Miles away.
The White House.
THUMP—
The door tore from its hinges and skidded across the marble in a shriek of metal.
A guard followed it in, dragged by the ankle. Bleeding. Conscious, barely.
Archangel released him.
"He'll live."
The body slammed against the conference table, streaking blood across polished steel.
Ryuzaki didn't flinch.
He sighed.
"Unnecessary."
He stood.
A handgun slid into his palm with a soft metallic click.
"Don't," Archangel warned. "Not one move."
Ryuzaki adjusted his tie.
"If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't have reached the hallway."
A beat.
He gestured to a chair.
"Sit."
"I didn't come here to—"
"I didn't kill your son, John."
John's breath caught.
For a second — just a second — his grip loosened.
"How do you know that name?" His voice wasn't steady.
He hated that it wasn't steady.
Ryuzaki watched him carefully.
"I also know who killed Alex."
Something in John's chest folded in on itself.
"Your lab did," he said — but it came out thinner than he intended.
"No."
Ryuzaki stepped closer.
"I made him stronger."
John let out a laugh. It cracked halfway through.
"You took my boy," he whispered.
"You put needles in his veins and called it improvement."
The screen flickered.
Gunshot.
The frozen frame lit John's face blue.
He didn't blink.
"That's—not." he paused
"Real."
Ryuzaki leaned in.
"You know it is."
John's jaw trembled.
"Who pulled the trigger?"
"Raegal's son."
The room tilted.
John reached for the table to steady himself.
"No," he breathed. "No, Raegal wouldn't—"
His voice collapsed.
Ryuzaki placed a hand on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry for your loss, John."
And this time John didn't shove it away.
"I can help you," Ryuzaki said softly.
John looked up.
His eyes hollow.
"I can help you kill them."