The Prison
Deep beneath the building, under concrete and consequence, Byron sat in a cell engineered like an apology that never came. No windows. No light. Shock absorbers hidden in the walls so that impact became meaningless — even rage bounced here.
Footsteps on the metal stairs. The door opened.
Bizure stepped inside with his hands in his pockets and his smile already prepared. Byron didn't stand.
"You decided to visit me."
Bizure tilted his head, almost wounded. "Can't let my best bud get lonely."
"Screw you, traitor."
Bizure walked the perimeter, fingers brushing reinforced steel. He knocked once against the wall and listened to the muted thud. "So ungrateful. Do you know what this custom cell cost? I could've taken a vacation."
"Cut the act." Byron rose, chains rattling softly. "You did this for yourself. Like everything else you've ever done."
Bizure stopped behind him. Close enough to feel the heat of it. "I chose the winning team," he said lightly. "Why blame me for your ignorance?"
Byron turned. Even in the dark, his stare had an edge. "Then explain hunting us down for five years."
Something moved across Bizure's face. Not guilt. Something quieter and less easily named. He leaned closer to the bars. " You really don't get it?"
The word landed wrong. Byron's expression shifted — confusion cutting through the fury. "You're a coward."
Bizure straightened. The softness was gone. "And you will never get what you want." He turned for the exit. The door began to close. Just before it sealed, his voice came through the narrowing gap.
"Life's too short to play the long game."
The door shut. Silence swelled.
"You won't get away with this!"
The only answer was the fading sound of footsteps climbing back toward the light.
Nyika Palace
Bizure stood before the throne in its owner's absence.
Jemima held the space instead.
For a moment he just looked at her. Looking into her eyes was like standing in front of a full moon — distant, cold, and entirely arresting. Her skin had the quality of polished ebony heartwood, dark and flawless. A faint dusting of golden pollen covered her shoulders and hair, the royal dust that the Queen passed to her chosen voice, its presence a silent mark of standing.
"Your army is five hundred men stronger, Your Majesty," Bizure said.
Jemima inclined her head, the motion fluid. "Good work, Sergeant. I'll be taking the Rosary Pea Squad back with me. The Queen will reward you personally."
Bizure didn't bow. He held her gaze, and the formality left his posture.
"The only reward I want," he said, "is you."
Jemima's eyes hardened — a crack in the mask. "Don't say that here. Walls listen."
"Let them."
"No." She stepped off the dais and moved close enough to lower her voice. "Now that you've stopped a potential coup, the Queen will owe us. She'll allow it — just not yet."
Bizure studied her face, looking for the truth in it. Then he smiled.
"Until then, my dear."
He turned and walked away. Jemima watched him go, and only when the heavy doors had almost closed did she raise her hand in a small, restrained wave.
Maximum Security Prison
Najo woke to stone and iron.
And faces.
The two men who'd drugged him were in the same cell.
He was on them before he'd finished waking — chasing them in tight circles through the cramped space, boots skidding, bodies hitting walls. A low hum built under his skin, lightning threatening to surface.
They dropped flat. Foreheads to the floor. Hands together.
"We're sorry," they said, shaping each word slowly, deliberately.
Najo stopped.
"Talk," he said. "Slow."
They did.
Foreigners. Fauna won't feed us. Flora won't see us. All the nation's wealth goes up there. Down here they keep us alive — not allowed to live. Sango absorbed the neighbouring villages. Three populations in half a nation. Hunger became routine. Desperation became currency.
We needed money.
Silence settled.
Najo sank back against the wall.
Ginimbi's face surfaced. The disowning. The condition. Lightning or nothing.
All that wealth.
Just sitting there.
The thought stayed longer than he expected.
Another Cell
Snake and Aemon were shoved inside.
Someone was already there. Chains scraped softly in the dark.
No one spoke.
"I can't believe Moto ran," Aemon said finally.
"He'll come back," Snake said.
"How can you be sure?"
"He came for me," Snake said. "A stranger. No reason to." He paused. "He pulled you out of a bad situation and took you along to Pasi without being asked. He doesn't leave people behind."
Aemon thought of Andzani. Moto grabbing his arm without hesitation. Come with us. No reason, just the decision.
"Yeah," Aemon said quietly. "I don't know how he picks who to save. But we're all here. So." He looked at the ceiling. "I hope he does something."
Chains shifted.
From the shadows, a figure leaned forward.
Jeffery.
Snake moved in front of Aemon without thinking.
"This world truly is unfair," Jeffery said. His voice was worn thin.
"Says the murderer," Snake answered.
"My innocent boy was taken from me." His eyes moved to the restraints on his wrists. "I couldn't avenge him."
He tugged at them, gently, like a man who has already learned they won't give.
"And now I can't even join him."
Snake's posture eased. A fraction. "Since we're not going anywhere," he said, "tell me what really happened."
Jeffery's gaze turned inward.
"He had brilliance in his eyes," he said softly. "Like that girl who was with you..."
And he began to speak of Jr.
Another Wing of the Palace
The Queen's niece lay on the bed, unconscious and withering. Her skin was warped and sagging along her arms and legs, the texture of plastic softened by heat — glossy, uneven, wrong.
The palace medics stepped aside as Tanaka and her sisters entered.
"We tried restoration," one said. "It returns to this state within minutes. No illness. Nothing foreign in her system."
Tanaka said nothing.
Kuna opened her bag and removed a vial of violently corrosive acid. She pressed all five fingers into the liquid and held them there.
Tanaka glanced at her. "What are you doing?"
"My ability doesn't negate substances," Kuna said. "It opposes their effects. But only with full contact."
She poured a small amount onto the damaged skin. The cells knit immediately, flesh smoothing, the surface restoring itself. They waited. The deformation returned.
Tanaka stepped forward and placed her hand on the girl's arm.
Grace Inversion activated. The skin beneath her fingers shifted — stabilising momentarily, reacting — then resisted and reverted.
Tanaka exhaled. "Bring me power-suppressing cuffs."
The guard hesitated. "Who are you to—"
"Please," Kuna said.
The cuffs were brought.
"Remove the green gem," Tanaka said. As the guard worked, she removed the girl's necklace, took out the diamond crystal, and replaced it with the suppressor.
They waited.
"Now."
Kuna restored the skin again — every point correcting what had been deformed. She withdrew her hand. "Good thing it's only surface level. Muscle damage would've taken much longer."
They waited.
Nothing returned.
The girl stirred. Her eyes opened.
Her skin was flawless.
Lower Levels
In a cell far below the rest, Lilly sat alone.
Not a word.