Without hesitation, Erion closed the distance between them, his movements a blur of precision. Dropping to both knees beside the fallen man, he positioned himself expertly, his legs enveloping the man's head, effectively trapping it between his thighs. His piercing blue eyes locked onto the intruder's, cold and unyielding, as he maintained complete control over the situation.
His hand moved with practiced ease to the dagger at his side, its blade still bearing the marks from his last mission. He drew it swiftly, pressing the cold tip against the man's throat—a clear warning. The intruder's sluggish movements and the sagging suit betrayed his frailty.
Without a word, Erion grasped the mask, ripping it away in one smooth motion. Recognition hit him like a jolt.
Bunny?
For a fleeting moment, she caught a glimpse of it—Erion's shocked expression, followed by a flash of disappointment. In an instant, as quick as his strike, those emotions vanished. But when she looked down at him, there was no mistaking the look in his eyes. It was the same cold, detached stare he reserved for his enemies, for the perpetrator… for her. At that moment, she realized exactly where she stood.
Her long brown hair spread across the cold floor like a dark river, and time seemed to stretch, freeze. A heavy guilt began to gnaw at her insides. Erion had saved her twice, each time risking his life for hers. Yet despite the magnitude of his actions, a troubling thought lingered in her mind. Could he really trust him?
Erion's gaze shifted, and without a word, he moved to his desk. He pressed a button beneath it, and with a soft hiss, the dagger that had been aimed at her was retracted. Evah had no idea what the mechanism was or what its purpose might be, but for now, her thoughts were too tangled to focus on anything but the weight of Erion's presence pinning her down. She struggled to breathe, to move—his pressure felt unyielding. But she knew better than to dwell on her own helplessness. Now was not the time for weakness.
"Damn it, Bunny," she barely heard him mutter, the words like a whisper on the edge of her awareness.
Erion's gaze returned to her, his expression as impassive as ever, before it flicked to the two folders scattered across the floor. 'Yuka Iekami - Survivor,' one read. 'Evallythia Arsenault,' the other. With a quiet exhale, Erion's eyes narrowed as realization struck. He sighed deeply, standing abruptly, his swift movements betraying his inner frustration.
The fear hit her then. How easily could Erion have killed her? How effortlessly he had subdued her. His power, his control—she felt both humbled and terrified in equal measure. Her body froze, her pulse pounding in her ears as she lay there, vulnerable and exposed.
Erion looked down at her, his expression unreadable once more, before extending a hand. There was hesitation in her movement as she reached up to take it, her mind racing with questions, unsure whether she should trust him. Fear tightened around her—what if something, anything, set him off again?
"Are you here for her location?" Erion's voice was clinical, devoid of emotion, as he pulled the folder from the floor.
Evah nodded, her throat tight with anxiety. He was right, but only partly. She also wondered if they knew about what she had discovered—if Erion was really the Major General in that uniform. It was a thought she shouldn't entertain, yet deep down, she couldn't help but question: was she truly safe within the CGO? And could she really trust him?
"I told you," Erion continued, his voice colder now, "this is for her safety." He helped her to sit, guiding her to the nearest chair. The plush cushion did nothing to ease her tension; she felt more trapped than ever. The momentary relief vanished as Erion's movements were swift again, his hands now locking a set of handcuffs behind her. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized she was bound.
"What—?" She gasped, realizing her hands were bound. She turned to Erion, but his expression had shifted back to that familiar, cold, devilish mask. What was that for? Why had he switched back to his emotionless façade just to restrain her like this?
She had no right to complain—she knew that. But the confusion twisted inside her. She had already been pinned to the ground, completely at his mercy. If he wanted to, he could extract any information he needed from her. The fear was overwhelming; for a moment, she feared she might surrender just from the pressure alone.
"You know," Erion's voice broke the silence, low and dangerous, "I could have you executed for this."
The words landed like a weight in her chest, sinking her deeper into dread. She had seen executions before, the kind that the law justified, all for the protection of the CGO. The thought of death wasn't foreign to her, but hearing it so casually from him was terrifying.
Her heart raced, self-loathing mixing with the icy fear that gripped her. She should have thought this through. She should have known better.
Without even realizing it, her gaze dropped to the floor, following the movement of Erion's boots as he circled her like a predator.
"Now," Erion's voice was unyielding, "tell me, who do you work for?"
His hand grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his cold, indifferent eyes. But Evah refused to look at him, her mind a storm of uncertainty. She had told him the truth—she wasn't working for anyone. But after everything that had happened, she knew he would never believe her.
She heard him exhale, a low sound of frustration, before he leaned closer, his form looming over her. His presence was suffocating, and the tension in the air thickened.
"Listen," he said, his voice shifting slightly, "You'd prefer I pin you down to the floor again, wouldn't you? I can easily do that." The mockery in his tone was familiar, but the look in his eyes told a different story. It was cold, calculating.
"I could torture you for information right now," he continued, his voice flat, "You know the rules, right? Everything is recorded, and you know what comes next if you don't cooperate."
Evah's stomach twisted. This wasn't about her safety anymore. This was about control, about power. She was caught in the web of this dangerous game, and she hated herself for being here.
Why did I do this? she thought, struggling to make sense of everything. Her thoughts kept circling back to the dream—the dream that had haunted her.
Erion stepped even closer, his face now mere inches from hers. The air between them crackled with danger, and for a moment, his expression softened, but only just. "Bunny," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper, "Don't make this harder than it needs to be."
She was frozen in place, her mind torn between trust and fear. Should she tell him the truth? But what if the truth only made everything worse? If he knew what she truly knew, what would he do then?
Notes:
The Cloak Cadre—a covert division within the Grand Covenant Order, specializing in intelligence gathering and analysis. They didn't fight in the frontlines. Their battlefield was one of secrets, shadows, and surveillance. They tracked political movements, intercepted communications, and analyzed enemy military activities. Their work provided vital insights, shaping the strategic decisions of the Order. But the Cloak wasn't built for combat.
Ironclad — The powerful and unyielding arm of the Grand Covenant. They are the muscle, executing the most dangerous missions with precision. Made up of physically imposing individuals, their expertise lies in hand-to-hand combat, large-scale operations, and executing high-risk strategies that demand exceptional strength and skill. Ironclad members are sent to the front lines, where their training and combat prowess are essential to carrying out the Order's most complex missions.