I'm stuck between chaos and silence.
To my right, Elijah is waving his arms around as he tells a story involving-if I caught it right-one fire extinguisher, three antenna cables, and Gunther in socks. He's putting so much energy into the tale that his pasta has slid halfway off his tray. I lean over a little to push them back into place, because if I don't, he's going to launch them across the room in some dramatic gesture.
To my left, Ilya eats without lifting his eyes from his plate. Barely even blinks. His spoon follows perfect, programmed motions. He has one leg pressed against mine under the table. He's not doing anything else.
He's just there.
And that's enough to make me feel steady.
Across from me, Tinka is remarkably placid. She watches Elijah like someone watching a thunderstorm in the distance-loud, erratic, but part of the landscape.
I was about to steal something off her plate when I hear footsteps. And then Gunther's voice, cheerful as always:
- "We full here, or can we squeeze in two more? I've got a surprise guest."
I look up.
And my stomach tightens.
Mikel.
Right behind him. Back straight. Eyes on the floor. His face closed off, but not hostile. Just... lost.
I stiffen instinctively. My shoulders rise a notch.
But to my left, Ilya's hand settles gently on my knee.
His prosthetic. Cold, solid.
Steady. Like an anchor in open water.
Tinka raises an eyebrow.
- "Well, well. So you've met my charming ex, then?"
Mikel blinks.
Gunther laughs and pulls out a chair.
- "He thought Anya was just being cranky for no reason, when really, it's your demonic aura reaching all the way to the infirmary."
- "As long as I don't have one ex per floor, you're mostly safe," Tinka mutters, deadpan.
But Elijah... Elijah freezes.
I feel it immediately.
He turns. His eyes land on Mikel and harden.
His jaw clenches. His fist curls on the table.
- "You're kidding, right?"
Gunther turns toward him.
- "Nope. It's Mikel. You know, the son of the guy hunting us all. Thought you might've heard."
Elijah growls.
- "And you bring him here? To our table? What, does he have a VIP pass now? Is there a free redemption tour running, or is that just for dictator spawn?"
- "Elijah..."
- "You saw what his father did. What he did to Mira. To me. To all of us. And now he just strolls in like nothing happened? You want us to toast with him, maybe?"
His voice rises.
It's not a burst-it's a build-up. A rising tide.
And I can feel it. The edge approaching.
But Gunther lifts a hand.
Not forceful. Fraternal.
- "Hey. I know. Okay? I know how you feel. I've seen what this regime does. I wear it on my skin, and in my family tree. But this guy? He didn't do it. He was born into it. And you know what? He could've stayed out of it. He could've taken the easy road. He didn't. He chose to listen."
Elijah doesn't yield.
So I place my hand on his arm.
- "Please."
He looks down. Exhales. I watch his shoulders lower. He raises his hands, like he's backing off.
He doesn't answer Gunther.
He answers me.
Mikel, meanwhile, looks small.
Like he's trying to sink into the floor.
He keeps his eyes down.
I don't know what he's seeing. What he's feeling.
But I look at him.
And I remember what he said to me. In the hallway.
Gunther clears his throat.
- "Anyway. That's why I'm here. Mikel's decided to help the Hawk."
Silence.
Ilya lifts his head.
Elijah makes a sound in his throat that says it all.
I nudge him with my elbow. Then take a breath.
- "That's brave."
They all look at me.
I know what they think. What they expected.
But I mean it.
Under the table, Ilya's grip on my knee tightens just slightly.
Mikel nods. Almost shy. Then sits down.
And we eat.
The resistance hasn't collapsed.
Not tonight.
---
Mikel keeps thinking about the meal.
He didn't eat much, to be honest.
But the image of the table sticks with him-the way Elijah couldn't sit still, the quiet storm behind Mira's calm, the eerie silence of the one called Ilya, who never said a word but watched him like a drone waiting for permission to strike.
They seem... kind, overall.
Well.
Except the twin and the metal-armed sniper.
He was about to go back to his room and digest all of it when Gunther came down the hallway in a rush.
- "Mikel. You need to come. Now."
The tone was unusual. Sharp. No room for debate.
- "What?"
- "It's Boris. He wants to see you. Right now."
The command center feels taut.
Olivia is already there. Standing, arms crossed, looking equal parts worried and alert.
Next to her: Ilya. Also standing, leaning against a table, arms folded, clearly monitoring at least five different screens. He barely glances up as Mikel enters.
- "Sit," Olivia says gently.
Mikel obeys.
Boris doesn't waste time. He taps a console and throws an image onto the main screen.
- "Three trucks. Heavy equipment. Governmental. Heading straight for the zone. Constant speed. No deviation."
Mikel frowns.
- "Toward here?"
- "We're not sure. But the route brings them close to the Citadel. Question is: do we let them pass and risk being found if they stop? Or do we intercept-blow our cover entirely? Either way... it's a gamble."
Olivia turns to her son.
- "Mikel. What do you think? Could they know?"
He thinks carefully. Honestly. No lies. No trying to please.
- "As far as I know-no. No one knows the Citadel's exact location. That's not a trick. My father's paranoid, but not superstitious. He dismissed the whole 'ghost base' rumor about this zone ages ago. For real."
- "Then why that route?" Boris presses.
Mikel lifts his eyes.
- "The northern border. There's an old scientific complex there-under rehab. If they've got heavy cargo, that's likely the target. Generators. Geothermal systems. It'd make sense."
