"I discovered something on Athelas," Kael said.

He was pacing now in the small living room as Steve remained on his knees, eyes tracking Kael’s movement like a rabbit watching a wolf.

"A little bird I tortured told me something interesting." Kael paused, glancing at Sarah’s unconscious form on the couch. "You’re sending thousands of people somewhere. An unknown location. To be sacrificed or something along those lines."

He turned back to Steve.

"Too bad the little bird couldn’t give me anything more. Died before he could." A shrug. "But I believe you can give me what I’m looking for, right?"

He caressed Sarah’s hair gently.

Steve’s jaw clenched so hard Kael could hear his teeth grind.

"Now." Kael crouched again, silver eyes level with Steve’s. "Where are they being sent?"

"I don’t—"

"No, no, no."

Kael’s hand moved. One of his Tier 3 short blades appeared in his grip—shadow-steel, razor edge, the kind of weapon that could cut bone like butter. The tip pressed against Sarah’s throat. Not hard enough to break skin. Just hard enough to remind Steve exactly where this conversation was happening.

"That is not the reply I’m looking for."

Steve’s composure shattered.

"Please—" His voice cracked. "I seriously don’t know. All I know is that the Shadow Vatican needs the House of Crimson to supply these humans to awaken some kind of being. Through some sacrifice. Please, I don’t know anything else."

The words tumbled out like water from a broken dam in a desperate and frantic manner. A man watching his world collapse and grasping for anything that might stop it.

Kael’s blade didn’t move.

"Shadow Vatican?"

"They’re a bunch of powerful people." Steve was crying now. Actual tears streaming down his battered face, mixing with the dried blood from earlier. "They head the House of Crimson. I’ve never seen them—I’ve only heard of them. Every move the House makes is controlled by them. We’re just... tools. Pawns. We do what we’re told because the alternative is—"

He stopped. Swallowed.

"The alternative is what?"

"Death." Steve’s voice was barely a whisper. "For us. For everyone we care about. They know everything. They have eyes everywhere. You think you’re hunting them? They’ve probably been watching you since Athelas."

Kael filed that information away. Let it settle.

"Now we’re getting somewhere." He slowly withdrew the blade from Sarah’s throat. "You could have started with that."

Steve slumped. The relief was temporary—he knew it, Kael knew it. This wasn’t over.

"About this place they’re sending the people." Kael stood, blade still in hand, tapping against his thigh. "Where exactly are they sending them?"

Silence.

Steve’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

Kael raised the blade.

"Please—" Steve’s hands came up, palms out, pleading. "I don’t know. I don’t know. We just deliver the goods. We guard the formations. We process the quotas. Only the higher-ups of the House know where they actually go. Maybe the node commanders. Maybe the regional directors. I’m just—a guard. A foreman. I’m nobody."

Kael stared at him for a long moment.

"Alright." Kael lowered the blade fully. "Who is the strongest in the House of Crimson? Who heads it? And give me every fucking piece of information you have about the other bases in Morir."

He smiled.

"It’ll save me the stress of going myself. And Steve?"

He leaned down.

"Any wrong info, and I can always come back for your beautiful, lovely Sarah."

Forty minutes later, the rain was falling.

Steve knelt in the mud of the slum alley behind his bungalow. The rain pounded down. It plastered his hair to his skull. It ran down his face like tears. It soaked through his clothes until he was shivering.

Kael stood over him.

The information had been... useful. Not complete, but useful. Three more confirmed nodes in Morir—one in Valian City, one in Rishford City, and one unexpected location in a place called Thornwell that hadn’t been in George’s dossier. Regional commander names. Guard rotation patterns. The name of the person who ran Morir’s entire Crimson operation—a woman called "Mother" who apparently answered directly to the Shadow Vatican.

Steve had given it all up without hesitation.

Every. Single. Detail.

"Now." Kael’s voice cut through the rain. "Do it yourself."

Steve looked up. Water streamed down his face.

"Please keep your promises. Let nothing happen to Sarah."

Kael’s expression didn’t change.

"Don’t worry. I do keep my promises." He paused. "And for your lovely information, I might even take her from this slum. Get her somewhere better." A glance at the bungalow. "Man. With the money the House of Crimson was paying you, you could have left this place years ago."

Steve’s eyes flickered.

"I was planning on quitting," he said quietly. "I was going to take her somewhere quiet. Somewhere safe. Somewhere nobody knew my name."

"No need to reminisce about what you could and couldn’t have done." Kael’s voice was flat. "Just get on with it already."

Steve looked at him.

Something passed between them—not understanding, not forgiveness, just acknowledgment. Steve knew what Kael was. Kael knew what Steve had been. Neither of them pretended otherwise.

Steve’s hand went to his storage ring.

The black spear materialized in his grip. Dark energy humming along its length.

He looked at it for a moment.

Then he looked back at the bungalow. At the window where, beyond the curtain, Sarah lay sleeping safe and sound.

He smiled.

It was a strange smile—sad and peaceful and somehow grateful all at once.

The spear came up.

SWISH.

Kael watched without blinking as the obsidian tip swept across Steve’s throat.

Steve’s head separated from his body as it hit the mud with a soft, wet sound. The body followed a moment later, crumpling like a puppet with cut strings. Blood pooled in the rain, diluted almost instantly, spreading in thin red streams across the alley floor.

Kael stood there for a long moment.

The rain continued falling.

He crouched and pulled the storage ring from Steve’s finger. Then he retrieved the spear, wiping the blade clean on Steve’s clothes before storing both items in his own ring.

Then he stood.

And looked up at the sky.

Rain hit his face. Washing away the blood and the dust and the exhaustion of a very long day.

"Is this what love can do to a person?"

The words came out quiet. Almost lost in the downpour.

"It can bring down even the mightiest man."

He thought about Steve. About Sarah.

He thought about the woman he couldn’t remember. The one with emerald eyes that turned gold. The one he’d died reaching for.

Love.

It made people stupid. It made people weak. It made them sacrifice everything—their morals, their safety, their lives—for someone else.

And yet...

Kael laughed.

He laughed at the sky.

The rain laughed with him.

Or maybe it was laughing at him.

Hard to tell, really.