The crackle of embers in the hearth provided the only soundtrack as Ren felt the foreign liquid coat his tongue. It was his first taste of expensive red wine—a vintage he wasn't even legally old enough to buy.
Before he swallowed, Ren recognized the moment for what it was: a golden opportunity. He wasn't about to let this emotional fracture go to waste.
Loneliness. Lust. Desperation.
The safe was hidden in the dressing room, and he knew General Aslan had secured the blueprints behind a code anchored to something deeply sentimental.
Ren spoke, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper, the kind shared between soldiers in a foxhole.
"I don't like doing things this way, Madame. But for tonight... I'll do whatever it takes."
Ren moved to seize control. After easing Lilith onto the sofa, his gloved hand clamped around her slender wrist. He pressed firmly against her pulse point—not a caress, but a tether. It was a touch that signaled dominance, cold and absolute.
Lilith gasped, startled by the sudden shift from warmth to clinical authority. Her free hand clawed at his arm. "Why are you... hurting me?"
Ren lowered his voice until it was barely a breath against her skin, yet vibrating with command. "If you feel broken by just this, how am I supposed to give you more? Should I stop?"
Lilith's fingers traced his rigid jawline before she gave a slow, shaky nod. A silent surrender. She didn't care what he did to her anymore.
Ren leaned in. He didn't hesitate to kiss her—a horrific act of manipulation. There was no romance in it; it was a probe, a tool for extraction. As his lips met hers, his grip on her wrist never faltered.
As Lilith began to respond, Ren increased the pressure on her arm, a subtle, constant sting. This collision of pleasure and pain left her psychologically stripped, raw and vulnerable.
"What is it you're holding onto?" Ren whispered between kisses, his voice a frigid directive. "That husband of yours who keeps you caged... is he really worth the loyalty?"
Lilith winced, caught in the crossfire of desire and realization. Every kiss felt like a forced betrayal. She panted, eyes squeezed shut. "Nothing! There's nothing! Only... only the day we were bound in that lie! The day I... I lost myself in this house!"
Ren inhaled, hunting for the key buried in her trauma. He trailed his lips from her mouth to the sensitive curve of her neck, whispering directly into the hollow of her ear. He was fishing for ghosts.
"Give me the date, Lilith," he said, using her name for the first time. The weight of it was a hook. "The day Aslan chained you here. Give me that day, and I'll take you away from this place."
Her voice broke, shattering under his cold precision. "Seventeen... nine... seventeen... seventeen-oh-nine! Seventeen-nine!"
1709.
Ren slowly pulled away. He had the key. His face instantly reverted to a mask of ice. Lilith's smile, born of a fleeting heat, froze on her face as her arms remained locked around his neck.
Without reaching for his blade, Ren's thumb found the pressure point beneath her ear—the sleeper's strike he'd mastered from his mentor. "Sleep, Lilith. Erase this night. Wake up and forget every second of this betrayal."
She slumped into the cushions, unconscious, looking like she was merely lost in a deep dream. No bruises. No noise. Only the heavy silence of the room.
Ren didn't look back. Walking down the hall, he swallowed an alcohol neutralizer from his utility pouch. Even a few sips could dull his edge, and he needed his mind sharp.
He breached Aslan's study with ease. Behind the vanity mirror, the safe waited. 1709. It clicked open. Blueprints secured.
Mission accomplished. As Ren stepped out into the night, he tasted copper in his mouth. He had used his body—and a kiss—as a jagged blade. A new trauma was etched into his marrow: the realization that intimacy was just another weapon for total, horrific manipulation.
As he cleared the perimeter, the older man's voice crackled through his earpiece, smug and satisfied. "Well done. Emotion is a lethal tool, and you wielded it efficiently. Now you know the price of perfection, Shiroi Hitsuji. The price is yourself."
Ren walked beneath a pale moon and discarded his beret. He knew. The price of that kiss was a permanent, visceral disgust for intimacy. A betrayal he had to commit to survive—a psychological scar he would carry into every room he ever entered.
