The Gifted Divide

Chapter 8


To punish someone for your own mistakes, or for the consequences of your own actions, to harm another by shifting blame that is rightfully yours; this is a wretched and cowardly sin. - Richelle E. Goodrich (Smile Anyway: Quotes, Verse, and Grumblings for Every Day of the Year)

* * * *

~November 231; ESA Headquarters, Zhane City~

The only sound in the dimly lit office was the steady, rhythmic tap-tap-tap of fingers striking a keyboard—sharp, precise, and relentless.

The halls of the northern wing had long since fallen silent. Most agents had turned in hours ago, and Lucas wouldn't have been surprised if he was the last soul still awake in this entire quadrant of ESA headquarters.

The soft glow of the monitors threw long shadows across the cluttered desks and file shelves, illuminating the deep lines of frustration etched into his face.

Even now, months after the Agnis incident, months after Aegis had blown up ESA headquarters to steal one terrified girl from right under their noses, they had found nothing.

Not a trail. Not a name. Not a single face they could tie to the elusive rebel group.

Lucas ran a hand through his raven-black hair, tied back into a loose ponytail that had started to fray at the edges, and leaned back in his chair, resting his chin in his palm. His onyx eyes, sharp even in fatigue, scanned line after line of dead-end reports and ghost entries in the ESA's secure database. The cursor blinked, taunting him.

All this time. All this effort. And still, the file marked Aegis remained maddeningly empty.

Lucas could admit, if only to himself, that the sheer lack of leads was beginning to grate on him more than he cared to show. Every time he sat down in this office and pulled up the Aegis logs, it was as though the organisation had never existed.

No photographs. No credible witness testimonies. No captured audio. Not even surveillance data. Just the aftermath—the calculated destruction, the silence, and the unsettling precision with which they vanished.

It was as if they were ghosts.

And not even Elijah—Elijah, who was practically the team's unofficial liaison to the criminal underworld, had been able to dredge up so much as a whisper. No rumours, no sightings, no aliases.

Lucas narrowed his eyes.

Or maybe… Elijah wasn't looking as hard as he could.

The thought had been gnawing at him for weeks now, quiet and insidious. The tactician had connections. Deep ones. The kind that had led them into hidden networks and secret trading rings more than once.

Yet with Aegis, Elijah had come up empty. Too empty.

Lucas didn't want to believe Elijah was holding back. He'd fought beside the man. Trusted him. But there was something in Elijah's carefully neutral expressions every time the subject came up—something Lucas couldn't quite place.

Lucas exhaled sharply through his nose and shook the thought off, forcing himself to focus on the screen again. The database before him was an ocean of files—layers upon layers of archived incidents, mission summaries, internal reports, and system logs.

And somewhere in that ocean, he had to believe a clue existed.

He scrolled again. Case numbers flickered by, cold and impersonal strings of data sorted by date, department, and classification level.

'Maybe I should just ask Elijah or Louis again,' he thought bitterly. Louis at least would try. If anyone could unearth something buried, it would be him.

But Lucas had asked them already. More than once. And all he had gotten in return was more silence, more deflections, more maybes and I'll see what I can dos that amounted to exactly nothing.

He leaned forward and buried his face in his hand for a moment, before his eyes caught something—a folder tucked inconspicuously at the bottom of the list.

No case number. No formal header. Just one word.

Nona.

Lucas blinked. "…Nona?" he murmured aloud, frowning as he hovered the mouse over the file. The name didn't follow standard ESA naming protocol. Every other entry was marked by a case number or a project code. This one stood alone.

He clicked it.

A soft beep issued from the computer, and a red warning flashed across the screen: ACCESS DENIED – Clearance Level Insufficient.

Lucas sat still, lips pressed into a thin line.

He had access to most of the ESA's records. As the leader of Team Alpha—one of the most active field teams in Eldario, he had clearance that most agents could only dream of. If this file was locked even to him, it had to be serious.

His first instinct was to close the window. Shut the lid. Call it a night and revisit it with a clearer head tomorrow.

But something about it… Something about that name…

Nona.

It sounded harmless. Innocuous, even. But the placement, and the fact that it was buried so deeply, set every trained instinct in his body on edge. Files that were truly unimportant weren't locked behind clearance firewalls. They were archived. Even discarded. This wasn't either of those things.

