The moment I accepted that I couldn't hide Lina anymore, everything changed.
Not externally.
Internally.
Preparation stopped being theoretical.
It became logistical.
The alchemy domain adjusted the instant the thought finalized. Not because I commanded it to—but because it recognized intent. That had always been the real function of the domain. It didn't obey orders. It aligned to resolve inevitabilities.
I stood at the central table while Lina sat cross-legged on the floor, watching sigils drift and reassemble with that quiet, unnerving focus of hers. She was getting better at seeing things before they finished becoming visible.
Too good.
I began cataloguing contingencies.
Not for a fight.
For exposure.
If the government noticed Lina's awakening directly.
If Justice forced contact.
If another Saint sensed her resonance.
If the proxy, Damon escalated.
If she spoke without realizing the weight her words carried.
Each branch collapsed into a narrower set of viable responses.
Protecting Lina no longer meant concealment.
It meant positioning.
"Neo," Lina said suddenly.
I didn't look up. "Yes?"
"Why does this feel like you're building exits instead of walls?"
I paused.
That was… accurate.
"Because walls delay," I said. "Exits decide."
She frowned, clearly sensing more than I was saying, but she didn't push. She rarely did anymore. Truth didn't need to be chased—it arrived on its own schedule.
I finalized the last construct.
A passive stabilizer—not suppression this time, but distribution. If Lina's bio-mark surged, it would bleed excess manifestation into harmless symbolic outputs. Patterns. Light distortions. Minor probability corrections. Nothing traceable. Nothing panicked.
No cage. A buffer.
"This is temporary," I told her, finally turning. "Sooner or later, people will notice you."
She nodded slowly. "I know."
That answer bothered me more than fear would have.
"Do you?" I asked.
She hesitated, then shook her head. "Not like you do. But… I know it's coming."
Of course she did.
Saint of Truth.
She didn't see futures.
She felt inevitability.
I exhaled and dismantled the table, folding the domain inward until the room became smaller, quieter, more human.
Because hiding was no longer an option.
Which meant the next step wasn't secrecy.
It was timing.
⸻
The opportunity came sooner than expected.
I was present remotely—filtered feed, no biometric trace—watching a closed governmental briefing unfold from inside the domain.
Director Hale.
Elias Harrow.
And two Saints physically present.
Eli Origami. The Saint of Will.
Blake Rogers. The Saint of Courage.
They were talking about Justice.
Again.
Projected maps hovered above the table, layered with predictive models and probability cones—each one dressed up as certainty. Fear, disguised as confidence.
"He won't move yet," Elias said. "All indicators suggest he's still consolidating."
Blake Rogers adds. "He's cautious. Almost excessively so."
Beside me, Lina stiffened.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Something didn't fit.
I felt it before she spoke—her attention narrowing, reality around her subtly… correcting itself.
"That's wrong," she whispered.
Only to me.
I didn't look at her.
Didn't react.
Didn't let a single thread of attention slip.
My presence in the feed remained unchanged.
"Neo?" Eli's voice came through the channel. "You've been quiet."
I waited half a second.
Just enough.
Then I spoke.
"That assumption is incorrect," I said calmly. "Justice isn't consolidating."
Several heads turned toward the projection anchoring my avatar.
Director Hale frowned. "On what basis?"
"Because consolidation implies preparation," I replied. "Justice is past that stage."
I felt Lina's gaze snap to me.
She hadn't explained how she knew.
She didn't need to.
"He's already positioned everything he needs," I continued evenly. "What he's doing now is waiting."
A low murmur spread across the table.
"Waiting for what?" Eli asked.
"For you, Eli— Blake Rogers." I said. "For me. For other Saints."
Silence fell hard.
Eli's eyes narrowed—not in suspicion, but recognition. He knew that tone. I wasn't guessing.
Director Hale leaned forward slowly.
"So he really wants all bio-marked individuals together."
"Yes," I said. "I did speak with him. But he never stated it that plainly."
I paused—just long enough to let the weight settle.
"I know it because that's how he sees himself," I continued. "In his mind, he's saving us. All bio-marked people. From a world where powerless individuals decide our worth."
Blake shifted in his seat. "That's a hell of a justification."
"It's a consistent one," I replied.
The room stayed quiet as they listened.
"He isn't in a hurry," I said. "Everything he needs is already in place. He's simply waiting for my answer."
The models flickered as analysts recalculated in real time, confidence bleeding out of their projections.
Elias Harrow finally spoke. "And what answer does he think you'll give?"
I didn't respond immediately.
