The air in the vault was stifling, heavy with the metallic tang of ancient gold and the copper scent of fresh violence. The floodlights hummed, casting long, sharp shadows against the mountains of bullion.
Maverick stood in the doorway, his rifle lowered but ready, his knuckles white against the black polymer. Behind him, ten Shadow Guards had their weapons trained on Eiden's chest.
Eiden gripped the velvet pedestal with his good hand to keep from falling. His other hand hovered over the dagger—Evergreen's dagger. It felt magnetic, pulling at him.
His Wolf instincts screamed at him to fight. To grab the blade, cut the power cables to the lights, and carve a path out in the dark. He calculated the odds with a cold, detached part of his brain. He could take three of them before the blood loss slowed him down. Maybe four. But there were ten. And Maverick.
But then he looked at Emily.
She was kneeling on the floor, broken not by bullets, but by the shattering revelation of her father's "theft." She looked up at him, her eyes wide with terror. Not for herself. For him.
If he fought, he would die. He would be riddled with bullets right here, in this golden tomb. And Emily would have to watch.
"Step away," Maverick repeated, his voice tight, cracking slightly under the strain. "Don't make me do this, Eiden. You're bleeding out. You can't win this. Look at yourself."
Eiden swayed. The blood loss from the gunshot wound in his back was catching up to him, turning his limbs to lead. The gold room was spinning, the light fracturing into prisms.
"I don't need to win," Eiden rasped, his hand closing around the dagger's hilt, the leather grip feeling familiar and warm. "I just need to..."
"Don't!" Emily whispered.
She stood up, her legs shaking, her dress ruined by the water and grime of the descent. She stepped between Eiden and the wall of guns.
"Emily, get out of the way," Maverick warned, his finger tightening on the trigger. "He's dangerous."
"No!" She held out her hands, shielding Eiden with her own small body. "We surrender, Mav! Just... don't shoot him. He saved my life. He saved Linda. If you kill him... you kill me too."
Maverick looked at his sister. He saw the desperation in her posture, the blood on her hands that wasn't hers. He looked at Eiden, the "Devil" who was barely standing, gray-faced and dying, yet still looked ready to kill a god if it meant protecting her.
Maverick lowered his rifle. He signaled the Shadows to hold fire with a sharp chop of his hand.
"Secure them," Maverick ordered, his voice hollow. "But gently. If anyone hurts her, I'll kill you myself."
The guards moved in, a wave of black armor. They grabbed Eiden, wrenching his arms back. He didn't resist. He couldn't. His legs finally gave out, and he would have hit the floor if they hadn't held him up. As they dragged him past Maverick, Eiden looked the officer in the eye.
"You're on the wrong side," Eiden whispered, blood bubbling on his lips.
Maverick didn't answer. He just looked away, shame flickering in his eyes, unable to meet the gaze of the boy he had hunted.
Linda, sobbing hysterically, was escorted out by a guard who looked unsure of how to handle a teenager in a ruined designer dress who was threatening him with diplomatic immunity. "I want my embassy!" she wailed, her voice echoing down the corridor. "I want to go to Switzerland! This country is insane!"
Two hours later.
Akuma Cronus stood by the window of his penthouse study, looking down at the school grounds. The ambulances were gone. The police had been paid off. The silence had returned to St. Swithin's, heavy and absolute.
The door opened. Maverick entered. He looked exhausted, his uniform rumpled, the adrenaline crash leaving him gray.
"Report," Akuma said without turning, watching a solitary leaf blow across the courtyard.
"The girl... Linda... is in her room. She is sedated. She won't talk. She just wants to go home."
"And Emily?"
"She is in her suite. She is... quiet. She is sitting in the dark. Waiting for you."
"And the boy?"
Maverick hesitated. "He is in the infirmary. The doctors have treated the gunshot wound and the burns. He... he's stable. Again. His recovery rate is... disturbing, sir. The tissue is knitting itself back together faster than it should."
Maverick stepped forward, wringing his hands. "Father... the police chief suggested we hand him over. Or... remove him from the premises. Send him back to his mountains. If he stays, he's a threat. He breached Sector Zero."
Akuma turned slowly. His face was a mask of cold calculation, his eyes devoid of any fatherly warmth.
"Send him back? So he can heal? So he can tell his Masters what he found? So he can return with an army of Wolves to burn my house down?"
Akuma walked to his desk. He picked up a glass of water, his hand perfectly steady.
"No. We keep him."
"Keep him? Here? In the brig? In the basement cells?"
"No," Akuma said softly, taking a sip. "In class."
Maverick blinked, stunned. "Sir? You want him to go to... math class? After he killed five men?"
"Think, Maverick," Akuma said, tapping his temple. "If I expel him, he becomes a martyr. A hero who was kicked out for 'finding the truth.' If I imprison him, he becomes a prisoner of war, a symbol to be rescued. The Wolves will come for him."