Lucas checked his watch. 10:57PM.

Late. But not too late.

Lucas stood from his chair and stretched, bones creaking from sitting in the same position for too long. He shrugged on his jacket and headed for the door, grabbing his ID tag on the way.

The digital database had its limits. There were still thousands of old case files that hadn't been fully migrated. Cases too obscure, too delicate, or too…problematic. The ESA claimed nothing was ever lost, and Lucas believed that. But some things were certainly buried.

And if the digital trail ended here, the paper trail might just begin downstairs in the Archives.

No case or complaint ever filed with the ESA is ever thrown out. Lucas knew this from experience.

Something in his gut, deep and unshakable, told him this file—Nona—was important.

And if the ESA was hiding it this well, then he needed to know why.

The walk from Team Alpha's meeting room down one floor to the Archives was short, barely ten minutes by foot, but in the oppressive silence of the late hour, it felt oddly elongated—like every hallway Lucas passed through had been stretched just a little too far, every flickering overhead light humming just a little too loud.

The northern wing was practically deserted by this time of night, the lingering echo of his footsteps against the cold tile the only sound to accompany him. He passed shuttered offices, dimmed briefing rooms, and the scentless sterility of a building that no longer felt alive.

When Lucas finally reached the Archives, he swiped his ID and pushed the door open with a sigh of relief. The door creaked faintly on its hinges—too loud in the stillness, and shut behind him with a muted thump.

Inside, the room was exactly as he remembered it: lined from floor to ceiling with tall shelves, all crammed with thick manila case files whose spines bore neat black print—dates, department codes, and case numbers.

Most were old, some so brittle they looked like they might crumble at a touch. The air was faintly dusty and carried the scent of old paper and cooler metal.

He didn't waste time.

Lucas moved directly toward the section labeled 'N', trailing his fingers lightly across the rows of folders until he found the shelf in question. His eyes narrowed, scanning through the endless stacks of files, each one thicker than the last.

But the one he needed wasn't immediately apparent.

It took several passes before his fingers brushed something different—something thinner and oddly placed. A narrow, almost fragile-looking file squeezed between two thicker volumes.

At first glance, it might have been a misplaced supply ledger or an outdated personnel document, but then he saw it—the symbol inked faintly into the spine: Ω.

The Omega symbol. No number. No department prefix.

Lucas pulled it free, his heart rate rising.

The folder was far lighter than he expected. Flipping it open, he found not the typical ESA structure of incident logs and cross-referenced field reports, but a thin set of documents, barely a dozen pages in total.

No witness transcripts. No body-cam captures. No evaluation reports from the investigation team. It wasn't just thin. It was gutted.

Yet what was left inside only deepened his unease.

Sparse notes. Unfamiliar handwriting. Brief, clinical mentions of experimental trials. Vague but deeply unsettling. There were references to a facility, unnamed, with the location unknown, and two repeated subjects throughout the pages.

Seraphina C.

R.

No full names. No background. Just…initials. Aliases? Codenames?

Lucas's eyes narrowed as he scanned the page again. Something about the way those names appeared, how everything around them had been blacked out, like a shadow cast over a corpse, sent a chill running down his spine.

It felt deliberate. Not the result of time or oversight. This was methodical erasure.

Lucas turned the last page and frowned. There was a faint note scribbled in the margin in faded ink: "Subject C displayed marked irregularity in Phase VII. Recommend reassessment. Entry suspended. See ref. Nona."

Nona.

That name again. Innocuous on the surface. Simple, and almost gentle. But now, in the dead silence of the Archives, under the clinical glare of fluorescent lights, the word carried weight.

It shouldn't mean anything.

And yet, it did.

Lucas didn't understand why, but something in his gut screamed that it mattered. That whatever this file was, it was tied to something buried so deep in the ESA's history that even digital records couldn't surface it.

Why hide this? Why bury it under clearance codes and then quietly forget it?

He was so lost in thought he didn't even hear the door open behind him.

"Lucas?"

The voice made him jump, heart leaping into his throat. He spun around, instinctively tucking the file behind his back as if caught stealing.

Standing in the entryway was a woman Lucas recognised instantly, even silhouetted against the soft light of the hallway behind her, she was unmistakable.

The silvery-blonde hair, sleek and cascading down to her waist, shimmered under the overhead lights. Her honey-brown eyes, sharp despite their warmth, narrowed ever so slightly, her arms folded loosely, a long black coat draped over one of them.

