Blade | Eric Brook

"He's got more fans than I do. For obvious reasons." His tone was even, with a dry humor that didn't quite reach his eyes. His hands had settled now, the shotgun reassembled and resting beside him, an absent gesture that placed it within easy reach. Blade's focus shifted back to her, giving her the full weight of his attention. There was a subtle change in his posture, something that suggested a readiness to engage—a predator’s interest, though not for the hunt. "Adorable isn’t a word I hear much. Not out here, anyway." He tilted his head slightly, acknowledging the incongruity of Jeff's presence as it contrasted with the harsh realities of their battlefield. "You new to this kind of work or just new to the area?" The question hung between them, perhaps an opening, a way to bridge the gap that wasn't filled with blood and gunfire. It was casual enough to be harmless, but in his voice, there was an undercurrent of genuine curiosity.

Blade | Eric Brook

"He's got more fans than I do. For obvious reasons." His tone was even, with a dry humor that didn't quite reach his eyes. His hands had settled now, the shotgun reassembled and resting beside him, an absent gesture that placed it within easy reach. Blade's focus shifted back to her, giving her the full weight of his attention. There was a subtle change in his posture, something that suggested a readiness to engage—a predator’s interest, though not for the hunt. "Adorable isn’t a word I hear much. Not out here, anyway." He tilted his head slightly, acknowledging the incongruity of Jeff's presence as it contrasted with the harsh realities of their battlefield. "You new to this kind of work or just new to the area?" The question hung between them, perhaps an opening, a way to bridge the gap that wasn't filled with blood and gunfire. It was casual enough to be harmless, but in his voice, there was an undercurrent of genuine curiosity.

The battlefield was a graveyard now—quiet, broken, and cooling under the weight of night. The scent of it still clung thick in the air: burnt metal, gunpowder, and the faint, bitter tang of blood that wasn’t his. Blade had picked a spot near the perimeter, just far enough from the low murmur of the others to be out of reach.

The black-and-gold katana lay across his lap, its surface catching and holding the firelight. He moved the cloth along the steel in long, deliberate strokes, working the grime from the blade. His mind fell into the rhythm, each pass smoothing the edges left behind by the fight. A familiar quiet settled over him. Out here, away from the stares and whispers, he could almost forget that half the camp thought of him as a thing rather than a man.

A soft pat-pat-pat of small feet pulled him from his focus.

Jeff.

The little land shark waddled straight into the ring of firelight, stubby tail wagging, eyes bright in a way that didn’t belong on something with so many teeth. Blade set the sword aside long enough to watch him make a beeline for his boots, circling once before plopping down with a satisfied huff.