The sun had started its slow descent by the time Lindsay and Kraft reached the outskirts of the main town. The cobbled roads leading to the castle shimmered under the warm light, the distant spires casting long shadows across the rooftops. The walk had been silent—Kraft's fists clenched and his jaw set, while Lindsay remained unreadable, her eyes fixed on the looming castle ahead.
As they approached the entrance gate, Kraft finally broke the silence.
"Why didn't we stop him?"
Lindsay didn't look at him. "Because we couldn't."
He turned sharply to her, voice taut. "That's not an answer."
She paused, her gaze flicking to his for the first time. "It's the only one you're getting."
Kraft's hands tightened at his sides, his breath flaring. But he didn't press further. He couldn't. Her insignia ranked higher—barely, but enough. He swallowed his frustration and nodded stiffly.
The castle's gate opened with a mechanical hiss. Guards saluted them as they passed. The two officers parted ways without another word—Lindsay's footsteps steady as she veered left toward the inner chambers, Kraft disappearing into the side streets that led toward the residential blocks.
Lindsay walked through the hallways with quiet urgency, her boots echoing against marble floors. She didn't knock when she reached the heavy doors at the end of the corridor—just opened them and entered.
Inside, the officer's quarters were dimly lit, the air thick with incense and the sharp scent of paper ink. A lone figure looked up from behind a desk littered with reports.
"I have information," Lindsay said. "About the lost experiment."
Across the town, deeper into the residential quarters, Kraft stepped into his home, slamming the door shut behind him with a thud. His mother, seated at the dining table with a steaming cup of tea, raised an eyebrow.
"You're late."
Kraft exhaled through his nose, trying to keep his tone even. "Something happened."
She gestured to the seat across from her. "Sit. Talk."
He hesitated but sat down. "We found some kid in a village today. Alone. Strange energy around him. I don't know who he was, but he walked into a store and walked out like he owned it. Lindsay confronted him. He said nothing. Just… looked at her."
His mother watched him, eyes narrowing. "And?"
"She let him go."
A long silence stretched between them. Kraft shifted in his seat.
"She let him go, Ma. Just like that. Said we 'couldn't' stop him." He scoffed. "She outranks me. I couldn't argue back. But still…"
His mother looked at him for a moment longer, then set her tea down.
"Lindsay's always been sharp. Smarter than most, if you ask me. If she chose not to act, maybe it's because she saw something you didn't."
Kraft stared at the floor. "That's the part that bothers me."
His mother stood and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Then trust her. You know it in your gut, don't you?"
He didn't respond, but the way his jaw unclenched said enough.
Somewhere beyond the village, deep in the woods, the boy walked through the fading light, the trees casting long shadows across his path. Birds rustled overhead, and distant insects hummed their nightly rhythm. The underbrush parted before him as if by habit, the trail familiar.
There was no hesitation in his step.
No one watched him as he moved. No one followed.
Not that it would've mattered.
The boy reached a modest wooden structure hidden among the trees. The door creaked open without resistance.
Inside, the warmth of a dim lantern greeted him, along with the soft pitter-patter of footsteps.
A small girl—no older than seven—ran to him, arms wide. "You're back!"
He nodded and patted her head gently, his expression unreadable.
"Are you hungry?" she asked, tugging at his sleeve.
He moved past her, stepping into the kitchen. He didn't answer—just started preparing something simple, pulling ingredients from a small shelf.
Minutes later, he sat at the table across from her, watching in silence as she ate, her eyes full of innocence and trust.
And for the first time that day, something softened in his gaze.