Because beside me, Lina's presence shifted again—not louder, not brighter—but cleaner. Like static being removed from a signal.
"He believes," I said carefully, "that I'll agree with him."
Director Hale's expression tightened. "And will you?"
I met the projection's gaze.
"Well, I wouldn't stand against him blindly," I said. "But I also don't promise alignment."
"That's not reassuring," Blake muttered.
"It's honest," I replied.
Elias Harrow spoke. "If Justice is waiting on you, that makes you the pivot point."
"Yes," I agreed. "Which is exactly why he hasn't moved."
Eli exhaled slowly. "He's treating this like negotiation."
"No," I corrected. "He's treating it like inevitability."
The room absorbed that.
I felt Lina's fingers curl slightly against her sleeve.
She wasn't seeing outcomes.
She was removing lies.
And the biggest lie in the room had just collapsed.
Director Hale straightened. "Then what do you recommend?"
I already knew what I would say.
"Nothing," I replied. "Not yet."
That drew reactions.
"You're suggesting we wait?" Blake demanded.
"I'm suggesting," I said calmly, "that acting first is exactly what Justice wants. If we move prematurely, we validate his narrative—that you're afraid of Saints gathering, unless you control them."
Blake scoffed. "So we just let him sit?"
"We let him wait," I said. "Because the longer he waits, the more this becomes about choice instead of force."
Silence again.
The meeting wound down shortly after—orders deferred, surveillance refined, no decisive action taken.
Exactly what Justice expected.
I severed the feed cleanly.
The projections vanished.
The domain went quiet.
Lina finally exhaled. "They almost saw it."
"They didn't," I said.
"But they're getting closer."
"Yes," I agreed.
I turned to her then, really looking.
And there it was again—her energy correcting itself, smoothing over fractures in reality that shouldn't have been visible to anyone.
Not yet.
"They can't see you," I said softly. "And they won't. Not until you're ready."
She swallowed. "And if Justice already is?"
I didn't answer immediately.
Because that was the real question.
"No," I said finally. "He suspects. That's not the same thing."
I reached out and gently adjusted the domain's flow, tightening the concealment around her bio-mark—carefully this time. Any tighter and I'd hurt her.
"That was the last time I let you be this close to the surface," I added.
She nodded. "Okay."
Good.
Because from this point on, the board wasn't just shifting.
It was narrowing.
And if Justice thought I was the final piece he needed—
He was about to learn that some answers change the moment you think you've earned them.
Justice would feel that shift.
The government would adjust their board without ever realizing why.
And Lina?
She would remain unseen.
Not because she was weak.
But because the world wasn't ready for what happened when truth stood in the room—and refused to let lies stay comfortable.
"It's starting," I said quietly.
She nodded, still frightened—but steady.
Good.
Because from this point forward, my role wasn't just to plan for the future.
It was to decide who never gets sacrificed to it.
⸻
Justice received the update without expression.
No flare of anger.
No surprise.
Just stillness.
Damon's report ended. The channel closed. The room returned to its quiet hum—machines thinking, data organizing itself into patterns that most people would never notice.
Justice stood at the center of it all.
"So," he said softly, mostly to himself, "they hesitate."
He walked between suspended projections—government response curves, Saint-alignment forecasts, sociopolitical fracture points. Every model showed the same flaw.
Fear of escalation.
Fear of losing control.
Fear of Saints.
"They always mistake restraint for weakness," Justice murmured.
He reached out and expanded one projection—the government's latest posture. Defensive. Reactive. Waiting for Neo to decide before committing to anything irreversible.
Waiting.
His lips curved slightly.
"Wisdom has taught them patience," he said. "But not courage."
Justice clasped his hands behind his back.
"They claim they want stability," he continued. "Yet they leave the fate of the gifted in the hands of the ungifted. Committees. Votes. Permissions."
His tone cooled.
"As if power ever asked for approval."
He stopped before a second projection—Anomalies dispersal density across countries. Isolated. Watched. Regulated. Neutralized when convenient.
"History already proved this arrangement fails," he said. "Again and again."
He exhaled slowly.
"If they will not move," Justice said, eyes hardening, "then eventually… I will."
Not yet.
But the calculation had been made.
Force was no longer unthinkable.
It was simply inefficient—for now.
"Wisdom will answer," Justice said. "He always does."
And if he didn't—
Justice's gaze darkened.
"Then I'll take the board myself."
⸻
The pressure came two days later.
Not as an accusation.
Not as a threat.
Those were ineffective with me.
It came as concern.
