When Johansson finally left, Liang Shi dismissed the cadets, and the block exhaled. But I wasn't in the mood to celebrate.

The supervisor stayed behind. He gave me his usual unimpressed look, then jerked his head toward the door.

"Let's talk. You three — out," he ordered, glancing at my roommates.

Marlon, Denis, and Bao exchanged a look, then turned obediently toward the vending machines. Smart move. When our supervisor wants to talk in private, arguing is a bad idea.

"Wait," Liang Shi called after them. "Grab some water first."

He snatched the kettle off the table and handed it to Bao Feng. Then he turned back, sat down at my table like this was his room, not mine.

Bao left silently to follow the order, and I opened my locker.

"Marigold tea?" I offered.

Liang Shi grimaced.

"Is that your way of telling me to go to hell?"

"I haven't had my evening dose yet," I said with a shrug.

"You can make yourself a pot of marigold rot — but give me something that actually tastes decent."

"Gunpowder," I said. "That's all I've got."

Bao returned with the kettle, and we set it to boil. While we waited, I scooped out some tea — marigold for myself, and a full infuser of Gunpowder for him. Something told me the others would be back soon, asking for cups too.

The water hadn't even boiled yet when Liang Shi cut straight to the point:

"So where the hell are the ampoules?"

I paused. Not dramatically. Just a plain pause. Then I made my face stone blank and said:

"No idea what you're talking about."

"I'm not asking for the record," he clarified. "And I'm not planning to file it. But Marek was convinced. Borderline hysterical. That wasn't an act — he genuinely believed you had them. I'm not saying you robbed him — I'm saying he gave them to you."

I was so tempted to tell him the truth — which, of course, was a terrible idea for about ten different reasons.

"He clearly miscalculated somewhere," I said as I poured the hot water over the leaves.

"For now, you're lucky," Liang Shi replied, taking a mouthful of barely steeped water like it was room temperature. "But Jake — luck isn't a strategy. I just hope you've got a plan. And that you'll be careful. Don't make problems — for either of us."

We traded a few meaningless words after that. I absorbed a bit of worldly wisdom from someone older and more tired, he finished his tea, and left with a nod.

After a talk like that — and after another mug of awful marigold tea — I wanted quiet.

Naturally, I didn't get it.

The moment I stepped back inside, my guys were waiting for me like dogs who'd just seen someone throw a stick.

"Well? What'd he want?"

"Everything okay?"

"Man, did you see Marek's face? He practically choked!"

"Jake… seriously though — the essence?"

I answered some questions. As for the essence — I gave them the same deadpan stare I gave Liang Shi and said I didn't know what they were talking about.

Then I went to bed.

We were barely awake when there was a knock at the door. Denis opened it — and there stood Dubois, holding a large tin tea can.

"Jake. A word," he said.

I scrambled into my jumpsuit and stepped into the hallway.

"Here. And don't ask me for anything like that again!" he hissed, shoving the tin into my hands. "I barely slept. I spent half the night wondering if I should just turn myself in to the Hall of Order."

I grinned and couldn't help but tease him.

"Appreciate it. You took your share, right?"

He shot me a betrayed look and walked off.

I went back into the room — and immediately ran into three expectant stares.

"What's that?" Denis asked.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

"Tea," I said flatly.

"Uh-huh…" Denis smirked. "Brew some."

"Before breakfast?" I raised a brow, then tucked the tin into the locker. If the Hall of Order decided to do another inspection, that "tea" would brew me more trouble than it was worth.

In the training hall, Rene and I barely exchanged a few words. He already had five first-years buzzing around him, and he looked absolutely overwhelmed.

"Work on your own," Rene said curtly. "Dance through the hologram, practise your shield a bit, and focus more on your channels."

"Channels? I thought we were focusing on the shield now."

"The shield forms the same way for all techniques. One way or another, you'll get it. Bring Chain Punch up to standard."

Well… nothing I wasn't used to.

After Rene, it was Adam's turn.

Same sack of balls. Same unreadable face — nothing you could read until he started talking. Which we barely did. Adam shot finger-bolts, and I was actively dodging them, occasionally flinging a ball back his way.

Shame his speed was insane and his adjustments so minimal — otherwise, I might've risked testing Chain Punch and the shield. But no way was I stepping into the path of a finger-projection. He only let one hit me — a clean shot to the thigh that dropped me to the sand for a solid thirty seconds. Took another two minutes just to recover.

Apparently, it was easier for him to adjust trajectory mid-flight than lower the actual power. Which left me completely unsure of my progress.

"You were worse today," he said simply at the end of training. "Looks like you've gotten used to me missing and stopped trying as hard as last time."

"You're imagining things!" I assured him. "I just pushed harder with Rene. Plus fatigue from yesterday's cultivation — and some block drama. I got accused of bribery yesterday — they even searched my locker!"

I got to the cafeteria a bit later than the rest, just in time to catch Denis discussing yet another insane technique — Dead Spiral. It was a mind technique for combat, letting you shut off emotion. Made the user ruthlessly efficient, cold and calculating.

