Across the facility, Palm sat alone in his office, the lights dimmed. He rested his elbows on the desk, hands folded.
Predictability.
That was Wolfgang's obsession.
Palm understood it more than he liked to admit.
Order was comforting. Chaos was exhausting. But Wolfgang's version of control wasn't about stability, it was about leverage. About knowing which thread to pull to make everything unravel quietly.
A knock came from the door.
"Enter," Palm said.
Viola stepped inside. She looked tired, but her posture was firm.
"You wanted to see me?" she asked.
"Yes." Palm gestured to the chair across from him.
"I assume this is about Akio," Viola said, sitting down in the seat.
Palm didn't answer.
"What do you think Wolfgang will do next?", he asked instead.
Viola leaned against the desk.
"He probably won't move immediately. He already made his point."
"And after that?"
She shrugged.
"He'll wait until someone cracks. Either Akio... or us."
Palm nodded slowly. "If it comes down to it-"
"No," Viola interrupted. "Don't finish that sentence."
Palm looked at her sharply.
"If you're thinking of handing him over," she continued, "you might as well dismantle this place yourself. Because the moment you do, everything you claim to stand for becomes a lie."
Palm's gaze didn't waver. "And if refusing costs lives?"
Viola's jaw tightened. "Then Wolfgang becomes no better than the monsters we already hunt. And we don't negotiate with those."
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, Palm spoke. "We need information."
Viola raised an eyebrow. "On Wolfgang?"
"No," Palm replied. "On who he's aligning himself with."
Viola's expression darkened.
"You think he's not acting alone."
"I know he isn't."
She straightened.
"Then I might have something."
Palm's eyes sharpened. "Go on."
"There's been chatter," Viola said. "Not from the Revenant Forge. Something else. A group that doesn't operate like an organization. More like... a belief system."
Palm frowned. "A cult?"
"Something like that," Viola replied. "Led by someone who calls themselves a prophet."
Palm leaned back slightly.
"What's their name?" he asked.
Viola hesitated.
"Vyko Xelore."
Meanwhile, Wolfgang Nebelwald stood at the large window of his office once more, city lights reflecting faintly in his eyes.
Irena sat at the small table nearby, reviewing documents on a tablet. She hadn't spoken much since earlier, but her presence was anchoring, in a way Wolfgang rarely acknowledged.
"They're stalling," Irena said calmly.
Wolfgang hummed.
"Of course they are."
"You don't seem bothered."
"I'm not," he replied.
"Stalling is predictable."
Irena glanced up.
"And Akio?"
"He's unraveling," Wolfgang said gently. "Not because of fear. Because of guilt. Which is far more useful."
Irena frowned. "You're sure he'll come?"
Wolfgang turned from the window. "People like him don't run toward power. They run away from blame."
Irena hesitated. "And if he breaks?"
Wolfgang smiled faintly. "Then I adjust."
A pause.
"There is something else," Irena added. "Our contact confirmed it. The cult has been mobilizing."
Wolfgang's eyes lit with quiet interest.
"They're closer than expected," she continued. "And their leader wants a meeting."
Wolfgang's smile widened just a fraction. "How delightful."
Far away, deep within the city, a figure stood by a run-down altar inside an old chapel, surrounded by kneeling silhouettes.
Their long white robe draped elegantly around them. Their expression was serene, almost bored, as voices murmured prayers around them.
Vyko Xelore smiled faintly under their black mask.
"So," they said softly, voice carrying effortlessly through the chapel, "the pieces are finally moving."
A follower stepped forward. "Azariel guides us," they whispered.
"Of course," Vyko replied. "Azariel guides you."
They turned their masked gaze upward, as if looking beyond walls, beyond distance.
"Wolfgang Nebelwald has opened a door," Vyko murmured. "And the Hollow Hand stands right in the doorway."
Their fingers curled slowly.
"How very convenient."
And somewhere, far away, Akio Takahashi felt the sudden, inexplicable certainty that something far worse than a choice was approaching.