Vanessa's POV
The old teahouse was empty
From the street, it looked like just another condemned relic—faded façade, boarded windows, rust creeping up old steelwork. But if you stood close enough, you'd hear the low hum of power through the cracked wall panels. The kind only a high-frequency generator gives off. It was one of the many dead drops scattered across Stockholm—camouflaged relics perfect for the dirty kind of business that didn't belong on surveillance feeds.
I scanned my retinal code across the doorframe and the magnetic lock disengaged with a faint click.
Inside, the place was skeletal—angled steel beams and frosted glass walls humming with silent circuitry. A fractured metro sign flickered overhead, its letters glitching between languages. The floor was polished composite, threaded with thin blue fibers that pulsed gently beneath my boots as they synced with my I.D. tag, confirming my arrival with cold precision.
The room smelled faintly of ash, ozone, rust, incense and blood— like a shrine to some forgotten god that demanded quiet suffering.
I kept my posture straight, my coat buttoed and my mind clear.
I was not afraid.
Not of this place. Not of them
I stepped into the courtyard. A single, soft-blue drone drifted overhead, scanning silently.
Standing by the edge was a man in a Colombina mask, shaped into the likeness of an owl. Matte white finish, bronze feather etchings, and a narrow beak that gave him an eerily statuesque profile. The left eye of the mask was exposed—pale gray iris, faintly glowing with a biometric implant beneath.
He didn't speak.
He didn't need to.
A hidden comm-link embedded somewhere in the room buzzed to life. The voice that followed came modulated, hollow—designed to be untraceable and unidentifiable.
"You gave Anderson classified intel."
I kept my voice even. "He was showing signs of instability. I acted to preserve operational efficiency."
"You acted," the voice repeated, almost curious. "What gave you the impression you were authorized to think?"
"I made a judgment call," I said. "He's our most embedded asset in Stockholm, and he has Tobias' trust. If he lost faith in the mission, we would've—"
"You are a tool, Vanessa. A hammer does not question the carpenter's design."
My jaws clenched. "I kept him on-mission."
"All Tobi Anderson was required to do was recite the instructions he was given. Not understand them. Not question them. Just obey."
The owl-masked man moved.
Not gradually.
Not with warning.
Just—gone from one place, there in front of me.
My hand twitched toward my wrist holster.
I was too slow.
Pain exploded in my skull—a white-hot stab of agony that flooded my vision.
I hit the ground hard. Blood gushed down my cheek. My world was suddenly—violently—halved.
I screamed, hand clutched to the socket where my left eye had been.
The owl-masked figure stood over me, still, unreadable.
He hadn't raised a hand. No blade. No visible movement. Just a flash—a blur—and now my eye was gone.
The voice resumed, flat and emotionless.
"Tobi was showing deviation. He should have been terminated. Defective tools are discarded."
I gasped, breath ragged, sleeve pressed to my face. "Then why am I not dead?"
A pause.
"Because your ability still has value. But you are relieved of your duties as Stockholm 's handler."
I staggered to my knees. "You're replacing me… with who?"
"Anderson, Your interference has made him too embedded so I might as well make use of him. You will return to the Spire."
My chest tightened.
The Spire.
Not a reassignment. A cage.
A warning.
The owl mask tilted slightly—mocking, almost curious.
"You will remain alive so long as your utility exceeds your risk. You will not contact Anderson unless directly instructed."
And then, silence.
The owl figure turned, stepping back into the haze of the courtyard, vanishing beneath the dead LED lanterns without a sound.
I stayed kneeling, bleeding onto the dusty floor, vision spinning, thoughts racing. Somewhere, a drone blinked red—data logged, recorded, sent.
This was my last chance.
I had protected Tobi, but at what cost.
Tobias' POV
We wrapped up around dusk. The neon from nearby storefronts started bleeding into the alley—flickering pinks and greens dancing on the cracked pavement. Viktor collapsed against a wall, gulping the last of his water like he'd just run a marathon through a volcano.
"So," he asked between gulps, "same time tomorrow?"
I shook my head. "Nah. Today was the last day."
He froze. "…Wait, what? You're ditching me?"
"I've got to focus. My exam's in a week."
He blinked, brows furrowed. "Exam? For what?"
"Aegis Academy."
Everything about him paused—like even his blinking forgot how to function.
"You're going to Aegis Academy?" His voice dropped an octave, halfway between awe and disbelief.
"Yeah."
"You're actually taking the exam? That Aegis?" he asked again, like there might've been a second secret one I was hiding.
I nodded.
He stared at the ground for a second. "…That's the school I want to get into. Always has been."
I looked at him, surprised at the shift in tone. No jokes. No sarcasm. Just sincerity.
He rubbed the back of his neck. "I've been saving up to apply next year. I didn't think I'd meet someone who's already going. Let alone—" He cut himself off, but I caught the look in his eyes. Respect. Maybe a little envy. Definitely pressure.
"You'll be ready," I said.
He scoffed. "Dude, I can barely control my ability without looking like a human fire hydrant."
"Then stop thinking like a fire hydrant," I said, tossing him a drink. "And start acting like a weapon."
He caught it. Fumbled a little—but caught it.
"I'll train harder," he said quietly, more to himself than to me.
I turned to leave. "Good."
As I walked away, I heard him call out, "Hey, Toby?"
I stopped but didn't look back.
"When you get in… tell me what it's like."
I raised a hand in acknowledgment and kept walking.
Behind me, the alley faded into shadows, and Viktor sat there—alone, thoughtful, and just a little more dangerous than he'd been yesterday.