The walk from the Rift site to the waiting van felt longer than the whole raid.
Guild Security boxed them in, two in front, two behind. Rifles down, safeties off. The Director didn't look back; his shoes clicked steady, like a metronome dictating pace. Asta hated the sound.
The System pulsed at the edges of his sight:
[Objective: Survive Inquiry]
[Optional: Conceal Shadow Armament]
[Optional: Conceal External Vessel Link]
Optional. Always optional. He wondered what "failure" looked like.
Beside him, Lysandra walked like a soldier trying to remember how to limp. The tarp hung loose, masking the worst of her cracked armor. The lot lights made her hair look like strands of wire, sharp and pale. She kept her gaze down, but Asta felt her awareness in the way she mapped exits, counted guards.
"Try not to speak," she murmured without moving her lips.
"Why?"
"Because you sound like someone who still thinks honesty is a shield."
The van door opened with a groan. Inside: metal benches, restraint clamps welded into place, a faint tang of disinfectant that never covered blood.
The Director stepped in first, sat like a man claiming a throne. Guards followed, rifles resting casual but ready.
Asta sat. The hound coiled under his feet, unseen, teeth pressed flat against shadow. The Knight loomed behind his shoulders, helm lowered, silent. No one noticed. Or no one wanted to.
The van rumbled to life.
The Director studied him openly now, eyes pale as river stone. "Do you know what happens to unlicensed Breakers who survive double Rifts?"
"No."
"They disappear." A smile, polite. "Into training. Into guilds. Into coffins. Depends on the story."
Lysandra shifted. "Convenient system."
"Efficient," the Director corrected. His gaze cut back to Asta. "And you, Hollow… you don't belong in efficiency. You're an error. Errors get logged. Then erased."
Asta held his stare. Let silence do the talking.
The Director's smile widened a hair. "Or errors get studied."
The van jolted over a pothole. The air smelled like metal and old rain. Nobody spoke again until the van braked hard and the doors opened to fluorescent light.
A Guild facility. Corridors polished to sterility. Glass walls showing offices stacked with files and screens. Faces behind the glass stared at them like exhibits dragged into a museum.
The Director rose. "Welcome to Inquiry."