When Samuel first helped Julian, he never expected a return. He wasn't the type of man to hold a debt over someone's head. The aid he'd provided—a few brief conversations, a bit of financial support—was negligible to him. He'd received his reward the moment the help was given.

But Julian had taken those scraps of resources and bloomed. He had integrated into the professional world, carving out a style entirely his own.

Julian wasn't a wolf like Samuel.

At Apex Capital, Samuel was the iron-fisted commander, but Julian had become an advocate. Perhaps because managing projects required constant negotiation, or perhaps because of his innate empathy, Julian had developed a surgical ability to read a room. He dissolved tension and smoothed over team friction before it could even manifest.

His voice was still soft, but the stutter was gone. He spoke with a quiet, grounded authority. He wasn't a leader who pulled from the front; he was the invisible hand behind the curtain, steering events toward his desired outcome.

Samuel hadn't taught him that.

It was a raw talent Julian had always possessed, finally stripped of the hesitation and self-doubt that had once paralyzed him. Julian no longer needed external validation. He had a rhythm of his own, and now, he was the one influencing those around him.

It was like a firework display. The shell was always there; Samuel had simply been the one to light the fuse. He'd provided a single spark, and Julian had soared, lighting up the sky.

Even without Samuel, someone else would have eventually held the match.

The thought left a bitter taste in Samuel's mouth. They had once been so close—whispering in the dark, embracing, baring their souls to one another. But that felt like a lifetime ago.

Julian was evolving so rapidly that the marks Samuel had left on him were fading. To everyone else in this van, they were just boss and subordinate. No one knew they had a "before".

In the shadows of the vehicle, Samuel closed his eyes, swallowed by a profound sense of loss.

Thump-thump.

The van lurched, snapping Samuel back to the present. His eyes flew open. A second later, a loud bang echoed through the canyon, and the van began to skid.

The driver—a veteran—controlled the slide, but Julian was still thrown against the window. He sat up, rubbing his shoulder.

"What happened? A blowout?" someone asked.

"I hit something on the road," the driver replied.

The van slowed to a crawl and finally stopped in the middle of the dark, narrow road.

"Why are we stopping?"

"People," the driver said, his voice tight.

Julian squinted through the glass. In the pitch black of the canyon, it seemed impossible. Then, a heavy object slammed into the side of the van. The glass held, but Julian jumped.

Samuel shifted, leaning over Julian to look out. "There are people out there," Samuel said.

Julian peered from the crook of Samuel's arm. Several silhouettes emerged from the tree line. Their eyes were hard, their postures aggressive. Thugs.

Bang! Bang!

The windshield was hit next. Cracks blossomed across the glass like a spiderweb.

The driver looked at Samuel. "Sir? What's the call?"

"Stay inside," Samuel commanded, his hand shielding Julian's head. "Drive through them".

The driver shifted into gear, but the engine sputtered and died. He tried again. It stalled. A final smash sent the windshield showering into the front seats.

They weren't going anywhere.

Julian didn't even realize the conflict had started. Samuel had shoved a phone into his hand and told him to call the police.

By the time Julian had relayed their coordinates, the van was a war zone. Julian shrank into his seat, his backpack still on, ready to bolt. He couldn't fight, but he'd been running every morning for six months. No one in this canyon could catch him.

To keep them from being targets, the driver killed the lights. The only illumination came from the occasional flash of a flashlight outside. Julian tried to peek out, but Samuel's hand was a heavy weight on the back of his neck, forcing him down.

There was a dull thud. Samuel had just kicked an attacker away from the door.

Julian looked up through the dark. Samuel was guarding the door, his back to Julian. He was gripping a steel pipe he'd scavenged from somewhere. His forearm muscles were corded and hard. For the first time, the elegant, elite mask of the MD was gone, replaced by something fierce and lethal.

They were holding the line. The driver and a paralegal who practiced boxing stood with Samuel. As long as they held the doors, no one could get in. Julian stayed in the center of the van, trying to comfort the other analysts who were shaking as much as he was.