Didn't sound appealing to me. Especially since my eyes kept drifting toward Nur.

She sat silently, staring at her tray. Not eating. Not speaking. Dark circles under her eyes, red-rimmed like she'd been crying — but no visible distress on her face. Just exhaustion. Hollowed-out weariness.

"You alright?" I asked quietly.

She gave the slightest nod, managed a strained smile.

"Treating a migraine," she muttered.

Bulsara really had gotten to her. And if something didn't change soon, he'd break her completely.

Maybe I should ask Novak to step in? Doubt he'd rein in Bulsara though. More likely he'd brush it off with another line about Doc Bulsara's experience.

And then — Novak himself called me.

Right at the end of my shift, the interface blinked to life:

Incoming call: V. Novak

Accept / Decline

"Listening, sir," I answered.

As always, Novak didn't bother with formalities. He simply told me to come by his place after dinner.

Adam met me at the station and walked me to Vaclav's place — where Novak and Bulsara were already sipping bourbon from their glasses.

"Sit," Novak said, not looking up. His fingers tapped lightly on the glass of amber liquid.

I sat and took the cup that had clearly been prepared for me.

Clear Thoughts. This was going to be serious.

And with Doc Bulsara here, it obviously had to do with Nur.

The two waited patiently for the tea to settle me into the proper frame of mind. Then Novak finally spoke.

"Farukh's done good work," he said. No clarification. None was needed. "We have his name — Vrakzun Drakhal Kzarneth."

"Vrhakzun Drkhaal Kzarneth," Bulsara corrected gently.

"Come again?" I blinked.

"Vrhakzun Drkhaal Kzarneth," Bulsara repeated, without missing a beat. "Technically, that's Vrhakzun of Clan Drkhaal — one of the seven daughter-clans under the great clan Kzarneth."

"We also have her name — Thyzreth," Novak added.

This time Bulsara didn't correct him. Instead, he took a sip of bourbon, then turned to me.

"You see, Sullivan… demons aren't mythical monsters — but human rules don't really apply to them either. They're other. Not completely alien, no — in some ways, they're painfully familiar.

"Take our pair, for example. Teenagers. Orphans. Born in squalor somewhere out on the twisted outskirts of demon space. Their clan — or what was left of it — abandoned them long before they were old enough to even claim the name. Vrhakzun and Thyzreth. They had nothing, Jake.

"Nothing… except each other."

He paused. Let the weight of that sink in.

"A tragic story — if you ignore how much blood they spilled clawing their way upward. Lies, theft, manipulation, seduction — all trivial details. They did whatever it took to survive.

"Everything except one thing. They never betrayed each other. Not even when it would've paid off. Not even when everything around them screamed, Betray and survive!"

"And the fact that they're here?" I asked. "Is that a success… or a failure?"

Bulsara tilted his head, undecided.

"Hard to say. They were accepted into Drkhaal. Young, promising, ruthless — exactly the kind they wanted. They were noticed and trained for one very specific role. They weren't part of the main raid on Earth. They were given a task reserved for the elite — to become the eyes and ears of the demons among humans."

"We know that part," I said. "What don't we know?"

"We didn't know," Bulsara corrected, "that there were couple hundreds of them left behind. Quietly. In the shadows. They don't fight. They observe, record, and report. What they report, and to whom, we don't know."

He took the last sip of his bourbon and set the glass aside.

"And to avoid drawing attention, each one of them is forced to… switch bodies now and then." Bursala leaned back and folded his fingers into a steeple. "Another thing we didn't know — their real bodies are here too."

"Wait — what?" I blinked.

Bulsara smiled, clearly pleased with my reaction.

"Their true forms are in stasis. On a ship. Somewhere nearby — on one of Earth's moons. We don't know which one. Rakhman…" he grimaced, "likely knows, but the location isn't tied closely enough to his core identity for it to come up naturally. And more invasive methods could damage not only the demon, but Rakhman too. I'd prefer to avoid that, at least while we have a better option."

"Thyzreth," I said, "or Mehra as we know her… So you've seen enough. You're ready to escalate?"

Novak was still sipping his bourbon and didn't speak — just nodded.

"So why me?" I finally asked the question that mattered most. "You've got more than enough strong orderlies to drag a cadet to the infirmary for forced treatment."

"We're hoping to kill two birds with one stone," Bulsara said, passing me a tablet. "This has everything we've gathered — every detail that triggered a response in Rakhman, and the memories those reactions point to. Use it. Tell Nur what you're working on. Your job is to provoke Thyzreth. Best case, she gives up the location of the ship — unlikely. But if we're lucky, she might reveal the network she's reporting to."

I took the tablet.

"You think that's enough to trigger the demon in Nur?"

"Oh," Bulsara said, smiling again, "whether you succeed or not, I still plan to experiment with extracting the demon afterward. Mehra is already dead — so we don't need to preserve her, like Rakhman. That alone might be enough to trigger him. Though…" he tilted his head slightly, "we could always offer to trade the ship's coordinates… for her life in the current body."

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