Tiara Suzanne Michabelle.

Director of the ESA. His superior. His recruiter. A legend in her own right.

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Lucas exhaled slowly, mentally cursing himself. "…Director."

Tiara's stilettos clicked softly against the tiled floor as she stepped into the room, raising a single arched brow as she approached. "What are you doing down here at this hour, Lucas?" she asked evenly, her voice cool but not unkind. "And what exactly are you trying to hide behind your back?"

Lucas sighed, already knowing it was no use trying to lie.

You couldn't lie to Tiara. She had a way of looking at people—peering into them, as if peeling back their layers with nothing more than a glance. It was unnerving how quickly people folded in front of her.

"I…found something strange in the database," Lucas admitted quietly, stepping aside and handing the folder over with some reluctance. "It was buried deep. It didn't even show up until I scrolled all the way down to the end. The file was marked as Nona, but I couldn't access it. So I checked here."

Tiara took the folder without comment, her eyes flickering over the cover. The moment she saw the Ω symbol, her expression darkened. Subtle, but not lost on Lucas.

"I don't get it," he said, trying to read her reaction. "Why hide this? What is Nona? And who's Seraphina C? And R?"

Tiara's silence stretched a second too long. Then, her gaze darted toward the upper corner of the room, where a small surveillance camera blinked a single red light.

When she spoke again, her voice had dropped to a near-whisper.

"Not here," Tiara said curtly, slipping the file into the folds of her coat with a motion that was smooth, practiced, and almost second nature. "Not a single word more while we're being recorded."

Lucas straightened. "So it is something," he murmured. "Something important."

Tiara didn't confirm or deny it. Instead, she looked at him with an unreadable expression, then finally said, "It's beyond your normal clearance level. And it's well past your shift. Don't you have the next two days off?" Lucas nodded. "Good," she said briskly. "Then you'll have time."

"Time for what?" Lucas asked.

Tiara didn't answer. Instead, she turned toward the exit. "I'll take you out for a drink," she said over her shoulder. "We'll talk. Somewhere private."

Lucas hesitated, watching her as she walked toward the door, her heels clicking with the calm assurance of someone who knew far more than she would ever admit under this roof.

But he followed.

Because something about Nona had cracked the surface of everything he thought he knew, and he had a feeling Tiara was about to take him deeper than he ever expected to go.

* * * *

Lucas had often hitched rides with his teammates for one reason or another, usually out of necessity, sometimes out of convenience, but tonight felt different.

His bike was still in maintenance, and yet, sitting in the passenger seat of his boss's sleek black car felt far more foreign than walking home in the rain. Maybe it was the silence between them, or maybe it was the subtle tension clinging to the air like mist—thin, quiet, yet impossible to ignore.

He kept his gaze fixed out the window, watching as the city slowly emptied behind them, swallowed by quiet streets and dim lamplight.

No late-night traffic. No sounds but the occasional hum of the engine and the soft tap of Tiara's long nails against the steering wheel. She didn't say much. She didn't need to. There was something unreadable in her expression, something that made Lucas sit a little straighter, more alert, uncertain whether this was a lecture, a punishment… Or something else entirely.

When Tiara finally slowed down near the outskirts of a familiar district, Lucas blinked, surprised. He leaned forward slightly as the sign flickered into view.

"…Timo's café?"

"Oh, you know Timo, huh?" Tiara said mildly, her voice laced with vague amusement. She didn't seem particularly surprised. "Small world."

The car came to a stop just outside the modest little establishment nestled between shuttered storefronts.

Lucas frowned. It was well past midnight. He hadn't expected the place to still be open, but then again, Timo always did run his place on his own terms. A soft glow poured from the windows, casting warm amber shadows across the pavement.

Inside, the familiar scent of coffee beans and cinnamon drifted through the air. The café was empty, save for the man behind the counter, quietly wiping down a glass with practiced ease.

Timo didn't miss a beat as they entered. "Welcome," he greeted. His voice, like always, was calm and low, carrying years of experience. "Your usual, Tiara?"

"Not today." Tiara shook her head as she walked past the counter. "I just need to borrow your place for a bit."

Lucas followed her to a side table tucked away near the far wall, one that offered more privacy than most. Though truthfully, there was no one around to overhear them. Just the three of them. And a silence that felt suddenly, inexplicably heavy.

