bela was remotely keen on. She had begun to prepare a special salve, composed of God knows what. Bela hypothesized that her formula would stimulate Ethan's moldy cells enough to promote regeneration. Simply dousing his fingers in disinfectant wouldn't do the trick (they tried), so Bela believed this was his next best bet.

If Bela's remedy wouldn't pan out, then he could at least count on his body to slowly – very slowly – regenerate the fingers over time. The longer that Ethan was free from the medicine which Chris and the BSAA oh so generously pumped into him, the more his unnatural healing could get to work.

Aside from that, Bela was quiet. The previous night, after knife fighting with Cassandra, Ethan returned to Bela's room for a bath; he'd worked up a sweat and was eager to give his stiff muscles some rest in a warm tub.

When Ethan knocked on the door and let himself in, Bela hardly gave him more than a glance. She simply turned back to her notes and ignored him again. He was free from injury, and so Bela had no business tending to him or looking at him any longer than what she must have felt was strictly necessary. Hell – Ethan suspected the only reason Bela's eyes lingered was because of all the angry lipstick lines dashed across his skin and his clothes.

Maybe he should consider asking Cassandra to chop a few more fingers off, just to get Bela's attention.

Now, standing at the foot of the armory again, Ethan had a sad inkling that tonight would go similarly. He would return to his room alone, with barely a peep from Bela.

The only thing that differentiated this evening from the last was the sound of music reverberating down the stairwell.

…kenn,

Vom Feuer das die Haut verbrennt,

Ich werf ein Licht in mein Gesicht,

The grin crept up to Ethan's face before he could think to bite it down. His fears from nearly a week ago were confirmed: he indeed shared with Cassandra the common ground of not only enjoying metal, but Rammstein specifically. "Fuck me," Ethan muttered under his breath as he looked up the stairwell.

"That's inappropriate," Bela said just as quietly.

The quip – the first he'd heard from Bela all day – got Ethan laughing softly. He turned to look at Bela, just barely catching the small quirk of her lips before it faded.

Any semblance of happiness was wiped clean from Bela's face by the time she spoke. "I best be off."

"You sure you won't stay?" was Ethan's attempt to bargain, even if he knew it was futile.

Bela's eyes darted once towards the top of the steps, then returned to a blank point on Ethan's chest. Her eyes crinkled at the corners, suppressing a wince, "With that racket playing, I would rather be anywhere else."

Ethan huffed a soft laugh and remarked, "It's not that bad."

"Says you," Bela muttered.

Bela did not give Ethan the time to give a follow up. She leaned forward to peck a kiss to his cheek before turning on her heel to face her back to him.

Ethan only got a glimpse of Bela's blonde head as she started to round the corner leading back to the second floor corridors. He called after her, still a little stunned by the abruptness of her departure, "I'll see you later?"

Bela's voice carried across the doorway as she disappeared out of sight, "If you must."

The sharp clack of Bela's heels grew distant, leaving Ethan alone. The only one to hear his whispered response was himself. "No, but I want to…"

Ethan sighed, taking a moment to rub his fingers against his face. These past few nights, the exhaustion from his spars with Cassandra had been his only saving grace from sleeplessness. His mind ran rampant the moment he was alone, and even all his usual journaling did little to help clear the anxiety swirling in his head. Feeling drop dead tired was the only thing that could put him to sleep, even with his mind still racing with all the ways he could try to help Bela.

It was already exceedingly clear that Bela was stewing over her past – whether a specific facet of it, or her past in its entirety, Ethan wasn't sure; yet in the bigger picture, it probably didn't matter. What mattered was Bela was wrapped up in her head, held hostage by her past – or whatever perceptions and notions she had of her past, and she refused to let Ethan in. She was bent on facing her demons alone, and it clawed at Ethan's insides and made his heart ache to see Bela so distant and detached.

Ethan lowered his hands from his face, fingers flexing at his sides. The best he could do was compartmentalize, if only for a moment. After Cassandra had shaken things up last night with the knife fight, there was no telling what she had in store tonight. Ethan needed all his energy and all his senses ready for whatever lied ahead.

He could continue dying on the inside over Bela's distance later, after earning a new bruise or two from Cassandra.

Gefährlich ist wer Schmerzen kennt,

Vom Feuer das den Geist verbrennt,

Bäng, bang!

At least the soundtrack was killer.

Sparring with Cassandra was an outlet he was getting a little too fond of. He would be lying if he said he wasn't enjoying the fights, and the workout it inadvertently gave him. Just the prospect of getting his blood pumping again had Ethan climbing the steps two at a time. He bobbed his head along to the industrial metal as it continued bouncing down the stairwell. When he reached the top, he found the armory had gotten a minor makeover.

Freshly installed blue mats lined the floor of the central section of the armory – where Ethan and Cassandra did most of their sparring. From a glance alone, Ethan could already tell these were standard Judo or BJJ mats.

Cassandra was already on the mats, dressed in her usual dark rash guard and leggings, with her hair tied in a high ponytail. She was in the process of pumping out several pushups by the time Ethan entered the armory. Her head craned his way, giving Ethan a look at the ever-present dark bags under her eyes. From the bottom of her push up, she grunted, "Good evening, man-thing."

"Hey," Ethan nodded. His eyes left Cassandra's pink face, locking on instead to the source of the music – an old gramophone placed atop Cassandra's desk in the corner by the fireplace. A solid stack of vinyl records joined the gramophone, along with a carafe of water and a set of drinking goblets. Ethan remarked, "Didn't think I'd run into another Rammhead in this castle."

Cassandra let out a sharp exhale and paused in a plank position. Head still swiveled towards Ethan, she quirked a brow. "Another what?"

"A Ramm –" Ethan cut himself off with a quick shake of his head; he was probably the only one who referred to fans of the band as such, "Y'know, a fan of Rammstein. This is a solid album."

Till's powerful voice rocked the armory as the song approached its climax.

Bäng bang!

Feuer frei!

Ethan added, "Favorite track on this album's gotta be Mein Herz brennt, but Feuer Frei is up there for sure."

Cassandra lowered herself to the ground and continued her pushups. After several reps, she let out a sharp exhale, allowing her legs to relax onto the mats. Slowly, she raised her upper body, stretching out her back. From the little yoga knowhow Ethan got from Mia, he could guess this was a cobra pose. Cassandra peeled one hand from the mats to wipe sweat from her brow; she finally looked Ethan's way to send him a toothy grin. "The punching bag has good taste in music. Will wonders never cease?"

A soft huff, and Ethan rolled his eyes – a tiny part of him wondering if Cassandra would ever refer to him by name in this lifetime. Rather than dwell on the dehumanizing title, he motioned to the mats and chimed, "I like what you've done with the place."

Cassandra stood up and walked to her desk to retrieve her hand towel. She buried her face in the towel, and her voice came through muffled, "Since you like throwing me around so much, I thought it best to be prepared."

The motion stopped abruptly, and Cassandra froze. She added a little too hastily, "The floor is too cold for us to be rolling around on it all the time."

