Luke came out of his thoughts and realised that Selene was still looking at him.
Not casually.
Studying him.
Her silver eyes carried a strange quality—cold, deep, and impossibly clear. They gave the unsettling feeling that they could see through layers that other people didn't even know they possessed. Yet at the same time, there was a kind of distance in them, as if she had no interest in fully exploring whatever she found. She looked at secrets the way nobles looked at landscapes from a carriage window: aware of them, above them, untroubled by them.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The silence in Selene's office was different from ordinary silence. It was not empty. It felt cultivated, controlled, like every object and every breath within the room knew its place. Even the winter light spilling in through the tall glass behind her seemed colder here, filtered through the silver-grey skyline into something sharper.
Luke leaned back slightly and continued the conversation from where they had left off.
"I understand."
Selene gave the slightest inclination of her head, signalling that she was listening.
Luke folded one leg over the other and asked, "What am I gonna work with?"
He already knew, or rather, he knew the general shape of it from the novel. But asking the question was necessary. A man in his position would ask. A former Bureau agent who had just been bought at a high price would want to know where the corporation intended to place him. Not asking would have been more suspicious.
Selene replied without hesitation.
"Recently, clashes between variousorganisationss have become more frequent. At the same time, the Bureau has tightened its control. Their raids on our business interests have increased considerably." Her tone remained smooth, almost indifferent. "Although our operations are conducted within the legal framework, such interference still creates losses. The Bureau takes advantage of every minor irregularity to make our business more difficult."
She paused only briefly.
"So we intend to place you with one of the teams that handles this pressure directly. As one of their former agents, and someone who understands their methods better than most, we want you to help us contain them."
Luke let out a faint mocking breath.
A smile touched his mouth, though there was no warmth in it.
"You want to use me against my former organisation," he said. "Your corporation really does work like a bloodsucker."
Selene did not react to the sarcasm.
Not a blink. Not a frown. Not even a polite offence.
That, more than anything, reminded Luke that he was not sitting across from some ordinary executive. A woman like Selene Mondlicht was too far above petty irritation to waste emotion on a line like that. She either considered the accusation beneath response or considered it true and irrelevant.
Luke watched her carefully, then said, "Fine. I'll do the job. There's probably no work easier than that."
His tone shifted just slightly after that.
Not enough to feel abrupt.
Just enough to show where his real interest lay.
"But what about the marriage proposal?"
The moment he asked it, ambition entered his expression openly.
Not crude hunger. Not desperation.
Greed shaped into control.
A man reaching upward.
A man who wanted more than salary, more than security, more than position.
A man who wanted entry into power itself.
Selene saw it clearly.
And inwardly, she approved of it.
So that was his real face.
Good.
Greedy people were easier to control. The need was simple. Pride was predictable. Ambition could be fed, directed, and tied with silk chains so fine the wearer often mistook them for blessings.
Selene allowed a small smile to appear.
"Don't worry," she said. "I will personally take care of it. Within one month, I'll arrange a date with one of my family members."
Luke's expression shifted into visible satisfaction.
"Yeah," he said, "I can't wait to be part of the same family, Selene."
"Same here," Selene replied.
The lie left her lips as smoothly as breath.
Then she rose slightly and extended her hand.
Luke reached across the desk and shook it.
The contact lasted only a moment, but he felt it clearly.
It didn't feel like touching a person's hand.
It felt like touching a block of polished frozen metal.
Smooth.
Cold.
Hard.
Controlled down to the last degree.
He let go first.
Selene drew her hand back as if nothing unusual had passed between them and said, "My secretary is waiting outside. She'll help you through the rest of the handover process."
Luke stood.
"Understood."
He gave her one final glance before turning away.
As he left the office, he could still feel her presence behind him—calm, watchful, impossible to measure fully. It was the kind of presence that made a room feel owned long after the person inside it stopped speaking.
Outside, the secretary was already waiting.
She was a young woman in a fitted black corporate suit with a tablet in hand and the kind of polished professionalism that Silver Moon seemed to cultivate in all of its front-facing staff. Her smile was perfect, her posture straight, her tone respectful without ever becoming personal.
"Mr Luke," she said, "if you'll follow me, I'll guide you through the orientation and facilities available to you."
Luke nodded and followed.
What came next was not merely a tour.
It was a demonstration.
Silver Moon did not simply want to employ him. It wanted to impress him. To overwhelm him with the scale of what it could offer. To make the distance between the Bureau and the corporation feel not just practical, but absolute.
The first facility she showed him was the martial training dojo.
It occupied an entire floor of one of the neighbouring connected buildings, built in a style that blended old discipline with modern engineering. Polished wood, reinforced impact walls, pressure-sensitive flooring, mirrored observation panels, and built-in monitoring systems lined the space. Several rings and training squares were marked for different combat styles. The air smelled faintly of polished cedar and sweat long since cleaned away.
"Martial training instructors are available at all times," the secretary explained. "Close-quarters specialists, weapon-based instructors, and body-conditioning experts. Personal sessions can be arranged according to your schedule."
Luke said nothing, but he took note.
The Bureau trained its agents well.
But the Bureau trained for function.
This place is trained for refinement.
The second area was the sealed elemental practice hall.
This one impressed him more.
It was a controlled chamber system built for awakened power users, divided into multiple reinforced halls with layered insulating barriers, suppression arrays, and measurement devices capable of tracking elemental output in real time. The walls were marked with old runic structures worked into modern energy technology—proof of how deeply ancient systems and contemporary development had merged in this world.
