Loveless/ a POWERLESS fanfiction story

Chapter 48: Brian

"You've drawn unwanted attention," the general says, fixing me with a piercing stare from behind his massive oak desk.

I stand in his study, where every detail—from the dark green velvet curtains to the emerald carpet adorned with golden patterns—embodies the colors of Ilia. The faint scent of tobacco lingers in the air, making my head ache almost instantly. Today, I was granted the luxury of sleep and time to recover after the Trial, unlike the first time. In truth, I had to take a sedative just to silence the ceaseless churn of anxiety within me. I knew Blair wouldn't wake until evening, so I allowed myself a brief reprieve. But even now, I feel as if I've been shattered and carelessly pieced back together.

The general leans back in his chair, studying me with the cold detachment of someone who's already reached a verdict but isn't yet ready to announce it.

"I've explained myself to the Sights successfully," I reply, keeping my tone even.

A humorless smile curves his lips—more mockery than approval.

"Your extraordinary ability to navigate any situation," he murmurs, tilting his head slightly.

I meet his gaze, deliberately suppressing the urge to look away. Showing weakness to him, even for an instant, is not an option.

"Correct," I state firmly.

The smile vanishes. Something in my tone or expression displeases him, and he slowly rises to his feet, the chair screeching against the hardwood floor as he pushes it back. Now, we're eye to eye, separated only by the imposing desk between us.

"My daughter is still alive," he remarks, his tone almost casual. "You've done well ensuring her safety before and during the Trials." His gaze sharpens, cutting through me like a blade. "But don't you think your actions last night were a bit... excessive?"

I force my face into a mask of indifference, refusing to let his provocation elicit any reaction. It's all I can do. Because he's right—I allowed myself a moment of weakness.

"I'm merely fulfilling the duties you assigned to me," I reply, each syllable crisp and deliberate.

"Good to hear," the general says thoughtfully.

He circles the desk and moves toward the window. The heavy drapes are drawn back this time, allowing the golden light of the setting sun to spill into the room. He stops by the window, clasping his hands behind his back.

I watch his profile, noting the faint smile tugging at the corners of his thin lips.

"And what about my other order?" he asks, feigning nonchalance.

"I'm confident the Resistance will strike during the final Trial," I say. "It will take place in the arena. The glass wall, coated with Silence, nullifies the Elite's abilities. Everyone inside—both on the ring and in the stands—will be trapped."

The general tilts his head slightly, his eyes narrowing with interest.

"And how do they plan to infiltrate the arena? Disguised as slummers?"

"Yes," I confirm. "But not all of them. A small group of their strongest Elites will use a tunnel leading to the royal glass box."

His eyebrow arches, his gaze alight with curiosity.

"So, they intend to take the royal family hostage?"

"Exactly," I reply steadily.

"Excellent," he says, his smile widening, almost satisfied. "That means we can crush them all at once."

I suppress a shiver under his gaze.

"And their leaders?" he continues. "Have you identified their names and faces?"

"Not all of them yet, but I'm working on it," I assure him.

"Working on it," he repeats slowly, as though testing the words. His tone is dry, almost indifferent. "I hope your efforts will yield results. Time is running out."

He turns back to the window, as if signaling the conversation is over. The tension between us tightens like a drawn string, vibrating in the charged silence. It's always like this in his study. Every meeting feels like a test of loyalty.

"I'll provide you with the necessary information before the final Trial," I say, masking my irritation with a calm voice. "I'll find out who their leader is."

I wait for permission to leave, but the general merely gives a brief nod, his gaze lingering on something beyond the glass. I notice the subtle shift—the narrowing of his eyes, the tightening of his lips. Then, almost casually, he smiles again.

"Come here, Brian," he calls, his tone unexpectedly gentle.

I hesitate for half a heartbeat before stepping closer, taking my place beside him. He points out the window.

"Look," he says.

I lower my gaze. At first, I see only the shadows of trees in the garden, the sunlight dancing on the grass. But then, my attention catches on two figures: a tall man with golden hair, unmistakably the crown prince, and a girl with violet locks.

Blair.

She looks tired but composed, while he exudes an air of relaxed confidence, his gestures casual, almost careless. They stroll together, and he leans slightly toward her as he speaks.

"Curious, isn't it?" the general remarks, his tone feigned indifference, though his eyes gleam. "The prince, soon to be king, and my daughter."

For a fleeting moment, I wonder if this is an illusion by the general. But my power confirms it's real. It's no lie.

I clench my jaw, unsure of what to say. Silence feels equally dangerous.

"A fine match," I say cautiously. "From what I've observed, there's a mutual understanding and trust between your daughter and the prince..."

"Ah, yes," he murmurs, his gaze sliding to me. "Trust. What does your power tell you, Brian? Is there any deceit in the prince's regard for Blair?"

It's as if he gently trails a blade across my throat.

"No," I answer truthfully.

He smiles, a flicker of amusement crossing his face.

"I hope so," he says, his tone almost fatherly. "I trust you remember whose side you're on. And what might happen to Blair in an Ilya ruled by the Resistance. She's a symbol of everything they despise. In their eyes, she's merely someone who was lucky enough to be born an Elite with high status."

His words hit like a punch to the gut, echoing my own past thoughts about her. I swallow hard, and his hawk-like eyes don't miss the slight bob of my throat.

"Don't do anything foolish, Brian," he says, his voice soft but loaded with menace. "I like you. I'd hate for that to change."