"I am not him."
The words struck Irine like a sword plunged clean through the gut—swift, sharp, and cruel in its finality. Her breath hitched. For a second, she just stared. Her lips parted slightly, as if to speak, but no words came. Nothing coherent anyway. Thoughts buzzed in her skull like hornets, stinging and spiraling into confusion.
He was not like this.
Not in their past life.
So what changed? What broke?
Could it be…? Could he, too…?
She couldn't bring herself to say it. Couldn't even complete the sentence in her head. The thought alone was absurd, hopeful, dangerous. It chipped at her composure.
By the time night fell, Irine had found a corner across from Shaun's cell and slumped against the wall. A few hours had passed since their strange conversation, and she sat unmoving, hood pulled low, her armor's edges digging uncomfortably into her side. Shaun lay on the floor of his cell, eyes closed, face turned toward the wall.
Sleeping, or pretending.
She watched him quietly.
He used to give her his coat when it rained. Always with some half-assed excuse like, "I don't get cold," or "Yours is too thin." He used to look away like it meant nothing, but she remembered his expression—the subtle satisfaction. Like he'd just performed some grand romantic gesture and wanted no credit for it.
Now?
Now he was a boy in a cell, pretending to sleep, while she—disguised as a boy herself—sat watching like a fool stuck in a memory loop.
Irine pouted faintly.
She stood, approached the bars, and unfastened her coat.
"Take it," she said, pushing it through the gap.
"I'm fine."
"You don't look fine. You're lying on stone."
Shaun cracked one eye open. "Stone's honest. Not like some nobles I know."
She rolled her eyes. "It's just a coat. Stop being dramatic."
"Then wear it yourself, Isaac."
Irine gave up trying to be subtle. She stuffed the coat through the bars with all the grace of someone slamming a book into a bag.
"Take it, or I'm jumping in there and wrapping it around you myself."
Shaun sighed like someone enduring a war crime. He took the coat and, to her dismay, used it as a pillow. Then promptly laid back down.
"I hate you," she muttered.
"No you don't."
And just like that, silence returned.
She stared again. Couldn't help it. He looked different now, but only slightly. The jaw sharper. The eyes more tired. And yet, the way he shifted under the makeshift pillow reminded her of the old Shaun. The one who'd walk beside her and pretend like the world wasn't burning.
What if he did remember?
But then… he doesn't remember me, right?
Not like this.
Not with this face, this voice.
"Isaac," she reminded herself. She was still Isaac to him.
Across the cell, Shaun was also not sleeping. Not really. He had one eye half-open, and it wasn't because of paranoia.
Why is this regressor bothering me so much? Her eyes were like those of someone who'd seen a tragedy and blamed herself for it. Pity, guilt, a dash of betrayal.
Did she know me before?
Very possible. Extremely likely.
She's a regressor, hiding as a boy. But she doesn't know I know that. That's leverage. Information.
Her connection is no joke either.
If I play this right, I could use her. And well.
But that's for another day.
Right now?
He cracked both eyes open and groaned softly.
She was still staring.
Again.
What was her deal?
Was I her lover or something? A long-lost childhood friend? A tragic ex she couldn't let go?
Whatever it was, she was making it hard to sleep.
"Do you mind?" Shaun muttered, throwing the coat back at her with the grace of a pissed-off cat. "Your staring is louder than the rats in here."
She caught it mid-air. Tossed it back through the bars.
"You're welcome."
"Keep it. Matches your delusions."
Back. Forth. The coat flopped between them like an unwilling third party in a very low-budget romance drama.
Shaun grinned. He decided to test the waters a bit. Just for fun.
"Fine," he said. He stood, reached through the bars with surprising speed, and caught her wrist.
She froze.
With a sharp tug, he pulled her closer. Not violently, just enough to startle her and close the distance.
Her face was inches from the bars.
Then, with a smirk playing at the corner of his lips, Shaun whispered near her cheek, "You don't look or act like a boy. You sure you've got a dick?"
Her brain blue-screened.
She went red.
Tomato red.
Steam-coming-out-of-the-ears red.
Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. Not a single coherent sound emerged. Just a strange, strangled squeak.
Shaun leaned back with a perfectly straight face. "Ah. That red? Must be the cold. Poor little Isaac. Do you need my coat now too?"
He wrapped his own coat around her shoulders like a concerned mother and even patted her head. "Already arrested for punching a noble. Can't imagine what they'll do if I don't serve you, milady."
She stared at him, blinking rapidly.
You absolute bastard, her thoughts screamed.
Meanwhile, Shaun still hadn't let go.
He tilted his head mockingly. "Eyes closed, princess."
"What?" she whispered, dazed.
"Close your eyes."
And reflexively, she did.
A heartbeat passed. Then two.
Then she felt it—the rustle of fabric, the tightening pressure. Her coat looped swiftly around her arms, then her waist. His coat followed, looping over her face.
"What the—?!"
When she opened her eyes, all she saw was darkness. Fabric. The soft scent of pine and dust.
Shaun's smug voice drifted to her ears. "Now I can sleep."
She flailed.
"You tied me to the bars?!"
"Correction. You tied yourself. I merely helped."
"Untie me right now!"
"Nope. You stare too much. Menacing. Bad for my beauty sleep."
"Shaun!"
"Isaac."
"I'll kill you!"
"Maybe. But not tonight."
She huffed. Kicked the bars. It echoed loudly.
"This is childish."
Shaun yawned loudly, already lying back down, eyes closed in contentment. "Mm. Warm, quiet, no staring. Perfect."
Irine sat there, bound, humiliated, and confused beyond reason. But also… strangely relieved.
But she kept shouting. Demanding release. Her tone rose from annoyance to outrage to muffled fury—until Shaun, groaning in frustration, shoved a piece of torn coat into her mouth and than by another wraped it around her face.
"There. Silence. Beautiful," he mumbled, rolling over.
She bit the cloth.
Hard.
Morning came with heavy boots and the sharp clang of keys.
The head guard appeared, eyes scanning the cell. "Isaac, you're being released. Your father's posted bail."
Then he saw the scene.
His jaw dropped.
Irine, tied to the bars, coat gagged, blushing and furious. Shaun, sprawled on the floor like nothing happened.
"WHAT KIND OF SICK PLAY IS THIS?" the guard bellowed. "Did he bully you?!"
Irine yanked the cloth free with a snap. "No!" she hissed. "Just take me out of here."
The guard blinked, baffled but obeying.
She shot one last look at Shaun. Her expression softened just slightly.
"I'll bail you out. Don't worry."
Shaun slowly raised a hand.
Middle finger.
Irine tilted her head. Confused. "What... gesture is that?"
Shaun Rolled over with yawn.
"You'll figure it out soon."