The room was too quiet.
Machines hummed.
Lights blinked.
Monitors pulsed in steady rhythm.
Everything—
looked normal.
But nothing—
felt normal.
Lila lay motionless beneath white sheets.
Too pale.
Too still.
Too fragile for someone who had always seemed untouchable.
Beside her—
Rani.
Unconscious.
Breathing only because the machines insisted she should.
Between them—
silence.
No one crossed it.
Sinta stood near the window.
Arms folded.
Eyes fixed on the glass.
Not watching the city.
Watching their reflection.
Bimo sat on the floor with his back against the wall.
Head lowered.
For once—
no jokes.
No noise.
No complaints.
"…this is my fault too."
No one answered.
Because this time—
everyone was guilty.
Arga stood by the door.
Straight.
Still.
Unreadable.
Not angry.
Not broken.
Just—
quiet.
Too quiet.
His eyes never moved.
But his mind did.
Again.
And again.
And again.
The split.
The hesitation.
The impact.
The moment everything became too late.
"…I saw it."
His voice was low.
Flat.
Sinta didn't turn.
"…what?"
Arga's hand tightened slightly.
"…the moment we lost."
Silence deepened.
"I knew we weren't aligned."
A pause.
"And I still moved."
No excuses.
No blame.
No defense.
Only truth.
Bimo looked up slowly.
Eyes tired.
"…so what now?"
No one answered.
Because for the first time—
that question mattered more than the mission.
A step sounded behind them.
Pak Rahmat.
Watching.
Waiting.
"…what do you do next?"
The room held its breath.
Arga stepped forward.
Slow.
Measured.
"…we stop reacting."
Sinta frowned.
"…we already said that."
Arga shook his head once.
"…no."
He lifted his eyes.
Different now.
Sharper.
Colder.
Certain.
"…we hunt them."
The silence broke—
without a sound.
Bimo blinked.
"…wait… what?"
Sinta turned fully.
"…Arga."
But he didn't stop.
"They choose the time."
"They choose the place."
His voice never rose.
It dropped.
Lower. Harder.
"…that's why we're always late."
No one could deny it.
"So we change that."
A pause.
"We go first."
Not defense.
Not rescue.
Not response.
Attack.
Sinta stared at him.
"…that's not prevention."
Arga met her gaze.
Didn't blink.
"…it is."
One breath.
One sentence.
"…if there's nothing left to attack."
The words landed wrong.
Heavy.
Dangerous.
Bimo swallowed hard.
"…you sound like them."
Silence.
Just one second.
Arga didn't deny it.
"…then we win."
That—
changed the room.
He turned.
Walked past them.
No one stopped him.
No one knew how.
Rani's room was colder.
The machines beeped softly.
Steady.
Emotionless.
Arga stood beside her bed.
Didn't sit.
Didn't speak.
Not yet.
Then—
"…you were right."
Quiet.
Barely audible.
"…about saving them."
His jaw tightened.
"…and I was right too."
A breath.
Slow.
"…but we were weak."
No anger.
No tears.
No regret.
Only fact.
He sat down.
For the first time since the mission—
he looked tired.
"…I won't hesitate again."
That wasn't healing.
That was transformation.
A tiny movement.
Rani's fingers twitched.
Arga froze.
Then leaned closer.
"…you're still here."
Her eyes opened.
Barely.
Blurred. Heavy. Fading.
"…Arga…?"
Weak.
Almost lost in the sound of the monitor.
But alive.
He said nothing.
Then she whispered—
"…did we… save them…?"
Silence.
Longer than before.
He could lie.
He didn't.
"…no."
A pause.
"…we were too late."
Pain crossed her face.
Not from injury.
From understanding.
A shallow breath escaped her lips.
"…then don't be…"
Another breath.
Smaller.
"…next time…"
Her trembling hand tightened around his fingers.
Just enough to be felt.
"…be there first…"
Her eyes closed again.
The monitor steadied.
But her words—
didn't.
They stayed.
Burned.
Branded.
Inside him.
Arga didn't move.
Didn't speak.
But something in him—
locked into place.
Outside the room—
Sinta leaned against the wall.
Arms crossed tighter than before.
"…he's changing."
Bimo shook his head slowly.
"…I don't know if that's a good thing."
Pak Rahmat kept his eyes on the closed door.
"…it isn't."
A pause.
Long.
Heavy.
"…but it might be necessary."
No one liked that answer.
Because they knew it might be true.
Far away—
a screen flickered.
Data streamed.
Signals moved.
Patterns aligned.
Then—
Arga's image filled the display.
The man in the hat watched carefully.
No smile at first.
Only interest.
"…there it is."
A slow grin formed.
"…he crossed it."
A finger tapped the screen.
A new command loaded.
"…now we push him further."
The hallway lights dimmed.
Night deepened.
Shadows stretched long across the floor.
Arga stood alone.
His hand opened slowly.
Energy answered instantly.
Clean.
Perfect.
Obedient.
He closed his fist.
Tighter.
"…next time…"
His voice was empty.
"…I won't be late."
A pause.
Colder than before.
Sharper than before.
"…I'll be there first."