The air outside was no cleaner, but it felt better. Juno exhaled shakily; what had affected her most wasn’t Lyros’s threats. It was Gin’s behavior.

His grip had been steady. His voice had remained unshaken. But beneath the control, something else lingered. And for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why he seemed to care so much.

Every sound, a rustle of leaves, a branch snapping in the wind, felt amplified in the heavy silence between them.

It was, of course, Ain who broke it first, his voice laced with mocking calm. “Well, that was a bit rude,” he said, licking his paw with exaggerated ease and his eyes cut to Juno. “Why does he talk like you're some kind of pathetic, breakable thing?”

She couldn't find the strength to answer and just kept her gaze low. Ain’s words hurt, but not as much as Lyros’s had. That demon had torn her apart as though she were nothing, exposing her weaknesses like they were obvious to everyone.

“Stop that,” Gin’s voice sliced through the tension.

Ain’s ears flicked, his tail swishing once. “What?” he sneered. “You playing the noble knight now, Gin? Come on, pretend Lyros didn’t have a point. Juno’s not gonna survive there. She’s gonna get eaten alive.”

Gin’s head snapped toward him, his eye burning with restrained fury. He didn’t speak right away, but when he did, his words cut deep “And what about you, cat? Always running your mouth. If you’re that concerned, do something useful. Otherwise, shut it.”

Ain let out a bitter laugh, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “You wanna talk about useless?” he said, stepping closer. “I’ve been here longer than either of you, I know how this world works, and I know what we’re up against. But I don’t pretend I can save everyone.” He jabbed a paw toward Gin. “You act like you're some savior. Like if you just grit your teeth and bleed hard enough, you can protect her from everything. But you can't. And what are you gonna do when she dies anyway?”

Juno flinched at the word dies and stared at the ground, her thoughts a whirlwind. Ain was right. This whole rescue was in vain, and if anything bad happened it would be her fault.

But still, Gin stood between her and the storm. The way he’d defended her back there, the steadiness of his hand... It had to mean something.

Ain’s tail twitched and a moment of silence passed between them. Then he asked the question.

“You’re so damn protective of her, Gin. Why? You don’t even know her. So why do you care so much?”

Gin's jaw clenched as he looked over at Ain with a hard gaze. “It’s none of your business.”

But Ain wasn’t finished. “Oh, so it’s none of my business?” Ain scoffed. “You act like she’s some kind of saint. But she’s just human. Newsflash, Gin: the world doesn't work like that. You can’t protect her forever. What are you going to do when you can’t?”

Gin’s hands curled into fists. “I know I can’t protect her forever,” he growled. “But she deserves a chance. Someone has to give her that.”

Ain’s smirk returned, cold and cutting. “Right. So it’s not about her scent, then? Or the way demons look at her as if she’s a walking feast?” He paused, a glint of cruelty in his voice. “Just don’t lie to yourself, Gin. You’re not above it.”

The words hit harder than Juno wanted to admit, and her throat tightened. Is that what this is all about? Just instinct? Something in me that I can't control?

Gin's hand shot out and gripped her shoulder.

“Don’t,” he whispered. “He's playing you. That's what he does.”

She looked down at his hand, scarred knuckles, callused fingers digging into her jacket, and something cold slid through her chest.

Ain let out a short laugh. “Yeah. Not about instinct at all.”

Gin's jaw tightened, but he didn't let go immediately. His eye cut toward Ain with a look that could've drawn blood.

Juno stepped back, shrugging his hand off. “I think we should just go back to the inn,” she said quietly.

“Fine. Just sweep everything under the rug.” Ain sounded frustrated.

She turned and started walking, her arms crossed tight over her chest, and Gin followed without a word.

Ain lingered for a moment before sighing and padding after them. “Well, look at that,” he muttered to himself. “The little fledgling's growing claws.”

Juno didn't react. She couldn't stop thinking about what they had said. About Gin, about the scent, about whether any of this had ever really been about her. She just wanted to believe that she was more than bait.

As they reached the inn, she glanced over. Gin was watching her, but his face gave nothing away.

And she was suddenly too afraid to ask what he really saw when he looked at her.