Hale did not run.
That was the first thing everyone got wrong.
Men like Hale never fled when power slipped through their fingers. They stepped closer. They reduced distance. They made the conflict intimate—because intimacy was the last place authority could still be enforced without permission.
And Anabeth was exactly where he wanted her.
---
The corridor outside the secure wing was quiet in a way that felt staged.
No alarms.
No guards shouting orders.
No scrambling feet.
Just soft lights and the faint hum of systems still pretending they were intact.
Anabeth stood near the window, arms wrapped around herself, watching emergency vehicles gather beyond the campus gates. The chaos outside looked distant—contained, almost unreal.
She didn't hear Hale at first.
He made sure of that.
"You always watch exits," Hale said calmly. "People who expect to be trapped usually do."
Her breath caught—but she didn't turn.
"I wondered how long it would take you," she said.
Hale stopped a few steps behind her. Close enough to be felt. Not close enough to touch.
Perfect control of space.
"You're not afraid," he observed.
"I'm tired," Anabeth replied. "There's a difference."
Hale smiled faintly. "You learned faster than I expected."
She turned then, meeting his eyes.
For the first time, there was no screen between them. No crowd. No system buffering the moment.
Just truth.
---
"You've lost," Anabeth said.
Hale tilted his head. "Have I?"
"Your people turned on you. Oversight has you boxed. Cassian—"
"—is returning to face consequences," Hale interrupted smoothly. "And Rafael is still vulnerable."
Anabeth shook her head. "You're lying to yourself."
"No," Hale said quietly. "I'm simplifying."
He took one step closer.
Anabeth didn't retreat.
That was the second thing that unsettled him.
---
"I didn't keep you close because you were weak," Hale said. "I kept you close because you're catalytic."
She stiffened. "That's your excuse?"
"That's your value," he corrected. "You destabilize men who believe they're immune."
Her voice sharpened. "You mean you couldn't control me."
Hale's smile thinned. "Control is overrated. Influence lasts longer."
He gestured to the campus beyond the glass. "Look what followed you. Cassian broke. Rafael exposed himself. Voss betrayed me."
"Those were your choices," Anabeth said. "Not mine."
Hale studied her. "Still deflecting responsibility."
She stepped forward now, closing the gap he had measured so carefully.
"No," she said. "I'm reclaiming it."
---
Elsewhere, Cassian felt the signal drop.
Not cut.
Muted.
"Mara," he said sharply. "I lost Anabeth's feed."
Mara's fingers flew across controls. "He's inside the secure wing."
Cassian's jaw tightened. "He's alone."
"Yes," Mara said. "And that's worse."
---
Back in the corridor, Hale circled slowly—not predatory, but deliberate.
"You think this ends with my arrest," he said. "A clean narrative. A lesson learned."
Anabeth didn't respond.
He stopped in front of her.
"It doesn't," Hale continued. "It ends with an understanding."
She met his gaze unflinching. "Then say it."
Hale's eyes darkened.
"You were never bait," he said. "You were insurance."
The words hit harder than any threat.
"Against what?" she asked.
"Against men like Cassian," Hale replied. "Men who believe loyalty is stronger than leverage."
Anabeth's fists clenched. "So you broke him to prove a theory?"
"I tested him," Hale corrected. "And he failed."
She laughed once—short and bitter. "You mistake humanity for weakness."
Hale leaned in slightly. "And you mistake attachment for strength."
---
He reached into his jacket.
Slowly.
Not a weapon.
A device.
He held it up between them.
Anabeth recognized it instantly.
Cassian's locator.
Active.
"You see," Hale said softly, "I don't need the system anymore. I just need timing."
Anabeth's pulse spiked. "You won't touch him."
Hale smiled. "I already have."
---
The corridor lights flickered.
Emergency power rerouted.
The doors behind Anabeth sealed.
She turned sharply.
Hale didn't move.
"You locked us in," she said.
"Yes."
"You're finished," she said. "You can't walk out of this."
Hale's voice lowered. "I don't intend to."
---
This was the moment Anabeth finally understood.
Hale wasn't trying to escape.
He was trying to end the story on his terms.
"You want me to watch," she said quietly. "That's what this is."
"I want you to choose," Hale replied.
Her breath hitched. "Choose what?"
"Whether Cassian dies as a hero," Hale said, "or lives knowing you couldn't stop it."
The cruelty was surgical.
Anabeth's hands trembled—but her voice didn't.
"You think this gives you power?"
Hale's gaze burned. "It gives me meaning."
---
The door behind Hale slid open.
He hadn't expected that.
Cassian stepped into the corridor, weapon lowered—but eyes lethal.
"Step away from her," Cassian said.
Hale turned slowly, genuinely surprised.
"So," Hale said. "You came anyway."
Cassian's voice was ice. "Always."
Anabeth's breath left her in a rush. "Cassian—"
Hale raised a hand. "Careful. This moment matters."
He looked between them.
"You see?" Hale said. "This is why she mattered. Why she still does."
Cassian didn't blink. "You're done."
Hale smiled. "No. I'm finally honest."
---
Security alarms began to sound—real ones this time.
Oversight forces breaching lower levels.
Time was gone.
Hale exhaled slowly.
Then looked at Anabeth.
"I wanted you to understand me," he said. "That was my mistake."
She met his gaze. "No," she said. "Your mistake was believing understanding meant forgiveness."
For the first time—
Hale faltered.
Not fear.
Regret.
And that was when Cassian moved.
---
The struggle was brief.
Violent.
Contained.
Hale didn't resist arrest with words.
Only with a look—burned into Anabeth's memory as he was dragged away.
Not hatred.
Possession.
---
When the corridor finally cleared, Anabeth collapsed into Cassian's arms.
"I thought—" she began.
"I know," he said quietly. "He wanted it to end with him in your head."
She pulled back, eyes fierce despite the tears. "He doesn't get that."
Cassian nodded. "No. He doesn't."
---
Far below, Hale was led into containment.
For the first time, powerless.
And for the first time—
Truly alone.