Ethan's thoughtful frown went unseen as Cassandra continued to wipe her face. It was another odd mannerism of Cassandra's – how conscious she was of letting it slip that she ever felt discomfort or pain. It was curious that she was trying to cover up her purchase of the mats at all; to Ethan, it only seemed like the logical next step, given all the sparring they were doing. In no scenario had Ethan ever thought of associating the new mats with weakness or frailty on Cassandra's part.

"The Duke was out for some time, but now he is finally back. I meant to buy these mats sooner, but," Cassandra lifted her face from the towel, an irritated curl set into her lip, "those hooligans that I unfortunately share a surname with are terrible at paying me back on time – and that's after they stole my money." An agitated scoff and she grumbled, "The nerve of those two."

Ethan avoided implicating himself into that incident. It was better if Cassandra didn't know he was with Daniela when she dipped into the middle sister's stash. He motioned to the ground and asked instead, "Did you get those from the Duke?"

The look Cassandra shot Ethan was decidedly unimpressed, and she asked back, "Where else would I get them from?"

"Amazon?" Ethan quipped back.

Cassandra narrowed her eyes. "What?"

"Never mind," Ethan shook a hand to dismiss the thought, "You'd probably eat the delivery guy, anyway."

Ethan went through the process of shedding his sweater and his shoes; he ignored Cassandra's suspicious glare, which had lost much of its menace in the past few days. What did demand Ethan's attention in that moment was the revelation that the Duke was finally back.

"I oughtta pay the big guy a visit." Ethan thought aloud, drawing a more curious, less venomous look from Cassandra. "Could finally get some gym clothes."

As Cassandra had mentioned, the Duke had been away the past few days. His absence forced Ethan to postpone his planned purchases: some workout clothes, more comfortable sleepwear, and anything else that caught his eye. That trip to the Emporium could be scheduled tomorrow, when Ethan had some downtime – of which he had a lot, now that Bela was giving him the cold shoulder.

There was that slight pang in his heart to think of it – of updating his wardrobe in the castle. Ethan doubted Bela would be eager to join him on another shopping run, now that she was so purposely avoiding him. To think, it had been her idea to get him new clothes in the first place.

Ethan took his deep breath, counted, and let it out.

Compartmentalize, compartmentalize, and compartmentalize.

"What's on the agenda today?" Ethan asked, nodding his head towards the new flooring. "We stress testing these mats?"

Cassandra turned a knob on the gramophone, lowering Till's booming voice by a few decibels. With the air between them just a tad quieter, Ethan clocked the deep breath Cassandra took. In an unprecedented un-Cassandra mannerism, she avoided Ethan's gaze; she looked towards his feet and mumbled under her breath in a half-whisper.

"I wanted you to teach me."

Ethan struggled to bite down his amused smile.

This was just too good.

The mighty Cassandra – the Dimitrescu House's most fierce huntress – asking a lowly man-thing for grappling lessons?

Hell really was freezing over. Pigs should begin flying any moment now, if this trend persisted. Maybe next, Lady Dimitrescu would arrive in a skimpy maid outfit, bringing them lemonade.

"What was that?" Ethan smirked. "I didn't catch that."

Cassandra grumbled, and her eyes shot up, the familiar defiance burning within them. It was not a request this time when she spoke, "Teach me those tricks of yours – the throws and the trips."

"Okay, my young padawan," Ethan grinned. "Start with the basics, we will."

Once more, Cassandra narrowed her eyes. The reference likely went right over her head, and she simply assumed that Ethan was poking fun at her. It amused Ethan all the more that such small jabs were free game with Cassandra now – whereas a week ago, it would likely net him some broken bones.

"And here I was beginning to think you were free from brain damage after all our fights," Cassandra spoke around a sneer curled at her lip. "It appears even I can be wrong sometimes."

Ethan chuckled under his breath, and allowed the jab to slide. If his own little jokes were free game, then it was only fair that Cassandra got her own verbal lashes in from time to time.

He stepped towards the mats, giving them a quick bow out of habit before stepping onto them. Ethan swung his arms in slow circles and started rotating his neck to oil up his joints. The mats had a decent sink and give as Ethan maneuvered to the center of the armory; these would ensure safe training for them both.

"Before you learn to throw, you need to learn to fall," Ethan spoke, twisting his torso this way and that as he warmed up. He gestured to his pupil as he added, "I know you have your bug powers and all, so odds are you won't need to apply any of this, but…"

Cassandra completed the thought, "It pays to be prepared." She gave a small pause, and all too nonchalantly added, "In case someone decides to get even, and tries to throw me over the railing and onto a table, no?"

"Exactly." Ethan nodded, flashing a wink. "We'll start with the backfall. Get into a low squat."

The oddity of joking about their brutal head-on encounter was not lost on Ethan. But he had also long since acknowledged that humor was a coping mechanism of his; perhaps he shared that with Cassandra. The bad blood he'd been trying to bury with Cassandra wasn't something easy to reflect on – especially when the woman in question was making it easier (whether she knew it or not) to move past it all. For now, all Ethan could do was focus on the lesson he was teaching. He pushed his hips back and squatted low to demonstrate. Cassandra followed suit, extending her arms forward as she dipped down.

"From here, just sink all the way down and then fall back. Make sure to tuck your chin down," Ethan lowered his own chin to his chest, "This protects the back of your head. Then at the same time, when you hit the mats, slam your arms."

Ethan went through the motions, falling back, tucking his head, and slamming the mats. He propped himself up on his elbows to look at Cassandra, who rested in the squat, observing him. He took that chance to explain, "The slam is to help disperse the impact of the fall. Helps you recover quicker if you get thrown. You give it a shot."

Cassandra wore the dubiousness plain on her face – as if unconvinced by the slamming methodology.

"Humor me," Ethan told her when she still didn't move a muscle. "Try it."

Casting doubt aside for a moment, Cassandra lowered all the way down, and fell back. She tucked her head in as needed, but her arms produced little sound when they struck the mats.

"Come on, really slam those arms," Ethan reminded her, "Smack that bitch like it owes you money."

Cassandra snorted out a laugh, quickly covering her face with her hand to regain composure. When her hand came away, she wore a smile on her pale lips. "Are you saying I should pretend these mats are my thieving sisters?"

Ethan gave her a wry smile in return. "Yeah, and they just stole all your birthday cash. Come on, try it again."

Like a good student, Cassandra got back onto her feet, then squatted down. She went through the movements as Ethan instructed, and she hit the mats hard.

"Good," Ethan remarked, "Try it a couple more times. Make sure you spread your arms out a little – about forty-five degrees from your body."

While Cassandra apparently didn't care for the geometric precision Ethan raised, she complied, nonetheless. Rammstein's heavy instrumentals continued to rock the armory walls as Ethan watched Cassandra, correcting her as needed. She went through the breakfall several more times, escalating with each step, until she did the fall from a standing position. Once he was satisfied with her performance, they went onto side breakfalls – which Ethan explained were some of the most commonly used when thrown.

Cassandra may have glared at Ethan a little extra when he explained this part – but Ethan was completely unfazed by Cassandra's basilisk stare at this point. That, and it was understandable why she was a little bitter – the throw Ethan had performed during their first armory spar could have been softened a little with a proper side breakfall.

Not that the stone floor was a soft place to land, but still – it would have helped.