Once seated, Tiara turned to face him. Her honey-brown eyes were sharper now, sharper than he'd ever seen them, and though her tone remained even, her gaze left no room for deflection.

"I want you to tell me, Lucas," she said quietly, "how did you come across Nona?"

The name sent a chill through him—not because he feared it, but because it was still echoing in his head from earlier. The way it was written, the strange symbol on the file, and even the deliberate omissions in the records.

Lucas swallowed. "I was searching the database for something else. Routine stuff," he began carefully. "But near the bottom, I saw an entry that stood out. It didn't follow standard ESA tagging protocols. The access was restricted, even for someone at my clearance level." He paused. "I got curious."

Tiara didn't move. She didn't interrupt. She simply listened, and that was somehow more unnerving.

"So I went digging," Lucas admitted. "Found the physical file in the Archives Room, tucked away in the 'N' section, but it wasn't numbered like the others. Just the omega symbol." He hesitated. "It was barely even a file. Thin. Almost empty. No full reports, no transcripts, just…fragments. Mentions of experimentation. Of someone called Seraphina C. Another named R. Aliases maybe, but even that wasn't clear. I—" He stopped himself, suddenly aware of how fast his heart was beating. "Director… What is Nona?"

Tiara was quiet.

Her eyes flickered briefly over his shoulder, then past him toward the window, unfocused. Her fingers laced together on the tabletop as she let out a soft breath. Not exasperated, but…burdened.

"…It's not something I can speak about freely," she said at last, her voice quieter than before. "Nona was…one of the darkest things the ESA has ever been part of. And the fact that it's buried so deep is no coincidence. Only the uppermost circles of the agency and the central government even know about it. Even among the hunters, only their most fanatical elites were ever informed."

Lucas felt his blood run cold. "Why?"

Tiara's eyes shifted to him, unreadable. "Because what they did…can never be made public. Not without everything falling apart." She looked away again, but Lucas didn't speak.

He waited.

"…Let me give you a piece of advice," Tiara murmured after a moment, brushing a lock of silvery-blonde hair behind her ear. "A life lesson. The law, Lucas, can't always punish the guilty. Not here, not in Eldario. Not when the laws themselves are written to protect them." Her eyes flickered briefly toward the counter, toward Timo, who was still cleaning, silent and distant, but unmistakably listening. "I told someone those same words once. A long time ago. And she understood them even better than I ever did."

Lucas frowned. "Director…?"

Tiara was hesitating now, not out of fear, but because of something deeper. A wariness not of him, but of herself. Of what she might unleash by saying too much.

Tiara Suzanne Michabelle was not a woman easily shaken. But in that moment, Lucas could see something old flicker behind her carefully composed exterior. Not weakness, but memory. Regret. Rage.

"She asked me once if staying silent made me a coward," Tiara said softly. "And I didn't have an answer. Not then."

There was a long pause.

Tiara hesitated for several moments, as she wondered what she should and can say. Should she even say anything about it?

Knowledge about Nona is strictly forbidden. Not only because of the horrific experiments but because of who was actually involved. In the end, however, it is all just an attempt to cover up and protect the careers of those higher-ups.

Tiara never agreed with the cover-up, but she was then just a mere ESA agent and had no power to speak of. Even after she ascended to her current position, she is bound by the laws of the country. Laws that those in power made to suit themselves.

You can't keep ignoring everything around you as no concern of your own. If you lie to yourself long enough, there will soon come a day when you can't even believe in your own words any longer.

Her words came to the fore of Tiara's mind just then. And she is right, isn't she?

"What I'm about to tell you," Tiara began, her voice low and deliberate, "cannot leave this room." Her tone was sharper than steel, more final than a judge's gavel. "You cannot tell your brother. Not Leonid. And not even Elijah." Her gaze didn't waver. "No one. If even a whisper of this conversation reaches the wrong ears, Lucas… You'll be marked for execution. Do you understand?"

Lucas felt the temperature drop. He nodded once.

Tiara leaned forward slightly, her hands folded on the table like she was steadying herself for something far heavier than classified intel.

