The food was already on the table.
Steam rose quietly from the bowls.
Meat. Vegetables. Bread.
Real food.
Lilly sat straight, hands resting on her knees. She hadn't touched anything yet.
Noah noticed.
"You can eat. Nana doesn't like it when food gets cold."
Nana glanced at him.
"That's because cold food makes people careless."
Lilly picked up her chopsticks immediately.
Eat. Obey. Stay alive.
They ate in silence for a while.
The kind of silence that wasn't empty — just heavy.
Then Nana spoke.
"A long time ago," she said, "my father taught me something."
Lilly's chopsticks paused mid-air.
The control room froze.
[CONTROL ROOM – ALL CHANNELS OPEN]
"Audio spike detected."
"Is that… background disclosure?"
"Patch this to executive."
Within seconds, another line opened.
"…This is the Presidential Office."
"Confirmed. We are listening."
At the Table
"If you want to save something," Nana continued, cutting her meat cleanly, "you have to learn how to hunt too."
Lilly swallowed.
That's not philosophy.
That's doctrine.
"Noah," Nana added, not looking at him, "eat properly."
"Yes, Nana."
Lilly's hands were steady.
So this is how it starts.
Nana kept going.
"My father used to leave for days. Weeks."
She paused.
"Sometimes months."
Lilly felt her spine tighten.
Long-term operations.
"He always came back injured," Nana said. "Cuts. Burns. Broken bones."
She shrugged lightly.
"He'd laugh and say, 'If you don't bleed, you didn't protect anything.'"
Lilly's chest felt tight.
Field leader.
Frontline operative.
Nana's eyes darkened slightly.
"But he also told me something else."
The room leaned in.
"You need to know who to save," Nana said, "and who to hunt."
The words landed softly.
They didn't need force.
Lilly's chopsticks trembled.
Target classification.
Then Nana went quiet.
For a few seconds, only the sound of chewing remained.
"My father left once," Nana said. "And didn't come back."
Noah slowed.
Lilly stopped eating.
"For almost a year."
"There was a sickness spreading," Nana said. "Fast. Quiet."
She didn't name it.
Didn't need to.
"People were dying. Towns went silent."
Her knife stopped moving.
"We lost hope."
Lilly's throat tightened.
Black-level catastrophe.
Then Nana smiled faintly.
"And then he came back."
Noah looked up.
"Really?"
Nana nodded.
"He was thinner."
"…And missing one arm."
The room stopped breathing.
"He said some bastards tried to poison my turf."
Lilly felt cold.
Biochemical warfare.
"So," Nana continued calmly, "I hunted them."
Noah blinked. "You did?"
Nana nodded.
"After that," she said, "I cured everyone."
She took another bite of food.
Just like that.
[NATIONAL COMMAND & OVERSIGHT ROOM – NIGHT]
No one spoke.
Not because they were ordered to stay silent —
but because no one knew what to say next.
Rows of screens glowed softly in the dark room.
Satellite feeds. Medical timelines. Classified archives scrolling too fast for human eyes.
At the center, an old man sat with his hands folded.
The President.
He hadn't moved since Nana's words reached the room.
"I cured everyone."
A junior analyst finally broke.
"Sir… permission to cross-check historical outbreak data."
The President didn't look at him.
"Do it," he said quietly.
Keys clattered.
A timeline expanded across the main screen.
Red dots bloomed across the globe.
Cities collapsing into silence.
Hospitals overwhelmed.
Borders closing.
A voice whispered from the back.
"…This is impossible."
Another analyst leaned forward.
"The disease vanished," she said slowly. "No vaccine rollout. No recorded breakthrough."
Her fingers trembled.
"It just… stopped."
The room stirred.
"Cause?"
She swallowed.
"Officially? Unknown."
The President exhaled through his nose.
"And unofficially?"
Silence.
Then—
"Mixed antidote in water reservoirs ," someone said. "A single anomaly."
The screen zoomed.
A rural region. No labs. No aid convoys. No military presence.
And yet—
"Recovery rate: one hundred percent," the analyst said.
Someone laughed softly.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was terrifying.
"That region," another officer said, voice tight, "was considered lost."
The President finally spoke.
"Who entered that zone?"
The room hesitated.
A name tried to surface.
But it didn't.
Instead, a label appeared.
ACCESS DENIED – CLASSIFICATION: ABSOLUTE
The President's eyes narrowed.
"…Override."
The system paused.
Then responded.
REQUEST REJECTED
A murmur rippled through the room.
"That clearance predates your term, sir," someone said carefully.
The President leaned back.
"…Before my time?"
"Yes."
"How far?"
The technician swallowed.
"Before any civilian administration."
The room chilled.
Then another screen lit up.
A personnel archive.
A single redacted profile.
No photo.
No age.
No origin.
Just a codename.
NANA
The President stared.
"Who authorized this?"
No answer.
A senior general finally spoke.
"Sir… the file doesn't list her as an agent."
"Then what is she?"
The general hesitated.
"…A contingency."
The word settled like ash.
The President closed his eyes briefly.
"When she said 'my turf'," he murmured, "she wasn't speaking metaphorically."
No one corrected him.
Another officer leaned forward.
"She mentioned someone returning without a hand."
The screen changed.
A war-era image flashed briefly.
A man standing amid ruins.
One arm missing.
Face erased by static.
The system shut itself down.
The lights dimmed for half a second.
No one breathed.
The President opened his eyes.
"…She hunted them," he repeated quietly.
No one dared ask who them was.
At the Table
Lilly stared at her bowl.
Her hands were shaking now.
This isn't a story.
This is a confession.
Nana noticed.
"Eat," she said gently. "You'll need strength."
Lilly nodded quickly and took a bite.
It tasted warm.
Comforting.
That scared her the most.
Nana looked at her for a long moment.
Then smiled.
"You're a good listener," she said.
Lilly lowered her eyes.
"…Thank you."
Noah smiled too. "See? Nana likes you."
Lilly's heart skipped.
That's not good.