EYE TOWER: THE PRESENT
The ghosts of Lilith and red wine evaporated as Ren's boot connected with the last agent's throat at the top of the stairwell. The man collapsed, his carotid artery failing under the blow. Ren was back in the reality of the Eye Tower: a silent, blood-splattered ruin. Two years later, and the bile still rose in his throat.
He scooped up the agent's pistol and checked the mag. One round left. Enough to finish the job, but zero margin for error.
Ren reached the top-floor fire door. Bullet grazes burned on his limbs; his lungs were on fire. He'd survived thirty minutes of absolute hell. The pain from the alcohol neutralizer's side effects was fading, replaced by a hollow, bone-deep exhaustion. He rolled his aching left shoulder and adjusted his blood-stained gloves.
He couldn't go up without alerting CUBE. This was a dead end. He tapped his earpiece.
"Isaac, Vera," Ren's voice was low, clipped. "Give me ten minutes."
Silence on the other end.
"If I'm not at Extraction Point A in ten, leak the coup. Go anonymous. Bring the police down on this tower, but make sure they don't know who sent the tip."
"Ren, what do you mean ten minutes? Why—?" Vera's voice was thick with panic.
"That's Plan B. If I fail." Ren paused. "Isaac, scrub the digital firewall for my exit. I'm cutting the feed."
"What? It's easier if I guide you out—"
"The rest of this is personal. Stay out of it." Ren's voice left no room for argument.
He severed the connection and shoved the earpiece into his pocket. Now, it was just him, the pain, one bullet, and Aslan. He wouldn't let them hear what was about to come out of Aslan's mouth. They didn't need to know the truth about Shiroi Hitsuji.
Ren shoved the metal door open. The freezing rooftop wind slapped his face.
On the helipad, Aslan stood waiting, his designer coat billowing like a shroud. The chopper's blades were already spinning, a low, rhythmic thrum. Aslan glanced back as Ren stumbled onto the roof—bleeding, battered, but still standing.
Ren's left shoulder screamed in protest. He held his breath, the dried blood on his gloves feeling stiff and brittle.
"You took your time, Shiroi Hitsuji," Aslan said casually, as if waiting for a drink. He didn't turn around, but his presence dominated the skyline. "I was worried your internal reset would leave you unconscious on the stairs. I was starting to get bored."
"You weren't going anywhere until you saw me," Ren rasped, his voice shredded by exhaustion. "That's why I took my time. You're here to kill me yourself, aren't you?"
Aslan let out a soft laugh that didn't reach his eyes. "Of course. Your pride is too great to let this coup look like a simple terrorist attack blamed on you. I need a witness for this gun."
Aslan finally turned. The smile died. The wind whipped his blonde hair, revealing eyes fueled by pure, unadulterated hatred—something much deeper than politics.
"You know... after that night, Lilith lost her mind. Psychological trauma. She screamed every night. I tried to be patient. I tried to find the root... and then I found out it was you."
The words cut deeper than any bullet. It was a challenge to Ren's very humanity.
"I'm not here to deny it, General," Ren replied, his voice turning into shards of ice. "But the truth is, your wife kissed me first. She's the one who poured the wine down my throat. Tell me... what was a seventeen-year-old Shiroi Hitsuji supposed to do in that position?"
The taunt hit its mark. "You..." Aslan growled, his jaw tightening.
The time for wordplay was over. Aslan reached into his coat and pulled out his sidearm—the same model that had ended Frey's life.
Ren recognized the weapon. The modified muzzle, the engravings on the grip—it was the missing link. The provocation had worked. Aslan had produced the murder weapon that would tie him directly to Baron Frey's execution.
Ren raised his pistol. One bullet.
"Guns aren't toys for children," Aslan hissed.
They stood fifteen meters apart. The chopper waited behind the General. Ren had one shot in the chamber and twin daggers in his harness.
Ren didn't wait for Aslan to fire first. With a searing fire in his eyes, he pulled the trigger.
BANG!