After ample demonstration from Ethan, it was Cassandra's turn to try. They went through the same motions of minor corrections until Ethan was happy with her progress, and Cassandra was growing disoriented from hitting the mats so many times.

At one point, Cassandra had to steady herself when she got back to her feet. Taking in a deep breath, she grumbled, "It's times like this I'm glad to not be human. I'm sure I would have a concussion by now otherwise."

It drew an amused snort from Ethan, and he granted her a few more seconds of recovery before motioning to the mats. "Back to it."

Front falls were next. After a few demonstrations and pointers, Ethan leaned back on the wall across Cassandra. He watched as the brunette went through the movements, slamming onto the mats and protecting her face.

"Keep going," Ethan nodded in approval as Cassandra got back to her feet and prepared to fall back down. "I know this is all repetitive, but you're gonna be glad for it next time I throw you around."

Cassandra narrowed her eyes in that familiar glare. In equal parts, it appeared to warn him not to push his luck, and at the same time challenged him to do just that. When Cassandra did not contest his ability to toss her around, Ethan kept his tongue in check. He raised his hands up in surrender, even as he grinned wide. It earned an eyeroll from Cassandra, who turned her attention back to her falls.

The lesson carried on, progressing to rolling breakfalls. Cassandra watched with no shortage of interest as Ethan rolled around the mats without pausing his explanation of the movements. If he could hazard a guess, she seemed the slightest bit awed by his effortless agility.

Ethan made no big deal out of it – it was simply all the training under Chris, drilling these maneuvers until they were second nature. All the fucking training.

There was a time he'd been sick of the beginner stuff. You could only roll so many times, throw a one-two, jab-straight combo so many times, and draw from the holster, flick the safety off, fire two rounds, thumb the safety back on, and re-holster, so many fucking times until you got sick of it. The exhaustion was not only physical, but also emotional – perhaps even psychological, Ethan would hazard to say

But these were the building blocks to all the advanced drills Chris would eventually put him through. As Ethan's body grew accustomed to the physically taxing routines, so did his mind. Every bit of him was conditioned into the fighter he was today, thanks to the endless repetition of his basics.

And besides, all the drills in training prepared them to do the same movements in full kit – rifle in hand, helmet on the noggin, and plate carrier vest and rig around the torso. Doing rolls and breakfalls without the full kit was easy-peasy in comparison.

By the time Cassandra finished the rolling drills, her face was flushed in a familiar shade of pink. Her chest heaved with tired breaths, which she fought to conceal. Ethan called for a water break from there to give Cassandra the chance to catch her breath before they continued. Knowing her, she wouldn't admit that she was fatigued, so it was better that Ethan signaled the break.

They made a beeline for the water on Cassandra's table by the fireplace. It appeared Cassandra had anticipated today's session would last longer than the last ones, since she had made the necessary preparations.

Closer to the table now, Ethan got a better look at the vinyl records neatly stacked next to the gramophone. With a glance alone, he could make out cover art for albums by Black Sabbath, Iron Maiden, and more.

Ethan went ahead and poured them a glass each. He leaned back on the stone wall next to the table, holding Cassandra's glass out in front of him. Cassandra gave him a quick nod before securing her filled glass. She gulped the water down within seconds, then refilled the glass.

Cassandra steadied her breathing, leaning her hip against the desk. She swirled the water around in her glass before craning her head to face Ethan.

"You never did answer me yesterday."

Ethan took a sip of the cool water before asking back, "Answer what?"

Cassandra tilted her head towards the vacant bench by the door. "Where's Bela?"

It was like a punch to the gut out of nowhere. Ethan's eyes fell from Cassandra's, and he found himself frowning. His knee jerk reaction was to go on the defense. "Look, if you're just trying to fuck with me, I –"

A hot scoff from Cassandra cut him off. Her hand landed on Ethan's chin, forcing him to look up to meet her eyes. "Just answer the damn question."

Ethan flinched back, knocking her hand away and returning her glare. It was Cassandra's turn to evade eye contact for a split second – a miniscule crack in her flawless mask of indifference. When she spoke, it was in a low voice, "The two of you were inseparable, last I checked. Why has she stopped joining you up here?"

"Why don't you ask her?" Ethan crossed his arms.

Cassandra's narrowed eyes tightened. "You honestly think she would answer me?"

"Fuck if I know," Ethan shrugged, and turned it back to her, "and why do you care anyway?" His expression plainly showed the incredulity as he said, "Seems like Bela's the only one who pisses you off more than I do – so why do you care if she's dipping out?"

Ethan tensed as Cassandra raised her free hand up to her chest, balling it into a fist. Her lip curled into a sneer before she released a sharp breath, and she slowly dropped her hand back to her side, rather than sending it into Ethan's face. Cassandra's signature poker face slipped back into place, as did the erratic tap of her pointer finger against the side of her leg.

Appearances were everything to Cassandra, Ethan had learned as much by now. And if there was one thing Cassandra disliked, it was appearing emotional over anything – with white-hot rage being, perhaps, the only exception. Whenever some emotion threatened to spill out, she put on that blank, uncaring expression of hers, even as her hand's nervous tick fired off – and Ethan had a feeling Cassandra wasn't aware of it half the time.

The origins to her nervous ticks and almost compulsive need to cover up her emotion were worth pondering over – another time, when he wasn't face to face with the agitated brunette. Another misstep, and he would soon be face to fist with said brunette.

"It is very simple – so simple that a dullard like you shouldn't even need to ask why I care…" Cassandra tapped a forceful finger against Ethan's chest. "Listen carefully, because I will only say this once." She paused only to take a breath. There was a twitch by the corner of her lip – suppressing a snarl as she leaned in a fraction. "In spite of everything Bela has done to me, she is still family."

Internally, Ethan felt himself deflate by a degree.

At the crux of it, it really was that simple, wasn't it?

Mia stabbed him with a screwdriver, stuck a knife into his shoulder, and chainsaw-ed his hand off – yet he was willing to let bygones be bygones. After sufficient therapy, and unpacking the mold's influence on Mia, Ethan couldn't not forgive her, and let it go.

So who was to say Cassandra could not be concerned for Bela, even if the former's hackles raised whenever Bela was mentioned? They had been siblings for over half a century. That had to count for something.

Ethan blew out a sigh and a silent, "Fine." When he met Cassandra's inquisitive gaze, he began, "Bela's been avoiding me like the plague the past few days. She says it's got nothing to do with me." He gestured vaguely beyond the armory, adding, "Seems like she's all wrapped up in her head, over… y'know, whatever it is that goes on in there."

Cassandra's impeccable poker face kept Ethan from making any deductions as to what she was thinking. She simply nodded, and after a beat, said, "Let me guess. She wants nothing to do with you, after sticking to your side like glue for so long?"

The all-too succinct summary left Ethan wincing before he responded, "Yeah. Spot on."

Cassandra's eyes fell to her glass of water. She shrugged one shoulder, and muttered into the glass, "Welcome to the club."

Ethan waited until Cassandra finished downing her water. Once the glass was set down on her table, Ethan sought to confirm what he was piecing together. "Bela gave you the cold shoulder before?"

"Correction," Cassandra's irritation flared for a moment, before her frown reset, and she fought to appear uncaring, "Bela has been giving me the cold shoulder for about ten years."