"'Nona' is short for 'Nonary'." She exhaled slowly, as though the name itself carried a curse. "The Nonary Experiments. Or more specifically, the Nonary Project. A government-sanctioned program, buried under layers of false reports and encrypted silence. It took place over a decade ago, right at the end of the civil war. It involved inhumane experimentation, on both Gifted and Normals alike."

Lucas blinked. The words barely registered. "Wait, what?" His voice cracked mid-sentence, as if his throat suddenly forgot how to function. "Are you serious?"

"I wouldn't joke about this." Tiara's voice was flat, almost hollow. "And neither would anyone else who knows what I'm about to say."

From behind the counter, Timo subtly turned his head, but said nothing. His hands slowed their polishing.

"You ever hear," Tiara continued, "about the mass disappearances of children back then? Kids between the ages of five to fourteen? It wasn't just paranoia. It happened. Dozens vanished. Quietly. Systematically. Most of them were street kids. Orphans. The invisible ones society wouldn't miss."

Lucas's breath caught in his throat.

A long-forgotten memory surfaced—his parents' paranoia back then, how they'd kept both him and Misha close, refusing to let them wander outside without supervision.

He remembered the low murmurs, the nightly news broadcasts that suddenly stopped reporting on the missing. He'd thought it was just fear. Just a war-torn country trembling in recovery.

"I remember something about that, yeah…" Lucas murmured, his voice barely audible.

"That was the beginning," Tiara said quietly. "Those children were taken. Used. They were the test subjects of the Nonary Project." Her honey-brown eyes met his then, and for a moment, Lucas couldn't look away. There was something ancient in her gaze. Not in age, but in grief. In experience. "And none of them volunteered," she added darkly. "They were stolen. Discarded by the system. And that made them perfect candidates for Project Nonary."

Lucas's stomach twisted. "What were they trying to do?"

Tiara raised one hand and tapped the side of her temple. "Humans can only access up to 5% of their brain at most. Even the Gifted can only access up to 10% at best. That is where the majority of the Gifted even got their abilities, Lucas. They can access beyond the 5% limitation of their brains. That's where their powers originate—from accessing deeper portions of the mind. That's what the Nonary experiments were about."

She exhaled. "The goal of the Nonary experiments was to push further. To unlock the full one hundred percent. To surpass humanity as we know it. Thus, those experiments are carried out in secret."

Lucas swallowed hard. "And they did that…with children?"

"Because children are easier to manipulate. Easier to condition. And—" Tiara's jaw tightened "—because they regenerate faster. They survive longer. Until they don't."

Lucas felt bile creeping up his throat.

"They did it in secret because they had to," Tiara continued. "Because what they were doing broke every law that had ever been written about human experimentation. Mental experimentation. Medical ethics. International law. You name it. It breaks every single human rights law that we ever had in place. There have also been laws restricting mental research and experiments for decades. Experiments relating to the brain. The Nonary experiments likely broke every single one of those laws."

"And who… Who backed this?" Lucas whispered, dreading the answer even as he asked it.

Tiara's eyes narrowed. "The highest rungs of the ladder. Government officials. Parliament members. Leading scientists. Renowned hunters. The very people meant to protect this country. They were all involved."

A long silence passed between them, broken only by the soft hiss of the espresso machine from behind the counter.

Lucas could barely breathe. He had a good idea of where this conversation was about to go.

"We didn't even know about the Project until nearly a year later," Tiara went on. "But the underground… They found out first. You know how they are. They take care of their own. And when their children began vanishing, they started digging."

"And they found something." Lucas concluded.

Suffice it to say that whoever those backers are would get nervous once the underground starts sniffing around as well. Lucas knew from personal experience that the underground is very tenacious when they want something.

Tiara nodded. "They brought word to the ESA. I was high up enough in the ranks then to get involved directly. When we located the main facility, it was almost too late." She looked down at her own hands and only then realised she was clutching them so tightly her knuckles had turned white. "Of the forty children that were taken, only two survived," she said.

Lucas froze. "Two?" His voice was a rasp.

"A Gifted. And a Normal. That's all that remained." Tiara's voice trembled, just slightly. "I was part of the team that raided the facility. It was a joint operation—ESA agents, hunters, and underground operatives, working together. And Lucas…" Her eyes lifted to his again, darker than before. "I still have nightmares about what we found there."

Lucas didn't doubt it. He couldn't imagine anything that could make Tiara—unflinching, unbreakable Tiara, still shake to this day.

