The office smelled faintly of paper and burnt coffee, the kind of scent that clung to sleepless nights. Erion sat at his desk, back straight, the black folder spread open in front of him. His deep blue eyes scanned each line without blinking, as though if he stared long enough, the words would unravel into answers.
From the adjacent room, muffled laughter drifted through the walls—his colleagues celebrating the "secret victory" from the night before. It should've been reassuring, proof that the operation had worked. Yet Erion's shoulders were tight, his pen unmoving in his hand.
"A major case was solved, and the night is safer," his superior had said over the phone, voice warm with approval.
Of course, it had been a top-secret operation, especially for the GCO branch under the Peligro Cube's jurisdiction. That Leon
His mind raced, a tangled mess of conflicting thoughts, each one threatening to spiral out of control. If the higher-ups, like the Marshal General, were aligned with him, this victory could be a stepping stone to greater favor. But if they weren't... the repercussions could be catastrophic. The wrong move could set off a deadly chain reaction.
He sifted through the reports, page by page, chasing every lead, something, anything that would point toward The All-Mother, the hidden figure who thrived in the shadows. Every thread unraveled into silence. It was like searching for a whisper in a storm.
A knock at the door snapped him back. The door swung open, and a man in pressed uniform stepped in, saluting crisply. The same officer who had led the raid.
"Major General." he saluted crisply.
Erion nodded, motioning for him to sit. "How are the survivors?"
"The conscious one, Evallithyia Arsenault is stable. Bruises, but nothing life-threatening. We're running background checks." The man's tone dipped. "The other, Yureka Iekami... She's still unconscious. As per the medical test, paralysis from the waist down might be permanent."
The words sat heavy in the air. Too many lives are already consumed by this organization. Too many faces reduced to numbers.
Erion closed the folder with a sigh. "And the antidote?"
"No progress. Dr. Riko said the composition is unlike anything he's seen. It'll take time."
Erion's eyes narrowed. "Make sure she gets all the care she needs. She's the only survivor of the kidnapping. We have to do everything we can to help her. For all the others we couldn't save."
The officer nodded, but hesitated. "There's another issue. Miss Iekami... she's part of the media."
At that, Erion's gaze sharpened.
The officer slid another black folder across the desk. Inside: a photo of a woman with strawberry blonde hair tied back into a bun, wearing a white blouse with a press badge around her neck. Her eyes were keen, sharp. Not a victim— a reporter.
"BMD Media. Small outlet, but well connected in the West," the officer explained.
The media—an uncontrollable force. Unlike soldiers, unlike pawns, they couldn't be silenced without consequence or bribes. No one knows whose side they are on.
"Where is she now?" Erion's voice was clipped, precise.
"An underground medical facility, Major."
"Get her here. I'll handle it," Erion ordered, his voice unwavering.
The officer saluted.
Erion lingered on the photograph long after he'd left. If the media got their hands on the truth, the Orders movement would be exposed and unnecessary entanglement would arise. And if this woman was clever enough to survive that warehouse, then she was clever enough to be dangerous.
He flicked through the folder, his mind already turning the possibilities over. "And I need everything from the other girl—Evallithyia. She might know something we don't."
The man hesitated before responding. "Do you think they're working together? Or is someone else pulling their strings?"
Erion's eyes narrowed, the weight of his next decision heavy on him. "Get me the information. I'll figure it out." He closed the folder with a snap.
Time's running out.