The Gifted Divide

"The difference between vengeance and justice is that vengeance is about your feelings. Justice is about making the world better for people who don't even know you." - E.F. Coleman (Immechanica)

* * * *

~December 231; Waters near Zephys~

The sky was a slow-burning ember—orange bleeding into vermilion, then crimson at the edges, like fire flickering at the hem of a darkening horizon. The sea beneath it glimmered faintly, reflecting the dying light in smears of copper and gold, each wave folding gently into the next like pages turning in a book half-forgotten by time.

Sera stood at the edge of the boathouse's roof, her arms loosely folded across her chest, her black coat trailing with the wind.

She stared outward, past the endless roll of the tide, past the slow drifting mist curling over the water's surface, and toward the faint, almost imperceptible speck that was Elvryn.

A town once carved out of steel and ash and ideals. Blade's old territory. A place soaked in old wars, remembered silences, and fragile neutrality that still held, somehow, through influence, fear, or unspoken respect.

It wasn't close enough to be tangible, not really. But even from here, she could feel it. Its gravity. Its weight.

Sera's right hand drifted downward almost unconsciously, her fingers brushing the small tattoo on the underside of her left wrist—a simple blade etched into pale skin. A reminder. A scar that ink couldn't hide.

Elvryn. The name alone curled in her chest like smoke.

She hadn't set foot near it in a long time. Not since Blade's final stand.

The town remained neutral and untouched, not because it had no worth, but because Blade had made it so. Because they had made it so. Her, Blade, the rest of them. Friends. Family. Ghosts.

Aegis had been lying low for weeks now, keeping out of the chaos following everything that had gone down at Agnis, and then when they'd broken Lucie out of ESA custody.

They'd taken mercenary work when they could—quick jobs, anonymous clients, and even clean exits. It gave them a strange rhythm, something close to normalcy.

Raul and Letha had taken Lucie under their wing, showing her how the underworld pulsed behind Eldario's polished façade. Laura, ever patient, had taken the lead in training Lucie in elemental control—bonding with the girl in ways that made Sera both relieved and…envious, maybe. Or maybe just tired.

Tonight, the boathouse was quiet. She knew from the hand-written board near the entrance—part of a location system she'd implemented months ago, that Laura, Neil, and Kailey were off running errands in town.

Routine, mundane things. The sort of normal that often didn't last in their world.

It is more for safety's sake that it is best they all knew where each other are, as Sera had explained once, since when they weren't taking on requests as part of Aegis, what they did during their free time was up to them.

But Sera had chosen to stay behind on the boathouse. Part of her told herself it was to rest. Another part knew better.

She didn't often allow herself to look toward Elvryn. Not anymore.

And yet now, with the sea whispering beneath her boots and dusk falling like a velvet curtain, she couldn't tear her eyes away.

"But it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter anymore." A tired smile greeted her. "This will be the night that Blade fights our final battle. But you guys will always be my best friends. Maybe someday…"

Someday…

The thought fluttered through Sera's mind like a leaf caught on the wind. She caught it, then let it go.

Sera shook her head, trying to scatter the memories like dust shaken from an old coat. "I said I'd live on for all our sakes," she murmured, more to herself than anything. Her gaze dropped to the gently shifting tide. "But it's easier said than done…"

Caw.

A sharp, sudden cry cut across the twilight like a blade.

Sera's reflexes kicked in before her thoughts could catch up—her hand immediately dropping to her waist where a hidden blade lay, eyes snapping up.

She froze.

Perched delicately on the iron railing before her, framed in the last fading rays of dusk, was a raven. Its feathers gleamed like oil—black but edged in blue where the light struck it. Around its neck, tied neatly in a small knot, was a familiar blue sash.

The bird tilted its head at her, almost expectantly.

"…Hugo?" Sera whispered, her heart stuttering.

The raven cawed again, louder this time, before unfurling its wings and taking to the air with a sudden gust of wind. Sera watched it arc skyward, then veer south—toward Elvryn.

For a long moment, she said nothing, her expression unreadable.

But she knew what Hugo's presence meant. There was only one person who ever sent him. Only one person whom Hugo will obey.

"…Zest."

* * * *

The skies above had long surrendered to dusk, the last threads of sunlight bleeding crimson into the horizon, casting Elvryn in a warm, fading glow—like an old wound refusing to close.

The town was a shadow of what it once was, a borderland between forgotten lawlessness and what little remained of peace. Once Blade's turf—untouchable thanks to Sera's reputation and Blade's sheer will, Elvryn had become neutral ground, no-man's-land, preserved in uneasy silence by fear, by respect, or by memory.

It was in that fading silence that Sera Kroix walked alone, her footsteps light against the cracked pavement, her eyes tracing paths long since memorised.

Every alley, every turn was familiar. The scent of sea salt clung to the breeze. The others in Aegis hadn't questioned her when she said she needed to go on land for a while.

She was grateful they hadn't asked. Some things, even now, were too sacred to speak aloud.