"We arrested everyone we could—doctors, researchers, and even some hunters. There were even ESA agents and members of the Council who were involved. The backers, once identified, were silenced through a closed-door trial and executed. But some of us believe not all the architects of the Nonary Project were caught. Some may still be out there. Hidden. Watching."

"Is that why the records were sealed?" Lucas asked quietly. "Why no one talks about it?"

Tiara nodded. "It was all swept away under the pretence of national stability. The scandal would've shattered the country. The riots, the fury—it would've set off a second civil war. So they buried it. Buried the children. Buried the truth."

"Those of us who knew were sworn to secrecy. Because of the backlash if something like this is ever made public, records about the Nonary Project were sealed. As horrible as those experiments are, it is also a fact that the result of that experiment is what led to the medical breakthroughs that we have today. As well as the understanding of the Gifted and their Gifts. And even now…" Tiara hesitated. "Even now, there are still whispers. Of interest. Of reviving the research."

Lucas felt cold all over. "What about the survivors? What happened to them?"

For a moment, Lucas dreads to hear the answer.

Tiara looked away, her voice quieter than ever. "They disappeared. Vanished from the hospital shortly after we brought them in. We think the Abyss took them. Protected them."

Lucas nodded slowly. It made sense.

With the way the people in the know have acted about the Nonary experiments, he had half expected to hear that the two survivors have mysteriously died not long after being rescued.

"Because even after the raids, there were still those, especially the hunters, who wanted the experiments to continue," Tiara said bitterly. "That's why the Chief Justice passed one of the strictest laws in our country's history. A total ban on human experimentation. No loopholes. No exemptions. Not even for the Gifted. Break it, and you die. End of story. It is one of Eldario's most absolute laws, and it was created and passed in such a way that it needs a unanimous vote from all those in Parliament to overturn it. Any who attempts to even so much as violate or break this law will be executed without question."

And knowing how the hunters are, Lucas can't see them being very happy with this decision.

"And even the hunters are bound by that law?" Lucas asked.

"They are. For now," Tiara replied. "But knowing them… They're always testing the boundaries." She paused, letting her next words fall like stones. "Now do you understand, Lucas? Why the underground doesn't trust us? Why they keep their distance? They remember. Even if they don't speak of it."

Lucas said nothing. His chest felt tight. His hands were clammy.

The Nonary Project. A horror buried beneath decades of silence. An atrocity that shaped the very foundations of their society, and perhaps, their Gifts.

Whatever Lucas was expecting when Tiara had taken him to Timo's café, this isn't it. And he felt shivers going down his spine when he thought back on what Tiara had told him.

The Nonary Project. The experiments that were carried out on children—Normals and Gifted alike. Inhumane experiments that lead to the deaths of nearly every single one of those subjects.

"You should go home and think about what I've told you," Tiara said gently, seeing the shock written across his face. "And remember what I said. Not a word. Not to anyone."

Lucas stood up stiffly, legs feeling like they didn't belong to him. "…I'll see you after my break, Director," was all he managed before stepping out into the quiet night.

The café bell jingled softly behind him, the only sound marking his departure.

And behind him, the secrets of the past lingered in the air like smoke—unseen, but suffocating all the same.

After several moments, Tiara exhaled and rose from the booth with the slow, deliberate grace of someone carrying more weight than her slender frame should allow.

Her stiletto heels clicked softly against the hardwood floor, the tailored hem of her navy-blue skirt swaying lightly with each step. She adjusted the black coat still draped over her shoulders, a symbol of both formality and the armour she never truly took off.

It had been a long time since she'd spoken aloud about the Nonary Project. A long time since she'd let those memories surface in more than just dreams or sharp flashes in the dark.

And even now, after years of silence, the words had left her with an aftertaste—metallic, bitter, and unbearably heavy.

Timo stood behind the counter, his arms crossed, and his brows furrowed as he watched her approach.

The soft café lights caught the gentle lines of his weathered face, the scar across his nose etched like an old wound too deep to heal. His pineapple-styled hair and warm brown eyes made him seem like any ordinary man working the graveyard shift in a sleepy town.

But Tiara knew better. Everyone did.

She slid a thick wad of bills across the polished counter—neatly bound with a subtle fold at its base, hiding the silver glint of a data disk buried within. "…Give that to Sera," she said quietly, her voice low and tired but resolute.

