The moment stretched longer than it should have, thick with something unspoken. Kael didn’t move after stepping forward, but he didn’t need to.

The street kept flowing around them, boots scraping stone, a cart wheel rattling somewhere, distant laughter from a tavern mouth, but the pocket of air between Kael and the two men went still, like the crowd itself had learned to avoid the shape of trouble.

His mask clung damp to his face. Warmth pooled behind it, sticky and metallic, and every breath dragged that iron taste across his tongue.

He kept his chin level anyway, shoulders settled, stance balanced like he wasn’t one cough away from dropping again.

It wasn’t bravado. It was habit. If you looked fragile, you became fragile in someone else’s head first, and once that happened, you were already half dead.

The first man’s eyes weren’t on the blood anymore. They slid instead along Kael’s jacket seams, the way it hugged his torso without sagging, the way it sat like gear meant to be worn through violence.

The two men exchanged another glance, slower this time, more deliberate. They weren’t looking at the blood on his mask, nor the way his breathing had grown uneven. What held their attention was something else entirely.

Even with his body betraying him, even with whatever was tearing through his chest, there was no scramble in him.

No pleading. No bargaining. He wasn’t trying to convince them he was dangerous, he was simply letting them notice he didn’t care if they misjudged him.

The first man clicked his tongue softly, the sound more thoughtful than annoyed. His posture eased, just slightly, as if a decision had been made.

"...Yeah, nah," he muttered under his breath.

The second man let out a quiet breath through his nose, the tension leaving his shoulders in a slow release. "Not worth it now..." he added, his voice lower now, stripped of whatever friendliness it had carried before.

Kael didn’t respond to that. He didn’t press forward, didn’t threaten, didn’t even acknowledge the shift outright. He simply stood there, watching them in silence, as if waiting to see what they would do next.

The first man took a step back, opening the path that had been subtly closed moments ago. "Take care of yourself," he said, his tone settling somewhere neutral, no longer pretending at concern. "Tower’ll chew you up if you don’t."

Kael gave no reply.

The two turned and walked away without hurry, without looking like they were retreating, but with a quiet finality to their steps. They didn’t rush because rushing would look like fear. They didn’t slow because slowing would look like hesitation. They moved like men who’d weighed a risk and tossed it aside.

Whatever they had been considering before had already been discarded.

As they blended back into the flow of people, the second man spoke under his breath, low enough that it wouldn’t carry.

"You felt that, right?"

The first man gave a slight nod. "...Yeah."

"That wasn’t a newbie."

A short pause followed before the first man answered, his gaze still forward.

"No," he said. "That was someone pretending to be one. Or worse, A newbie pretending to not be one. Crazy enough to pull it off too... Either way, not worth it."

Neither of them looked back.

Kael remained where he was for a few seconds after they disappeared into the crowd, his posture steady despite the strain building inside him. He didn’t even watch them go. Watching would mean he cared. Caring meant they mattered. He let the crowd swallow them and kept his gaze ahead, as if he’d already forgotten their faces.

Then the cough came again.

It didn’t rise gently. It detonated. His body folded around it like the cough had grabbed his ribs from the inside and yanked. The sound came out wet, ugly, something you didn’t want anyone hearing on a floor where weakness was currency.

This time, it drove him down to a knee.

His hand hit the ground to steady himself as his body convulsed, breath catching sharply in his throat. Stone scraped his palm.

His chest burned, no, seared, like something inside him was dragging a heated wire along his lungs. Every inhale felt like it caught on something sharp. Every exhale came out too hot, too thin, as if the air itself had turned against him.

He tried to control it, to slow it down, to force his breathing into something manageable, but it wasn’t responding the way it should. His own body had stopped listening like a loyal tool and started acting like a hostile environment.

His heart began pumping strongly, harder, more powerful than ever. He felt it in the tip of his fingers, in the edge of his brows, and at the side of his ears as a building pressure was threatening to blow him from the inside.

It wasn’t the clean adrenaline of a fight. It was messy. Overfull. Like his chest was trying to hammer its way out.

Another cough followed, harsher than the last, cutting off his thoughts entirely.

More blood came with it.

Too much.

It hit the inside of the mask and spread, warm and heavy, soaking the paper until it clung against his skin. The scent of it rose immediately, fresh metal and something darker underneath.

Kael clenched his jaw behind the mask, forcing the reaction down as best as he could. He couldn’t stay like this, not here, not in the open. Anyone less cautious than those two would’ve already made a move.

"Fuck..." he muttered under his breath.

He pushed himself back to his feet, ignoring the way his body resisted. His legs didn’t want to lock straight. His core tightened like it expected another cough to stab him mid-step. The inside of the mask was soaked now, wiping it did nothing, but he did it anyway, out of habit, before stepping forward again.

One step.

Then another.

Each breath felt heavier than the last, like something was tightening inside his chest with every movement.

He couldn’t stay here, not with too many people beginning to notice. He’ll need to move first, then find a way to heal his body. As soon as possible.