Tomas returned to his room, took a towel, and walked down the long corridor toward the showers at the far end. This floor of the house was reserved for caretakers and security personnel; the bathrooms and toilets were shared, utilitarian, stripped of any comfort. The walls smelled faintly of disinfectant and old stone, the lights harsh and unforgiving.
He showered quickly, letting the hot water wash away the sweat and tension clinging to his body. His thoughts, however, remained sharp and restless.
Mateo will help me with training, he thought as he dried off. But training alone won't be enough.
Back in his room, he sat for a moment, staring at the bare wall. NovaCure hovered in his mind like a malignant growth—vast, hidden, protected by layers of logistics and people who never appeared in public. To dismantle something like that, brute force would be useless without information.
I need details. Real details, Tomas thought. And Anthony DeLuca and Luis Herrera can give them to me.
They were responsible for logistics, transportation, marketing control, expansion, and monitoring competitors. If anyone knew NovaCure's supply routes, warehouses, and internal structure, it was them.
Luis and Anthony lived on the second floor, though they were rarely in the house. Most of the time, they were traveling on business. Tomas pulled on clean clothes and decided to check anyway.
Before heading upstairs, he stopped by the caretaker's room and asked which rooms belonged to Luis Herrera and Anthony DeLuca. After getting the answer, he went up to the second floor.
He went to Luis's room first.
Even before knocking, Tomas noticed the difference. The door alone—wider, heavier, polished wood—told him everything. Luis's room was significantly larger and far more luxurious than his own. Tomas knocked.
No answer.
He's probably not here, Tomas thought.
He turned and walked down the corridor to Anthony's room. As he raised his hand to knock, the door suddenly opened.
Anthony stood there, half outside the room, a suitcase beside him. He froze when he saw Tomas.
"Looking for me?" Anthony asked.
"Yes," Tomas replied calmly. "I wanted to talk to you for a moment."
Anthony studied him seriously, then said, "You're lucky. I was just about to leave. I'll be gone for a week on business."
"That's fine," Tomas said. "I'll be brief. I need as much information as possible about NovaCure—exact territorial locations, warehouses, logistics routes, what is transported and where, and everyone involved. All the people who work there and who are responsible for operations."
Anthony's expression shifted—interest replacing caution.
"I've heard you have something against NovaCure," he said. "It'll be interesting to see what you plan to do with them."
He paused, then smiled slightly.
"I understand. I'll gather the information and give it to you in two weeks."
"Good," Tomas said. "Also—can you give me Luis's phone number? I'll need his information as well."
Anthony nodded. "Alright."
Tomas entered the number into his phone.
"Thank you," Tomas said. "I won't keep you. I'll wait for the information."
He turned and left without another word.
Back in his room, Tomas didn't waste time. He called Luis.
"Hello?" Luis answered.
"Hi, this is Tomas," he said. "I need information about NovaCure. Everyone in key positions—where they live, how much property they own, any illegal activities they're involved in. Everything you can find."
There was a short silence.
"I understand," Luis said finally. "But it will take some time to gather all of that. I'll give you whatever I can find in two weeks."
"Alright," Tomas replied. "Thank you. I'll wait for the information."
He ended the call and lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
They'll save me time, he thought. Time I would've spent digging through shadows on my own. That time I can use to prepare physically.
His body slowly relaxed. Exhaustion overtook calculation.
Tomas fell asleep.
Morning came quietly.
He opened his eyes, already focused.
Time to get up, he thought. Mateo will have my training plan ready.
The training building behind the mansion was quiet in the way operating rooms were quiet—controlled, deliberate, unforgiving.
Lantern light revealed scars in the stone walls, shallow and precise. Tomas noticed them immediately. Not wild strikes. Not mistakes. These were marks made by people who knew exactly where they were aiming.
Mateo stood waiting.
"You're calm," Mateo observed.
"I'm ready," Tomas replied.
Mateo tossed him the practice knife. Tomas caught it without adjusting his grip. His hand settled naturally, like it had always belonged there.
Mateo watched closely.
"You don't fear the blade," he said.
"No," Tomas answered. "I respect what it does."
Mateo nodded once "i knew knife is a weapon for you. Then we begin."
He attacked without warning.
Tomas moved with minimal effort—no wasted steps, no dramatic defense. He angled his body just enough to let the strike pass, his blade already aligned with Mateo's forearm. He stopped an inch short.
Mateo froze.
"That cut," Mateo said, "would permanently disable my hand."
"Yes," Tomas replied evenly.
"And you didn't hesitate."
"No."
Mateo stepped back. "Again."
This time Mateo came faster, harder, forcing proximity. Tomas didn't retreat. He stepped in, closing distance until the space between them vanished. His blade rose smoothly, hovering at Mateo's throat.
A perfect line.
Mateo felt it.
"Do it," Mateo said quietly.
Tomas's eyes didn't flicker. His breathing didn't change.
"If you were an enemy," Tomas said, "you'd already be dead."
Mateo's lips tightened. "And if I weren't?"
"Then I wouldn't be here," Tomas replied.
Mateo struck again—but this time he stumbled. A deliberate mistake. His balance broke, his back exposed, his body vulnerable.
An invitation.
Tomas reacted instantly.
Then stopped.
Not because of doubt.
Because of judgment.
"You staged that," Tomas said. "Which means this isn't a kill scenario."
Mateo turned slowly. "And if it were?"
Tomas met his gaze without hesitation. "Then I would finish it."
Silence settled, heavy and sharp.
Mateo circled him now, studying him with something close to unease.
"You understand anatomy," Mateo said. "You understand consequence. But tell me this—"
He stopped directly in front of Tomas.
"If the man in front of you is guilty," Mateo said, "if he has killed, tortured, destroyed lives—and he is unarmed now—do you kill him?"
"Yes," Tomas said immediately.
Mateo raised an eyebrow. "No hesitation."
"He forfeited innocence," Tomas replied. "Mercy for him is cruelty to others."
"And if killing him changes you?" Mateo pressed.
Tomas's grip tightened slightly on the blade.
"Then I accept the change," he said. "I'd rather live with blood on my hands than with more blood on the ground."
Mateo studied him for a long moment.
"You don't crave violence," Mateo said slowly. "That's good."
"No," Tomas agreed. "I don't."
"And yet," Mateo continued, "you're willing to choose it."
"Yes."
Mateo stepped back and raised a hand.
"Enough."
Tomas lowered the blade, but his posture didn't soften.
Mateo sheathed his own weapon.
"Most people hesitate because they're afraid of killing," Mateo said. "You hesitate because you're deciding whether someone deserves it."
He looked at Tomas carefully now.
"That makes you more dangerous than those who act on impulse."
Tomas said nothing.
Mateo turned toward the door, then paused.
"One last warning," he said. "Once you decide someone deserves death, you won't shake that certainty easily."
"I don't intend to," Tomas replied.
The lantern flickered as Mateo left.
Tomas remained alone in the room, looking down at the blade in his hand—not as a weapon, not as a tool—
but as a solution.
And he knew, with chilling clarity, that when the time came…
He would not hesitate.