And then, there it was.

The building stood like a skeleton of the past, worn but standing. Its graffiti still clung to the cracked walls, faded like old battle scars. It had once been a bar, back before the civil war gutted everything. Then it became Blade's unofficial headquarters, its beating heart.

Laughter, music, fistfights, and even flame-lit nights on the rooftop. The second floor had bedrooms they built themselves out of scrap wood and salvaged memories. It had once been full of life.

Whether it be the members of Blade just messing about or some punks having a street brawl or even a motorcycle race. If anything, this area is never silent.

Now it felt like a tomb.

After the attack on Blade nearly two years ago, most of the street gangs have abandoned Elvryn, to no surprise. Give it another year or two, and Sera wouldn't be surprised if Elvryn would end up as a ghost town.

Sera's pace slowed as she approached the old hideout, the silence around her thick and reverent, disturbed only by the distant hum of the tide and the occasional groan of rusted metal swaying in the sea wind.

And then, she saw him.

Standing at the threshold like a ghost who had been waiting there all along—taller than she remembered, lean but stronger, and hardened. His raven-black hair now reached just past his earlobes, streaked with purple that caught the light. He wore a black hoodie with flickering flames along the hem, his usual white undershirt visible underneath. His eyes, a deep, burning red, met hers without flinching. Piercings glinted on both ears. A plain black choker, eerily similar to the one around her own neck, adorned his throat.

And on the side of his neck, the familiar inked mark of a dagger. Unmistakable.

Zest.

Sera's breath caught. Her chest ached, like something had folded in on itself.

She had imagined this moment countless times in those long nights after Blade fell. She had never let herself hope too hard, but she had never quite given up either.

Because it was Zest. And Zest had always been the one who never let go.

Zest's gaze held hers for a quiet moment before drifting toward the building. His hands remained deep in his hoodie pockets. "It's been nearly two years," he said, his voice low, edged with something that wasn't bitterness, but wasn't peace either. "That's what Reina told me. But somehow, it feels like I was just here yesterday. With you. With all of them."

Sera opened her mouth, but his presence overwhelmed the words.

Hugo, the raven, was perched nearby, his wings tucked, watching with keen eyes from the seat of an abandoned motorcycle. His blue sash fluttered slightly in the sea breeze.

"You're taller," was all Sera could manage, her voice soft and strained.

Zest let out a breath of a chuckle, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "So are you. In spirit, at least."

Sera blinked. "You look like hell."

"I feel like it," Zest said easily, then glanced sideways at her. "But I'm here. That has to count for something."

He was still pale. Too pale. His posture was steady, but she knew his body was still healing. Of course he had walked out of Reina's clinic the moment he could stand. That was just like him. Stubborn to the end. Alive only because of Alexis's timing and Reina's skill.

And yet, her heart felt too full, too tight. Zest being here was proof that miracles hadn't entirely abandoned the world.

"I'm glad you're awake," Sera said quietly. "Reina told me you might not."

Zest didn't answer immediately. He glanced toward the coastline, then back to the old bar, his voice low when he spoke again. "Reina told me everything. What happened to Blade. To the others. I'm glad you survived, Sera."

"Not all of us did." Sera's voice cracked slightly. "As far as I know, only Leroy and Alisa made it, besides us. Maybe Earl too, if he was out of town like I heard. Everyone else…"

Zest's jaw clenched. "If I could do it over, I'd still take that hit. Any day. For you. For them."

Sera's lips parted to argue, but no words came. Leroy had said the same thing to her when they reunited. And even back then, deep down, she knew it was true. She would've done the same for any of them.

That was the kind of bond Blade had. Not one of blood, but of fire and loyalty and purpose. A family forged in a world that wanted them dead.

"We were all willing to die for each other," Sera said softly. "That was always the kind of people we were."

Zest didn't reply, but the silence between them shifted. Closer now. Deeper.

Sera drew in a breath. "Leroy's rebuilding Zalfari. The Premier asked him to take charge after Whirlwind was wiped out. Alisa and Jeff are with him."

"I heard," Zest murmured.

"He asked for my help." Sera's gaze dropped to the pavement. "But I told him to go ahead without me. He has his own path to follow. Just like I do. Just like you do."

"I already chose mine," Zest said, and when she looked up, his eyes were on her. Quiet but intense. "I chose it the day I followed you."

The words hit Sera harder than she expected. She took a step forward, but hesitated. "Zest…"

Zest held up a hand, stopping her gently. "You always knew, didn't you?" he asked. "Even when the others didn't understand how I fought, how I moved, you knew. You saw through it. You saw through me."

Sera's voice was a whisper. "You were too skilled for someone your age. Too controlled. I suspected. But I never asked."

"I used to be a weapon," Zest said, with neither pride nor shame. "The hunters had an assassination unit—their hit-squad. I was one of their best, trained to kill Gifted, to wipe out resistance, and even to target rogue hunters, to be silent and unstoppable. So secret that not even most of the hunters knew we existed."

