The late afternoon wind swept softly across the uneven rocks overlooking the valley below. Canis Majoris sat atop a large boulder, one leg extended forward, the other bent lazily. His cloak fluttered in the breeze, and his eyes—sharp, cold, and unwavering—scanned the distant edge of the sky, as if waiting for the world to shift.
Near him sat Easton, cross-legged, tracing faint patterns of energy in the dust with his fingertips. His senses were active, always searching for the unknown. Meanwhile, Aron Tesla reclined against a smaller rock, his fingers twirling a thin stick, drawing meaningless spirals in the earth. The quiet between them wasn't uncomfortable. It was the calm before decisions.
Then, a soft crackle came from the handheld communicator on Canis's belt.
He picked it up wordlessly and held it to his ear.
"Lord Canis. It's me."
A familiar voice—whispered and composed. Adriano.
"How's she doing?" Canis asked immediately, cutting straight through the silence.
There was a pause on the other end, long enough for tension to creep in.
"She looks fine. Physically, at least. Her recovery seems to be complete."
Canis exhaled, barely audible. His grip on the communicator loosened slightly, but his gaze remained focused on the horizon.
"Any other updates?"
"She's been summoned by Lieutenant General Guntur to his private office."
Canis's brow furrowed faintly. The name stirred a ripple of curiosity.
"Guntur?" he repeated. "Is there something I should be concerned about?"
"I don't know yet," Adriano replied, his voice low. "But I'll try to find out."
Another pause.
Then Canis said softly, sincerely, "Thank you... for still helping me."
There was a quiet chuckle on the other end.
"I know the risk, Lord Canis. I chose this path because I believe in you."
A click ended the call.
Adriano pocketed the communicator with practiced ease and straightened his posture. The stone corridor was quiet, lit by a dull blue glow from the energy strips running along the ceiling.
He took a moment to glance around. Empty. No movement. Just the ambient hum of the underground military compound, steady like a heartbeat.
He adjusted the collar of his uniform and started walking. Not too fast, not too slow. Just another faceless soldier on another forgettable errand.
But after a few steps, something made him pause.
It wasn't a sound. It wasn't a shadow.
It was the absence of both.
The corridor, which usually echoed faint murmurs or bootsteps, felt too still. The air was thick. Tense.
Adriano's eyes darted briefly to the corners of the ceiling—no cameras visible. Still, the feeling remained.
He turned the next corner, casual, calm… but the hairs on his neck prickled as if someone had just vanished behind the wall he passed.
He kept walking.
But just for a brief second, he felt it.
The presence.
Not near. But not far.
Not certain. But not imagined either.
Like the lingering trace of eyes that had already looked away.
Adriano clenched his jaw lightly. Then relaxed it.
"Get a grip," he muttered under his breath.
He passed a janitor droid polishing the floor, nodded slightly, and exited into a side stairwell leading back toward the mess hall.
As his steps echoed downward, he whispered again, just barely audible:
"She doesn't know..."
But deep in his chest, something whispered back:
What if she does?
{Chapter 55 end}