A wave of unease rippled through Ethan's stomach. His pulse began to pound as his brain all but vibrated from the connections being made.

The memories returned to Bela a decade ago, and her head was – for lack of better term – royally fucked since then. Bela shunned Cassandra ever since her past life resurfaced, as Bela couldn't bear to try and reconcile the two lives she lived – with Cassandra as the very concrete, very bloody manifestation of her current life.

And where did that leave Cassandra, if not feeling like she'd been hung up to dry? Isolated for an entire ten years, after decades of companionship. The endless, echoing loneliness she felt must have been painful. Ethan's heart gave an empathetic pang just to consider it – as he'd already felt that painful loneliness once before, when Mia had first been presumed dead.

Yet even then, Ethan had friends and family to occasionally dull the pain. Who did Cassandra have, considering she appeared to keep everyone at an arm's length? Even her relationship with Daniela seemed strained, at best.

"I have not had a proper sparring partner in years because of that." Cassandra's jaw ticked, and she let slip a small sigh. "It is why I appreciate this… whatever you want to call these evenings." She looked away, eyes staring blankly at a corner of the armory. One shoulder bobbed with a faint shrug. "As silly as it sounds."

Silence fell between them; Cassandra tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ear, more out of the need to fill the dead air than anything else. Any further elaboration went unsaid, but Ethan had an inkling that Cassandra felt she said too much already. Bela had been a constant and a friend in Cassandra's life, only for the former to turn away with – Ethan assumed – little explanation. Cassandra was taking solace from Ethan in the unlikeliest way – these nightly fights – as her new constant.

Maybe it really shouldn't seem so strange in the grand scheme of things. Routine could easily bring comfort in times of turmoil, and Cassandra had turmoil in spades. A regular fight club was doing wonders for her, and it showed.

If keeping up Cassandra's regular fight club was good for her, then it was best he keep them on track. Ethan didn't care to dwell on the schism with Bela for too long, lest his heart ache all over again. That was a personal matter best contemplated alone, and not with Cassandra.

While Ethan was with Cassandra, he would do what he could to focus on just her. The damage done by ten years of isolation meant Ethan's work was cut out for him. He could start by simply being present, and focusing on their lesson.

Ethan nodded his head towards the mats, and spoke up, "Shall we?"

A ghost of a smile passed over Cassandra's face, and she nodded, approaching the armory's center.

After a brief bow to the mats, Ethan padded on forward and resumed their lesson. "Now that you know how to fall, I can properly teach you how to throw. We'll start with another classic – the hip throw."

Ethan got closer to Cassandra, stopping a couple of feet away. Internally, he braced himself. "I'm gonna demonstrate it once, is that okay?"

Cassandra's eyes narrowed for a long moment, before the clarity struck her – her eyes then widened for a beat, before resetting. She cleared her throat and answered, "It is fine by me."

"You'll land on your left side," Ethan warned her, "Just slam that arm and you'll be okay."

"I told you," Cassandra cut in, baring her teeth, "It is fine."

Defensive, much?

Ethan bit down on his tongue and simply nodded. "Hold out your right arm."

As soon as Cassandra's arm extended out, Ethan yanked it towards himself. He turned, shooting his hips low, and looping his right arm around her waist. Ethan's knees straightened, and with a hard tug, Cassandra was sent sailing over Ethan's hip. Ethan followed her down, landing next to her on one knee as Cassandra slammed her arm down onto the mat.

Cassandra drew in a shuddering breath through clenched teeth. Ethan did what he could to preempt the possible panic attack. Softly, he whispered, "Hey."

Ethan squeezed her arm and leaned forward to interrupt her steadily blanking line of sight. "Hey. You good?"

Amber eyes focused on Ethan's, and he watched Cassandra take a big gulp before nodding. "Yes."

"Atta girl," Ethan muttered; he shuffled back to give Cassandra space, while still supporting her arm to help pull her to standing. Once she was on her feet, Ethan released her, and she dusted herself off.

They moved onto the technique from there. Ethan went through the biomechanics of the movement – the hips acting as the fulcrum, and straightening the knees, rather than brute-forcing with the arms or the back. The context behind the technique was discussed and demonstrated as well. Ethan exhausted all the possible circumstances that could lead to a hip throw as the ideal attack to use in a grapple.

Before long, it was Ethan being slammed onto the mats. With each throw, Ethan gave Cassandra his corrections. He nudged his foot against her own, fixing her stance to ensure she was stable. He knocked his hip against hers – emphasizing the need for her to be lower than her opponent; leverage was almost always maximized when the tori was lower than the uke.

(Ethan then had to take the time to explain his terminology – with the tori as the doer of the technique, and the uke as the receiver.)

In the very back of Ethan's mind, he had to hope that this wouldn't all backfire in his face. Here he was, teaching a bioweapon the tricks he learned from the BSAA's finest. But then again, it was doubtful that Cassandra would ever put these moves into action. With her great speed and strength, there was little need for such refined technique. Cassandra would also never be caught dead in a scenario where she had no use of her powers. So Ethan's conscience was (mostly) clean.

The both of them were panting by the time Ethan ran out of pointers and corrections to give Cassandra. Her technique was spot-on, and her natural talent as a fighter was shining through. A little, nearly serene smile found its home on Cassandra's face when she was in her element like this – running through the repetitions of training.

Before Ethan could call for another water break, Cassandra spoke up first, speaking through her own shallow breaths, "Yesterday, you threw me again."

Sucking in a breath, Ethan wiped sweat from his brow. "I did, yeah."

"I was doing that…" Cassandra licked her lips, appearing to search for the words, before giving up, "that Osoto-whatever, but you countered it." She tilted her head, offering a wry, toothy smile, "I was wondering: did you teach me faulty techniques, or were you just that prepared for me?"

Ethan gave a sharp laugh at the accusation, and shook his head. "I saw the reap coming a mile away. We didn't come from the clinch, so when you yanked me off balance, instinct sorta just kicked in."

Cassandra's signature death glare fell into place, narrow eyes scrutinizing him for dishonesty. A long moment passed before Cassandra spared Ethan the hostile staring. She crossed her arms over her chest and said, "If that is true, then teach me the counter you used."

Without missing a beat, Ethan shrugged. "Sure."

While Ethan could only speculate what went on in Cassandra's head, he did have his theories. The most prevailing one was that she was doing her best to stay one step ahead of Ethan. The grappling and the throws had exposed the massive gaps in whatever training Cassandra had received in the past. Yesterday's knife fighting had allowed her to dip back into familiar ground – something she was confident she could be the victor in.

But then, much to Cassandra's surprise and chagrin, Ethan was no pushover in a knife fight either. Chris taught him to disarm and destroy for a reason, after all. When Ethan took Cassandra to the floor all over again, it was only reinforcing in her mind that this was her weak point – and that led them to today's lesson. Cassandra couldn't stand to be lagging in one aspect of fighting, and she was sucking up her pride to get these lessons.

And this – all of this was exacerbated by the utter terror of landing on her back in a fight.

