By the time school ended, the request had escalated.
No longer polite.
A car waited outside the gates.
Unmarked.
Clean.
Close enough to be noticed.
I stopped walking.
Lina did too.
I didn't turn to face her when I spoke. "Go home."
She stiffened. "Neo—"
"Not today," I said gently. "I'll see you later."
She searched my face, then nodded. Trusting me even when I didn't deserve it.
That hurt more than fear ever could.
I watched her disappear into the crowd before approaching the car.
The door opened automatically.
Inside, Director Hale sat alone.
No guards.
No restraints.
No overt threats.
Just pressure.
"Mr. Cole," he said calmly. "We're concerned."
"I know," I replied, taking the seat opposite him. "You always are when you can't predict something."
He folded his hands. "Justice believes you'll side with him."
"And you're afraid he's right."
A pause.
"Yes."
There it was. Not accusation.
Admission.
"We're not asking you to choose," Hale continued carefully. "We're asking you to remain… aligned."
"Aligned," I repeated.
"With stability," he said. "With order."
"With control," I corrected.
His jaw tightened. "You're a powerful individual, Neo. If you move—others will follow."
I thought of Lina.
Of Eli.
Of people who had never asked to be born different.
"I won't be used as a deterrent," I said quietly.
"And if Justice forces the issue?" Hale asked.
I met his eyes.
"Then you should worry less about which side I'm on," I said, "and more about why you made the world so easy for him to recruit from."
Silence filled the car.
Heavy.
Final.
Hale exhaled slowly. "You're free to go."
I stepped out without another word.
Behind me, the car didn't follow.
Not yet.
They weren't tightening their grip because they hated me.
They were doing it because they were afraid—
afraid that when the Saints finally chose…
they wouldn't be among the chosen.
And somewhere far away, Justice was already asking himself the same question:
If they won't come willingly…
how much force will it take?
The day ended the way it began.
Normal.
And absolutely not.
⸻
The next day.
Ironwood looked the same.
Morning announcements.
Students arguing about nothing.
Teachers pretending control was more than habit.
I walked beside Lina down the corridor, my attention split—half on the present, half skimming futures out of reflex. Most of them were harmless. Boring, even.
That's when it happened.
We stopped near the stairwell. A small crowd had formed ahead—raised voices, tension leaking through the noise.
A student I recognized vaguely was cornered near the lockers. Third year. Bio-marked, weak manifestation. Kinetic instability. I remembered the file.
He was shaking.
"I didn't do it," he kept saying. "I swear I didn't."
Two faculty members stood in front of him. One was already calling security.
"I felt the surge," one of them said. "You lost control."
"I didn't—"
Lina's steps slowed.
I felt it immediately.
Not a flare.
Not an awakening spike.
A correction.
Her brows knit together, eyes unfocused—not looking at the scene, but through it.
"That's not true," she said softly.
The words weren't loud.
They didn't need to be.
The air shifted.
The student froze mid-sentence. His mouth opened again—and nothing came out. Not denial. Not fear.
Just silence.
One of the faculty members staggered back half a step.
"What… what did you just—"
Truth doesn't accuse.
It removes the ability to sustain a lie.
The boy's shoulders slumped. His breathing evened out unnaturally fast.
"I didn't lose control," he said again.
This time, it wasn't defensive.
It was final.
The tension collapsed—but not cleanly.
The other faculty member turned pale. "Then… then it was us."
Realization hit her too hard, too fast. Her knees buckled. Someone grabbed her before she fell.
I moved instantly.
I stepped between Lina and the crowd, my presence snapping attention away from her like a gravity well.
"That's enough," I said calmly. "He needs medical evaluation, not discipline."
No one argued.
They couldn't.
The future had already aligned around that outcome.
We walked away before anyone could process what had really happened.
Lina's hand was shaking.
"I didn't mean to," she whispered once we were alone. "I just… knew."
"I know," I said.
And that was the problem.
Truth wasn't a weapon.
But the world bled anyway when it was applied without permission.
Lina didn't just cancel lies, she forces confession— That is an aspect of her abilities I know it will be better if she has more control over. But I can't rush her, or it's the opposite I'll receive in results.
