Cassidy, Weaver, and Jax moved along the upper corridor toward the briefing room.
Three figures.
Three kinds of weight.
Cassidy walked fast—motion as insulation. Papers clutched tight in one hand, steps just a little quicker than necessary, like stopping might let the nerves catch up.
Weaver moved softly beside her. Threads brushed the walls without intent, a subconscious habit he still hadn't fully unlearned.
Jax walked like gravity wanted him specifically.
Their shadows stretched ahead of them, long and warped by the corridor lights.
Cassidy broke the silence, voice light on purpose.
"Okay. Optimism check. What are we thinking? Possibility of Hawk leaving… fifty–fifty?"
Jax didn't slow.
"Zero."
A beat.
"And whatever's lower than zero."
Weaver exhaled.
"Let us at least pretend hope is mathematically possible."
Cassidy scoffed, adjusting the papers in her grip.
"Yeah. Well. I still don't get why I have to file a report on you," she said, glancing at Weaver. "Only actionable offense I've got is theft. One cookie."
Weaver sighed and reached into his pocket, producing the half-wrapped evidence.
"I do not believe in indulgences," he said calmly, "but I would lie if I claimed it wasn't… good."
Cassidy smiled.
Jax noticed.
Not just the smile—but the person behind it.
Cassidy's trial.
The mark.
The way she'd stepped forward these last weeks without being asked.
This wasn't the Cassidy Central's older files described.
And that unsettled him more than it comforted him.
Jax tightened his grip on the stack of reports under his arm—threat assessments, projections, proposed "improvements."
"Living a little doesn't hurt," he muttered.
Then quieter—
"Just don't let them see how much."
They reached Jax's office.
Or what used to be Jax's office.
Central had reassigned command authority. Joint oversight in name.
Hawk in practice.
Hawk sat behind the desk, posture relaxed, expression unreadable. Data scrolled beside him in layered bands of blue and red.
"Report," Hawk said.
No greeting.
One by one, the papers were placed down.
The surface scanned them instantly.
Copies routed directly to Hawk's terminal—and onward to King Vex.
Hawk reviewed in silence.
Then looked up.
"Nina's report indicates the Balance Keeper may be ambulatory within days," he said.
His eyes shifted to Weaver.
"Explain why he is not in sleep mode."
Weaver frowned—not offended, but genuinely confused by the phrasing.
"Because he is not a machine," Weaver replied evenly. "Nor a program. Sedation at that scale would require the Temple."
A pause.
"He will remain conscious."
Hawk's mouth tightened slightly.
"Central believes he should be studied," Hawk said. "Something like that should not exist unchecked."
Another pause.
"Especially since the same creator also produced Kyros."
Weaver felt anger rise.
Then settle.
Years of restraint kept it caged.
"Kyros was flawed," Weaver said. "Unstable. Adaptive in the wrong ways."
The words felt wrong in his mouth even as he spoke them.
"Allium will not be another Kyros."
Hawk nodded once.
"See that he isn't."
He stood.
"You're dismissed. Central expects another report in twenty-four hours."
His gaze flicked briefly to Cassidy.
"Try not to miss anything."
They left.
The door sealed behind them.
Jax stopped in the corridor.
For a moment, it looked like his jaw might crack.
Cassidy noticed.
"Okay," she said carefully. "Silver lining attempt."
She hesitated.
"If nothing goes wrong for the next four months—"
She stopped herself.
"…Yeah. Nope."
Weaver spoke quietly.
"I do not like this," he admitted. "Daily reports are not my habit."
He looked at Cassidy.
"You and Commander Renner have carried this burden far longer than I. Your resilience is… appreciated."
Cassidy gave a crooked smile.
"Perk of being underestimated," she said. "You learn to multitask."
Allium sat upright in his ICU bed.
Half the cookies were gone.
Not devoured.
Chosen.
Slowly. Thoughtfully.
Each bite considered like it mattered.
The door glided open with deliberate care.
"Allium."
He looked up, surprised.
"Rose," he said softly. "You're here."
She looked better.
Only technically.
Bruising still darkened her skin. Every movement was controlled, measured.
"I turned off the monitor," she said quietly. "No alarms this time."
She sat beside him, eyes flicking to the tray.
"I see Cass has already been here."
Allium took a cookie and offered it to her.
"They are pleasant," he said. "Please try."
She accepted.
Before pulling back, he gently tapped his cookie against hers.
"Cheers."
Rose smiled despite herself.
"I told you," she said, a faint laugh escaping, "only with drinks."
Allium studied her face.
Saw past the smile.
Saw the pain.
He hid his concern and replied simply.
"That is silly. That will change."
They sat together in silence.
Comfortable.
Shared.
Through the glass, it was clear this wasn't their first visit.
Unseen by them, a figure stood where reflections gathered.
Sable.
Perfectly still.
Her presence blended into the background—not hidden, simply unnoticed.
Her eyes moved between Allium and Rose.
Not judgment.
Assessment.
Her fingers tapped softly against the data