Ethan turned it all over in his head, even as his mouth moved, and the words came out almost automatically – walking Cassandra through the counter. It was, after all, very simple when boiled down to its basics. As Chris would put it, the counter was essentially 'an Osotogari to the Osotogari.'

Ethan explained it to Cassandra as such, and while that small frown on her face persisted the entire time, she still listened like an obedient pupil. Ethan demonstrated the movements without completing the throw – avoiding the unnecessary risk of the anxiety overcoming Cassandra.

It was funny how that worked. How they had gone from loathing each other a week ago, and coming to physical blows, to where they were now. Ethan was actively avoiding setting off Cassandra's triggers, now that he was aware of them. They trained together, and both savored the outlet that resulted in getting their blood pumping together.

When it was Cassandra's turn to perform the throw, they moved slowly. Ethan setup and began to execute the reap, and Cassandra would steady her stance, and meet his leg in the air for the counter – simple, yet incredibly effective.

The first time Cassandra successfully countered the reap, and sent Ethan landing flat on his back, he had had enough of stewing in his thoughts – of Cassandra's motives and fears alike.

The brunette had followed the momentum down. Cassandra landed on her knee just to Ethan's side, looming over him as she gripped the front of his dark shirt. Her eyes went to his, and Ethan had seen that look enough times today to know she was seeking feedback.

Feedback from a pathetic man-thing like him.

These were crazy times he lived in.

Ethan finally asked from far out of left field, "You're not a big fan of landing on your back in a fight, huh?"

Caution was overdue to be thrown to the wind. He had done enough tiptoeing around Cassandra, and it had paid off. Now, he could afford to be a little bold and blunt – just a little bit. Enough to prompt a painfully honest reaction from Cassandra. One that could not be concealed by her poker face and her impassive voice.

The hand Cassandra had on the front of Ethan's shirt tightened. Her eyes narrowed, and she huffed. "Why would anyone be?"

He feigned nonchalance. "Lots I can do from this position. Armbar, chokehold, you name it – I could do any of it from my back."

Cassandra's other hand – secured around Ethan's arm – grew tight as well. She leaned closer, curling her lip in annoyance. "In case you haven't noticed, man-thing, I can't do any of that. The less time I spend on my back, the better." Cassandra tugged Ethan by the shirt to bring him closer – close enough for Ethan to feel her hot breath on his face. She was forced to unclench her tight jaw to add, "If I can avoid landing on my back altogether – even better."

Ethan stared back up at Cassandra, unflinching. He avoided opening his big mouth now that Cassandra was talking. His question had been enough to disarm her mask of indifference. Hopefully this time, it wouldn't be enough to blow up in his face completely.

Cassandra swallowed down the lump in her throat she fought to hide. "I've taken enough beatings to last me a dozen lifetimes." She bit her lip, eyes looking straight through Ethan for a moment. "Never again." Cassandra's teeth clenched together then, and she hissed the next words out in emphasis, "Fucking. Never. Again."

And there it was – the admission Ethan had been looking for, as open to interpretation as it may be. It confirmed his suspicions and speculations of past-life trauma, and its impact on Cassandra; between Daniela's earliest allusions, and Bela's own sparse input, there was now little doubt in Ethan's mind – Cassandra had endured a very physical, very traumatic event (or events) in her past life, and that scarred her to this day.

If that aspect of her past haunted her as much as it did, Ethan could begin to guess the other parts of her past which carried over to the present.

The expertise with a knife. The post-training shots of vodka. And more. There had to be more.

Which meant that Daniela was partially right – Cassandra only consciously remembered the worst parts of her life. The better, happier times were obscured and inaccessible to her mind, unless they could be somehow unearthed. Ethan refused to believe Cassandra had no happier times at all. It just couldn't be possible that her life was nothing but agony.

Bela should be the go-to person for this, considering her own memories had been unearthed somehow. But given the cold shoulder Ethan was dealing with, he was on his own for now, which was no good. Digging up good memories after over half a century of Cassandra believing her past was nothing but pain – shit, he needed to watch out. If he didn't tread carefully, he was liable to uncover worse memories, knowing his luck. This thing between Ethan and Cassandra was fragile, and it would only take one bad turn to undo all his progress with her.

With the task laid before Ethan, he ought to ring Sisyphus up and ask to take a turn pushing that boulder up the mountain for a while.

Ethan pulled the brakes on Cassandra's potential spiral as best he could. He placed a hand over the fist she balled up to grab his shirt. Her hand was warm, and Ethan felt Cassandra's rapid pulse as he rubbed his thumb over her skin.

"That was a clean reap, Cassandra." He did his best to smile up at her and defuse the latent anger and frustration. "You're picking up pretty quickly, you know that?"

Cassandra's glare remained, but it lacked venom. Ethan didn't miss the slight twitch at the corner of her lips. "Flattery will get you nowhere."

"It's called positive feedback, in case you've never heard any before," Ethan retorted, earning a soft huff from Cassandra. "You ought to put your hips into it some more, though – that'll help with the throw." Ethan gently pried Cassandra's hand from his shirt, and the brunette pulled back, giving him room to sit up. "Oh, and that's constructive criticism, if you've never gotten any, either."

"Shut up, smartass." Cassandra rolled her eyes as she got to her feet, but still extended her arm for Ethan.

With a tug, Ethan was pulled back to his feet. Any latent anger on Cassandra's features had subsided – or at least, she had made it a point to obscure them. Ethan played along. He could steer them back on track, now that he had learned all he needed about the dark parts of Cassandra's first life. Even if the details were next to nonexistent, they told him everything he needed to know.

Any further digging and prying could focus on getting to know the real Cassandra. The part of her that had thrived as a competent fighter, who commemorated her fights with shots of vodka – drinking to her and her training partner's health.

"Come on." Ethan motioned to Cassandra. "Again," He secured a hand over her nape, and another by her shoulder. Repetition after repetition, Ethan would execute the reap, and Cassandra would perform the swift counter. The armory's stone ceiling was beginning to spin in Ethan's vision by the time he ironed out the kinks in Cassandra's form.

Cassandra all but yanked Ethan back to standing after the final rep. Her hand remained planted on his arm for a few moments longer; she had to take the time to steady herself as the exhaustion set in. When she let go, Ethan dusted himself off and steadied his breathing, while Cassandra went about retying her ponytail; numerous pesky strands of brown hair had escaped over the long training session.

In between shallow breaths, Cassandra asked, "Are we finished?"

"One last exercise for the night." Ethan raised his arms above his head, bending them at the elbows to rest his hands by his nape, and stretch his triceps. It also ensured an even distribution of blood flow – especially when he was close to gassing out after hitting the mats countless times. His shoulder would hate him tomorrow. The bruises were already making themselves known. "We'll do a quick round of randori."

When met with Cassandra's quirked brow, Ethan clarified, "Well – think of it like a spar. The goal is for one of us to knock the other flat on their back. No striking," Ethan pantomimed a punch, "only use the throws I've taught you."

Cassandra's hands fell to her sides once her hair was back in its neat, high ponytail. Her chest continued to heave with tired breaths, but, almost predictably, Cassandra did not voice her exhaustion, or ask for a break.

Regardless, Ethan preempted any such request, "We'll hop right into it instead of taking five." He motioned to the mats around them as he explained, "When you're tired, your technique can get sloppy – and that's when it's most important to have good form. So, consider this a stress test of your technique."

