Elias Mercer was lingering, a cigar stolen during the meeting between his lips, its orange ember tracing lazy circles in the darkness. Each puff intermittently illuminated his youthful face—barely twenty-four.
Across from him, Mara O'Connel watched.
"We should head back and start preparing the men tomorrow."
Elias blew a perfect ring of gray smoke and watched it dissolve. "Why? They already know how to run. It's the primary drill since I got them. The record is twelve seconds for a full retreat. I'm rather proud."
A fluid movement, too fast for his tired eye. The cigar vanished from his fingers, crushed under Mara's military heel with a dry crack.
"Tomorrow. 5 AM at Central Station. If you're not there, I'll drag you by your feet. The gravel is rough; it'll wake you up."
She turned on her heel. Elias watched her walk away.
He lay back on the steps, feeling the glacial cold bite into his shoulder blades. He stared at the stars. His eyelids grew heavy. The stone, strangely, was beginning to feel less hard, almost welcoming. He imagined the title of his autobiography: *The Man Who Wanted to Become a Public Bench – Memoirs of a Horizontal Captain.*
A clattering sound tore through the silence—not the sharp click of Mara's boots, but a heavy, dragging shuffle.
Elias turned just his head, not bothering to move the rest of his body.
A figure was outlined. Stout, square, solidly built.
Captain Borin. Of the "Ironveil" Company.
"Planning to rot here all night, Captain Mercer?"
Elias raised a limp hand. "Alternative proposal: yes. And I'd gladly rot tomorrow too, if I were left alone."
Borin sat down heavily beside him.
"Pathetic," Borin grunted, pulling out a silver cigar case. "They entrust you with an S-Alert and you play the wreck."
"I'm not playing," Elias corrected, his eyes half-closed. "It's a state of being. A philosophy. The less you move, the less you attract the attention of the things that growl."
Borin lit his cigar.
"You heard old Tharim," he said, exhaling a spicy cloud. "Evacuation for a hundred kilometers. General mobilization of the Association. Senility. An S-Class Breach is a golden opportunity. The chance of a lifetime."
Elias turned his head toward him. "An opportunity? For premature obituaries?"
"For glory, you idiot!" Borin leaned in. "An S-Class Boss on my record… I become an S-Class Hunter overnight. Maybe even a legend. They'll talk about the 'Greenridge Slayer' for decades."
Elias merely blinked slowly. "And you're telling me this why? For heroic etiquette tips?"
Borin grunted. "I'm taking command of the assault on the Boss. Period. Your company of… clowns," he added with a contemptuous sneer, "can handle cleaning up the hybrids and minor Nemesis on the periphery. That way, you probably survive, and I make history."
Elias stared at him.
"You want to play the solo hero against an entity potentially rated S or higher."
Borin flashed a victorious grin. "I'm an A-Class Hunter with twenty years of field experience! I've sealed hundreds of breaches, including a dozen A-Class ones! Unlike that old man trembling in his slippers. Fear gnaws at the old, Captain Mercer. We young wolves know how to seize our chance."
Elias closed his eyes for a moment.
"Fine," he said simply.
"Just… fine?"
Elias shrugged, a lazy motion. "Why complicate things? You want the glory, I want to avoid the hot spot. It's a fair exchange, almost elegant in its simplicity. Where do I sign?"
Borin scrutinized him. "You're not asking for anything in return?"
"If you're so keen on your moment of glory, take command of my troops for this mission too. Unofficially."
Borin narrowed his eyes. "What's the game?"
Elias stretched his arms with exaggerated slowness, making his joints crack. "That way, you have total control on the ground. My men are… unpredictable. Some have an unfortunate penchant for initiative. They might, unintentionally, steal your spotlight. And I," he added with a sigh, "will stay in the background. I won't tarnish your triumph with my faded presence."
Borin's face lit up. "Ah!" He chuckled, slapping his thigh forcefully. "I get it! Jealousy is ugly, but at least you're aware of it!"
Elias nodded. "Exactly. A pathological jealousy, born of atrophied ambition. So, deal?"
Borin stood up. "Deal, Captain Mercer! But on one condition."
Elias rolled his eyes. "Of course. There's always a condition. The devil's in the details, and it seems you're his lawyer."
"You come. In person. No way I'm dealing with your company of clowns without you on the ground."
Elias sat up, feigning offense. "Clowns? My men are versatile hunters ranked D to A, I'll have you know."
