The footage looped again and again in the crisis room.
Three transports in a narrow tunnel. A sudden blackout. Static. Then, in jerky fragments pieced together from half‑fried drones and corridor cams, the rest:
Lightning.
Smoke.
A barricade that hadn't been there twenty seconds earlier.
And Aiden Lioren stepping out of the security vehicle with his hands empty.
Mara watched herself on the screen, shield up, weapon drawn, shouting words she barely remembered saying.
"Step away from the Deviant."
Aiden's reply was lost under a burst of interference, but the images didn't need sound. They showed enough.
They showed him turning his back on her.
"Freeze it there," Director Lioren said.
The tech hit a key. The image locked on Aiden facing the camera by accident, eyes lit by emergency red.
A silence settled around the table.
Unit captains, division heads, Internal Security everyone sat in neat rows under the cold lights, every gaze fixed on the still frame of the Director's son becoming proof.
"Time stamp," Hadrien said.
"09:41," the tech replied. "Nine minutes after the convoy left Holding."
"Casualties," Hadrien said.
Mara kept her voice level.
"Four agents injured," she said. "Two with serious burns, two with concussions and minor fractures. No fatalities. Two civilians on the surface reported minor shock from residual magic when the tunnels overloaded. Medical has them."
"And the subject," Hadrien said. "And my son."
She stared at the frozen image.
"Gone," Mara said. "Taken by the group that calls itself the Network. Led by the woman we've classified as L‑Contact Seven."
"Lysa," one of the Internal officers said. "She finally has a name to put with a prize."
Hadrien's jaw flexed once.
"Play the rest," he said.
The image jumped.
Aiden moving toward the barricade. Mara firing, the bolt slamming into his chest. His body hitting the ground, then disappearing behind scrap. Lightning crackling as Kael struck back but the angle never quite caught his face.
Then the key moment:
Aiden at the transport's door. Aiden beside Kael's ankle restraints. Aiden releasing them.
Someone at the table swore under their breath.
Hadrien's fingers curled into fists on the tabletop.
"Stop," he said softly.
The screen froze again.
Mara kept her eyes on the edge of the table instead. If she looked up at the Director's face, she wasn't sure what she'd see there, and she didn't trust herself not to flinch.
"Captain," Hadrien said. "Your assessment."
Everyone in the room turned slightly toward her.
She could feel it expectation, judgment, something uglier under the surface. Unit Alpha had always been held up as a model. And Aiden had always been proof of that model.
Until now.
"He had opportunities to disable the subject and chose not to," Mara said. Her throat felt dry. "He destroyed the tether control instead of using it. He assisted in the escape. He actively impeded our response. Every action points to deliberate collaboration."
The words tasted like metal.
Internal Security Director Varrin leaned forward.
"In other words," he said, "this was not a moment of panic. It was treason."
"Yes," Mara said.
The truth of it landed in the room like a weight.
Not an accident. Not a mistake.
A choice.
"And you?" Varrin went on. "Did you have any indication he was capable of this before today?"
Mara thought of late‑night reports, quiet arguments in her office, the way Aiden's jaw clenched every time someone said "subject" instead of "Kael."
"Yes," she wanted to say.
She thought of the Board, of how quickly they burned people who admitted they'd missed an early warning.
"No," she said carefully. "Agent Lioren has always questioned methods, never purpose. I believed his doubts made him thorough, not compromised."
"You were wrong," Varrin said.
"Yes," Mara said again.
Across the table, someone shifted.
"It's not that simple," Captain Ren from another unit said. "We push them to be adaptive, to think on their feet, and then we act surprised when one of them thinks too far. He grew up in this building. You can't act like he walked in from nowhere."
"Exactly," a younger commander snapped. "He grew up inside our system. If even he can be turned—"
"Enough," Hadrien said.
The room fell silent.
He stood, the lights casting hard shadows along the lines of his face.
"Agent Aiden Lioren," he said, the title sharp with distance, "has betrayed his oath, his unit, and this Department. Personal history does not change that. The principles we defend do not bend because the one violating them shares my name."
