Boss swiftly moved aside and caught Shila's wrist in a vice grip. The chair clattered to the floor, leaving a dense silence in its place.
Boss looked at Shila calmly. If she was angry, she hid it well.
Shila stared at her with a piercing gaze. "This wasn't what you promised."
"It isn't what I promised," Boss agreed.
Shila gritted her teeth so hard Roan could hear them clink. "You lied."
"I haven't," Boss denied. Before Shila could say more, she loosened her grip just enough for Shila to break free.
Shila rubbed her wrist and looked at Boss warily as she continued, "This will help us achieve what you want. Trust me."
"How can I trust you? How can I be sure you haven't gone mad with power?" Shila retorted.
Boss's demeanor shifted. Shila took a step back, swallowing hard—but still looked at Boss coldly. And the same coldness was returned.
"Have you forgotten? What you and I want isn't different," Boss said quietly.
Shila looked like she wanted to retort but bit it back. She gave Boss one last piercing look before glancing at Roan.
She exhaled deeply. "We'll talk later."
She didn't wait for a reply and strode toward the exit. Roan stepped aside cautiously, eyeing her hand.
Even after Shila was gone, Roan kept looking toward the entrance. Boss sat back down at the table and asked teasingly, "Aren't you worried I might kill you too?"
Finally settled, Roan leaned his back against the wall and replied, "You still have use for me. You won't kill me that easily."
Boss tilted her head. "What if you're wrong?"
Roan pointed at the entrance. It was just two steps away.
Boss raised a brow in amusement. "How do you know all this wasn't just an act to make sure Shila secured the exit?"
Roan tensed instantly. He hadn't considered that. Damnit. He didn't have anything on hand. Maybe he could throw his tunic to distract her and—
"Of course it wasn't an act. You're still not cautious enough," Boss said, cutting through his thoughts. Though he wasn't as relaxed as before.
"What do you want, Roan?" Boss suddenly asked.
Roan frowned. "I want protection, as I said earlier."
"And you have protection. So now what do you want?" she asked again, suddenly producing an apple.
Roan frowned in confusion. Why was she asking that?
He thought about it for a while before replying, "I want to survive."
"Is that why you ran away?" Boss asked between bites.
Roan gritted his teeth. "I was naive back then."
"Why did you run away?" she asked again, as if she hadn't heard him.
Roan hesitated, wondering what she was getting at. Finally, he said, "Because I thought street life would be easier."
"Why did it seem easier?" Boss pressed, taking another bite.
"I don't see the point of this," Roan said flatly.
Boss didn't reply. She just kept eating.
Gritting his teeth, Roan answered, "Because I thought it would give me freedom."
Boss shook her head, correcting him: "It's because you thought you wouldn't have to be a slave anymore."
Roan frowned. It was true, but… "I don't see the difference."
Boss took another bite. "You weren't chasing freedom. You were chasing respect. And getting no respect is better than being disrespected all the time."
That hit closer to home than he liked. He stayed silent for a long time as old memories surfaced. When he spoke again, there was an edge in his voice.
"As I said, I was naive back then."
"And you aren't now?" Boss asked reproachfully.
Roan bit his lip. "Respect doesn't feed you."
"It does. You just don't know how to use it," Boss said, finishing the apple. Her tone lost its earlier amusement. Roan instinctively shrank back.
"You think acting confident is enough to earn respect. It's not. Why do you think those murderfucks respect me?" she asked sternly.
Roan didn't bother asking why she was drilling him like this. He tried to think of an answer—but all he could come up with was the same one she'd already denied.
Boss frowned in displeasure. "It's because I show them a path to what they want. And I have the confidence that I'll get them there."
"That's…" Roan was at a loss. It didn't sound like the kind of respect he was used to.
After mulling it over, he finally said, "That's what a leader does. Respect can come from other things."
Boss agreed easily. "True. So, who do you respect?"
You, the word caught in his throat.
He could think of many people others respected. But when it came to people he respected, only Boss and the new leader of the merchant circle came to mind.
"Many people respect physicians," Roan said weakly.
"A physician cures people. They're valuable for those who can afford them. You can't. So you don't respect them," Boss said plainly.
Licking his lips, Roan asked, "So respect is tied to need?"
"It's tied to need, importance, and clarity," Boss clarified.
"I don't understand," Roan admitted.
"I'm respected because I offer a clear path to what they want. I'm respected because I'm rare. I'm respected because they need me," Boss said. Then, before Roan could reply, she continued: "A physician is respected for the same reasons—they're a path to recovery. They're rare. They're needed."
"Do you have what it takes to earn respect?" she finished.
This… redefinition of respect was hard to swallow. It wasn't as noble as he'd believed. Then again, maybe it never was.
He'd always thought respect was earned through great deeds. That was true. But he never asked why. Now the answer was clear: because those who did great things were rare. They solved rare problems. They were salvation to those who suffered.
And wasn't he rare too? Didn't he have the knowledge of an entire world?
The answer was yes. They just had to see how important he was. He'd planned to gain importance anyway—it just left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Roan let out a shaky breath and asked, "Why are you telling me all this?"
But he already knew the answer.
"Because your next actions will show me how useful you are," Boss said flatly.
Roan looked up—then remembered they were underground. He passed a hand through his messy hair.
"That's what everything boils down to, doesn't it?" he muttered.
"You'll have to find the answer yourself," Boss replied and stood straight.
Back straight, Roan looked Aisha in the eyes. "Whiskey will come to me for help in a few days."
A grin stretched across her face. She didn't say anything—just walked out.
Roan followed her.
There was confidence in his stride now.