"It's okay," Julian whispered. "They're strong. No one's getting in. The police are coming...".

SMASH.

The window above Julian's head shattered. The thugs had realized they couldn't take the door and were flanking the van.

"Out! Get out!" Julian yelled. The van was a cage now.

Analysts poured out into the night. Julian knew his limits; he didn't try to join the fray. He scrambled away from the center of the fight, staying on the perimeter where a large boulder offered cover. Behind him was a clear path to the river. If things went south, he was gone.

He intended to wait there for the sirens, but then he saw it.

Behind Samuel, a sliver of silver glinted in the dark. A man was lunging forward, a machete raised over his head, aimed straight for Samuel's back.

Julian's heart stopped. A single thought consumed him: Samuel can't get hurt. If he goes down, Synapse AI dies..

Before Julian could think, his body moved. He was a blur, sprinting at a speed that surprised even him.

"Samuel! Move!" Julian screamed.

Samuel kicked one man and dodged a club from the right, but he was too slow for the blade behind him.

Julian threw himself forward like a fledgling hawk, arms open, shielding Samuel's body with his own.

The machete slammed into Julian's back.

In the chaos, the sound was distinct: a sickening crunch of glass and plastic.

"AHHHH!" Julian shrieked.

Samuel spun around. His heart nearly clawed its way out of his chest.

Julian was slumped against him, his lean frame acting as a human shield. The blade was still embedded in the boy's back. Julian's scream was pure, unadulterated agony.

Samuel's mind went white.

There was no thought, only instinct. He caught Julian with one arm, his other hand shooting out to wrench the machete from the thug's grip. In the same motion, Samuel delivered a kick so violent the attacker was sent flying, his ribs snapping with an audible crack as he hit the dirt.

The other thugs, bloodthirsty seconds ago, stopped in their tracks.

Samuel stood over Julian, the long blade in his hand. His face was a mask of such terrifying, murderous rage that even the most hardened criminals in the group recoiled.

"Who gave you permission to touch my person?" Samuel hissed.

Under the moonlight, the elegant man looked like a demon. The thugs backed away, forming a wide circle. No one dared to step forward.

The stalemate was broken by the distant, wailing cry of a siren. The thugs exchanged a look, turned, and vanished into the thick forest of the canyon.

"Police are here!" someone shouted.

The adrenaline began to drain from Samuel's system, replaced by a cold, paralyzing dread. He dropped the blade and knelt beside Julian. His voice was a broken, trembling thing.

"Julian? Julian, are you okay?"

Samuel was vibrating with tension, his hands hovering over the boy, not daring to touch the wound for fear of making it worse. A few colleagues tried to approach, but one look at Samuel's face—his eyes blood-red and filled with a desperate, suppressed fury—kept them at a distance.

"Don't be afraid," Samuel whispered, his hands shaking as he gently moved Julian. "The ambulance is almost here...".

"I am so goddamn mad!"

Julian suddenly flipped over and sat up, his voice booming through the quiet canyon. "Dammit! My iPad screen is definitely shattered!".

Samuel froze. He stared at Julian, wondering if he was hallucinating.

Julian was already pulling his backpack off, his movements perfectly fluid and energetic. He began frantically digging through his bag to check his electronics.

Samuel blinked, the words struggling to leave his throat. "You... you're okay?".

"I am not okay!" Julian wailed, holding up his iPad. He looked like he was about to cry as he stared at the spiderweb of cracks on the screen. "They broke it!".

Samuel ignored the tablet, his eyes locked on Julian's body. "Are you injured?".

"Injured?" Julian shook his head, his voice full of life. "No, the backpack took it. But my iPad is ruined... mmph—".

Julian didn't get to finish. Samuel took a step forward and pulled him into a hug so tight Julian felt his own ribs creak. Samuel buried his face in the boy's neck, finally allowing himself to breathe.