Someone at the back murmured, "He's really doing it," under their breath.
Hadrien continued.
"Effective immediately," he said, "Aiden Lioren is stripped of rank and status. An open warrant is issued for his arrest. He is to be considered armed and magically capable. Any unit that encounters him will treat him as a hostile actor."
Mara's fingers tightened around the stylus in her hand until the plastic creaked.
She had known this was coming. Hearing it aloud still hit like a blow.
"What about Unit Alpha?" Ren asked. "We all saw the footage. Half his team was on that convoy. How do you expect them to function after this?"
"By remembering where their loyalty lies," Hadrien said. "With the city. Not with one agent, however familiar."
Varrin tapped a file open on his tablet.
"There is another concern," he said. "The subject. E‑73. Before today, he was a classified asset. Now he's a symbol. The Network will use this. 'Even the Director's son saw the truth,' that sort of thing."
A murmur of uneasy agreement circled the table.
"We have to control the narrative," Varrin said. "Fast."
Hadrien nodded once.
"PR is already drafting statements," he said. "Agent compromised by prolonged exposure to a high‑output Deviant. Emotional manipulation. We emphasize that the system detected the anomaly and is correcting it. We do not feed the story that this was ideology."
Mara's stomach twisted.
You're going to tell the city he was weak, she thought. Not that he looked at what we were doing and said no.
"Captain Mara," Hadrien said. "You will lead the retrieval operation."
The room shifted again.
"Sir?" she asked.
"You fought beside him," Hadrien said. "You understand his tactical habits. You know how he thinks. That makes you the best chance we have of predicting his next moves."
"Or the worst," someone muttered. "If she missed this—"
"Do you have an objection, Captain?" Hadrien asked, ignoring the voice.
Mara swallowed.
"No," she said. "Just a request."
His brows lifted.
"Let the record show," she said, "that until he is in custody, I will treat my former agent as a hostile with lethal capacity. But I would prefer to bring him in alive."
"Out of sentiment?" Varrin asked dryly.
"Out of practicality," Mara said. "We will need answers. And an execution doesn't give us many."
Hadrien studied her for a long moment.
"Very well," he said. "Alive, if possible. But if he endangers your people—"
"I know the protocol," Mara said.
"See that you follow it," he replied.
***
Outside the crisis room, the corridors hummed with rumors before the official memo even hit.
Aiden's name floated in half‑heard conversations. Some agents spoke it in disbelief, some in anger, a few in a low tone that sounded too close to admiration.
In the Unit Alpha locker room, Rian slammed his fist into the metal of his locker hard enough to sting.
The panel rattled.
"Say it again," Jessa said quietly from the bench across from him.
Rian dragged a hand through his hair.
"They're calling him a traitor," he said. "Treason, collaboration, compromised pick your word. They're printing it on his file in letters big enough to read from orbit."
Jessa's jaw clenched.
"That's not what I asked," she said. "Do you believe it?"
Rian stared at the floor.
Images flashed through his head: Aiden taking hits in training without complaint. Aiden staying late to go over rookies' reports. Aiden's face after the raid, tight with something he hadn't wanted to name.
"He walked out with the Deviant," Rian said. "He chose that. So, yeah. He did it."
"That's not the same as believing he's the villain in the story," Jessa said.
Rian laughed once, bitter.
"Villain, hero....those aren't words we get to use," he said. "We get 'authorized' or 'unauthorized.' He flipped categories. That's all they care about."
He kicked the locker door.
"He could've talked to us," he added. "He could've said something."
"And what would you have done?" Jessa asked. "Reported him? Covered for him?"
"I don't know," Rian said. "That's the point."
He sank onto the bench beside her.
"My little brother asked me once if Aiden was what a 'perfect agent' looked like," Rian said. "What am I supposed to tell him now?"
"That perfection doesn't exist," Jessa said. "And that sometimes the people who look like the standard are just good at hiding how much they're breaking."
Rian shook his head.
"He's not the only one they're looking at," he said. "Internal called me in for 'questions' after debrief. How long I'd known him, if I'd noticed any change in behavior, if he ever talked about the subject outside official channels."
