"Master, before we proceed, I must report on a situation I handled in your absence," Crul's voice took on a tone of cold, synthetic pride. "I acted under the assumption of your long-term psychological objectives."
Crul projected a series of logs, chat histories, and media files onto the air. As Ethan scrolled through the timeline of Helen's descent—the manipulated photos, the public exhibitionism, the desperate "loyalty" to a digital phantom—he threw his head back and laughed. The sound was melodic yet utterly devoid of mercy.
"Crul, you're brilliant," Ethan remarked, a sharp glint in his violet eyes. "I almost forgot about that bitch with everything going on, but you've kept her perfectly seasoned. Arrange a meeting with her soon; I want to see her 'progress' in person. But first, let's send a greeting to her husband."
