Chapter 70| Kindred Blades
The Canadian delegation’s assassin proved considerably harder to properly meet than the rest of Damon’s outgoing team — a slight, unassuming woman named Freya Nakamura who spent most of the joint training sessions observing quietly from the periphery rather than actively engaging, her presence so understated that Allen nearly missed her entirely during the first day’s introductions.
It was Vivian who finally sought her out directly, drawn by the same instinctive recognition she’d once described feeling toward kindred, dangerous quiet.
"You move like someone trained to disappear," Vivian observed, settling near Freya during a break in the day’s coordination exercises.
Freya’s expression, when she finally responded, carried the faint, measuring calculation of someone accustomed to being underestimated. "Considerable practice," she said simply. "You move similarly, for someone without functioning sight."
"Former elite assassin," Vivian said. "Wolvesberg guild, before an ambush cost me my vision permanently."
Something shifted behind Freya’s careful composure — recognition, perhaps, or professional respect long denied casual expression. "I trained under considerably harsher circumstances," she said. "Orphaned young, recruited by Stoneheart’s shadow division before I was old enough to fully understand what that recruitment actually meant. Damon rescued what remained of that division’s ethics considerably later, once he inherited guild leadership."
"That sounds like a story worth hearing properly," Vivian said.
Freya studied her for a long, considering moment before something like the beginning of genuine trust settled into her expression. "Perhaps, eventually," she said. "For now, I’d rather understand your own methods. Blindness hasn’t slowed your combat effectiveness in the slightest, from what I’ve observed. That’s rare, even among elite operatives who’ve adapted to considerably lesser disabilities."
"Enhanced hearing," Vivian said. "Supreme-tier, following a rather unconventional power-up. I compensate for lost sight with spatial awareness sharp enough to map an entire battlefield through sound alone."
Freya’s professional interest sharpened considerably at the detail. "Would you be willing to demonstrate? Purely for operational planning purposes. If our approach to Jenunl Island requires stealth capability beyond standard visual reconnaissance, your particular skill set could prove invaluable."
The demonstration that followed drew a small, appreciative audience from both delegations, Vivian navigating a hastily constructed obstacle course blindfolded — an unnecessary formality given her actual condition, though she’d insisted on it regardless, purely for the visual clarity it offered observers — with fluid, uncanny precision that left even Freya’s carefully guarded composure visibly impressed.
"Remarkable," Freya said, once the demonstration concluded. "I withdraw any earlier reservation about your operational value."
"High praise, coming from Canada’s strongest assassin," Vivian said, a faint, genuine smile touching her lips.
"Accurate praise," Freya corrected, echoing almost precisely the same phrase Vivian herself favored, and something in the shared, unexpected parallel drew a rare, genuine laugh from both women.
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Elsewhere across the training facility, similar bonds formed with varying degrees of ease — Irene discovering a kindred spirit in one of Damon’s more boisterous Hunters, a fire-affinity specialist named Cole whose enthusiasm for competitive sparring matched her own restless energy nearly perfectly; Everlyn quietly connecting with a Canadian battle-medic whose own healing specialty, while lacking her particular bloodline’s depth, shared enough common ground to spark genuine, mutual professional respect; Myria immersed in increasingly detailed strategic planning sessions with Damon’s own tactical coordinator, the two sharp, methodical minds clearly recognizing kindred expertise in each other almost immediately.
By the week’s end, what had begun as two separate, cautiously cooperating delegations had gradually settled into something considerably more cohesive — not a single unified team, exactly, but two forces bound by genuine, hard-won mutual respect and shared understanding of exactly what waited for them once deployment finally began.
Allen watched the transformation with quiet, grateful satisfaction, gathering with his own wives one final evening before the operation’s scheduled departure, the accumulated weight of preparation finally giving way to something steadier, more resolute.
"Two more days," Myria said, reviewing the finalized operational plan one last time. "Then we deploy."
"We’re as ready as we can possibly be," Vivian said, quiet confidence carrying through her usual measured tone.
Allen glanced around at his wives, at the considerable alliance they’d helped forge over the preceding week, and felt the familiar, steady certainty settle firmly into place despite the daunting scale of whatever still waited across the ocean, on an island that had already claimed a third of everyone who’d once attempted exactly what they were now preparing to face themselves.
"Then let’s finish getting ready," he said. "Whatever Jenunl Island throws at us, we meet it together, exactly like we’ve met everything else."
Later that night, once the others had drifted toward uneasy sleep, Allen found himself unable to fully settle, the accumulated weight of everything ahead pressing steadily against the quiet satisfaction of the week’s hard-won alliances. He made his way toward the training facility’s outer courtyard, drawn by the cool night air, and found Vivian already there, seated on a low stone wall, head tilted toward the distant hum of the sleeping compound.
"Couldn’t sleep either," she said, not a question, already having registered his approach long before he’d spoken.
"Too much to think about," Allen admitted, settling beside her.
"Freya asked me something today," Vivian said quietly, "after the demonstration. She wanted to know if I’d ever considered the cure a burden rather than a gift, given how thoroughly I’ve adapted around its absence instead."
"What did you tell her?"
"That adaptation and healing aren’t mutually exclusive," Vivian said. "That I could value everything I’ve built around my blindness, and still want my sight back, without either feeling like betrayal of the other." She turned toward him, expression soft in the dim courtyard light. "I don’t know if that’s entirely true yet. But I want it to be. I want to walk into whatever’s waiting on that island as the strongest version of myself, disability or not, and still hold room open for hoping it might one day be different."
Allen reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together with quiet, steady certainty. "Both things can be true," he said softly. "You’re already remarkable exactly as you are. That doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to hope for more."
Vivian’s answering smile carried genuine, unguarded warmth, and they sat together beneath the quiet night sky for a long while longer, drawing whatever comfort they could from each other before the considerable trial still waiting just two days ahead.