"And?" Jessa asked.
"And I told them he was annoying and drank too much terrible coffee," Rian said. "Anything else is between him and whatever line he crossed."
Jessa exhaled.
"Careful," she said. "That sounds like loyalty."
"It sounds like tired," Rian replied. "They already decided what he is. The only question now is how much of that splashes on us."
He looked up at the Unit Alpha insignia painted on the wall.
"I don't know what scares me more," he said quietly. "That he left… or that a part of me understands why."
***
In the Director's private office, the crisis room's cold light gave way to something softer.
Not kinder.
Just less public.
Hadrien stood by the window again, the city washed clean by the last of the rain. On the screen behind his desk, the official statement from PR scrolled past.
AGENT COMPROMISED DURING HIGH‑RISK OPERATION.
ONGOING INVESTIGATION INTO EXTERNAL INFLUENCE.
DEPARTMENT REMAINS COMMITTED TO ORDER AND SAFETY.
Words that said everything and nothing.
He closed the window with a flick of his hand.
On the shelf by his desk, a small holo frame glowed quietly.
A younger Aiden stared out from it thirteen, maybe, in an ill‑fitting training uniform, hair sticking up in the back from a helmet he'd rushed to pull off. He held a practice staff at an awkward angle, pride and awkwardness fighting for space on his face.
Hadrien picked up the frame.
"You were supposed to be better than this," he said softly to the image.
Better than questioning.
Better than breaking.
Better than him.
The console on his desk chimed.
"Director," Varrin's voice came through. "The Board is expecting an update within the hour. They want assurance this won't spread."
"Of course they do," Hadrien said.
He set the frame down, face‑down on the desk.
"Tell them," he said, "that the Department will respond with strength. We will crack down on the Network. We will use this as leverage to tighten Deviant protocols across all sectors."
"And your son?" Varrin asked. "They'll ask about him."
Hadrien's hand tightened on the edge of the desk.
"You have my authorization," he said, each word precise, "to treat him as you would any hostile asset. Bring him in if you can. If you can't—contain the threat."
There was a brief pause on the line.
"As you wish," Varrin said.
The channel cut.
Hadrien stood alone in the quiet office, the city lights starting to spark back on through the fading clouds.
He didn't pick up the holo again.
***
By evening, the city knew.
Screens in transport hubs flashed with the alert: a grainy image of Kael's profile beside a crisp one of Aiden's ID photo.
WANTED FOR ATTACK ON DEPARTMENT CONVOY.
IF SEEN, DO NOT APPROACH. REPORT IMMEDIATELY.
In the cafeteria, young recruits clustered around one of the screens, whispers rising and falling.
"That's him?" one of them asked. "The Director's kid?"
"Was," another said. "He's something else now."
A third shook their head.
"No way," they said. "He helped train my intake. He was strict, but he wasn't… this."
The first recruit pointed at the crawling text.
"Doesn't matter what he was," he said. "That's what he is to the city now."
At a corner table, Mara sat with a tray she hadn't touched.
Her comm buzzed on the table.
New orders.
TASK FORCE: DESIGNATION ORION.
OBJECTIVE: LOCATE AND RETRIEVE SUBJECT E‑73 AND ROGUE AGENT AIDEN LIOREN.
COMMAND: CAPTAIN MARA SAREL.
Beneath the text, a familiar image loaded.
Aiden's official portrait.
Name, rank, classification.
A single new word appended to the bottom.
THREAT.
She stared at the letters until they blurred.
Then she picked up the comm and keyed a message to Unit Alpha.
BRIEFING AT 0600.
WE HAVE A NEW TARGET.
Her fingers hovered over the send key.
For a second, she almost typed his name.
Instead, she sent it as it was.
New target. Not new traitor. Not Aiden.
Just a job.
When the message flashed away, she sat back and let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
"You did this to yourself, Lioren," she murmured.
But the echo that came back in her head was different.
*We did this to you, too.*
She pushed the thought away.
There wasn't room for it.
Not if she was going to be the one leading the hunt.