Borin turned on his heel. "That's my condition. Otherwise, I'll tell your vice-captain about last year's seal forgery incident."
Elias watched him walk away, mouth agape. "That was a scientific experiment!"
The old captain's wrinkled hand waved a mocking goodbye in the darkness before he vanished completely.
Elias lay back on the steps, staring at the sky with a resigned sigh.
'Damn egotistical manipulator.'
***
The train whistle blew at exactly 5 AM. In one of the first-class compartments, Mara was already seated.
Elias collapsed into the seat opposite her.
"You have one hour of travel to convince me not to strangle you with your own tie," she announced without preamble.
Elias grunted, searching for a comfortable position that didn't exist. "Save your energy for Greenridge. My decision is already made. Captain Borin is taking operational command for the mission's core. He wants the glory; I'm handing it to him."
Mara froze. Her expression shifted from habitual exasperation to icy disbelief, then to a cold, silent fury.
"Captain Borin. The one who thinks an S-Class Breach is a simple target practice."
"Exactly!" Elias pointed a bottle toward her. "He's taking tactical command for the main assault. You should be pleased; he's everything I'm not: motivated, ambitious, probably sober."
She rose in one fluid motion, snatched the bottle from his hands, and placed it out of reach on the high table. "You can't do that."
Elias sniffed, grabbing a stale biscuit lying on the tray. "Why not? He wants his S-Class Boss for his trophy wall. I want to sleep. It's a perfect symbiotic relationship."
Mara crossed her arms. "You know he publicly insults Captain Tharim, don't you? Calls him a 'senile old man' in front of his own men."
"So?" Elias shrugged. "Old men can defend themselves. The old guy survived an S-Class Breach; he'll survive the insults of a guy with an inferiority complex."
Mara leaned slightly forward. "Captain Borin, however, has never faced an S-Class Breach. Never. His greatest victory is an A+ Class Boss, and he boasts about it as if it were the feat of the century."
Elias looked at her, then burst out laughing. "Are you underestimating a company captain, O'Connel?"
"I'm just saying ambition makes one blind."
Elias shrugged. "He has twenty years of experience, supposedly. And a desire for promotion as vast as his biceps. Who am I to smother ambition with the cushion of my own indolence?"
Mara stood up abruptly, too fast for the narrow compartment, and snatched the biscuit from his fingers before he could bring it to his mouth. "This is suicidal madness coupled with criminal delegation. He'll drag down everyone unfortunate enough to be in his gravitational pull."
"My men will be on the periphery. Hybrid cleanup, perimeter security, logistical support missions. The kind of noble, obscure, and generally non-lethal tasks."
Mara leaned over, her hands planted on the table separating them.
"And when his 'heroic charge' plan shatters against the reality of an S-Class Boss? When the Boss, after reducing Borin and his fanatics to confetti, turns on the entire operation? When the breach, instead of sealing, tears open wider? When it's not dozens of deaths, but hundreds?"
Elias chewed on his imaginary biscuit, meeting her gaze. "Should it turn out that Borin fails—which, unlike you, I do not wish for—then I will tell Commander Hagrave, with all the contrite sorrow I can muster, that it was your idea to let him do it. A tactical suggestion from my brilliant vice-captain. To share the responsibility. And the firing squad."
Mara sat back down.
"You're afraid."
Elias averted his eyes, fixing them on the landscape rushing by—misty fields, dark groves. "Of Borin? A little. His cigars reek."
"No. Of having to reveal how competent you actually are. So you let another throw himself into the wolf's maw to preserve your precious tranquility, your mask of the harmless slacker. You're afraid that if you act, they'll expect you to do it again. And again. Until it kills you. So you hide behind the Borins of this world, praying they succeed by miracle, or fail spectacularly enough that you're never asked to do anything again."
Elias didn't answer. He watched the mist cling to the trees like dirty cotton wool.
"Be that as it may," Mara continued, "you will be on the ground. Borin demands it, and so do I. I will not leave our company—our men—at the mercy of his heroic whims without an official presence there to moderate his delusions. Even if that presence is yours."
Elias sighed. "Fine. I'll come. I'll position myself at a prudent, safe distance and watch Borin bag himself an S-Class Boss. It'll be… educational."
Then, he closed his eyes.
Mara watched him feign sleep.
The train whistled again, plunging into a tunnel that swallowed all light.