He pauses.
- "But it means more traffic. Patrols. Supply runs. If the area becomes active again... the Citadel's gonna end up in the middle of a passageway."
Silence.
Ilya straightens.
- "What if we intercept from a distance? Relay hack, remote virus, anything."
- "We're stretched thin as it is," Boris replies. "And there's no proof they're hostile. They're just driving."
Tinka, who's been quiet until now, pulls a notebook from her jacket.
- "I can go. Check it out on foot. I'll take the west tunnel. Five hours max. If we want a real answer, it's that or flying a drone in plain sight. Might as well send me."
She turns her head.
- "I can take Mira. She's been wanting to go topside again."
Mikel blinks.
A rough throat-clearing slices through the room.
Ilya.
- "No."
Sharp. Final. Almost... harsh.
Everyone looks at him. Even Olivia frowns.
Ilya doesn't back down. His voice stays calm, but his jaw is tight. His hands, fists.
- "She's been outside once. On a supervised mission. This is different. Out in the cold, under pressure, no guaranteed fallback. It's too risky."
Tinka blinks, surprised.
- "Didn't think you'd be the one to say that. Thought that'd come from Elijah."
Ilya doesn't answer.
He looks straight at Boris.
- "She stays."
Boris nods slowly, eyes on the screen.
- "Alright. Tinka leaves with Piotr. Three hours. I want eyes on the target and an open line to Ilya."
- "Got it," she says simply.
Mikel watches them all.
The weight of the room presses on his chest.
He doesn't grasp every detail.
But he understands something important.
They're afraid of being seen. Even with all their order and tech and planning-
They know how fragile this place is.
And something else hits him, quiet but hard, right in the gut:
They trusted him.
Not with a fake mission. Not a setup.
They asked his opinion.
They listened.
They made a choice based on what he said.
Even Vlad never did that.
Not when Mikel obeyed.
Not even when he tried to do the right thing.
He stays frozen on that thought.
And looking at Ilya-still upright, still coiled like a spring-he understands something else.
That guy made a promise.
To someone. Or to himself.
And he's going to keep it.
No matter what.
---
The comms room is always warm, quiet in its own way. Full of muted beeps and tiny blinking lights, flickering like disciplined fireflies. Ilya is focused, as usual, eyes locked on the data streams. I volunteered to take the shift with him tonight.
I sit down beside him. He doesn't move at first, still monitoring Tinka's video feed.
I let the silence settle for a while. Then I speak - because I want him to know.
- "Elijah and I... we're thinking of signing. For real."
He doesn't answer right away. I just catch the slight clench in his jaw. His fingers slow down on the keyboard.
- "That's a serious decision."
- "I know."
- "You think you're ready?"
- "I know what I want."
He finally turns to look at me. His eyes lock on mine - serious, intense. He studies me for a second, then gives a slow nod. I think he sees it - that something's shifted. That I'm not hiding anymore.
Silence stretches out again.
I break it, half a smile tugging at my lips.
- "Tinka told me you stopped her from taking me out today."
He doesn't deny it.
- "Yeah. I did."
- "Why?"
He draws in a slightly deeper breath. His gaze shifts back to the monitors. He chooses his words carefully.
- "Because I didn't want you out there. Not unless it was necessary. Even if I know you'd have handled it. I just didn't want to... take that risk."
I watch him. He doesn't over-explain. He just admits it. That's what gets me the most. He didn't hold me back out of doubt - but out of instinct. Out of fear. For me.
And it's stupid, but it gets to me.
So I lean in.
And I kiss him.
Not on the lips. Not directly. Just on the cheek, right near the angle of his jaw.
But I don't rush it.
I let my lips linger. A real second. Not a quick pat, not an automatic thank you. A second too long. One that means something. I feel the warmth of his skin, the soft scent of him - soap, metal, and something else I recognize without being able to name. I feel his body freeze. His shoulder flinch slightly, his muscles tense in surprise.
And I smile, because I know it threw him off.
I straighten slowly. Our faces are close now - too close to pretend it's nothing. I don't move. Neither does he.
He turns his head toward me, slowly.
Then, in a voice barely above a whisper - quiet enough that Tinka won't hear anything through the comms:
- "If you keep that up, miss, I'm gonna have to take you in for questioning."
I feel my cheeks catch fire. Literally.
That miss, said like that, with that half-smile he only ever shows when he's actually flirting... it kills me.
I laugh a little, tight in my throat. I was about to answer when Tinka's voice suddenly crackles through the earpiece:
- "Guys? Uh... hello? You've gone quiet. Should I be worried or are you just making out without warning me?"
Ilya doesn't even blink. He keeps his eyes locked on mine. Slowly, he reaches for the mic, presses it on.
- "We're here, Tinka. Radio silence. We were working."
- "Working? Seriously? You sound like two teenagers hiding in a janitor's closet."
I choke on a laugh.
He switches the mic off again. Then leans toward me one last time and murmurs in my ear, low enough to send a shiver down my spine:
- "I don't care what she thinks. But you... you'll know when I'm doing it on purpose."
I go still.
My heart's beating way too fast.
I don't have a reply - not yet. I'm flushed, embarrassingly so, but also... weirdly invincible. For the first time, I have the upper hand.
And him - older, sharper, more experienced - he looks just as off balance as I feel.
I turn back toward the screen.
Try to focus.