Akuma's eyes narrowed, gleaming with malice.
"But if I keep him here... as a normal student... I strip him of his power. I make him mundane. I watch him. I control his schedule. I control his life. He will be a Wolf on a leash, paraded in front of the sheep. He will sit in class, bandage his wounds, and realize he is powerless."
Akuma set the glass down with a soft clink.
"And there is another reason to keep him close."
"Sir?"
"Emily," Akuma said. "She trusts him. She thinks he is a hero. If I send him away, she will pine for him. She will imagine he is out there, fighting for her, a knight in exile."
Akuma smiled. It was the smile of a man who was about to break something beautiful to reshape it in his own image.
"But if he stays... if she sees him every day... while I tell her the truth about his kind... then she will watch him turn from a hero into a monster before her very eyes. She will learn to hate him. And she will do it while sitting next to him in Chemistry."
He walked to Maverick and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Let him go back to his dorm, Maverick. Let him heal. Let him think he has won a small victory. But tell the Shadows... if he steps one foot off campus... if he misses a single curfew... kill him."
Eiden woke up.
He expected a cell. He expected chains, damp stone, or the cold steel of an interrogation table. He expected to wake up screaming.
Instead, he saw his own ceiling. The familiar crack in the plaster.
He sat up, gasping as his back seized in agony. He was in his own bed. In his own dorm room.
The afternoon sun was streaming through the window, highlighting dust motes dancing in the air. His radio was on the desk, exactly where he left it. His books were stacked neatly.
It was... normal. Terrifyingly normal.
"What...?" Eiden whispered, his voice raspy.
The door opened.
It wasn't a guard with a rifle. It was the school nurse, carrying a tray of soup.
"Oh, you're awake, Mr. Killian," she said cheerfully, setting down the tray. "You had quite a fall, didn't you? Mr. Cronus said you're to take it easy for a few days. You're excused from gym, but he expects you back in History class by Thursday."
She fluffed his pillow, checked his temperature, and left, humming a tune.
Eiden stared at the closed door. The lock didn't click.
He wasn't a prisoner. He was a student.
He forced himself out of bed, his legs trembling, and walked to the window. He looked down at the courtyard.
Standing by the fountain, reading a newspaper, was a gardener. But Eiden saw the way the man stood—feet apart, balanced. He saw the bulge of a shoulder holster under his jacket.
A janitor was sweeping the path. He moved with military precision, his eyes scanning the windows.
Eiden looked up at the roof. A glint of a scope flashed in the sun.
He wasn't free.
He was in a zoo. A glass cage where he could be watched, studied, and kept.
And Akuma was the zookeeper.
Akuma adjusted his cuffs in the mirror. He smoothed his tie. He checked his reflection. He didn't look like a warlord who had just ordered a containment protocol. He looked like a grieving, weary father who had almost lost everything.
He picked up a file from his desk. It was old, yellowed paper, crumbling at the edges. It was a forgery, masterfully done, planted years ago for a day just like this.
"Send her in," Akuma said into the intercom.
The door opened.
Emily walked in. She had showered, scrubbing the grease and blood from her skin, but she still looked like she was in shock. She wore a simple white dress, her hair wet and hanging loose. She looked small. She looked like a child again.
"Father," she whispered, stopping in the center of the room.
Akuma didn't sit behind his massive desk. He walked to her. He opened his arms.
"My daughter," he said, his voice thick with fake emotion, trembling just enough to sound real. "My poor, brave girl."
He hugged her.
Emily stood stiffly for a moment. Her arms hung at her sides. She wanted to push him away. She wanted to scream Thief! Liar! Where is the army? Where is the honor?
But the hug... it felt warm. It felt safe. It smelled of the cologne he had worn since she was a baby. It felt like the father who used to read her stories before the world went cold.
She crumbled. She hugged him back, burying her face in his shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably.
"Shhh," Akuma soothed, stroking her hair. "It's over. You're safe. I'm sorry you had to see that vault. I'm sorry I kept secrets from you."
He pulled back, looking into her eyes. He looked sad. Infinite sadness etched into his features.
"But you have to understand, Emily. I didn't build that vault to hide money."
"Then why?" she sniffled, wiping her eyes. "Why the gold? Why the dagger? Eiden said..."
"Eiden," Akuma said the name like a curse, but gently, as if forgiving a child. "That boy... he doesn't know the story. He only knows the lies his people told him. He is a pawn in a game he does not understand."
Akuma guided her to the fireplace, sitting her in the plush armchair.
"Sit, Emily. It is time you knew the truth. About the gold. About the dagger. And... about the woman who killed your mother."
Emily froze. The air left her lungs. "My... my mother?" "Yes," Akuma lied, his eyes wet with practiced tears that shimmered in the firelight. "Evergreen, Emily. She was a monster. And she took everything from us."