"I heard rumours about the assassination unit before," Sera admitted. "Before your appearance at Elvryn, there were rumours about an upheaval with the hunters. So…" She trailed off slowly. "I suspected, considering your skill level. No one is that good at combat without some serious experience. Even I only got as good as I am because I was constantly hunted down in the streets. By both street gangs and even hunters. Even the Normals."

Zest exhaled. "And then I wound up at Elvryn." His expression softened, just barely. "I was tired of being a weapon. Something in me broke long before I even turned on the hunters. And then one day, I saw the members of Blade. You were all laughing together. Just being friends. And you all had each other's backs when facing rival gangs. I wanted that."

The wind picked up. Sera's scarf fluttered at her side.

The moment stretched. Fragile and quiet, almost unbearable in its honesty.

Sera stepped closer until only a breath of space separated them. "You never said anything."

"Neither did you."

She stared into his red eyes—haunted, steadfast, and alive. And something in her chest, long locked away, stirred painfully.

Zest's voice broke the silence first, low and rough as his hands buried deeper into the pockets of his flame-edged hoodie. "The attack on Blade… Half the reason it happened was likely because they were there for me, too." He didn't look at her. "I knew too much. I was their best assassin, and I turned on them. Took out the rest of the unit myself when I walked away. They couldn't leave a weapon like me alive." His red eyes finally flicked to meet hers, quiet but unflinching. "I assume you figured that out a long time ago."

Sera said nothing. She didn't need to. Zest knew her well enough to see it in the stillness of her expression, the way her amber and crimson-green eyes held his gaze without surprise.

"You always knew," he continued, his voice softening. "But you didn't care. You never cared about where we came from—me, Earl, Jamie, Wes… Even Lleucu." He let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "Especially Lleucu. The others barely trusted him, right up to the end. But you…"

Sera's lips curved ever so slightly. Not quite a smile, but close enough.

"You didn't flinch," Zest said, his voice gentler now. "You let us all in. No questions asked. We were broken, most of us dangerous. But you gave us a place to belong. You saw me. Not a killer, not a project gone rogue, not some monster bred in the dark, but a person. You looked me in the eye and gave me your trust. That…was the first kindness I'd ever known. You didn't see a thug, a killer, or even a leader. You see me as a person first. You looked me in the eye. That's all I ever wanted. You are the first to show me compassion. To treat me as an equal. In a world where all I'd ever known was pain, you were the first proof that I was still human."

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Sera's gaze drifted back to the old hideout behind them—its broken windows, faded paint, and crumbling stone now mere echoes of what it once was. But she saw beyond the decay. She saw flickers of memory—laughter ringing through cracked hallways, late-night arguments over trivial missions, music thumping from cheap speakers, the sharp bark of Lleucu's laugh when Jamie tried to flirt and failed miserably.

If truth be told, she had suspected who Zest was right from the beginning when he had first shown up at Elvryn and started beating the crap out of all those punks that set upon him who have wanted to 'show the newbie his place'. To this day, Zest remains the only person who can match Sera in terms of combat.

"I suspected who you were from the moment you showed up in Elvryn," Sera murmured at last, her voice thick with memory. "You flattened a whole gang of punks in ten minutes and didn't even break a sweat. You moved like someone who'd killed long before they ever learned to live."

Zest smiled faintly, but didn't interrupt.

"You're a Normal," Sera went on, "but sometimes, I think the hand the Goddess dealt you was just as cruel as any Gifted." Her hand absently found the edge of her scarf, curling it between her fingers. "We knew, all of us in Blade, that we'd never live peaceful lives. From the first moment we started taking Elvryn piece by piece, rising up and carving out our name in the underground… We were already living on borrowed time. Tomorrow is never guaranteed. All of us in Blade knew that."

"Someday in the future, we probably won't even be able to do the things that we take for granted. The world is a dark and cruel place. At times, it even feels like a fleeting dream. And perhaps, the same could be said of people's lives. No matter who you are, everyone meets Death in the end. Whether you're a high-born noble or a low-born street thug, it makes no difference. Everyone must return to the void of nothingness. And once we're dead, we're all just corpses. Consider every action a person performs in their lifetime. Every decision that they make. Do you think that they're meaningless?"

Sera looked up at the sky, darkening now with a purple dusk, and added quietly, "Blade were feared. Respected. But it's probably what killed us."

"You don't really believe that," Zest murmured.

"I do," Sera admitted. "But I also think it's not the whole story." Her voice turned softer. "Blade was family. And I think maybe… That scared the wrong people." She glanced back at him. "Lleucu…" She began, her voice catching slightly. "I know most of you never trusted him. He always smiled a little too easily. Lied too well. There was a darkness in him, a history no one could quite name. But I saw something else."

Zest's eyes narrowed slightly, curious.

