The room was buried deep below the city, soundproof walls lined with steel and old secrets. No windows, only a single long table beneath a strip of white light that hummed like a warning. Every man and woman seated there carried a title that never made it to newspapers.
George Moore sat among them, his face unreadable, his suit sharp as armor.
A general slammed a folder on the table. Red-stamped. Classified.
General Harker (voice gravelly): "Three accidents one disappearances in two weeks. All students from that cursed school. And every damn thread drags us back to one thing—one name."
He slid the folder across. Inside: a photograph. Gemma Moore.
Director Alvarez (coldly): "Your daughter."
The table shifted like a wave, whispers sharp. George didn't flinch. He only straightened his cuffs.
George (calm, cutting): "Choose your words carefully."
Agent Carter (younger, nervous): "Sir, with respect… this isn't conjecture. Witnesses mention her. Teachers describe her as… unnatural. And then there's the silence—eight years without speaking? That's not grief. That's—"
George (snapping, fist slamming on the table): "That's my family! Not a case file."
The lamp overhead flickered. The room stilled.
General Harker (low, dangerous): "You think your name shields her? Shields you? We're not here as school board members, Moore. We're here as the last line before chaos eats this country whole."
George's jaw clenched.
Director Alvarez: "Your refusal to cooperate is raising questions at the highest level. Questions about loyalty. About what you really do when you vanish for months at a time."
The air thickened.
George leaned forward, his voice a blade against their throats.
George: "If you want to keep your titles, your pensions, and your heads attached to your shoulders—you'll erase her name from your files. You'll never speak it in this room again."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Then Alvarez gave a dry laugh, humorless and sharp.
Director Alvarez: "You don't frighten me, Moore, the press are now publishing articles based on facts"
George's gaze locked on hers, steady, cold.
George: "I don't need to frighten you. Fear finds its way on its own. And the press.... he paused"
He stood, gathering the folder, and walked toward the exit. No one stopped him. The steel door shut with a heavy thud, leaving the others in a silence they dared not break.
Finally, Agent Carter whispered, pale, almost trembling:
Agent Carter: "What if he's protecting her because… she isn't just a girl?"
No one answered.