Timo glanced down at the bundle, then back up at her. "You should hand it to her yourself, Tiara." His tone was gentle, but there was a bite underneath. "How many years has it been since you last saw each other?"

Tiara's expression didn't change, though something in her eyes flickered. "You know why it's for the best that no one knows we're related. Sera knows it, too. So did Karl."

Timo sighed, running a hand over his scar as if smoothing away an ache. "Still," he muttered, "blood's blood."

Tiara didn't answer. There was no point.

Timo had always respected her boundaries, though not without the occasional protest. He had that way about him. Gentle when he chose, but stubborn in the things that mattered.

Their working relationship was like a dance neither of them spoke about: deliberate, silent, and practiced. He served her information when she asked. She kept his secrets when it counted.

And buried somewhere beneath all that, beneath the silence, the unspoken rules, the years of blood and smoke and ghosts, was something that could almost be called friendship.

Almost.

Timo leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. "Why did you bring Lucas here? Why now? You told him about the Abyss. And even the Nonary Project. Are you sure you can trust him? You know who he is."

Tiara's jaw tensed. "I know whose son he is. But he is not his father, Timo." Her honey-brown eyes hardened. "He's one of the few people I trust in the ESA. I don't believe in inherited sins. If I did, none of us would have a future."

Timo exhaled sharply, clearly unconvinced. "It's your funeral." He shrugged, then frowned. "You and Sera both… You know, I always thought she'd be the one to burn bridges first. But here you are, inviting the son of that man into a sacred grave." He shook his head, his gaze dropping momentarily to the counter. "At least with her, I get it. She's got history with the boy. You… You should be more cautious."

Tiara's voice grew quieter, almost delicate. "Sera and I are more alike than you think."

At that, Timo paused. His warm brown eyes, so easy to underestimate, sharpened.

"The Nonary Project. The two survivors…" he said slowly, "Seraphina C. Seraphina Celes Kroix. Sera. Your brother's daughter. Your niece." He gave her a look that was neither accusing nor sympathetic. Just knowing. "To this day, no one knows who she really is. Not even the hunters."

"Because Karl buried her history," Tiara said softly. "Because I asked him to. He did the same for the other survivor. We had to protect them, Timo. We owed them that much."

She looked down, her hands resting lightly on the counter now.

"I couldn't raise her," she murmured. "Not the way my brother asked me to. I wanted to. I tried. But every path I saw… Every scenario…ended with her hunted or dead. I did what I could instead. Kept her name buried. Kept her off the radar. Gave her a chance to survive long enough to choose her own path."

There was a flicker in her eyes then. Regret. The kind that aged a person from the inside.

Timo didn't press. He raised his hands in surrender. "I'm not getting into this with you. It's not like she blames you either way. If anything, I think she understands you now." His voice turned quieter. "Just…be careful, Tiara."

Tiara smiled faintly, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Always am."

But as she turned to leave, her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, studying him as he returned to cleaning the countertop, wiping down cups and saucers with meticulous care.

Timo Berger. Former Enforcer for the Abyss.

He'd been there at the fall of the Nonary facility. He'd seen the rooms. The restraints. The children. The aftermath. He'd left the Abyss not long after that, and while no one had ever pressed him for reasons, Tiara had always suspected that something inside him had broken that day.

Something that no warm smile or good cup of coffee could ever fix.

And yet… He hadn't really left, had he?

No. Tiara was certain of it.

The Abyss still had its claws in him. Not in the overt way—no orders, no uniform. But in quiet ways. A whisper here. A message there. A drop point hidden in the folds of Cross Café.

For all his talents as a barista, and he was a damn good one, Tiara had always known the café was a front. It had to be. No one stayed that close to the shadows without being part of them.

But Timo had his lines. His loyalties. She just wasn't always sure where they lay.

And yet, despite it all, she trusted him. Maybe not with everything. But with enough.

Tiara pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders and stepped into the stillness of Aurora's night, her stilettos clicking faintly down the sidewalk. A soft breeze whispered through the streets, and for a moment, the world felt too quiet, as if something unseen were holding its breath.

Behind her, the café door shut with a soft click.

And within the walls of Cross Café, Timo returned to wiping down the last few cups, humming faintly to himself.

From the outside, he looked like any other man finishing a long night's work.

But Tiara knew better. They all did.

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