"I know a liar's eyes when I see them," Sera said. "And Lleucu was a liar. But he was also loyal. The kind of loyalty that's earned, not born. He had demons, but he fought them every single day. Even when no one saw it. Even when no one believed in him, I did."

Zest nodded slowly. "Yeah," he said. "You always know when someone's lying to you. You just…see people in a way the rest of us can't. Makes sense you saw something in Lleucu the rest of us missed."

Sera's smile was faint, and almost sorrowful. "We were all fragments," she murmured. "And somehow, Blade held us together. You, Leroy, Alisa, even Earl… Every piece mattered."

Zest let out a long breath. "I don't regret anything," he said quietly. "Even if the hunters come for me again, I'll never regret walking away from what I was and choosing you instead. Everyone must walk a path of their own choosing, so that they can face their final moments with pride. This is what I chose."

Then, without hesitation, he reached forward and gently took her hand in his. He considered it a victory when she didn't pull away.

"I'm loyal to you, Sera," he said. "No matter where we are, or how long it's been. You're my leader. You're…my person." His voice faltered for the first time. "You're the reason I found a future."

Sera stared at him, her eyes unreadable, until slowly, silently, she stepped forward and rested her head against his chest. Zest stiffened briefly, then folded his arms around her, cautious but protective.

"You've always been that way. You always knew what I needed," she whispered, curling her fingers into the warmth of his hoodie. "You were always just…there. Even when I didn't ask."

"I missed you, Sera," Zest murmured into her hair, voice hushed with truth.

"I missed you too."

The moment held.

Then, suddenly, her phone buzzed with a shrill ringtone, cutting through the quiet. Sera startled, her head jerking slightly against him. Zest made to pull back, but she held on.

"…Just a little longer," she murmured.

He stilled, his heart pounding against her cheek.

Sera finally fished the phone from her coat and answered. "Hello?"

Zest could hear the voice even from where he stood, low, calm, and familiar.

"Is this a bad time?" Alexis asked.

Zest grimaced. "Of course it's Alexis," he muttered.

"What is it?" Sera sighed. Her tone said everything—Alexis never called just to chat. And whenever he calls her these days, it almost always means bad news.

"I need a short meeting with you and your group," Alexis replied after a beat. "The Premier sent me. There's trouble. It's urgent."

* * * *

The final notes of the song faded into the warm air of Delbrück Music Café, drowned soon after by a wave of appreciative applause. The room pulsed with a familiar energy—wooden floors echoing with the shuffle of chairs, soft laughter rising above the gentle hum of conversation, and the soft clatter of ceramic cups meeting saucers.

"Thank you for coming! We hope you'll join us again for our next performance!" The lead vocalist called out, bowing with a sweep of her arm as the band began packing up their instruments.

Near the back of the room, Allen clapped politely, the expression on his face somewhere between amusement and quiet pride. His ruby-red eyes tracked the familiar figure stepping down from the stage—Jonan, still flushed with the rush of performance, his pale blue eyes scanning the crowd as he slung the strap of his guitar from his shoulder and crouched to tuck it carefully into its case.

They didn't get many days off from the ESA—especially not these days, with the entire situation with Aegis, but the town of Damerel offered them a pocket of peace.

And the café, with its dim amber lights and flickering candles on every table, had long since become a kind of sanctuary. A place where they could just be two young men again, not soldiers. Not tacticians. Not ghosts.

Jonan approached with his usual confident stride, his boots thudding softly on the floorboards. Today, he was dressed in one of his flashier picks—his signature black high-collared shirt with flames licking up from the hem, paired with worn black pants and utility belt pouches still fastened at his hips.

He looked like someone who'd walked off a battlefield and into a punk rock gig, and in a way, that wasn't far from the truth.

"I'll say this much," Allen commented as Jonan waved a hand at a nearby waiter for a drink. "You lot are definitely improving. You don't make my ears bleed anymore, for one." He took a casual sip from his coffee cup, his lips quirking into a grin.

Jonan shot him a glare, though it lacked real heat. "Yeah, thanks a lot," he muttered as the drink arrived and he downed half the glass in one go, his voice a little hoarse from singing.

Allen chuckled and leaned back, his arms folded as he regarded his best friend. "You should invite the rest of the team next time," he said. "Would be good for morale. We can call it team bonding—maybe even drag Lucas out of his self-imposed exile. The guy looks like he's one coffee short of a breakdown lately."

"Maybe," Jonan said, but there was a flicker of understanding in his voice. He knew exactly why Lucas was so wound up. They all did.

His gaze wandered over the café's cozy interior—walls lined with shelves of old vinyl records, framed posters of legendary Delbrück performers, and the soft yellow glow of fairy lights trailing along the ceiling beams. His eyes stopped at a familiar sight: a girl sitting alone in the far corner, a well-worn book cradled in her hands and a steaming cup of coffee resting in front of her.

Her expression was unreadable, half-hidden by the fall of her hair, but she was focused, entirely absorbed in the world between those pages.

"She's here again," Jonan murmured.

