Outside the office, Rosaline clenched her fists as she strode down the dim corridor toward the storage room. The air between her and Vince felt charged, colder with every step.

"Vince, are you seriously okay with this?" she snapped. "If the Whisper Syndicate won't help him, who will? That kid's done more for the military than anyone else his age. He's earned some damn protection! I can't just stand by and accept this!"

Vince said nothing. He quietly unlocked the storage room door, stepped inside, and picked up a broom. Without a word, he began sweeping the floor, the soft scrape of straw bristles echoing in the silence.

"The team leader's in a tough spot too," he said finally, voice calm, measured. "And this isn't just his call. It's the General's. Which means…" He trailed off, his tone turning grave. "Our suspicions were right."

He finished sweeping, swapped the broom for a mop, and started on the floor.

Rosaline frowned, her eyes sharp. "You're saying the General doesn't like Axel?"

Vince didn't answer immediately. He simply gestured for her to move to the far corner of the room—out of view of the surveillance cameras. Rosaline hesitated, then pulled a cigarette from her pocket and lit it. Smoke curled lazily in the fluorescent light.

Vince lowered his voice. "After Northern Suppression Town, the team leader talked to us privately, remember? He wanted to move Axel to the Elite Squad."

Rosaline's brows furrowed. The memory came back in pieces—the debrief, the quiet conversation, the sense of something unspoken.

"Yeah," she said slowly. "At the time, we figured it was a reward. He'd done more than enough to earn it. But then the team leader said something strange—that Axel's record would be classified, and that transferring him would 'keep him safe.'"

Vince set the mop aside. The cigarette smoke drifted between them, ghostly under the neon glow filtering through the window.

"The Elite Squad only takes B-rank missions and above," he murmured. "Every one of them is life-threatening. Putting Axel there wouldn't keep him safe—it'd bury him faster."

They stood in silence for a while, both lost in thought.

"But why?" Rosaline finally asked. "Axel's one of ours. Why would the General do that to him?"

Vince looked out the window at Everton's skyline, the city lights bleeding through the darkness like veins of fire. "Maybe the rumors are true," he said quietly. "That the General's got noble blood."

Rosaline's hand froze mid-drag. She'd heard the whispers before, but always brushed them off.

Still… there was that other rumor—the one about the siege on the Wandering Fellowship. The story that General Nolan had gone to the Starcrest family in Everton afterward, and things had gotten ugly. The Starcrests weren't just any nobles—they were the nobles. Old money, old blood. The ones who really ran the show behind the scenes.

"If that's true," she said, her voice dropping, "then there's no way in hell he'll risk pissing off the Brighthelms for Axel's sake."

They both went quiet again. Neither liked admitting how powerless they really were.

Rosaline flicked her cigarette into the ashtray and leaned back against the wall. "So what now? If the military does nothing, do you really think the Brighthelms will play fair?"

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She met Vince's eyes. "You know Axel. He wouldn't have killed Vaughn unless he had no other choice. But if the Brighthelms pull strings—and they will—he's screwed."

Vince smiled faintly, took her cigarette case, and slid out one for himself. She lit it for him, and for a moment, their reflections blurred together in the window.

He took a drag, exhaled slowly, the smoke curling upward. The city lights shimmered across his face.

"Then it's simple," he said softly. "We'll help him ourselves."

Rosaline blinked, startled. Her heart skipped once, then again.

"Vince…" She stared at him for a long time, then chuckled, shaking her head. "I'm starting to think you've got bigger balls than I do."

........

Elsewhere, in the Whisper Syndicate's main office, General Nolan leaned back in his chair. He shifted slightly, adjusting the heavy coat draped over his shoulders. For a long time, he stared toward the north-facing window, his expression unreadable.

Then, with a weary sigh, he stood, walked into the suite behind his office, and lay down to rest.

.......

Back in the storage room, Rosaline crossed her arms as Vince wiped the last pane of glass clean.

"You're really something," she said dryly. "You've already decided to sneak out, but you're still cleaning like a good little soldier?"

Vince grinned, rinsed his hands in the basin, and wiped them on a towel. "Hey, we're professionals. Gotta make it look convincing." He glanced at his watch. "The flight to Shiverstone takes two hours. Let's just hope the Brighthelms don't make their move before we get there."

They started for the door—but a voice stopped them cold.

"I knew you two wouldn't stay put."

The voice was deep, gravelly, and all too familiar.

Rosaline turned sharply. At the end of the hallway stood Wesley, captain of the Gray Wolf Squad—arms crossed, bald head gleaming under the lights, wearing that half-annoyed, half-amused expression he always had.

"Wesley," Rosaline said, her eyes narrowing. "Let me guess—the team leader sent you to babysit us?"

Wesley gave a small, rueful smile. "You're impulsive as hell, Rosaline. But Vince—what's your excuse? You're supposed to be the sensible one."

Vince shrugged lightly. "We're just going to take a look," he said evenly. "If the Brighthelm family plays fair and Axel's really in the wrong, we won't interfere."

Wesley rolled his eyes and sighed. "Yeah, sure. No chance. You're not going anywhere."

The awkward tension between the three of them lasted only a moment. Rosaline's aura flared, Force crackling faintly around her as she glared at Wesley.

"Get out of the way."

Wesley looked like he was about to cry. "Hey, ma'am, come on, don't do this. I'm only trying to help you here! You know damn well why I'd stop you—don't make me actually have to do it."

That was the last straw. Rosaline's patience snapped. "Wesley, you bald bastard," she hissed, eyes blazing. "You know why I can't stand you? You're so goddamn indecisive! Either fight or move. Don't stand there whining. If you had half a spine, maybe I'd actually respect you."

Wesley froze, blinking as if she'd slapped him. His face went pale, then red, then pale again. After a long, twitching silence, he finally swore.

"Shit! Fine! Go, you maniacs—just go!"

Rosaline blinked, caught off guard. She'd expected a tantrum, not surrender. "You're still coming with us?" she asked when he didn't move.

Wesley rubbed the back of his shiny head and sighed. "What, you thought I'd let you two idiots run loose alone? Someone's gotta make sure you don't burn the city down."

Rosaline and Vince exchanged a look, then burst into quiet laughter. "Then keep up," Vince said with a grin.

The three of them slipped out, quietly closing the storage room door behind them.

In Xander's office, the lights were dim. He stood by the window, watching three faint figures sneaking across the courtyard toward the motor pool. He took a long drink of water, his expression unreadable.

Then he smiled faintly, the lines on his weathered face softening. "As expected of my people," he murmured. He set down the glass and eased back into his chair with a weary sort of satisfaction.

......

Outside the interrogation room, the air was thick and heavy. Vernon Brighthelm sat among several Shiverstone city officials, his expression a mixture of grief and rage. The others avoided meeting his eyes.

Technically, he had no authority here—but everyone knew who he was, and no one dared to suggest he shouldn't be present.

The door opened with a metallic click, and Director Walter stepped out, his face drawn tight.

"Well?" Vernon's voice was hoarse, trembling with fury. His eyes were bloodshot. Through the one-way glass, he could see Axel sitting inside. He wanted nothing more than to burst in and tear the boy apart.

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