The building didn't look like it belonged to the city.
Iren had walked past glass towers and blinking signs to get here, but this one stood apart taller, darker, its lights measured instead of bright.
Even the entrance felt restrained, like it didn't need to invite anyone in.
Security stopped him before he could speak.
"Iren Hale," the guard said, glancing at a tablet. Not a question. "Top floor."
Iren paused.
He hadn't given his name.
The elevator ride was silent. No music. No ads. Just the faint hum as the numbers climbed. His reflection in the mirrored wall looked worse than he felt tie loosened, shirt wrinkled, eyes dull with exhaustion.
He told himself this was temporary.
Just another meeting.
Just another way to fix what had already gone wrong.
The doors opened into a wide office washed in low, controlled light. The windows stretched from floor to ceiling, showing the city far below small, distant, untouchable.
A man sat behind the desk.
He didn't stand when Iren entered.
Black hair, neatly styled but not stiff. A dark coat draped over the back of his chair. His posture was relaxed, but there was nothing casual about him. His eyes lifted slowly, assessing, sharp and unreadable.
"Iren Hale," the man said. Calm. Flat. Like reading a line he already knew by heart.
"Yes," Iren answered, his voice quieter than he meant it to be.
"Sit."
It wasn't rude.
It wasn't loud.
But it wasn't a request either.
Iren sat.
No handshake followed. No introduction. The man didn't offer his name. Instead, he reached to the side and slid a thin folder across the desk.
The sound it made was soft. Final.
"This meeting will be brief," the man said. "I don't like repeating myself."
Iren stared at the folder.
The paper inside was already clipped together. Official. Clean. He opened it slowly and felt his chest tighten.
His name was there.
Typed. Spelled correctly. Not even a typo.
This wasn't an offer prepared tonight.
This had existed before he walked in.
"What is this?" Iren asked.
The man leaned back slightly. "A solution."
"That's not an answer."
"No," he agreed. "It isn't."
Iren swallowed. "You haven't explained the terms."
"You don't need all of them right now."
"I need to know what I'm agreeing to."
The man studied him for a moment, eyes cool, distant. Then he spoke, voice steady.
"You're agreeing to stability."
Iren let out a quiet, disbelieving breath. "That doesn't mean anything."
"It means your debt disappears."
The word hit harder than Iren expected.
Debt.
The notices. The calls. The final warning sitting unread in his inbox. The number that had grown too large to argue with and too urgent to ignore.
"And the investigation," the man continued. "It stops."
Iren's fingers tightened around the edge of the desk.
"You can't just-"
"I can," the man said gently. "And I will. Tonight."
Silence stretched between them.
The man leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. His gaze never wavered.
"In return," he said, "you'll relocate. You'll be available when required. You'll follow certain conditions regarding discretion and conduct."
Iren frowned. "This sounds like-"
"Structure," the man interrupted. "Not punishment."
"Why me?"
For the first time, something like amusement flickered across the man's face. It was brief. Controlled.
"Because you're desperate," he said. "And because you haven't run yet."
Iren looked down at the contract again.
The words blurred together, legal and dense. He caught fragments residence, duration, exclusivity of representation. Nothing explicit. Nothing that screamed danger.
Still, something felt off.
"You're asking for a lot," Iren said quietly.
"I'm offering more," the man replied.
Iren hesitated.
He thought of the account balance that had dropped to nothing. Of the message from the bank marked Final Notice. Of the consequences that would follow if this didn't end tonight.
"How long?" he asked.
The man tilted his head slightly. "As long as necessary."
"And if I say no?"
The answer came immediately.
"Then you leave," the man said. "And everything proceeds as it was."
They both knew what that meant.
Iren stared at the pen resting neatly beside the folder. It hadn't been handed to him. It had been placed there waiting.
"You assume I'll agree," Iren said.
The man's gaze softened not kindly, but confidently.
"You came," he said. "That was agreement enough."
Something about that made Iren's stomach twist.
"Do I get a copy?" he asked.
"Later."
Another pause.
Iren's hand hovered over the pen.
This wasn't safety.
It was control dressed up as rescue.
But rescue was still rescue.
He signed.
The pen felt heavier than it should have. His name curved across the line, familiar and final.
When he finished, the man took the folder back without comment. He didn't check the signature. He didn't smile.
He simply closed it.
"Good," he said, standing at last. "Then we'll start tonight."
Iren looked up. "Start what?"
The man walked toward the windows, his reflection dark against the city lights.
"Your new arrangement," he said calmly. "You'll be escorted home to collect your things."
"My things?" Iren echoed.
"You won't need many," the man replied. "Routine is easier when it's simple."
Iren opened his mouth to protest then stopped.
The guards were already waiting outside the door.
The man turned back, meeting Iren's eyes for the first time since he'd signed. Up close, his gaze was colder than Iren had expected. Not cruel. Not angry.
Certain.
"Oh," the man added, as if remembering something unimportant.
"You can call me Kael."
The door opened.
And just like that, Iren realized the meeting really had been brief.