Cassandra gulped air down, licked her lips once, then nodded. "Fine. Let's begin."

Ethan approached Cassandra with arms outstretched, allowing her to initiate the clinch. She wasted no time pressing in – immediately going for the double collar tie around his nape. With a well-placed elbow, Ethan knocked Cassandra's hand away. It forced her to lock in the single collar tie instead, as Ethan wrapped a hand of his own by her neck.

The two pushed and pulled each other around the mats for a while, and Cassandra made several halfhearted attempts to literally swipe at Ethan's feet with her own – in the hopes of destabilizing his stance. The fatigue was plain to see on both sides. Ethan's quick, nimble steps were sluggish. Cassandra's sweeps were sloppy and clumsy.

There were more openings than Ethan could count, but it was only natural for a novice judoka like Cassandra, especially when tired. When factoring in Cassandra's very striking-oriented background, it was difficult for her to drop it all entirely in a grappling setting. The openings Ethan found were ones that would not be present had Cassandra been throwing elbows into his head, and knees into his ribs.

"Remember what I said about your footing," Ethan said in a low grumble – just audible enough for Cassandra to hear him, as his head was nearly pressed up against hers.

"Yes, yes," was her response, and Ethan could practically hear her eyes rolling. Yet despite the front of annoyance, he clocked an immediate improvement in her stance – less open, and less of an invitation for him to come and knock her off her feet.

"Good," Ethan remarked. "Just like that."

Cassandra pivoted then, tugging Ethan's arm in the process. She went for the hip throw, but failed to break Ethan's balance. On solid footing, Ethan remained steady, and Cassandra couldn't lift him from the ground. He simply ripped himself free from her grip, before reengaging the clinch.

The frustration leaked into Cassandra's voice when she asked, "Why is this your preferred mode of fighting anyway?"

Ethan lifted one foot, keeping it clear of Cassandra's latest attempt at sweeping his foot. With a breath, he shrugged to himself, "I wouldn't call it my preferred mode of fighting."

A hot scoff against Ethan's ear, and Cassandra retorted, "These throws and trips are always what you use to beat me."

Ethan had to take just a second to note that in his head – that Cassandra had openly acknowledged her defeat in any capacity. It was almost commendable of her, if it were not simply basic human decency to admit defeat. Yet in all seriousness, Ethan felt it must have taken a lot for Cassandra to admit it.

"For one," Ethan began, only to ram his shoulder into Cassandra's and tug her arm – thoroughly breaking her balance. Rather than complete the throw, Ethan allowed them to stumble and reset. The point had been made, and there was no use to end the session with a clean Osotogari. This was meant to be a learning experience for Cassandra, after all. "I noticed you were bad at defending against them; that's why I keep using it against you."

Another huff, and grumble under Cassandra's breath – sounding vaguely like, "insolent man."

"Aside from that," Ethan ignored her reply and continued, switching back to the defensive. It gave Cassandra the opportunity to practice knocking him off stable feet. "This sort of stuff doesn't need brute strength; that makes it reliable in a pinch."

Cassandra let out a breath, which fanned Ethan's cheek. She paused her shoving and wriggling, just enough to look him in the eye. "You do not seem like a particularly weak person."

Quick as a whip, Ethan turned Cassandra's line last night against her, "Aww… if I didn't know any better, I would take that as a compliment."

He received a shove for his efforts, and he stumbled back, narrowly avoiding Cassandra's leg. Her reply was delivered with a growl, and a subtle uptick at the corner of her mouth, "Shut up."

Ethan anticipated Cassandra's next hip throw attempt. When she turned to knock against his hips, Ethan swung with his leg, reaping her at the ankle. Cassandra stumbled, and it was by Ethan's solid grip on her arm that she didn't topple over. She ripped her hand free the moment she straightened up, and quickly got the single collar tie back in.

"Lots of people out there," Ethan went about answering her question properly, "lots of bioweapons – Lycans, Moroaice, whatever – they're stronger than I am." He nodded his head towards Cassandra, "You're stronger than I am. I just don't wanna be defenseless on account of being physically weaker than whatever stands in my way."

For a long couple of seconds, Cassandra caught her breath, watching Ethan through sharp eyes. When she spoke, it was with the slightest tinge of admiration, "You are a formidable foe. Very irritating, but a formidable foe nonetheless. Not many are so adept as to use their enemy's strength against them, like you do."

Ethan shrugged one shoulder, even if it was weighed down by Cassandra's hand clamped over it. "I've come a long way."

Before Cassandra could respond, Ethan seized the initiative. He rammed his shoulder against Cassandra's, and his hand slid down to secure her arm, yanking it to the side. His leg swung forward just as Cassandra teetered to one side.

And then he felt it – the split-second adjustment of her stance. He could try and recover – try to salvage the throw and prevent the counter. But his leg was already sailing down, and Cassandra's leg was careening back to meet it.

Ethan felt an inkling of pride as Cassandra performed a textbook Osotogaeshi. He hit the mats hard, one arm splayed out to the side to break his fall. Cassandra landed next to Ethan – as if she herself had been unprepared for the momentum taking them down.

Their exhausted breaths mingled in the air, and when Ethan craned his head to Cassandra, he found her smiling. Equal parts pride and satisfaction creased her smile. It was a good look on her – almost enough to detract from the dark circles under her eyes – always there as a reminder of the demons haunting her.

"Good job," Ethan remarked, raising his fist up in invitation.

Another huff, but this time paired with Cassandra's smile. She bumped her fist to Ethan's and chimed, "My teacher's… not bad, so I learned a thing or two."

Ethan could only roll his eyes, a fond sort of mannerism that felt just a tad strange around Cassandra.

The ease into camaraderie with the Dimitrescu House's middle sister was leagues apart from how Ethan had done it with the other two. Daniela was such an openly sweet person that it was easy to be disarmed by her presence. It was easy to grow fond of someone like Daniela. Despite the problematic behavior and the mental issues that plagued her, Daniela was a sweetheart through and through.

Bela's case was similar. While she wasn't as warm and sweet as Daniela off the bat, Bela was kind and thoughtful. It felt like the most natural thing in the whole world to gravitate towards Bela – to sink into her comforting presence, even if it was just to listen to her knock him down a peg or two with her quick wit and sharp tongue.

And what he wouldn't give to exchange carefree banter with Bela like he had been doing only a week ago.

She would come around eventually. Hopefully.

Daniela had given her two cents, and Ethan intended to follow as best as he could, by allowing Bela the space she wanted, while still appearing as an available and open ear.

If only it didn't hurt so damn much in the meantime.

Whenever Mia gave Ethan the silent treatment, it never lasted. Within hours, they would be hashing out whatever was bothering her, and compromise would be reached, one way or another. While the aftermath of the Baker Incident was rough beyond all belief, they had still learned to communicate better in time. With open lines of communication, their relationship had bloomed all the more. Ethan wouldn't hesitate to go out on a limb and say they were closer than ever before after the Baker House.

It was what made Bela's distance more and more painful. It took the knife to Ethan's insides and sliced willy-nilly at his anxiety. Not knowing what was going on, and not being able to establish proper conversation with Bela was maddening.

