The weeks that followed the night in Noah's quarters settled into an exhausting rhythm that Ty clung to like a lifeline.
He became a ghost in his own life—slipping through the corridors at odd hours, volunteering for extra shifts, and burying himself in training until his muscles screamed for rest.
Noah was everywhere and nowhere at once.
Ty felt his presence in every shadowed hallway, every whispered order that rippled through the bunker.
Avoiding him became an art form.
He changed his routes, ate at irregular times, and kept his head down during drills.
It worked, mostly. But the cost was a constant, low hum of anxiety that never left him.
In the spaces where he wasn't running from Noah, Ty found himself leaning toward Kara.
She was everything the underground life had taught him to respect: strong, no-nonsense, with sharp eyes and the competence that came from surviving more than her share of surface runs.
They trained together most mornings, their sparring sessions intense but also light-hearted.
In the afternoons they sometimes shared meals in the higher-rank section of the mess hall, where the food was actually seasoned and the portions generous.
Conversations flowed easily at first—stories of narrow escapes from infected hordes, complaints about arrogant rookies, dark jokes about the world above.
Kara laughed at his sarcasm and matched his intensity on the mats. For the first time in months, Ty felt something close to normal.
He told himself it was strategic.
Kara was respected, higher-ranked, and might have overheard something useful about the locked bolted door or the fate of the captured fleshbounds.
But the deeper truth was simpler, and far more desperate: he needed to prove to himself that he was still the same person he had always been. That the night with Noah— the way his body had betrayed him, the moans he still heard in his nightmares— hadn't changed who he was.
Kara also seemed to enjoy his company even though she seemed to know nothing about the door.
He laughed at her jokes a little too loudly. Complimented her form during training a little too often. It was an act, but it was an act he needed.
One evening, after a particularly grueling sparring session that left them both sweaty and breathing hard, they ended up in a quieter corner of the residential levels near her quarters.
The corridor was dimly lit, the hum of distant generators the only sound.
Kara stepped closer, her hand sliding up his arm with clear intent.
"You've been good company lately," she murmured, voice low. She leaned in, lips brushing his jaw. "Let me show you how much I appreciate it."
Ty froze the moment her fingers moved lower, brushing over his waistband.
Panic surged through him, sharp and immediate. He caught her wrist gently but firmly, stepping back.
"Kara… wait," he said, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. "I'm sorry. I don't like you that way. Not like that. I think I gave you mixed signals, and that's on me. I'm really sorry if I led you on."
For a heartbeat, Kara simply stared at him, her expression shifting from surprise to hurt to cold anger. Then her fist connected with his face in a sharp, powerful hook. Pain exploded across Ty's cheekbone and jaw.
"Fuck you, Ty," she spat, voice shaking with a mix of fury and humiliation. She turned on her heel and stormed off down the corridor before he could say another word.
Ty stood there, rubbing his jaw as the bruise began to form.
Guilt twisted in his gut, but beneath it was something colder.
Confirmation.
Hanging out with her, trying to force attraction, hadn't fixed anything. If anything, it had made the truth even more visible.
The memories of Noah's hands, Noah's cock stretching him open, Noah's voice whispering possessive filth while he fell apart still haunted every quiet moment.
He wasn't straight. Or at least, he wasn't only straight. The realization settled over him like a heacy weight, and it made him furious.
After that, Ty started talking more openly with Jax.
The tattoo artist had always been persistent but never aggressive about it. Their conversations happened naturally during shared training sessions or while hauling supplies.
Jax's easy banter and lack of pressure filled some of the panic Ty had wrapped around himself like armor.
–––
One afternoon in the training grounds, as they cooled down after a brutal session, Jax wiped sweat from his brow and gave Ty a long, thoughtful look.
"You've been different since the mission," Jax said quietly, no teasing in his voice this time. "Not bad different. Just… carrying something heavy. You know you can talk to me, right? No judgment."
Ty hesitated, then shrugged, staring at the heavy bag he'd been punishing.
"It's complicated. The surface. The shit that happens down here. I thought I knew exactly who I was. Turns out maybe I don't."
Jax didn't push, but his green eyes softened with understanding.
"The boss has that effect on people. Or maybe it's not just him." The words hung between them, but Jax simply clapped him on the shoulder and changed the subject.
The conversation lingered in Ty's mind for days afterward.
He was angry at himself for even entertaining the thought. Angry at Noah for shattering something inside him. Angry at the world for making everything so goddamn complicated.
Yet the anger couldn't erase the slow, reluctant acceptance that had begun to take root.
At least one thing improved during those weeks.
Rafe had taken notice of Ty's relentless dedication and skill. One morning after drills, the lieutenant pulled him aside, away from the noise of the training grounds.
"You've earned this," Rafe said simply, pressing a new access keycard into Ty's hand. "Higher rank. Better quarters. Better rations in the mess hall. Don't make me regret giving you a chance."
The new room was a noticeable step up— still concrete, still underground, but larger, with a proper bed that didn't creak with every movement, a small desk, and actual storage space.
In the higher-rank section of the cafeteria, the food was leagues better than the gray slop he used to choke down. It didn't fix the emptiness gnawing at him, but it was something solid to hold onto which made him relax more.
–––
One afternoon a few days into this uneasy new normal, Ty was walking with Jax through one of the quieter side corridors after a supply inventory shift.
Jax was in the middle of recounting a disastrous run from the previous year, complete with exaggerated gestures and a grin, when he suddenly stopped talking. His eyes widened as he looked past Ty's shoulder.
Ty turned.
Noah stood a short distance away, flanked by two of his inner circle.
His presence filled the hallway like a gathering storm. Those eyes locked onto Ty immediately, narrowing when they landed on the lingering bruise along his cheekbone and jaw—the one Kara had left a while ago enough to mark his face for a long time.
"Who punched you?" Noah asked, voice low and edged with something dangerous. The faint black veins beneath his skin pulsed once.
He looked like some twisted monster out if a horror movie. The veins that pulsed under him grew to a larger extent that almost made it seem painful to even look at.
Ty felt a fresh wave of irritation rise. He rolled his eyes, refusing to give Noah the satisfaction of an answer.
Without a word, he turned on his heel and kept walking, brushing past him as if he were just another obstacle in the corridor.
Noah's gaze shifted sharply to Jax. "Well?"
Jax swallowed, looking uneasy but honest. "Kara did it. They had some kind of falling out a while back."
Noah said nothing.
His expression darkened further.
He turned abruptly and walked off with his men, the tension in his broad shoulders clear even from behind.
A few hours later, Ty was back in the training grounds, pushing his body through a punishing solo workout by slamming his fists into a heavy bag until his knuckles burned and sweat poured down his back.
The physical pain was easier to deal with than the mess in his head.
A woman approached—one of Kara's close friends. She looked worried, scanning the area.
"Have you seen Kara?" she asked. "She was supposed to meet me for drills this morning. No one's seen her since a while ago."
Ty shook his head, a flicker of genuine concern cutting through his exhaustion.
"No. Last I saw her was a while ago. Sorry."
The woman thanked him and hurried off, but an uneasy feeling settled deep in Ty's gut.
Kara had been angry after their confrontation, but disappearing entirely? That wasn't like her. Not in a place like this.
He looked up toward the elevated balcony that overlooked the entire training area. Noah was standing there, watching him.
Their eyes met across the distance.
Noah's expression was unreadable, but the intensity in his gaze sent a cold shiver down Ty's spine.
Something was very wrong.