A week passed within the tungsten tomb. The chessboard sat untouched, a monument to Wolfen's bored supremacy. The air was thick with the stink of confinement and unspoken rage. Then, the silence was broken by the heavy clunk of the door's locking mechanism disengaging.
The door swung open, revealing not Leo, but a squad of Marcus's most stone-faced soldiers, their rifles held at a cautious ready position. Light—real, unfiltered daylight—flooded into the cell, making them all flinch.
"You're being released," the lead soldier announced, his voice echoing in the small space. "On your feet. Slowly."
Derek, Jordan, and Maya exchanged wary glances before slowly rising. Wolfen unfolded himself from his spot against the wall with a languid grace that suggested he'd been expecting this. He stretched, his joints popping after 180 days of disuse.
But as the soldiers moved to usher them out, two of them positioned themselves in front of Eva's vertical slab, blocking the way.
"Not her," the lead soldier said, his eyes fixed on Wolfen. "Orders. She stays."
A cold stillness settled over Wolfen. "That," he said, his voice dangerously soft, "is a miscalculation."
He didn't threaten. He didn't demand. He began to manipulate, his words a subtle, psychological scalpel. He spoke not of Eva's humanity, but of her utility. He painted her as a contained asset, a weapon they were foolishly leaving to rust. He spoke of the tactical insanity of dividing their most powerful resources, of the message it would send to the emerging hybrid threat—that they were fractured, afraid. He wove a tapestry of cold, hard logic, appealing not to their compassion, but to their survival instinct. He made releasing Eva seem not like a risk, but like the only rational choice.
It worked. The soldiers, trained to follow orders but also to survive, hesitated. A silent communication passed between them. With a grunt of frustration, the lead soldier jerked his head. "Fine. But she's your responsibility."
The straps were cut. The heavy muzzle was unlocked. As the metal contraption fell away, Eva crumpled, her legs buckling beneath her. Six months of immobility had turned her muscles to water. Maya was there in an instant, catching her, pulling Eva's arm over her shoulder, taking her weight without a word. Eva was silent, her face a pale, expressionless mask, but her eyes… her eyes were awake, taking everything in.
They were led not back to the main camp, but to a remote outpost a few hundred yards away. The moment they were clear of the bunker, the soldiers who had escorted them spun around, raising their rifles, the barrels aimed directly at Eva.
"Not another step," one of them snarled.
Wolfen didn't even break stride. He stepped directly into the line of fire, his body a shield for Eva and Maya. "Lower your weapons," he commanded, his voice laced with a psionic suggestion he no longer possessed, yet the force of his will was almost a physical thing. "Your fear is understandable, but misdirected. The threat is not inside our group. It is out there. And you need every weapon you can get."
He stared them down, his pale eyes unwavering until, one by one, the rifle barrels reluctantly lowered. He had manipulated them again, using their own fear as a lever.
They were taken to the command tent. Marcus Cross looked like he had aged a decade in a week. The lines on his face were deeper, his shoulders stooped under an invisible weight. The fire of command in his eyes was banked, replaced by a hollow exhaustion. His son was gone, and with him, the last vestiges of the man he used to be.
He explained everything, his voice a tired rasp. He told them of the cult, its hybrid leader—the so-called "Hybrid Queen"—and how it was systematically tearing the region apart. He confirmed their worst fear: Leo had gone to stop it alone, driven by a need to protect the innocent, not to please his father. He had been gone for weeks. He was now presumed captured, or worse.
"We don't have the manpower to mount a rescue," Marcus finished, his gaze falling to the map-strewn table. "We're barely holding our own."
A heavy silence filled the tent. Derek and Jordan exchanged a look of grim resolve. Maya's grip on Eva tightened.
"We're not doing this for you," Derek stated, his voice hard.
"We're doing it for Leo," Jordan added.
Marcus didn't look up, merely giving a slow, weary nod.
It was Wolfen who broke the silence. "Yes."
The single word was flat, devoid of allegiance or emotion. It was a statement of fact. The mission was a go.
Once outside, assigned to a spare tent of their own, the argument erupted.
"This is a trap! He's using us!" Jordan hissed, pacing the confined space.
"We don't have a choice," Derek countered. "It's Leo."
"Wolfen, say something!" Maya snapped, her focus on supporting Eva, who had been lowered onto a cot, her dead-eyed gaze fixed on the canvas wall.
Wolfen, who had been calmly inspecting the frayed edge of a blanket, looked up. His calm was a stark contrast to their agitation. "I don't need your help for the rescue," he said plainly.
They stared at him.
"What?" Derek breathed.
"My objective is the Hybrid Queen. A destabilizing element of that magnitude needs to be removed. Leo's location is merely a data point I will acquire along the way." He looked at each of them. "Your only role is to keep an eye on Marcus. Ensure he doesn't do anything… sentimental… that compromises the objective. We are only helping him as a secondary consequence of retrieving Leo."
The cold, brutal pragmatism of it left them speechless. He saw their friend not as a person to save, but as an objective to acquire.
Without another word, Wolfen stood and left the tent. He went directly back to Marcus.
"I need a sidearm. A rifle. And ammunition," Wolfen stated.
Marcus looked up, a flicker of confusion in his exhausted eyes. "Why? Since when do you need our weapons?"
Wolfen met his gaze, his expression utterly blank. "I lost my powers."
The confession hung in the air, simple and devastating. The god had been made mortal. The bringer of balance was now just a man with a gun. For a moment, something like pity crossed Marcus's face, but it was quickly buried under the mountain of his own troubles. He gestured to a crate in the corner. "Take what you need."
Wolfen collected the weapons, his movements efficient and practiced. He didn't look back as he walked out of the tent and away from the dim lights of the outpost, melting into the gathering darkness alone. The hunt for a queen had begun, and the most dangerous predator in the world was now armed with nothing but a rifle and a mind full of shadows.