Lucian wanted to explain further, but before he could say anything, Medeia had already answered his accusatory question.
"No," she said flatly. "We don’t expect you to believe us."
Ethan blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
Most people, if they were trying to convince him, would do everything in their power to earn his trust. But this woman—this so-called angel—was saying the exact opposite.
Medeia merely shrugged, repeating herself like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I said, we don’t need your trust."
She turned and walked toward the cargo door, pushing it open just enough for the icy wind to whip through the truck’s interior. "Actually, if you want to leave, go ahead. No hard feelings."
Ethan peeked through the gap, his gaze landing on the thickening layers of snow outside. The sky had turned an ominous shade of black, a clear sign that another blizzard was approaching.
If he stepped out now, he wasn’t sure he’d make it far.
"Let’s calm down for a moment, alright?" Lucian tried to reason with him. "With your condition, you’d probably pass out again the moment you step outside. I know you’re a soldier, but, young man, a soldier is not made of steel."
Ethan’s jaw tightened as he reached for the dog tag around his neck, fingers curling around the cold metal. He clicked his tongue, frustrated with himself for letting these strangers figure out his identity so quickly.
"No, Lucian. Let him go." Medeia’s voice remained as unbothered as ever. "Maybe he really does have a death wish."
Lucian, on the other hand, softened his tone. "Ethan," he said, "you’re young. If you walk out that door now, you’re throwing away your future."
What kind of passive-aggressive mind game was this? Were they playing bad cop, good cop just to mess with his head?
His gaze flickered to the beautiful angel, who truly seemed indifferent to whether he lived or died, then to the man—whose warmth and kindness felt like a whisper straight from heaven.
How the hell did these two manage to live together with such wildly opposite personalities?!
Ethan fell silent, his mind racing. If they were bandits, wouldn’t they have just taken his supplies and left him to freeze to death? That would’ve been the easier route.
But what if saving him was part of a bigger plan? What if they knew he was a soldier and wanted to use him to get into the military base?
"Are you seriously still thinking?" Medeia’s sharp voice sliced through his spiraling thoughts. "Hurry up and decide! We don’t have all day to wait for you."
Well, technically, she did have all day.
She was intentionally pressuring him, confusing him to the point where he wouldn’t dare step out of the cargo. And fortunately, Lucian was going along with her plan without needing an explanation.
"Listen up, Captain," Medeia said, shutting the cargo door before the cold could undo all of Lucian’s hard work in warming up the space. "I don’t care about you at all. We saved you because ... well, why not?"
She said it so casually, as if it had been a mere inconvenience to scoop his nearly frozen corpse out of the snow.
"We have plenty of supplies, so of course, we should help someone in need, right?" Medeia placed a hand on her chest, her voice adopting a dramatic, almost saint-like tone. "I’m sorry if I was a little harsh on you, but ... you know, it really hurts my heart when someone frames me as the bad guy just because I tried to help them."
In an instant, her entire demeanor shifted. The sharpness in her eyes softened, her lips curled into the sweetest, most angelic smile—one that could melt even the coldest heart.
’Seduction skill, activated,’ she said inwardly.
[Skill Activation: Seduction]
The moment the skill took effect, Ethan’s perception of Medeia shifted entirely. To him, she no longer looked like a mere woman—she was a vision, a goddess descended from the heavens to grace mere mortals with her presence.
Ethan swallowed, his heart beating so fast that he wasn’t able to breath. When Medeia approached him, he had a hiccup.
His throat went dry. His heart pounded so hard it became difficult to breathe. And when Medeia took a step closer, he hiccupped.
Her voice, now soft and sultry, curled around his ears like a siren’s call, impossible to resist. "So, Ethan," she asked, "tell me, why were you so determined to push through this brutal winter, even when your body was already freezing?"
"Her gaze sharpened, watching his every reaction as she pressed further. "Were you looking for help?"
"I ... I do need help," Ethan admitted almost instantly, as if compelled by some unseen force. "The winter is getting worse. We won’t survive much longer if we stay in that broken old house."
Medeia tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. "Running away?" she echoed, her voice laced with curiosity.
Ethan swallowed hard. "Yes," he admitted, his fingers unconsciously gripping his dog tag. "Some of them are injured. Others are sick from the cold. I was the only one who could still move, so I left to find help ... or at least somewhere safe for us to stay."
Medeia’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smile. "And you just happened to stumble upon us," she mused, stepping closer.
Ethan’s pulse hammered in his throat as she leaned in, her scent—a mix of winter frost and something subtly sweet—clouding his senses. His brain screamed at him to be cautious, to stay alert, but his body had already fallen under her spell.
"Tell me, Ethan," Medeia continued, her voice smooth as silk, "why did you and your fellow soldiers run? What exactly are you running from?"
"We ... we disobeyed orders," Ethan finally confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.
Medeia narrowed her eyes. "And what orders were those?"
Ethan exhaled shakily. "To eliminate a group of survivors."
The temperature in the cargo hold seemed to drop further, but it had nothing to do with the icy wind outside. Lucian’s jaw tensed, and even Medeia, who had been playing with him moments ago, went silent.