Loveless/ a POWERLESS fanfiction story

Chapter 36: Brian

I arrive at her room earlier than I need to. The corridor is silent, and I lean against the wall, lingering in the shadows, turning over everything I'm about to do in my mind. When Mary finally appears, she casts me a flirtatious smile, and I respond with a faint half-smile, nothing more. She's a pretty girl, but my thoughts are elsewhere.

Because I think I know what I need to do.

I need to give the Resistance a real chance—not just maintain a token connection, but prove that I can influence the state of affairs in Ilya. I need to make even someone as stubborn as Lenny acknowledge my value and bring me into the inner circle of the rebels. Only then will I have access to their leadership, their resources, their information, their influence. That's when I'll finally have real leverage in my hands.

For a long time, my ties to the Resistance have been limited to Lennie and a few slum dwellers. Occasionally, I've been tasked with eliminating prisoners before the Enforcer tortured them to death. I saw it as mercy. I knew the recruiters, the supply routes, the names of certain cells, but all this time, I viewed their efforts as a dim spark, one that could be extinguished at any moment. It was easier to focus on my career as an Imperial.

I aspired to a high rank, to command over the royal Guard, to the privileges that promised a bright future. But the General had other plans. He made me his secret pawn, a piece on the board to be moved until it outlived its usefulness. Once the purpose is served, I'll simply be discarded.

What a fool I was to think it could be any different.

I run a hand through my hair in frustration, fingers catching in the sapphire strands. Realizing what I'm doing, I smooth them back, trying to restore the appearance of composure. But inside, I'm seething—a volatile mix of anger, desperation, and an almost painful resolve.

Two hours pass in silence as I replay potential strategies in my head. The corridor remains quiet all the while. Finally, the door creaks open, and Blair steps out. Her hair is pulled back into a severe low bun, giving me the first clear view of her face in days. Hollowed, with dark circles under her eyes and chapped lips—she looks worse than I expected. The sleepless nights and her inner torment are clearly taking their toll.

I make a mental note to tell Mary that Blair is likely dehydrated.

"Hello," she says, looking directly into my eyes. Behind her expression lies something I've been working toward for a long time: trust. She's been waiting for this meeting, while I...

"Good morning, Miss Archer," I reply, the words sounding foreign. Because to me, she's no longer just "Miss Archer." She's simply Blair. "We need to proceed to the Bowl..."

"Yes," she cuts me off, turning sharply and starting down the corridor.

We walk in silence, her servant Mary trailing behind us, chattering incessantly about how Blair skipped breakfast and might faint in the middle of the arena. It grates on me—I'd much prefer to talk to Blair alone, but Mary seems oblivious to any social cues.

"Thank you, Mary," Blair says, raising her hand in a quieting gesture. "You're dismissed for the rest of the day. Take the time off."

"But..." The girl casts me a worried glance. I nod, and with clear reluctance, she retreats.

Finally, we're alone.

"How are you?" I ask.

"About what you did..." she begins.

We speak at the same time, our voices awkwardly overlapping. I'm the first to fall silent.

"You first," I say, tilting my head toward her.