JEREMY POV
The "Elite Seven" were currently the "Pathetic Seven," and the hospital wing of the Inner Sanctum smelled like failure and overpriced antiseptic.
I sat on the edge of my medical cot, staring at my hands. They were shaking. Not because of the trauma, and not because of the violet poison that had nearly turned my bone marrow into jelly. They were shaking because of the nothingness. My Blue Impulse—the pride of Jorgen City, the energy that had made me feel like the center of the universe—was a flickering pilot light.
The Nun hadn't just beaten us. She had processed us. She had treated the finest prodigies of the Northern Continent like disposable batteries, and when she was done, she'd just left us hanging there to rot.
"It's not coming back, Jeremy."
I looked up. Sarah was in the cot opposite mine, her blonde hair matted and her skin still sporting a sickly, translucent grey tint. She was staring at a glass of water on her bedside table, trying to make it vibrate with her resonance. The water stayed still. Not a ripple.
"The doctors said it's just temporary fatigue," I snapped, my voice sounding thin and hollow even to my own ears. "The core needs time to recalibrate after a total drain. We were overextended."
"We weren't overextended," Sarah whispered, finally looking at me. Her eyes were full of a raw, jagged terror. "We were erased. And then... did you see it? Before you blacked out?"
I closed my eyes, and the image burned into my retinas. Not the Nun. Not the darkness. I saw the Gray Light. I saw the two figures standing in the doorway of the church like ancient judges.
"The twins," I muttered.
"They didn't even use a technique," Sarah said, her voice trembling. "The boy... he just walked through her. He didn't even look at us. To him, we weren't even teammates. We were just... debris. Furniture in the room while he dealt with a real threat."
The door to the ward hissed open. I straightened my back, trying to summon a shred of the "Elite" persona, but it collapsed the moment I saw who was walking in.
It wasn't a doctor. It was Elder Valerius.
She didn't look like someone who was here to offer get-well-soon cards. Valerius walked with a terrifying, predatory grace, her sharp heels clicking against the linoleum like a countdown. She wore a high-collared, military-style coat that seemed to absorb the light around her, and her silver hair was pulled back into a braid so tight it looked painful. She didn't even look at my medical chart. She just stared at me with eyes that felt like they were peeling back my skin to see the rot underneath.
"Elder," I gasped, trying to stand.
"Sit down, Klice," Valerius said. Her voice was cold, a crisp, melodic rasp that carried the weight of a death sentence. She didn't move a muscle to help me. "I have no use for a soldier who can't even stand on his own."
"We were ambushed," I started, the excuses falling out of my mouth like lead. "The Rift-entity was a Grade-A. Our intel didn't mention—"
"Your intel was sufficient," Valerius interrupted, her gaze moving slowly across the room. "Your execution was abysmal. You allowed yourselves to be harvested. You became fuel for the enemy. If it weren't for the intervention of the Masterpieces, you would be shrivelled husks in a pauper's grave right now."
The word Masterpieces hit me like a physical blow.
"Who are they?" I asked, my grip tightening on the bedsheets. "The boy and the girl. They aren't Council. They aren't in the registries."
Valerius leaned in, her face inches from mine. I could smell the faint scent of ozone and expensive tea on her breath. "They are the reason you exist, Jeremy. They are the sun and the moon, and you are merely the shadows they cast. But apparently, even as shadows, you've failed your purpose."
She stood up, looking at the rest of my team. They were all watching her, terrified. These were the kids who used to walk through Jorgen City like they owned the sky. Now, under her icy stare, they looked like broken toys.
"The Council is moving to a new phase," Valerius announced, her voice echoing in the sterile ward. "The 'Elite Seven' project is being decommissioned. You are being reassigned to the logistical support wing in Sector 9. Your Impulse levels are too unstable for front-line duty."
"Sector 9?" I felt the blood drain from my face. Sector 9 was the scrap heap. It was where they sent the "mice" to count crates and scrub floors. "Elder, please. Give us a week. My core is recovering. I can—"
"You can do nothing," Valerius said, turning toward the door, her coat billowing behind her like a shroud. "You've seen the true ceiling of power, Jeremy. You know now that you are not the protagonists of this story. You are the background noise. Be grateful we're letting you keep the noise."
She left without another word. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the sound of Sarah's quiet, rhythmic sobbing.
I looked at my hands again. The shaking hadn't stopped.
I hated them. I hated the Nun, I hated Valerius, but most of all, I hated the boy with the golden eyes. He had saved my life, and in doing so, he had destroyed it. He had shown me that everything I had worked for—every training session, every "prodigy" accolade, every ounce of my pride—was a joke. I wasn't a hero. I was just meat that got lucky.
"I'm not going to Sector 9," I whispered.
"Jeremy, stop," Sarah sobbed. "What can we do? We don't have our power. We're just... humans now."
"No," I said, a dark, jagged resolve hardening in my chest. "We aren't humans. We're the people who know where the masterpieces are hiding. The Council thinks we're trash? Fine. But even trash can start a fire."
I thought about the girl in the teal hoodie. The "mouse" the boy had been so careful with. If Adam was the sun, then she was his only shadow. And if I couldn't reach the sun, I would start with the thing standing closest to it.
I pulled the IV needle out of my arm, the copper taste of my own blood returning to my mouth.
"We're going back to the city," I told Sarah. "We're going to find that girl. And we're going to find out exactly what it takes to make an angel bleed."