The white marble building rose at the heart of the government district—sober, imposing, like everything that belonged to supreme authority. From the outside, nothing betrayed the unrest simmering within. Neither the tinted windows nor the pristine façade gave any hint of the restrained panic that had broken out just a few hours earlier.
Octavia Gagarin climbed the front steps with clipped strides, her silhouette perfectly contained in a pearl-grey coat that emphasized her upright posture. She didn't acknowledge the two soldiers standing guard. Her heels struck the stone floor sharply, echoing like an impatient metronome. She'd been forced to call an emergency council.
The room was large, sparsely lit. An old copper chandelier hung from the ceiling, barely clashing with the austere décor. Five people awaited her around a long oval table. Two generals. One official from the Bureau of the Interior. A scientist from the Loop. And Mikel.
She clenched her jaw without a word and took her seat to his right, deliberately refusing to look at him. He was there with his usual focused expression, poring over a file, those thick dark lashes over his blue eyes giving him that perpetually well-behaved schoolboy look. He was dressed like a prefect's clerk: neatly combed, shirt perfectly pressed. She hated him. Without knowing quite why.
The senior military advisor opened the session without ceremony:
— We had an anomaly last night. A partial shutdown of systems in the South-3 complex. The Loop.
Octavia didn't flinch.
— Was it a malfunction or external interference? she asked.
— It's unclear. The secondary generator was taken out too quickly for it to be an accident. But with no outgoing data, we can't be certain.
The scientist nodded nervously.
— We haven't yet regained full control of the perimeter. Communications are fragmented. But there was movement. Test subjects out of their chambers. Scientists relocated. If the staff followed protocol, they should be in lockdown. However, if the test subjects' doors were opened…
A silence fell. Octavia's gaze hardened.
— How many are unaccounted for?
— We don't know yet if any are missing, the man answered cautiously. The records are incomplete. Internal cameras were jammed at the critical moment. We're cross-checking lists, but…
— So you know nothing, she cut in flatly. And meanwhile, people are panicking behind my back.
She crossed her legs slowly. The anger simmered just beneath the surface, carefully controlled. She knew how to play this part: cold, methodical. To her right, Mikel was watching her. She could feel it, but she didn't turn her head.
— We did manage to identify a few… suspicious profiles, the scientist offered, straightening up to slide a paper file toward her. A reflex—anxious diligence from a man hoping to keep his head.
Octavia opened it. The pages were filled with black-and-white portraits, technical forms, descriptions. Height, weight, eye color. She didn't read everything. One face caught her eye. Number 047. Her brow furrowed.
— This one. Why is he in here?
— He appears on the high-risk list, the man replied, visibly uneasy. We observed multiple irregular reactions to certain compounds. Dreams. Unexpected reasoning. He even asked a question once. He was corrected and treated, of course.
She raised an eyebrow.
— A question?
— About the date.
A breath. A brief, bitter laugh.
But she kept the file open. The face held her attention, though she couldn't say why. Eyes a little too… alive. And the tattoo on his wrist, half-visible in the photo.
She slowly closed the file.
— In the worst-case scenario, if someone was exfiltrated intentionally, it'll be one of them.
The general across from her nodded.
— We have reason to believe this incident was triggered externally. A targeted act of sabotage. Could be the Hawk.
Octavia clenched her teeth. The name stung like a splinter.
— Send a team. Quietly. No official reports. I don't want this reaching the Oversight Council. If we send the Army, everyone will know we lost control.
— Understood.
— And if we find a test subject outside… you know what to do. We can't afford any more risks.
Silence. Agreement.
The meeting ended in heavy silence. Mikel remained seated as she stood. She noticed his hesitation—that way he had of wanting to say something. But he didn't. As always. A boy too polite to be trusted.
She left the room, walking the empty palace corridors with a tension she no longer tried to hide. Her fingers trembled slightly as she closed the door to her office.
At last alone, she sat down. The room was luxurious, but cold. No photos. No personal touches.
She stayed still for a moment, hands clasped on the desk, staring blankly ahead.
She was screwed.
There was no other word for it.
If something had leaked from the Loop—if a test subject had escaped, or worse, if more than one had—her father would want her head. Not right away, of course. He'd humiliate her first, as always. Make it clear she was nothing but a pawn. That she owed him everything. He'd make her pay for her weakness, smiling for the cameras while crucifying her in private.
And Mikel. That little shit. He was just waiting for this. She knew it. He wore that mask of neutrality, but he'd already drafted his little report. He looked at her like a silent judge, certain he would've done better. Just like their father.
But she built the Loop. She resurrected the project from the ashes of Volnov's lab. She convinced the Council. She did this.
She clenched her fist.
And still… that gaze. 047's eyes. It came back to her again. Clear. Almost defiant.
Little bastard.