Allen arched a brow, already half-smiling. "Who?"

Jonan jerked his chin toward the corner. "That girl. Over there. I don't know her name, but she's been here every time we've had a gig. Always the same table. Always alone. Might be a fan." His voice dipped into a joking tone, but Allen could hear the thread of genuine curiosity woven beneath it.

"You wish," Allen replied with a smirk, though he glanced over too. "She's probably just waiting for the coffee to get good again."

Jonan scoffed lightly. "Hey, we've got a growing following. Slowly but surely. And she's always here. I've just…never seen her come up to talk to us. Or me, at least."

Allen hummed behind the rim of his cup, studying Jonan. "Why don't you go talk to her, then?" he asked, casual but knowing. "You're not usually shy. Though, in your case, I guess she might have sensed the danger and decided to keep her distance."

Jonan made a face. "Wow. Really going for the throat tonight, huh?"

Allen laughed. "I'm just saying, you're a hard guy to pin down. I've been your best friend for years, and even I still don't know where your ideas come from half the time. One day you're wiring up a homemade speaker system in our shared room, the next you're sketching blueprints for 'experimental gig pyrotechnics' and nearly blowing a hole in the training yard."

Jonan gave a sheepish shrug, the memory clearly not one he'd forgotten either. "They worked, eventually."

"And I didn't rat you out," Allen pointed out. "Even when the director chewed us both out."

Jonan smiled, the edge of it softening something around his eyes. "No. You didn't."

There was a pause between them—brief, but filled with the weight of something deeper. Through every ridiculous plan, through the stunts that should've gotten them discharged, and the missions that nearly cost them their lives, Allen had always been there.

The quiet voice of reason behind Jonan's chaos. The anchor that kept him from flying too close to the sun.

"You always back me," Jonan said, quieter now. "Even when you know it's probably going to end with one of us in a med bay."

Allen didn't hesitate. "Because I know you. And because I trust you." He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. "You've got this spark—this fire in you that never dies out, even when the whole damn world tries to smother it. I'd follow you through worse than an amateur concert setlist."

Jonan blinked, slightly taken aback. Then his lips curved into something that wasn't quite a grin, but wasn't a smirk either. Something softer. "…You're a sap, you know that?"

Allen shrugged, unfazed. "Better a sap than a reckless bomb enthusiast with a guitar addiction."

"Goddess, you're insufferable."

"Yeah, yeah. You love me."

Jonan didn't reply—just raised his glass, clinked it lightly against Allen's cup, and took another long sip.

In the corner, the girl turned a page.

And in the quiet lull between conversations and coffee orders, Damerel's music café pulsed gently around them—a haven for dreams half-realised and schemes yet to be made.

* * * *

Kailey O'Fearghail sat alone at a small corner table by the window, the late sunlight streaking through the glass and casting golden lines across the surface of her half-empty coffee cup. She was taking careful sips—slow, deliberate, as if savouring the last bit of calm in the day, when a plate slid gently into view.

Two warm, chocolate-drizzled waffles, steam rising delicately from them, and a silver fork placed with intent.

Her gaze lifted.

"Thought you might be hungry," came the smooth voice, tinged with amusement. Jonan stood there, pale blue eyes bright beneath the gentle fall of blonde hair brushing the sides of his face. His black dress shirt shimmered slightly under the café lights, orange flame patterns licking along the hem—striking, unapologetically bold, just like the grin on his face. "It's on me," he added.

Kailey blinked in surprise, but her smile tugged at the corners of her lips, soft and curious. "Thanks," she said simply, nodding in appreciation.

She knew who he was—had known for a while. Not from the ESA, though that would have been enough on its own. No, she knew him because every time this café hosted a gig, he was there, on stage with his guitar, eyes closed as though the strings could speak for him better than words ever could.

"I see you around here every time we play," Jonan remarked, sliding into the seat across from her with casual ease. "Not to toot my own horn, but… Is it for the music? Or for me?"

His grin widened like it was a challenge, like he'd thrown down a gauntlet and was waiting for her to pick it up.

Kailey tilted her head, amused. "Maybe. Or maybe I just like music. And your band happens to be one of the rare ones that don't make my ears bleed."

Jonan clutched his chest in mock injury. "Wow. That was brutal. You're merciless."

"I get that a lot," Kailey replied, sipping her coffee again, her voice light with teasing.

He leaned forward slightly, propping his elbows on the table, his eyes flickering with interest now—curious, not just because she was beautiful in that shadow-silver, storm-at-sea kind of way, but because she didn't look away from him.

Most people did.

"Name's Jonan," he offered, though he figured she probably already knew. "Lead guitarist, part-time demolitions nutcase. ESA grunt by day, tortured artist by night."

Kailey smirked. "Kailey," she said. Just her first name. Her voice had that careful restraint, a quiet defence in its brevity, but her tone held a lilt of warmth, almost inviting. "Pleasure."

