Lisa Demonio hated rooms without windows.
Briefing chambers. Tribunal halls. Administrative offices.
Places where decisions were made without blood on the floor.
She stood in one now, arms crossed, jaw locked, Vasmo's presence humming just beneath her skin. Gravity answered her whether she liked it or not—papers on the desk shifting subtly as her irritation spiked.
Antonio stood across from her, flanked by two senior GRIMM officials whose names she didn't bother remembering.
"You put him back in the field," Lisa said flatly.
Antonio didn't deny it.
"You said limited engagement," she continued. "Support roles. Controlled exposure."
"He exceeded projections," one of the officials replied. "Repeatedly."
Lisa's eyes snapped to him. "That's not his fault."
Antonio interjected calmly, "No. It's ours. Which is why we adjusted."
Lisa laughed once—short, sharp, humorless. "You adjusted by surrounding a sixteen-year-old with other kids and calling it strategy?"
"They are Reapers," the official said.
Lisa stepped forward.
"They are children," she said. "I know exactly how old they are. I helped raise one of them."
Silence fell.
Gravity bent.
A pen slid off the desk and clattered to the floor.
Antonio raised one hand—not in warning, but acknowledgment.
"You think I don't see what this does to him?" Lisa demanded. "He already carries too much. You keep placing him where restraint is the only thing holding him together."
"He performs optimally under pressure," the official said.
Lisa's voice dropped.
"So did Vance."
The room froze.
Antonio's jaw tightened. "This is not the same."
"No," Lisa replied softly. "It's worse. Because this time you're pretending it's normal."
She turned to leave, then stopped.
"If Isaac breaks," she said quietly, "it won't be because he's weak. It'll be because GRIMM taught him that being human was optional."
No one stopped her.
Later, alone in the training hall, Lisa summoned Vasmo.
Reality cracked.
The scythe tore free from the fracture with a scream of bent air, gravity collapsing inward as the weapon settled into her hands. The floor groaned beneath her boots.
She practiced alone.
Sweeping arcs. Controlled pulls. Precision collapses.
Not for power.
For restraint.
Because someone had to be ready—
If GRIMM pushed Isaac too far.
And gravity, after all,
Only holds what it chooses to protect.