All he could do was shut all the worry away into the filing cabinet in his mind, labeled 'panic over this later.'

Cassandra had taken the time to get back to her feet while Ethan lost himself in his thoughts. She grabbed Ethan by the upper arm and grunted, "Up you go."

With signature ease – like Ethan weighed no more than a bag of feathers – Cassandra pulled Ethan upright. She stepped off the mats, only craning her head over her shoulder to command him, "Come."

That was another odd quirk of Cassandra's, if he could even call it that. She seldom asked for anything from him. Instead, she issued commands – sharp and concise. Yet in her delivery of them, there wasn't a particular sense of haughtiness to it. No feeling of superiority. It was simply how she spoke to him, and Ethan wasn't too sure how he felt about it.

It wasn't like he could say no to her. She was the captor here, and he was just the prisoner.

And it's not like he wanted to say no, either. Post-spar vodka was sounding more and more appealing by the day. It made staying in Cassandra's good graces easier, just as it felt more and more important to stay connected to her and Daniela, while Bela grew distant.

They came to a stop by Cassandra's desk, just as Till's deep voice signaled the next track on the album entering full swing.

Ich will dass ihr mir vertraut,

Ich will,

Ich will dass ihr mir glaubt,

Ich will,

Cassandra went through the same motions as the previous night, ignoring the carafe of water in favor of retrieving her canteen of vodka. There was no hesitation or pause in her movements this time. It looked like second nature when she unscrewed the canteen's cap. The shots were poured, and a glass was pressed into Ethan's hands with the same almost reverence as before.

Ethan raised the glass to tap against Cassandra's once she secured hers. They locked eyes in a silent toast before Ethan tossed his head back, downing the shot. The familiar potent alcohol lit up his throat, and blasted away any sense of tiredness that clung to the inside of his skull. Ethan let out a breath, shaking his head slightly. "Goddamn. This is the good stuff, Cassandra. It's growing on me."

Cassandra went about refilling their glasses, and made no comment when Ethan sipped some water before giving his second shot of vodka attention. She instead opened by declaring, "You were going easy on me, were you not?"

Ethan set his water down, accepting the second shot in its place. When he looked up at Cassandra, he was faced with those impassive features. He was robbed of all the usual cues to read emotion beneath the words. All he had to count on was what he knew of Cassandra.

Sadistic killer. Torturer. Woman of no remorse.

At least, that was how he'd long thought of her. Now, there was enough of a grey area to write a whole damn book about.

Because Cassandra was also honorable. Up until this very night, Cassandra had kept her word, always. Not once did she ever resort to her inhuman strength to best him in a fight.

She was also scarred and traumatized, more than Ethan had ever expected. And while that would never excuse everything Cassandra had done, it did shed light on it all. It allowed Ethan to suspend disbelief long enough to be open to learning more about her.

As for her latest accusation, it went without saying that she would not take kindly to anyone going easy on her. She was a fighter at heart, and like any robust fighter, she would find it annoying to know her opponent held back. Ethan would feel the same in her shoes.

Yet Ethan had a perfectly good reason to be doing so, and he had to explain as much. He shrugged and began, "Maybe I was, but it was with good reason, if you'll hear me out."

Cassandra's head tilted by the slightest fraction, and she muttered, "Speak."

"The point of this exercise wasn't to see if you can throw me before I can throw you." Ethan let the sentiment sink in for a beat. "If that were the case, I would've dropped you fifteen seconds flat – but why bother?" Ethan noted the way Cassandra's glare tightened at that. "What do I have to prove?" He motioned to Cassandra as he added, "You came to me for the lessons, so what does knocking my pupil down at the first possible moment accomplish?"

Cassandra gave no reaction, save for glancing at her shot glass, swirling the contents within, then looking back up at Ethan.

"The point," Ethan took a breath, "was to see if you could throw me, after a dozen close calls, and like, three minutes of pushing and pulling, and constant movement." He tilted his head to the mats and shrugged a shoulder. "And you did good, Cassandra. I did my best to tire you out and keep you off guard," He pointed right at Cassandra now, meeting her eyes, "but you still managed to land the throw. That counts for something."

Ethan raised his shot glass forward. "That was good shit, Cassandra. Good training." He offered a lopsided smile. "I think it was you who said we drink to good fights around these parts. But I think maybe good training deserves the same treatment. What do you say?"

A smile broke through Cassandra's emotionless mask, and she hung her head long enough to reset it – just enough to temper it down to a tiny quirk at the corner of her lips. Cassandra clinked her glass against Ethan's, and nodded. "Good training."

The second shot went down as smoothly as the last, but seemed to burn almost twice as much; Ethan blamed the exhaustion, but was glad that at least his head stopped spinning from all the throws. His poor abused shoulder couldn't share the same sentiment.

He cleared his throat and smacked his lips, wasting no time retrieving the water. He topped off both their glasses before taking big sips.

Cassandra picked her glass up, cradling it with both hands. She turned to face the opposite wall, leaning back on the table. After a long drink, she glanced towards her side, at Ethan. "I was thinking about what you said yesterday."

"Yeah? 'bout what?" Ethan asked.

"It is simply…" Cassandra's face scrunched into a frown, and she spared Ethan her glare – turning it to her glass of water. "It baffles me that the man who taught you all of this…" Narrowed eyes met Ethan's, and she finished the thought, "That same man killed your wife."

Ethan found himself mirroring Cassandra's frown. He thumbed the glass in his hands, wiping the droplets of condensation. His lips parted, but no words came out, as Ethan truly had nothing to sum up the betrayal that still twisted his heart to this day.

The dining room window's glass shattering. The splatter of blood from Mia's shoulder. The lights going out. The muzzle flashes lighting up the silhouettes in the distance, accompanied by the muted pops of suppressed gunfire. Ethan's entire life came apart within the span of a minute.

Then there he was – there was Chris with his dark coat, looming over them both like the grim fucking reaper himself.

Sorry, Ethan.

Ethan fought to hide a flinch as the five succeeding gunshots reverberated through his mind. His throat seized up, feeling drier than the Sahara – as if he hadn't just gulped down a glass of water. He tried to put the words together – to explain to Cassandra how he still couldn't wrap his head around the sudden betrayal. When Ethan looked up, he was surprised to see a small quirk at the corner of Cassandra's mouth.

Yet what she had to say was anything but mocking. "Wait until Chris Redfield finds all that training ultimately used against him." A soft huff, and she added, "If I were him, I would sleep with one eye open."

"Yeah," Ethan found the blockage in his throat erased. It was easy to return the small smirk. "That'll be the day."

"That is what you plan to do when you see Redfield again," Cassandra leaned to the side by an inch – closer to Ethan, "isn't it?"

Ethan hardly knew what he would do if he saw Chris in that very moment – especially considering all the time he inadvertently gave Ethan. Time that had allowed these relationships with the Dimitrescu family to be fostered. Time which led Ethan to seeing and holding his daughter in his arms again.

But it was all just a stroke of luck, wasn't it? Ethan could have easily been tortured to the brink of insanity, or chopped up into a stew, or bled dry until he was nothing but a mindless husk. Chris had no way of knowing that Ethan's stay in the castle would have gone on as relatively peacefully as it had.