He nodded, filing the name away like it meant something.

Kailey was about to speak again, maybe ask something more, something personal, if she dared, when a familiar voice cut across the cozy ambiance of the café like a brick through a stained-glass window.

"Hey Jonan! We need to pack up! You can flirt on your own time!"

Jonan's eye twitched. "I will rig your guitar case with confetti charges," he muttered under his breath, drawing a quick breath as he stood. "Sorry," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Duty calls. Bandmates wait for no man."

Kailey gave a noncommittal shrug, though there was something just slightly amused dancing behind her pearl-white eyes. "Guess I'll see you at your next gig, then. If I can get a ticket."

Before she could say anything else, Jonan reached into one of his belt pouches—normally used for explosive fuses or tools, and produced three slightly bent entry tickets, sliding them across the table like a magician revealing his final card.

"Problem solved," he said with a cheeky smile. "Now you're out of excuses."

Kailey raised an eyebrow. "You carry spare tickets in your demolition belt?"

"You'd be surprised how often that comes in handy," he quipped. "Bring your friends. Or don't. Either way, I'll know you're there."

A pause. A moment longer than necessary, where neither said anything, just watched the other. Something hung in the air. Not quite tension, not quite fate, just a quiet question neither of them dared to voice.

"Jonan!"

Jonan groaned. "I said I'm coming! Keep your pants on!"

With a wink, he turned and jogged toward the back of the café, disappearing past the stage curtains. A redhead followed him—Allen, Kailey assumed, the Team Alpha tech guy she'd seen once or twice on mission reports.

And then the café was quiet again, save for the gentle murmur of conversations and a faint jazz tune humming from the speakers.

Kailey sat back, her expression unreadable, her fingers brushing lightly against the edges of the tickets before she slipped them into her jacket pocket. She didn't smile, but her lips twitched, just faintly.

"…Jonan, huh?" she murmured to herself, the name tasting unfamiliar but pleasant on her tongue.

Just then, the café bell above the door gave a sharp tinkle.

Kailey turned her head, only to groan under her breath.

Neil.

Her twin brother swept into the café with the grim determination of a storm cloud about to ruin a picnic. His eyes immediately locked onto her, and without hesitation, he strode across the room and stopped beside her table.

"You have to stop disappearing," he hissed, keeping his voice low but firm. "Just because it's our rest day doesn't mean you get to ignore your phone! You've had six missed calls, Kailey."

"I didn't hear it!" she retorted, leaning back defensively. "And I left a note on the board!"

"That's the only reason I found you," he snapped. "Still."

Neil exhaled sharply through his nose, then jerked a thumb toward the exit. "We're being summoned. Back to the boathouse. Sera's returning, and she's bringing Alexis."

Kailey froze.

Neil's voice dropped further, just above a whisper. "He's got a message. From the Premier. It sounds serious."

Kailey didn't respond immediately.

She reached into her pocket, fingers brushing against the folded concert tickets again. For a moment, the weight of the world outside the café pressed back into her chest, reminding her of the real reason she was in Damerel.

Of the wars being waged in silence, and of the cost people like her paid to try and make it right.

But still… She glanced toward the stage curtain Jonan had vanished behind, and just for a second, allowed herself to wonder what it might be like, to laugh again. To sit at a table and talk about music and chocolate waffles and things that didn't involve coded messages or blood on cobblestone.

"I'm coming," she said at last, rising to her feet. But her hand lingered in her pocket just a moment longer.

* * * *

"An underground smuggling ring…of Gifted children?"

The words dropped into the room like a detonation, not loud, but catastrophic in its implications.

It wasn't the kind of revelation Aegis had expected when Alexis stepped through the threshold of the boathouse, flanked by Sera, the pair haloed by the dim overhead light and trailing with them an unspoken tension that set the air on edge.

Kailey's breath hitched, and across the room, Raul stiffened visibly, his golden eyes narrowing as they flickered toward Laura, who mirrored his alarm with the same unreadable quiet.

Of all the people here, the two of them had seen firsthand what the underground tolerated and what it didn't. And this… This was beyond the pale.

Even in the shadowed, grey morality of the underground, there were rules. Few, but ironclad.

No trafficking.

No children.

Not even the most depraved of Eldario's crime lords dared cross those lines. To do so was to invite annihilation—from the Enforcers, from the neutral families, even from the hunters, who would weaponise the scandal for their own twisted propaganda.

It was a violation of a sacred boundary, one drawn in blood and maintained by unspoken, universal consensus.

And yet…

"We don't know who's behind it," Alexis answered, his voice rough, and his eyes heavy with fatigue. He hadn't even made it past the doorway, slumping against the frame like the burden he carried had become too much to bear. One hand rubbed wearily at the bridge of his nose, as if doing so could erase the image of what he'd discovered. "I've been digging for days. Weeks, if I'm honest. The trail is thin—intentionally buried. But it's there. Enough to worry me. Enough that I'm…considering involving Ethan."