Inside, different sections were calibrated for different power types.
Temperature-controlled zones.
Containment zones.
Impact-resistant environments.
Elemental conductivity panels.
Devices for measuring range, pressure, density, response time, and environmental interaction.
"This hall is specifically designed for elemental users," the secretary said. "Each chamber can be customised according to power type. Ice, fire, wind, lightning, poison, decay, metal, and mixed traits all require different training conditions."
Luke's gaze lingered on the frost-resistant plating in one section.
The Corporation really had prepared for him.
Or rather—
for the kind of person they believed he would become.
Next came the gravity room.
That alone would have made most independent awakeners envious.
The room was circular, metallic, and unnervingly plain, with heavy internal plates and hidden systems built into every surface. According to the secretary, it could increase pressure and alter bodily load in graduated stages to improve movement control, body strength, durability, and adaptation under stress.
"Gravity training is especially useful for awakening-stage body reinforcement and precision movement," she said. "It also improves survival in combat against stronger opponents."
Luke almost laughed at how casually she said that.
As if "survival against stronger opponents" was an ordinary service listed beside bath towels and meal plans.
After that came the target practice range.
This was not just a gun range. It was a full combat-marksmanship complex with moving targets, environmental simulation lanes, threat-pattern projections, and smart tracking systems. Weapon technicians stood behind safety barriers, overseeing use and recording performance metrics. The walls were matte black, reinforced for awakened impact. Ammunition types were categorised separately. Some lanes were meant for standard firearms. Others were clearly built for power-integrated weapons.
The secretary turned to him and said, "You are authorised to choose a firearm package suited to your previous qualifications and current role."
Luke's eyes lingered there longer than expected.
He had handed over his Bureau-issued gun when he left.
That had not been optional.
A weapon in the Bureau's hands was not just equipment. It was tied to authority, legal accountability, and institutional trust. The day he returned, it marked more than resignation. It had been an erasure.
Now Silver Moon was offering him a new weapon.
A different chain.
A different hand holding the leash.
They moved on.
The next wing contained recovery facilities.
These, too, were excessive by normal standards.
Special healing pods lined one chamber—sleek enclosed capsules built for accelerated treatment of fatigue, bruising, strain, minor tissue damage, and controlled body restoration. Not miracle devices, but expensive tools designed to reduce downtime and keep valuable personnel functional.
Nearby were massage and body-release areas managed by recovery specialists trained in both physical therapy and awakened-body stress treatment.
Then came the deep sleep chambers.
Luke stopped at those.
The secretary explained them in the same calm tone as everything else. "These units are designed for mental recovery, sleep stabilisation, stress reduction, and neural decompression. Particularly useful after extended missions, overexertion, psychic exposure, or emotional instability."
Emotional instability.
The corporation even had architecture for exhaustion.
After that came the meditation rooms.
Unlike the martial dojo, these were minimalistic and quiet, built with a kind of expensive stillness. Stone floors, low lights, insulated walls, slow air circulation, and energy-balancing structures built into the ceiling and floor. Some sections were intended for solitary meditation; others for guided mental training under specialists.
"For awakening-stage users," the secretary said, "mental control is often as important as power output. Loss of focus can affect elemental stability, power leakage, emotional resonance, and growth speed."
Luke filed that away carefully.
Then came the combat arena.
This was where the Corporation's polish gave way to something more honest.
It was large, circular, and built for violence.
Observation tiers ringed the outer walls. Multiple battle environments could apparently be simulated inside it. The secretary explained that employees, contractors, and selected fighters could spar there, test one another, or undergo controlled evaluation.
Not everyone here was an executive.
Not everyone here was pretty.
Silver Moon might speak softly, but it has trained teeth.
The final stop was the virtual training room.
This one felt almost unreal.
A high-end immersive combat simulation space, it combined illusion tech, sensory overlay systems, environmental projection, motion capture, and awakened resonance fields to create realistic battle scenarios without requiring real destruction. Opponent types, terrain, threat level, and mission conditions could all be simulated.
"Extremely useful for tactical repetition, pressure testing, and adaptation training," the secretary said. "Many elite personnel use it daily."
By this point, Luke no longer needed to be told what the purpose of the tour was.
Temptation.
Seduction through utility.
The corporation was showing him a future of accelerated growth—money, facilities, trainers, recovery, equipment, and status—everything the Bureau could never provide so lavishly to one man.
And the truly dangerous part was this:
None of it was fake.
That was what made traps like this powerful. If it had all been hollow promises, it would have been easier to reject. But the corporation could genuinely offer him these things.
That made taking them irresistible.
And dangerous.
At the end of the tour, the secretary stopped beside a private access terminal and handed him a card.
It was gold.
Real metal, heavy and cool in the hand, engraved with the Silver Moon emblem and his access credentials.
"This grants you high-level usage rights for all standard facilities, subject to certain limits," she said. "It is among the highest treatment tiers available to non-family personnel."
Luke turned it once between his fingers.
The gold surface caught the overhead light sharply.
Gold card.
Top access.
Only the diamond level stood above it—and that, the secretary explained, was reserved for bloodline family members and the highest-ranking core executives of the corporation.
So even here, hierarchy was made tangible.
That was useful to know.
Then the secretary led him somewhere even more important.
The treasure vault.