Ethan eventually answered, "Chris has a lot of explaining to do, that's for sure."

Cassandra turned to lean her hip on the desk and face Ethan fully. "And if his explanation is unsatisfactory?"

Regardless of all the time Chris bought Ethan, facts were facts. They murdered Mia, and her blood was all over their filthy hands. Chris and the entirety of Hound Wolf Squad forfeited their lives the moment they killed Mia for no good fucking reason. If they couldn't shed a glimpse of light on Mia's murder, then they were all dead.

And even if they could, Ethan didn't know if he could stop himself if it came down to it.

As easy as breathing, Ethan looked Cassandra in the eyes and replied, "I'll kill him. I'll kill them all."

No smile lingered on Cassandra's face. She met Ethan's gaze and did not waver. There was certainty in her steely eyes – and her perfectly still pointer finger – when she said, "Good."

Their eyes were locked for a beat longer, until Ethan looked away first – back at his glass. He took a long swig of water, his thoughts racing.

The inevitable confrontation with Chris was something Ethan tried not to put too much thought into. While stuck in this castle, there simply wasn't a lot he could do about the Chris situation, so his thoughts and his energy were better spent elsewhere.

But if he had to think about it – to really think about it – he knew deep down that there existed no possible justification for Mia's murder. As soon as Ethan got a ticket out of this valley safely, with Rose, he would finish the job.

They were dead.

Chris, Dion, Charlie, Emily, John, Rolando.

They were all dead, and Ethan would enjoy every fucking second putting them in the ground.

"Hey." Cassandra's voice was accompanied by her hand on his shoulder. It was just enough to keep him from sinking into the anger. To keep him from fixating on the death he would reap when the day came.

And if that wasn't the very definition of irony, Ethan didn't know what was.

Ethan looked up to find Cassandra had shuffled a foot closer to reach him. She settled on giving his shoulder another pat before retracting her hand and placing it between them, on the desk. "Thank you for the training."

"Sure. Happy to help," Ethan flashed a quick smile as he turned to properly face Cassandra. In the process, a muscle along his shoulder finally pinched, and Ethan visibly winced. "Fuck."

Cassandra frowned. "What?"

"It's nothing, just," Ethan grunted, rolling his shoulder in slow circles. "I think all the activity's catching up to me a little. Doesn't help that we worked on your right side more than your left – so I kept landing on the same side." He suppressed a cringe, moving his shoulder in a larger circle and going twice as slowly. "Yeah, I think we went at it a little hard today – but that's my fault. Just gotta stretch and oil these joints some more before we start next time."

When Ethan ceased his stretching, he found Cassandra staring at him – as was her habit. Yet instead of that uncaring, uninterested expression, her brows carried a subtle pitch – a look of worry. Her throat bobbed with a gulp before she asked in a small voice, "Will I still see you tomorrow night?"

It was baffling to hear Cassandra's voice so soft as she asked him this. Everything had been in commands up until this point. 'I will see you tomorrow, man-thing,' was nearly engraved in Ethan's mind, in Cassandra's voice. Now, it was almost like he had a say in the matter.

Then, all too suddenly, the connection was made in Ethan's mind, still a little slower than he would like, thanks to the fatigue: Cassandra didn't want to be alone.

By now, Ethan knew it was good to have constants in this castle, now that his biggest constant was dodging him. The art sessions with Daniela helped keep Ethan sane. He would be lying if he said the nightly spars with Cassandra were not doing the same.

And at this point, Ethan knew Cassandra needed the constants as much as he did.

As hard as it was for Ethan to admit, he really was growing to enjoy their time together. The bad blood between them should have been enough to act as a roadblock to the formation of any sort of camaraderie.

The torture session during his first day in the castle, which got him a fucked-up arm, a blood infection, and an amputated finger. The fucked-up game, leading him on his wild goose chase through the dungeons. The first spar in the armory, where Ethan had come very, very close to killing Cassandra once and for all.

Ethan had every reason to stay far away from Cassandra, and then some. But he couldn't.

He couldn't turn his back on her now that he was getting glimpses at the person behind all the violence and brutality. Maybe he was crazy (he wouldn't deny that anymore), but he knew this was the right way forward.

Ethan saw too much of himself in Cassandra to leave her in the dark. The loneliness, the isolation, the need to do something and apply herself physically to keep the creeping thoughts at bay – it made Ethan's head hurt to consider it all. And that wasn't even taking into account yet how they now shared the commonality of being shunned by Bela on top of it all.

There wasn't even any need to draw comparisons with himself to Cassandra – he could just look at Daniela's situation and see all the parallels. It's just that Cassandra had no library or painting to help her escape it all. She had her training and her fighting, and she'd been up and abandoned by her sparring partner. The only difference from Daniela's isolation and loneliness was that it was debatable whether Cassandra felt remorse over her body count. Ethan could only draw blanks on that, but he was willing to see where that line of questioning would go. After all, Cassandra treated him leagues differently from how she once did, weeks ago.

It was stupid and ill-advised, and Ethan knew he'd be called a loon for trying to sympathize with the person in this castle who hurt him the most.

But what else was there to do?

He could pass judgment when he got the full story, and left not a scrap of context out of the bigger picture – and even then, who was he to judge anyone?

He was just Ethan goddamn Winters, and thanks to the Baker Family, he was willing to see this thing through to the end.

For Cassandra.

"Would I miss the opportunity to have you smack me around like I owe you money?" Ethan cracked a smile. "Never. I'll see you tomorrow night, Cassandra."

A beat passed, and the worry faded from Cassandra's features. A smile came up in its place, and it was unlike those that came before – those that were born from sadism, or pride, or flashes of quick wit. It was a real smile that reached Cassandra's warm eyes, highlighting her sharp, angular features, and even bringing out a small dimple in the corner of her cheek.

The gorgeous smile persisted as Cassandra said, "Thank you, Ethan."

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! As always, if you liked what you read, please hit those fave and follow buttons, so you don't miss the next update!

This chapter, and 41 were originally supposed to just be one chapter. But, as always, I had to split them to avoid publishing 20k word mega-chapters. I know some of you are into that, but most of you prefer these chapters of more reasonable length (and they're already long af as is lol).

Cassandra calling Ethan by name ushers in a bit of a shift in their relationship, as I'm sure you can all tell by this point. Ethan's definitely leaning into that Peter 2 energy of "Gotta help 'em all," even the bad bitch that caused him the most grief since it all began. We'll see more if this as the chapters roll by, and we continually creep into the exciting parts of the Cassandra arc.

This chapter ran a little late thanks to my busy personal life, so that's my bad. The next chapter should go up around the weekend of the 7th, or earlier, if y'all are lucky.

As always, be sure to swing by the socials - lots of fun stuff in store. If you've got any burning questions for me, you might wanna hop in sooner rather than later, so you can slip your questions in before I record the July Q&A this weekend. Bunch of fun behind the scenes stuff on top of all the podcast episodes, so I hope you guys enjoy giving that a peek. You can peep the socials at linktr . ee / sylvesterm

Thank you all so much for the support! I'll catch you all around at the next one soon enough. Stay safe out there.