That last part silenced the room.

Sera narrowed her eyes sharply, reading between the lines before Alexis even finished. The air seemed to tighten around her where she leaned against the wooden paneling beside the stairwell, her arms folded across her chest, her scarf swaying faintly in the low draft.

Alexis involving Ethan, a man he had spent years openly disdaining, was not a decision made lightly.

"That bad?" Raul muttered.

Alexis didn't reply. He didn't need to.

"Is this official, or unofficial?" Tatius asked next, his voice unusually serious as he sat between his siblings on the couch, a half-empty mug of tea forgotten in his gloved hand.

There was a long pause before Alexis finally answered. "Technically? Unofficial. The Premier, Larissa, knows. But she's staying out of it directly. This came from Hayder."

That name struck like a current through the room.

Letha straightened from her perch against the windowsill, her pale eyes narrowing with something more than suspicion. "Plausible deniability, then," she said dryly. "If we fail or this explodes in our faces, the higher-ups get to wash their hands clean while we take the fall."

Alexis gave a slow, reluctant nod. "That's…one way to put it."

"And the other?"

"The Premier knows Aegis has a reputation. A capability," Alexis said, his tone shifting. "There are whispers about the things you've accomplished—the raid on ESA headquarters, the sabotage runs through Carthros, and even the incident with the Midnight Barons. Whether you meant to or not, people are paying attention. Hayder said if you won't agree, he's prepared to call in a favour. From her." His gaze cut to Sera as he spoke.

Sera sighed through her nose and didn't move. Her silence spoke volumes.

Lucie had remained quiet until now, seated near the outer edge of the group, her dark auburn hair half-shadowed by the flickering lamplight.

But her mind was racing. Six months. That's how long it had been since she'd stumbled, half-voluntarily, half-desperately, into Aegis's world, drawn in by fire and survival and the soft-spoken promise that she didn't have to face it all alone.

Yet even now, parts of it still felt like a dream—a secret world layered beneath the one she thought she knew. One with its own codes, alliances, and power brokers. Smuggling rings. Political actors with names that made veterans tense.

Premier. Enforcers. Hayder.

She looked up, curiosity slipping into her voice despite herself. "Who's Hayder?"

Raul's jaw tightened. "The head of the Enforcers," he answered, his eyes darker than usual. "Second only to Larissa. If he's getting involved, it's not just serious. It's volatile. And dangerous enough that the Premier won't touch it directly."

Lucie swallowed and nodded slowly. A thousand questions burned behind her eyes, but she didn't voice them. Not yet.

Across the room, Claudia crossed one leg over the other, her arms folded. "If this is a setup, we need to know. Especially if we're expected to clean up someone else's mess."

"It's not a setup," Alexis said, his voice firm. "Hayder knows there's something rotten buried in this, as far as we can tell. There are whispers. Children aren't just being smuggled. They're disappearing. Vanishing. And there's no paperwork, no trafficking routes we recognise, nothing we can trace the usual way. Whoever's behind it, they're smart, and they've done this before."

Sera finally moved. She stepped forward, slowly uncrossing her ankles and pushing off from the wall. Her boots echoed softly on the wooden floor as she approached, scarf trailing behind her like a silent banner of purpose. Her expression was unreadable, a storm of calculation behind eyes that had seen too much, and buried more.

"Will you do it, Sera?" Alexis asked again, quieter this time.

Sera glanced at Neil, then Kailey, then Raul, her gaze sweeping through the room like a commander gauging the tension in her ranks. Tatius and Ness, already leaning forward slightly. Claudia, thoughtful but impassive. Letha, calculating. Laura, silent, but ready.

Lucie met her eyes for a heartbeat. And something passed between them, not command, not duty. Something heavier. Something more human.

Sera turned back to Alexis, expression like tempered steel. "Tell me what you know first."

* * * *

"Okay, so to sum it up."

It was nearly midnight.

The boathouse's wooden walls creaked softly with the shifting night air, and the salt-tinged wind outside whispered across the half-open windows. Inside, the warm light from the overhead lamp did little to cut through the heavy mood that lingered, thick and unrelenting, like smoke after a fire.

No one had moved to sleep. Not even the younger ones. Not when Alexis had dropped that bomb nearly four hours ago.

The couch cushions were sunken with fatigue. Coffee mugs sat untouched. The air was taut with the weight of what had been said, and more importantly, what hadn't.

From what Alexis had gathered, scraped together from whispers, unofficial memos, and what little Hayder had confided, it amounted to one dangerous, disturbing possibility: that someone, somewhere, had started a smuggling operation targeting Gifted children.

Gifted. Children.

And not in a distant war-torn district or foreign state. No. Right here. In Eldario. In their city.

Under the nose of Larissa, Premier of the Abyss, and a woman not known for her mercy.

Larissa had quite the infamous reputation for having a low tolerance for those who go against her. She's been that way even when she was still an Enforcer herself years ago.

