Kaito slept deeply.
The room was quiet, broken only by the slow rhythm of his breathing. Moonlight traced pale lines across the ceiling. Dex lay curled near the foot of the bed, one ear flicking now and then, alert even in rest.
Nothing stirred.
No warning pressed at Kaito's senses.
Beneath the city, far from the academy and its wards, a council gathered.
The chamber was carved from old stone, forgotten by the surface world. Narrow passages fed into it like veins, allowing those within to arrive unseen and leave without trace. Cloaked figures stood in a loose circle, their faces obscured, their voices low.
At the center, a single figure spoke.
"He is careless," the voice said—not angry, not loud. Certain.
A figure to the left shifted. "He has fought efficiently. He protects civilians first."
"Yes," the speaker replied. "Which makes him predictable."
A pause.
"He believes restraint keeps him hidden," the central figure continued. "That silence equals safety. He believes that if he does not reveal himself, the world will overlook him."
A quiet, restrained sound—something close to a laugh.
"The world does not overlook weapons."
One of the figures spoke up. "Our observers report he carries no insignia. No declared allegiance. The Circle around him is small."
"Temporary," the leader said. "Attachments weaken judgment."
Another voice, cautious. "And the timing?"
"Tonight," the figure answered. "Not for destruction. For clarity."
The chamber stilled.
"We strike when he believes the day is over," the voice went on. "When routines replace vigilance. We do not overwhelm him—we press just hard enough to force a response."
Someone frowned beneath their hood. "And if he resists without revealing himself?"
"Then we escalate," came the reply. "Slowly. Pressure teaches better than force."
The leader stepped back into the shadows.
"He must understand that he is not invisible," the voice concluded. "And that peace is not something he decides alone."
No further orders were given.
They were not needed.
At the academy, Dex's eyes opened.
The husky lifted his head, listening—not to sound, but to absence. He stood and moved quietly to the door, tail low, body tense.
Kaito slept on, unaware.
For now.
Because somewhere beneath the city, a decision had already been made.
And night was no longer empty.