Roy stood alone before the rift gate. Violet light throbbed along its edges, slow and sullen, like a vein under thin skin. The chamber smelled of cold ash and old fire. Flames clung to the walls, too tired to rise.
He closed his eyes and saw it again: Elisa on her knees in the arena, golden light spilling from her palms onto a dying mortal boy. Not for show. Not for Gluf. For Jack. For Steve. A plea torn straight from her chest.
Centuries ago Roy had watched her laugh once—at something Gluf said—and felt the sound settle inside him like a hook. He had never spoken of it. Never dared. She was Gluf's masterpiece, his untouchable light. Roy had only ever stood in the shadows, wanting what he could not name aloud.
Now she had given that light away. To humans.
His hands shook. Not rage—something quieter, older. Loss sharpened to a point.
Neptune had chosen Jack too. The weapon had blazed in a mortal grip, brighter than it ever had in Roy's. A theft deeper than steel.
He pressed his palm to the gate. Stone cold. Sealed for three months.
The words came out rough, barely above a whisper. "She felt something for you. Something real. I waited lifetimes for a scrap of that. You got it in a heartbeat."
Silence answered.
He turned his head. "Jace."
The assassin stepped from the dark, scar silver in the low firelight. He bowed without a word.
"New orders," Roy said. "All four die. Jack. Steve. Aurora. Elisa."
Jace stilled. "Elisa."
Roy met his eyes. No explanation. None needed. The name hung between them like a blade already falling.
After a moment Jace nodded once, sharp.
"The barrier holds three months," he said.
"Then use the old channels," Roy replied. "Wake Spade. Tell them the contract is mine. Tell Gluf—when it's done—that I did it. Let him come."
Jace vanished into shadow.
Roy stayed. The gate did not open. He did not ask it to.
He had time now. Three months to learn how to live with what he had just become.
Far below the megacity's neon rain, Spade Headquarters breathed like a buried animal. Dry air carried the tang of coolant and gun oil. Red lights bled along the corridors, turning every face into a mask.
Director Vale played the message twice. Jace's voice, flat and final. Four names. One signature: Roy.
The war room held its breath. Elisa's name landed like a live wire. Gluf's golden heir. Untouchable. Until tonight.
No one spoke at first. Then a young operative near the back—Reyes, barely twenty-five, ambitious eyes always scanning for weakness—laughed under his breath. "Four billion. We'll be gods ourselves."
The laugh died in his throat.
Across the room, veteran agent Mara turned. She had lost a partner to a divine contract years ago; the memory still lived in the burn scar that crawled up her neck. Reyes' flippancy scraped that wound raw.
In three silent steps she crossed the floor. No one moved to stop her.
Mara grabbed Reyes by the hair, slammed his face into the console edge. Cartilage crunched. Blood sprayed across the holo-display, smearing Elisa's face crimson.
He gasped, tried to stand. She drew her sidearm—a short, suppressed blade etched with null-runes—and drove it up under his jaw. Once. Clean through the palate into the brain.
Reyes' body jerked, heels drumming on the grate. Then nothing.
Mara let him slide to the floor. Blood pooled under the red lights, black as oil.
She wiped the blade on his sleeve and looked at Vale. "Disrespect costs. We clear?"
Vale's gaze lingered on the body, then on her. "Crystal. Clean it up. Shadow Trio gears in five. The rest of you—focus. This contract just became personal."
The room exhaled. Fear sharpened into purpose. No one looked at Reyes again.
Boots moved faster now. Lockers slammed. Crest implants flared awake.
The machine turned, hungry and unforgiving.
The cliff was all wind and salt and black water roaring below. Moonlight cut sharp edges across the grass.
Jack sat beside the shallow trench he had clawed into the earth with his bare hands. Steve lay in it—not buried, just placed, as if sleep could fix what had been broken. His chest rose and fell, too slow, too even. Like a clock running down.
Aurora stood at the edge, back to them, staring at nothing. The wind pulled at her hair and she let it.
Gold light opened in the air behind Jack, soft as breath.
Elisa stepped through. The portal closed with a sound like a held note released.
She looked smaller here. No radiance, no throne. Just a woman with tired eyes and damp grass staining her hem.
She lowered herself beside Jack. Dirt clung to her knees. She didn't seem to care.
For a long time neither spoke. Waves filled the quiet.
"I was wrong," she said at last. Voice low, steady, but not unbroken. "I watched you all suffer and told myself it was necessary. That silence was loyalty. It wasn't. It was fear."
Jack's throat worked. He couldn't look at her yet.
"I keep seeing his face," he said finally. "Steve's. When he stepped in front of me. He knew what it would cost. He did it anyway."
Elisa reached out, hesitated, then rested her hand on Jack's arm. Warmth seeped through the fabric—gentle, almost shy.
"I will sit here every night until he opens his eyes," she said. "And the first thing I will tell him is that I'm sorry. That I understand now what he gave. That I will carry it too."
Jack turned then. Moonlight caught the wet on his cheeks. He didn't wipe it away.
Something loosened in his chest—not healing, not yet. Just space to breathe.
Aurora finally moved. She walked back from the edge and sat on Jack's other side, close enough that their shoulders touched. No words. She simply placed her cold hand over his free one, fingers threading through his without asking.
The three of them stayed like that, a small knot against the vast night. Wind whipped around them, carrying salt and the endless crash of waves. Steve's shallow breaths marked time.
Elisa's warmth spread slowly, not miraculous, just present. Jack felt it reach the places grief had frozen. Aurora's grip tightened once, as if anchoring him to the earth.
For the first time since the arena, Jack let his head drop forward. A sob escaped—quiet, ragged, but not alone anymore.
Above them the stars kept their ancient distance.
Far away, in rain-slick streets and shadowed alleys, the first hunters were already moving. Null-runes glinting. Crests humming low. Footsteps silent.
None of them heard.
Not yet.