Sera is equal parts respectful and wary of her, like any sane person who comes in contact with the current head of the entire underground. But she also knew that Larissa still had a responsibility to the entire underground scene thanks to her position. If necessary, Larissa will have no hesitation in sacrificing a few people to fuel her wants.

The woman is cunning and a harsh taskmistress, but she is not evil.

"I still don't like it," Raul muttered from the couch, his golden eyes narrowed as he tapped quickly on his portable console.

Lucie sat beside him, silent but alert, her brows furrowed as she tried to follow the thread of the conversation, a spark of budding awareness in her gaze, like a child staring into a storm they hadn't yet learned to fear.

Raul's voice was low and tired. "If there's even a whisper of trafficking going on beneath Larissa's radar, then either this bastard is suicidally bold… Or Larissa isn't being told everything." He frowned at his screen, squinting. "Still nothing. Not a whisper. Not even on the Black Network."

That got Sera's attention.

She had remained standing, one shoulder propped against the cold frame of the boathouse door, arms crossed, the shadow of her petite form stretching behind her from the overhead light. Her eyes narrowed at the mention of the Black Network.

She, like Raul, had used it once. Or many times. Enough to know its reach. Enough to know what should show up on it if something like this was real.

If even the Black Network—the digital underbelly of Eldario's illegal markets, had no trace of this alleged operation, then something was off.

Very off.

"There are rules," Sera said quietly, more to herself than anyone else. "Even in the underground."

Raul nodded grimly. "Two lines we don't cross. No drugs. No human trafficking. Larissa carved that into us. Burned it into the foundations of the underground the second she took power."

"And if someone's breaking those rules?" Laura's voice cut through the silence like frost. "Then they're either new blood with no sense of self-preservation… Or worse, someone with protection."

That drew a heavy pause.

Lucie's fingers twisted around the hem of her blouse, nervous energy radiating off her. She glanced at Raul, then at Sera, then Laura, trying to piece the gravity of what this all meant.

The underground still felt like a puzzle to her—a constantly shifting landscape of threats, shadows, and codes she hadn't yet learned how to read. Six months ago, she'd been living a normal life. Now, she was sharing a room with people who spoke of smuggling rings and political betrayals like they were just another Tuesday.

"There's still no confirmation," Letha said at last, her pale blue eyes gleaming in the dim light. She sat cross-legged on the floor, her posture too calm, too calculating. "No names. No routes. No physical evidence. Just speculation. Hearsay." She tilted her head, her braid brushing her collarbone. "And yet Hayder sends Alexis to stir the pot?"

The tone in her voice made Sera straighten.

"I don't like it," Letha added, more firmly now. "Feels too clean. Like someone wants us chasing phantoms."

"Which makes me wonder," Laura picked up softly. "Is this even a real mission? Or is this a test?"

Sera looked at the others, and for a second, just a second, let her guard drop. Her fingers traced the blade tattoo hidden beneath the cuff of her sleeve, her mind racing.

She hadn't missed the way Alexis avoided certain questions, or how he'd hesitated when asked if this was sanctioned officially. Hayder had requested it. Larissa knew, but hadn't signed anything. No paperwork. No trails. Only whispers. And now, they wanted Aegis to dive in headfirst?

No.

Not without question.

Not without suspicion.

"Alexis hates Ethan," Sera murmured at last. "And yet, he's willing to go to him for help. That tells me something, but it's not enough. For all we know, this could be a trap to flush out who's been leaking underground intel."

Raul leaned back, exhaling heavily through his nose. "Or it's exactly what it looks like—a monster hiding beneath our streets, and they're trying to hand it off to someone deniable."

"Us," Tatius added from where he slouched against the back of the couch. "The convenient scapegoats."

Sera looked around slowly. "Suggestions?"

For a moment, no one spoke.

It was Claudia who answered first. "If it's true… If someone is trafficking Gifted children…" Her eyes darkened. "Then I don't care who sent us. We take them down."

A murmur of agreement followed, quiet but steady. Even Ness, arms folded tightly over his chest, nodded once, his fingers brushing the place on his upper arm where the '10' tattoo lay—memories of cages and cold laboratories written into his skin.

But Sera didn't move just yet. She looked at Lucie—still quiet, still processing. Her eyes, wide and wary, flickered toward Sera when she felt the weight of her stare.

"I need you to be sure," Sera said gently, not with judgment but with quiet urgency. "We don't walk into shadows unless we're all willing to see what's waiting in them. You don't have to say yes."

Lucie hesitated. Then, slowly, she nodded. "I… I'm scared," she admitted. "But if it's real… Then I don't want to look away from it."

That earned her a faint smile from Raul, and a nod from Letha.

Sera sighed, nodding once. "Unanimous agreement, then."

Her eyes scanned the room again, the lines of her face unreadable, yet shadowed with the tension she always carried. The kind that came from years of betrayal, war, and knowing just how ugly this world could get when no one was watching.

"All right," she said. "We're in."