⸻
I followed Lina to the rooftop of Ironwood.
The wind was quiet up here.
Lina stood near the railing, arms wrapped around herself.
"I hurt her," she said suddenly. "The teacher. I didn't want to."
"You didn't hurt her," I replied. "You removed a lie she was leaning on."
"That feels worse."
I didn't disagree.
Below us, the world kept moving—ignorant, fragile, loud.
Justice had made his move.
The government had made theirs.
And Lina had crossed a line she couldn't step back from.
I looked at her, really looked at her.
Not as a liability.
Not as a Saint.
But as someone I refused to abandon.
No matter which side the world forced me to stand on.
And somewhere far away—
The future adjusted.
Again.
⸻
Two days later, I was en route to the Government Building.
They didn't summon me.
They invited me.
That was how I knew they were afraid.
Director Hale sat across from me, hands folded, expression carefully neutral. Elias Harrow stood near the window. Blake Rogers was absent.
Good.
"Neo," Hale began, "we'd like to formalize your relationship with us."
"I already pick my assignments," I replied. "That is formal."
"This would be different," Elias said. "Advisory status. Oversight. Transparency."
I smiled faintly.
"You want leverage."
Silence.
Hale exhaled. "We want reassurance."
"You're afraid I'll side with Justice," I said.
No denial.
Instead, Hale slid a tablet across the table.
Contracts.
Frameworks.
Non-binding in language. Absolute in implication.
"If you sign," Elias added carefully, "you remain autonomous—but within defined limits."
"And if I don't?"
"You'll still be autonomous," Hale said.
That was the lie.
I didn't correct him.
"I'll review it," I said, pushing the tablet back without touching it. "That's the best you're getting."
They let me leave.
They didn't stop me.
They didn't need to.
They thought the paper would do that for them.
⸻
Elsewhere.
Justice watched the footage once.
Then again.
A city, three borders away.
A single facility—government-run, heavily classified, quietly essential.
He didn't destroy it.
He rearranged it.
Personnel relocated without injury.
Data extracted without alarms.
Defenses bypassed without confrontation.
When the facility came back online, it functioned better than before.
That was the message.
Justice turned away from the projection, satisfied.
"Send word," he said calmly. "Let them know this was a courtesy."
A pause.
"And let Neo Zane Cole know," he added, "that I can still take things gently."
His gaze hardened slightly.
"But I won't, forever."
⸻
The mistake the government made was simple.
They assumed proximity meant leverage.
It started subtly.
Too subtly.
A car that slowed a little too long near Lina's apartment.
A "concerned" school official asking about her schedule.
A polite invitation framed as a scholarship inquiry.
They didn't touch her.
They didn't threaten her.
They circled.
And that was enough.
I knew the moment they made the decision.
Not because Lina told me—she didn't—but because the futures around her began to bend away from safety. Conditional paths. Bargaining trees. Containment logic.
They were thinking about her as a handle.
A way to hold me.
I went very still.
That night, I contacted them.
Not through intermediaries.
Not through secure lines.
Direct.
"You will cease all interaction with Lina," I said. "Immediately."
The silence that followed wasn't confusion.
It was calculation.
Director Hale answered carefully. "Neo, you're misinterpreting—"
"No," I replied. "You are."
A pause.
Then Elias Harrow tried a different approach. "We're worried about you. About where you might align. Justice is—"
"—not the subject," I interrupted. "She is."
Another pause.
This one told me everything.
They weren't going to stop.
They believed they could negotiate me if they positioned her correctly.
That was when I realized something important.
They never intended to keep our agreement.
Because agreements only matter when both sides believe the other can walk away.
They didn't think I could.
I stood up from the desk in the domain.
"Do not involve her again," I said calmly. "This is your final notice."
Hale exhaled. "Neo… we can't have you operating independently anymore."
There it was.
Control.
I nodded once, even though they couldn't see it.
"Continue down this path, and I will destroy you all.
There is no one you can send—no force you can muster—that will save you from what follows.
Dare me."
The call ended.
I didn't need to be there to feel it. Panic rippled through them like a shockwave.
And when humans panic, they stop thinking.
That mistake would cost them everything.