James was in the middle of pouring a second cup of chamomile tea when the world folded.
No warning. No blue screen. No holographic text floating in his vision.
One moment he was standing in Soul Space's kitchenette, steam rising from the mug, Toga giggling at something Eri had just said on the couch behind him.
The next—
He was somewhere cold. Sterile. The air tasted like metal and recycled oxygen.
Concrete walls. A single narrow cot bolted to the floor. A reinforced glass panel that looked out onto a dimly lit corridor. No windows. No natural light. Just harsh white LEDs overhead and the faint hum of security systems.
He blinked.
A woman sat on the edge of the cot—long blue hair tied back, sharp features, prison jumpsuit hanging loosely on a frame that still carried the muscle memory of a sniper's stance. She was halfway through polishing a small metal shard she'd somehow fashioned into a makeshift blade when her head snapped up.
Lady Nagant.
Her eyes widened—shock, then instant calculation. She dropped into a crouch, shard raised like a dagger, body coiled.
"Who the hell are you?" she demanded. Voice low, controlled, but edged with the kind of danger that came from years of killing on command. "How did you get in here?"
James raised both hands slowly—empty palms out.
"I… honestly don't know," he said. It wasn't entirely a lie. "One second I was home. Next second I'm here. In your cell."
Nagant didn't move. Her gaze flicked over him—no costume, no visible weapon, no restraints. Just a young man in casual clothes who had materialized out of thin air in one of the most secure prisons on the planet.
"Bullshit," she said flatly. "No one teleports into Tartarus. Not heroes. Not villains"
James shrugged. "I'm not a hero. Not a villain either. Just… here now."
She studied him for a long moment—eyes narrow, calculating range, angles, weak points.
"Why?" she finally asked.
"Because I'm here," James answered simply. "And since I'm here, I'm going to help you escape."
Nagant laughed—short, bitter, humorless.
"You think you can just waltz into the highest-security wing of Tartarus and 'help me escape'? You're either delusional or suicidal."
James didn't smile. He didn't argue.
The air shifted again.
No sound. No flash. Just reality folding once more.
One heartbeat they were in the cell.
The next—
They were somewhere else.
Warm golden light. Soft carpet underfoot. A spacious room—simple but comfortable. A wide bed with clean white sheets. A small desk. A window that showed a gentle forest view that wasn't really there. A door leading to what looked like a private bathroom. Everything clean, quiet, safe.
Nagant staggered—disoriented for the first time since her arrest. She spun, shard still in hand, scanning every corner.
"What the fuck—"
James exhaled.
The blue screen finally appeared—floating only in his vision.
[Room assigned: Lady Nagant (Kaina Tsutsumi)]
[Access restricted: Only you and she can enter or leave this space. No one else can access it without your explicit permission. Enjoy.]
The screen vanished.
Nagant rounded on him.
"Where are we?" Her voice was steel now. "What is this place?"
"Somewhere safe," James said. "A pocket dimension. My place. You can stay here as long as you want."
She stared at him—disbelief warring with the part of her that had spent years surviving on instinct.
"You expect me to believe you just… kidnapped me out of Tartarus and dropped me in a luxury suite because you felt like it?"
"I didn't kidnap you," he said quietly. "I rescued you. And yeah—I know how insane that sounds. But you're not in a cell anymore. You're not under surveillance. No cuffs. No guards. No orders from people who used you like a weapon and then threw you away when you broke."
Nagant's grip on the shard tightened. Her knuckles whitened.
"I killed people," she said. "A lot of them. On orders. Then I killed the bastard who gave the orders. You think that makes me someone worth saving?"
"I think it makes you someone who got used," James replied. "And I think you've spent enough time paying for it."
She laughed again—harsher this time.
"You don't even know me."
"I know enough," he said. "I know you were the best sniper the Commission ever had. I know they made you kill heroes who stepped out of line. I know they lied about it. I know you snapped when you realized the system you protected was rotten from the inside. And I know you've been rotting in a box for years because of it."
Nagant lowered the shard—just slightly.
Her voice came out quieter.
"How do you know all that?"
"Because I've been cleaning house," James said. "And when I knew you were still in that cell… I figured you deserved better than to stay there."
She stared at him for a long time.
Then she looked around the room—really looked. The soft lighting. The clean sheets. The quiet. No alarms. No cameras. No chains.
She set the shard down on the desk, carefully, deliberately.
"You're either the most naive person I've ever met," she said, "or the most dangerous."
"Maybe both," James admitted.
Nagant crossed her arms.
"And what's the catch? You don't do this for free. Nobody does."
"No catch," he said. "You can leave whenever you want—I'll open a portal back to wherever you choose. Or you can stay. Rest. Heal. Figure out who you are when you're not a government weapon or a prisoner. There are people here—my family. They're… complicated. But they're good. They'll accept you if I do."
She snorted.
"You think I'm just going to join your little commune?"
"I think you're tired," James said gently. "And I think you haven't had anyone look at you like a person instead of a tool in a very long time."
Silence stretched.
Nagant walked to the window—stared at the impossible forest view.
Her shoulders sagged—just a fraction.
"I don't trust you," she said finally.
"You don't have to," James replied. "Trust takes time. Just… stay for now. Eat something. Sleep in a real bed. No one's coming for you here."
She didn't answer right away.
Then—quietly:
"I'm not promising anything."
"I'm not asking for promises," he said. "Just a chance to breathe."
Nagant turned back to him.
Her eyes were still sharp—still calculating—but something in them had softened. Just a little.
"Fine," she said. "For now… I'll stay."
James nodded once.
"Good."
He turned toward the door.
"I'll let the others know you're here. No pressure. Come out when you're ready."
She watched him go.
The door slid shut behind him—soft, silent.
Nagant stood alone in the new room.
She looked at the bed.
Then at the shard she'd left on the desk.
Then she sat—slowly—on the edge of the mattress.
For the first time in years, no one was watching her.
No one was telling her who to kill.
She closed her eyes.
And breathed.