"Neo," Elias Harrow said, folding his hands atop the table, "you're asking us to tolerate a man who has already violated our sovereignty."
I sat across from him, remote feed anchored, expression neutral.
"I'm asking you not to provoke him," I replied. "There's a difference."
Blake Rogers leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, eyes sharp. He'd been quiet since the briefing. He is never quiet. That alone meant something.
"You speak like you understand him," Blake said. "Too well."
I met his gaze. "I do."
Blake frowned. "Then tell me this—if Justice believes he's saving bio-marked people… what happens to everyone else?"
A fair question.
Harrow watched me carefully now.
I didn't answer immediately.
Because the honest answer was uncomfortable.
"He doesn't see it as killing," I said finally. "He sees it as correction."
Blake muttered, "That's not reassuring."
"It shouldn't be," I replied.
Harrow leaned forward. "Neo, where do you stand in this?"
There it was.
Not Justice's question.
The government's.
I thought of my mother's voice.
Of Lina sitting quietly in the domain, truth pressing against the walls of the world.
Of Saints ruling together—not as tyrants, as it was in my past life, mostly cause of myself— but as custodians.
"I stand," I said calmly, "with who I refuse to abandon."
Blake blinked. "That's not an answer."
"It is," I said. "Just not one you can model."
Silence stretched.
Harrow exhaled slowly. "You're asking us to trust you."
"No," I corrected. "I'm asking you not to corner me."
Blake straightened. "And if Justice moves first?"
I looked at him.
"Then I'll stop him," I said.
"And if he's right?" Blake pressed.
I didn't look away.
"Then I'll make sure he's wrong in the ways that matter."
The room fell quiet. They didn't like that.
But they understood it.
And somewhere, far away, Justice was making the same calculation—
wondering whether the world would kneel willingly…
or need to be taught why Saints were never meant to be ruled by fear.
⸻
Ironwood Academy didn't change just because the world had.
That was the lie it sold best.
Morning announcements still crackled through old speakers. Students still complained about tests, about teachers, about food that tasted like cardboard no matter how it was prepared. Lockers still slammed. Laughter still echoed down halls that pretended they weren't standing on fault lines.
I walked through it all like I hadn't just been discussed in rooms designed to decide the fate of nations.
Normal.
Too normal.
Lina walked beside me, notebook tucked under her arm, eyes forward. Anyone watching would see nothing unusual. Just two students heading to class.
But the space around her felt… quieter now.
Not empty.
Filtered.
My concealment protocols were holding—but only because I kept adjusting them in real time. Her bio-mark didn't push outward like Eli's had. It corrected. Smoothed. Subtly rejected inconsistencies in the environment.
Truth didn't flare.
It aligned.
"You're thinking too loud," Lina said softly without looking at me.
"I'm not thinking," I replied. "I'm calculating."
She hummed. "That's worse."
I almost smiled.
We passed the courtyard. A group of students clustered near the benches—Eli among them. He caught my eye and lifted a hand in greeting.
I nodded back.
Normal.
But I could feel it under the surface.
Eyes lingering a second too long.
Conversations that paused when I passed.
Teachers watching me not with suspicion—but with concern.
Fear masquerading as caution.
By third period, it crystallized.
A message pinged my phone.
Not Justice.
Not the proxy, Damon.
A government channel.
Low priority.
Polite wording.
Mandatory undertones.
Mr. Cole, your presence is requested for a follow-up assessment. Today. After classes.
Assessment.
That word again.
I didn't reply.
At lunch, Eli slid into the seat across from me like nothing was wrong.
"Place feels tense," he said, biting into an apple. "You notice?"
"Yes."
"They asked me questions this morning," he added casually. "About you."
I looked up.
He shrugged. "Not bad ones. Just… careful ones."
Of course they were.
They weren't tightening the noose.
They were reinforcing the leash.
"They're scared," Eli continued. "Justice rattled them. And you didn't reassure them the way they wanted."
I leaned back. "Reassurance implies obedience."
Eli snorted. "Yeah. That tracks."
He hesitated, then asked, "You thinking of joining him?"
The table went quiet.
Not because of the question.
Because of who was sitting nearby.
Lina didn't look at either of us. She stirred her drink slowly, expression neutral—but the air around her rejected the premise before I even answered.
"I'm thinking," I said carefully, "that the government believes neutrality is betrayal."
Eli frowned. "That's not an answer."
"It's the only one they're going to get."
He studied me for a moment, then sighed. "Figures."
The bell rang. Classes resumed.
Normal.