The knock on his door three days later was polite, firm, and terrifying. Through the peephole, Leo saw the stark, grey uniform of the Sweeper Corps. Not a grunt, but an officer. The man was tall, with a lean, athletic build, and a face that was all sharp angles and cool assessment. Captain Valerius.
Leo's heart tried to escape his chest. *Run. Fight.* But both were futile. He opened the door, his face a mask of bland confusion. "Can I help you?"
Valerius's eyes, the color of a winter sky, swept over Leo, then past him, taking in the cramped, ordinary apartment. "Leo O'Connor? I'm Captain Valerius. May I come in? It's about the recent… disturbances in your sector."
It wasn't a request. Leo stepped aside, his mind racing. Valerius moved with a predator's grace, his gaze lingering on the window overlooking the alley.
"You have a good view of the incident with the Phobia-Weaver," Valerius stated, his tone conversational.
"I… saw some commotion," Leo said carefully. "I stayed inside, like the bulletins say."
"Wise." Valerius turned to face him. "The initial report was a ricochet from my team. A lucky shot." He paused, letting the silence stretch. "But I review all the sensor logs. There was no ricochet. The trajectory of the disabling object originated from this window. A ceramic mug, I believe."
Leo's blood went cold. He said nothing.
"Your employment file lists you as having no registered Aptitude," Valerius continued. "Yet, the Grief-Eater incident featured a system override logged to a terminal in this building. And now, a precision throw that would require years of training, from a man with no combat history." He took a step closer. "You're the anomaly, Mr. O'Connor."
This was it. Arrest. Dissection. Leo braced himself.
"I'm not here to expose you," Valerius said, his voice dropping. "I'm here to make you an offer. Work for me."
Leo blinked. "What?"
"The Corps is understaffed, underfunded, and losing ground. We face things we don't understand with tools that are increasingly ineffective. You represent a new variable. Your power is… unique. I need you."
"To be a Sweeper? I'm not a soldier."
"No, you're not. You're a resource." Valerius's words were brutally pragmatic. "I can offer you protection from the other factions who would kill or enslave you for your talent. I can provide you with training, a cover identity, and a purpose. In return, you assist my team on high-risk operations. You help me understand the Gloaming, and we save lives."
It was a devil's bargain. A cage, but a gilded one. He would be trading his freedom for survival.
"What if I say no?"
Valerius's smile was thin and humorless. "Then you remain an unregistered, powerful anomaly in my jurisdiction. A liability. And I deal with liabilities. This is the only offer you will receive."
Leo looked at the captain, at the unyielding certainty in his eyes. He was trapped. To refuse was to become a target. To accept was to become a weapon.
"I…" he began, the words sticking in his throat.
"Don't decide now," Valerius said, placing a plain, black communicator on the table. "This is a direct line to me. It's secure. The next major incursion is not a matter of 'if,' but 'when.' When it happens, I will call. Your answer then will be your final one."
Without another word, Captain Valerius left, closing the door softly behind him. Leo stared at the communicator. It was a shackle and a lifeline, all in one. His ordinary life was now officially, irrevocably, over.