Tiflos woke before dawn. Sweat clung to his brow as if the nightmare had followed him into the waking world. In the dream — the same nightmare that had been hunting him lately — Nur's corpse lay beside Kiran, her eyes empty and fixed on him. In the distance, Kaine watched. The blade in Tiflos's hand was dark with blood.
He stared at the clock on the wall, searching for a rational anchor. Dawn teased the edges of the glass. He forced himself up, scrubbed his face in the bathroom, and dressed in the organization's uniform: the rigid jacket, the long coat that always felt too heavy for mornings like this.
Two days had passed since Nur and the others escaped. Tiflos took a cup of bitter coffee from a vending machine in the corridor and was making his way to the dining hall when a trainer's voice stopped him.
"Mr. Tiflos. Commander Kaine requests your immediate presence in his office. It's urgent."
Something cold slid across his spine. The coffee tipped from his fingers; it splashed into the bin as if even that brief motion could throw the future off balance. He walked toward Kaine's suite with the same slow, certain dread one has when entering a place where decisions are already made.
Kaine's room glowed dimly — maps and biometric readouts shimmering like eyes in a cave. Papers were spread across Kaine's desk, and in the hush of the room the old, metallic scent of the golden sword hung like a promise of war. Portraits of past battles stared down from the walls as if witnesses to a betrayal not yet completed.
"They ran," Kaine said without looking up. The voice was flat, almost bored. "Nur, Elias, Lena… they joined the Resistance. We can bring them back. Or at least make sure they stop being a problem."
The words should have been logistics; they landed on Tiflos like a verdict. His hands tightened until joints ached. The mind that once moved in tactical chessboards now flinched, calculating only the personal variables: What if he followed them and fled? What if he took Oryon and hunted the pursuers? Every solution looked like a gamble balanced on a razor.
Kaine's fingers flicked through a folder. "You knew better than anyone that they might run," he said lightly, as if stating weather. "I can kill them whenever I wish. The reason is simple — I am stronger than them. Stronger than you, too." He let a slow smile curve into his face; it was the kind of smile that tasted of gears and traps. "You think I did not know your plans? You think I did not know who Nur truly is? Important thing: Oryon will soon join your Insight squad."
A chill crawled up Tiflos's arms and settled cold in his bones. This wasn't Kaine as schematic puppeteer — this was Kaine as predator closing a snare. Tiflos had rehearsed many confrontations in private, but not this: not the moment when the architect of their lives declared the price so plainly.
"What do you want?" His voice was thinner than he expected. He tried to harden it; it sounded like a cracked shield.
Kaine lifted his head at last. Behind the lenses, his gold eyes gleamed with the quiet light of someone who had placed each pawn long before the board had been set. "I want obedience, Tiflos. Absolute obedience. No questions, no doubts, no sentiments. In return… I personally guarantee Nur and Oryon's safety. I will not send men after Nur — not while we still are actively rounding up Resistance cells. No one will lay a hand on her. And Oryon — he will be barred from any assassination missions. He will receive the normal training, the academic track."
Silence descended, heavy and tactile. Tiflos felt the room narrow, the air compress into a single choice. He understood the shape of the bargain instantly — a covenant written in trade: loyalty for two lives.
It felt obscene to calculate someone's worth in breaths and days. He felt the old moral scaffolding give way like cracked plaster. He could name his reasons, maybe even justify them to himself: Nur's life, his brother's life — everything compressed into an unthinkable currency. The pit in his chest rocked like it was learning to drown.
He took time, more than a breath's worth. Seconds stretched, became years. The mind that had once been fast and clear now felt as if it moved through thick water.
"Yes," he whispered at last. The word came out thin, strangled. He had sold something irrevocable — not merely an action, but the shape of himself — and the trade left him hollow.
Kaine's smile widened, pleased like a man who had found an obedient instrument. "Excellent. Then we'll start with the first mission." He pushed a file across the desk — a thin folder, a satellite phone reserved for senior operatives. Everything looked staged, a ritual with its props aligned.
Tiflos rose and turned. His steps were heavier than they had any right to be. Kaine called after him, soft as a blade sliding back into a scabbard: "One thing I forgot to mention — any deliberate failure in your missions will cost you something dear. I can't say right now what that dear thing is."
Tiflos paused at the doorway. He'd been chess-playing all his life; he'd assumed he could outmaneuver the board. Kaine had not only anticipated his moves — Kaine had rearranged the pieces without him seeing. Tiflos stepped into the corridor and the door closed behind him. The world felt smaller and colder; somewhere inside him, a part had been marked and traded, and the ledger had been stamped with Kaine's ink.
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