Erebos stood tall, facing Inspector Laevatein across her desk.
"Good morning, Inspector. I am Erebos, representing the Santino group." A professional smile touched his lips, but his eyes remained frozen—sharp and calculating.
Laevatein gestured to the chair opposite her. Her gaze was ice, utterly unintimidated. "Sit, Mr. Erebos. We have several questions regarding a dinner recorded at Eye Tower."
Erebos sat with a fluid, predatory elegance. Beside the desk, the Lieutenant who had summoned him watched like a hawk. He knew the man in front of him held the key to the wiped CCTV footage, and he wasn't about to let him walk away easily.
While Erebos faced the tightening noose of the Inspector's questions, Ren sat in the bunker, breathing in the steam from a bowl of warm porridge.
His dominant left arm was strapped into a sling, forcing him to eat with a stiff right hand.
Lulubel stepped out of the emergency room, finally finished packing away the surgical tools she'd used to piece Ren back together.
"Is he safe to be left alone?" Vera asked, nodding toward Ren.
"I've pumped him full of antibiotics and cell-regeneration boosters for the last three days. Shi—Ren will pull through," Lulubel said with a faint, awkward smile. She still wasn't used to the name Ren. "But that sling stays on for at least another week. No exceptions."
Stop talking and just leave, Ren thought. The sentiment must have been written on his face, because Lulubel took the hint and gathered her things.
Before she reached the door, she leaned down and whispered in Ren's ear. "I'll be collecting that compensation later."
"Yeah, yeah. You have my private line. Just call me." Ren gave her a subtle shove, ushering her out.
Vera watched the dynamic between the doctor and patient—two people who had met only three days ago but acted like lifelong conspirators. "You two... got close fast," she murmured.
"Ah, that." Ren didn't look up from his bowl. "She'll be sending the invoice directly to me. You don't need to worry about the medical bills." It was a factual redirection, avoiding the question of their intimacy entirely.
"What? But Ren, we're still in your debt. We were the ones who called her," Vera protested.
Ren looked at her, his gaze steady. "Your debt was settled the moment I walked out of Eye Tower without leaving a trail. My medical costs are my business."
Besides, Ren thought logically, that crazy doctor's rates are astronomical. CUBE is barely stable; Santino's payroll will solve the financial headache faster than yours.
"You executed Plan B cleanly, I assume?" Ren added.
"Plan B? We didn't do it," Vera explained. "Actually, just as we were about to hit 'deploy' on the anonymous leak, your earpiece signal came through. I dropped everything to get to you."
She paused, checking her tablet. "By the way, a few hours ago, one of the Baron's employees was called in as a witness. It looks like she's the one who blew the whistle to the cops."
Ren went still. Terrible timing. If he'd been a minute slower leaving the building, or if the whistleblower had arrived a minute earlier, he would have been busted. One name surfaced in his mind: Clarissa. He'd have to confirm that later.
Meanwhile, Isaac was buried in his monitors, tracking the police investigation so intensely he hadn't even noticed Lulubel leave. His screens were a chaotic symphony of scrolling binary, city-wide CCTV feeds, and the static-heavy chatter of intercepted police radio.
Vera's focus shifted back to Ren, who was still eating the humble porridge with awkward movements. "I didn't think a guy with your background would touch that stuff. But for three days, you haven't complained once."
Ren looked at her slowly. "I never disrespect a meal."
His voice was flat. He wasn't about to tell her about the orphanage where the walls were rot and the bowls were empty, or the slave barracks where a single mouthful was a prize worth killing for.
"Ren, I have an update." Isaac cut through the tension. "For the last seventy-two hours, the cops have been digging. It's a special task force led personally by Inspector Laevatein. They've found a lead. This morning, they've summoned a witness from 'Santino'."
Ren's spoon stopped inches from his mouth. The dull ache in his shoulder and ribs suddenly felt worth it. He fought to suppress a smirk.
"Digital experts are terrifying, aren't they?" Ren said calmly. "I suppose I have a lot to learn from you two."
Vera and Isaac traded a confused look, unsettled by Ren's cryptic tone. Ren simply went back to his porridge.
Isaac, always the first to sense a threat, approached him. "Ren," he said, his voice low and strained. "We just told you that Santino is the only link left to the Eye Tower massacre. If the police are calling them in, we're on the edge of a cliff. Why do you look so... satisfied?"
Ren swallowed his bite. He looked at Isaac, his eyes—now masked by orange contact lenses—radiating a deceptive calm.
"The Santino boss is a fool if he goes toe-to-toe with Laevatein," Ren replied. "That's why I moved my Bishop into play. I gave orders to Erebos. The man is a professional liar and a master negotiator. The 'witness from Santino' is a necessity to keep us all safe."
Vera crossed her arms. "Wait, Ren. Explain. 'Bishop'? You and Santino? I don't follow."
Ren realized he'd left out a crucial detail. "Ah. I think I missed a step in the introduction."
"I went to Eye Tower in place of the Santino representative who was invited," Ren explained, his voice turning cold and analytical. "I knew the invitation was a trap, so I forbid him from going. My goal was to sever a bad deal for the family, but it turned into a coup."
Isaac and Vera stood frozen. The revelation hit like a physical weight. Vera could only blink, trying to process the fact that their mysterious guest was part of the infamous Santino syndicate.
Ren set his spoon down. The bowl was empty. He took a glass of water and drank slowly.
"That explains it," Vera finally found her voice. "How you could give me a safe-point in the Noble Council's private lot."
Ren just set the glass down. Close enough. He couldn't let them know he'd used his status as the Prime Minister's nephew for that—it had nothing to do with the mafia.
"And what will this 'Bishop' of yours do?" Isaac pressed, tapping the table. "How are you so sure he won't flip? What if he triggers her suspicion instead?"
Ren stood up. He looked Isaac in the eye—despite the height difference, Ren's presence was overwhelmingly dominant. "My gut tells me he won't betray me."
The answer was far from enough for Isaac. Vera, sensing the air getting thin, stepped between them. She gently pushed Isaac back and nodded toward the sink, where Ren began washing his own bowl.
"Okay, enough," Vera said. "Isaac, we saw what Ren did at the God Hands Gallery. For a guy in his mid-twenties, he's clearly had elite tactical and physical training. He has a plan."
Ren turned slowly, his expression a blank slate. He viewed Vera's assumption as a data error that required immediate correction.
"One correction, Vera." Ren walked toward her—a cold, non-negotiable statement of fact. "I don't deny my skills. But I deny your data."
"What do you mean?"
"I am not in my mid-twenties." Ren let the silence hang heavy in the cramped bunker.
"I'm nineteen."