At that exact moment, somewhere else entirely
A mysterious woman sings. Her high-pitched voice fills whatever room she's in, her voice that of an angel.
"But he never had a proper education — what could he do? Should have been a father. But he never even made it to his twenties... What a waste ~."
Her voice echoes long after the last note.
Solomon and Mr. N occupied his office the way men occupy spaces when nothing is required of them, comfortably, quietly, without apology. Solomon had a book over his face. Mr. N sat with his eyes closed, inhaling slowly and deliberately, the kind of breathing that takes practice.
Then a lizard entered the room.
Solomon's hand moved. One scalpel left his fingers, a second scapel followed, off the wall, off the window frame, ricocheting, killing the lizard.
Solomon was still asleep, and Mr. N opened one eye. Closed it. Said nothing.
Then his phone rang.
He already knew who it was before he looked. He picked up anyway, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling like he was asking something above him for patience.
In a hospital room across the city, Konopleva Anastasia sat beside Rufus's bed. Rufus's injuries were healing.
But Anastasia wept.
He spoke into his phone.
"Do you want to play a game, Mr. N?"
"A gamble perhaps?"
He continued, "End the Presidency battle before it begins. If you win, I drop out. Completely. Gone."
Mr. N's eyebrow twitched once. Across the room, Solomon's book came down from his face. He listened without moving.
Anastasia continued, his voice even, careful. "You know what I am to the President's campaign. I'm the win condition. He knows it. So he's playing it safe, won't let me near you, won't even let me speak to you, and he even sent me back to Asia to keep me away from the US. He's playing it so safe that he's playing me out of my own fight."
"Don't call my phone again," Mr. N said.
A pause. Then something shifted in Anastasia's voice, not much, barely a hitch, but it was there.
"You'd rather leave me to someone else than risk losing to me again." He didn't say it as an accusation. He said it as a conclusion he'd already made peace with. "I knew that was the kind of man you were."
"Yup." Mr. N let the word sit alone for a moment. "Don't worry, though. When Dreyfus eats your heart, I'll be there watching."
Anastasia felt it then, rare, unfamiliar, arriving slowly the way real anger does. Not rage. Something quieter. A small flame of hatred. He had never quite felt it before, and he recognized it immediately for what it was. Mr. N had that gift to turn the purest men into villains.
"Then you leave me no choice," Anastasia said. "If you won't accept, I have no choice but to release the files."
Solomon's heart stopped dead in his chest.
Mr. N didn't miss a beat. "You wouldn't be the first to try a smear campaign, Ana—"
The call ended.
The office was very quiet.
Mr. N sat completely still. And then, instantly, he began to sweat.
He bit his fingernail. Then called back.
The phone rang out.
He called again. Rang out. He stared at the screen.
Anastasia had already made up his mind. He simply tossed his phone out of the window without looking at it, the way you discard something that no longer belongs to you.
Some men just can't be reasoned with. Ever since I overcame Mr. N and his ______ on that fateful day, he held a grudge. That's all this ever was. He's emotional, childish. Treating this presidency battle like it's a game. Innocents are dying out here every day. I don't have time to lollygag with you, Issak.
I just can't read him. Mr. N stared at the wall. I totally played that wrong. He facepalmed, slow and deliberate, the kind of gesture that has no audience.
"Solomon." N's voice came out quieter than usual. "Take Ragah, take Eric. Get out of the country." A pause. "Just trust me here."
Solomon didn't ask questions. He was already moving.
In the hospital, we see Anastasia's full figure.
Gentle pink hair. A white eye patch, smooth against a face that has never learned how to be unkind. He looked down at Rufus on the bed, still healing, still unaware of what was being decided around him.
"I'm so sorry I have to do this."
He pressed his hand softly against Rufus's face. Held it there for a moment longer than necessary. Then he stood, straightened, and walked out of the room without looking back.
Anastasia called the Elite Guard Rank "Two" Blades.