The med unit arrived within minutes — black armored vans rolling through the construction site like a military convoy. Floodlights washed the area in harsh white, making the blood on the concrete look almost black.
Jack was lifted onto a stretcher, pain flaring as his broken body was moved.
Crowe walked beside him the entire time.
Jack noticed the woman in white watching them from across the site, her silver eyes never leaving him. Even as she spoke into her communicator, even as bodies were covered and loaded away, her gaze stayed fixed on Jack.
Like she was memorizing him.
The voice inside Jack stirred.
"She will not forget you."
Jack squeezed his eyes shut.
The stretcher slid into the back of one of the vans. Crowe climbed in after him, sitting on a fold-down seat opposite.
The doors shut.
The world became quiet.
Jack's breathing was the only sound.
Crowe studied him for a long moment.
"You don't look like a murderer," Crowe said at last.
Jack swallowed. "I don't feel like a hero."
Crowe almost smiled.
"Good," he said. "Heroes usually die first."
The van began to move.
Jack stared at the ceiling, watching the lights slide past.
"Are they going to kill me?" he asked.
Crowe didn't answer right away.
"No," he said finally. "They're going to try to understand you."
Jack's heart sank. "Is that better?"
Crowe looked out the window, jaw tight.
"Not always."
The voice inside Jack whispered, amused.
"You are becoming interesting."
Jack closed his eyes.
And somewhere far above, a path toward hell quietly opened.
The facility wasn't on any map.
Jack only knew they'd stopped moving when the engine noise faded and the van's doors opened to a blinding white light. The air was colder here, cleaner, almost sterile — the kind of place where nothing was allowed to bleed unless someone ordered it.
He was wheeled through long corridors of glass and steel. Men and women in dark uniforms watched him pass with eyes that held no curiosity, only calculation.
Crowe never left his side.
Jack noticed that. Not even when they passed checkpoints guarded by hunters whose auras felt heavy enough to crush bones.
They finally rolled him into a small medical room. Soft lighting. White walls. No windows.
The door slid shut behind them.
For the first time since the dungeon, Jack felt truly trapped.
"They're not here yet," Crowe said quietly. "That means I still have time."
Jack tried to sit up and failed. His body screamed in protest. "Time for what?"
Crowe didn't answer immediately. He pulled a chair close and sat, leaning forward, elbows on his knees.
"Time to decide whether saving you was a mistake," he said.
Jack swallowed. "You can still hand me over."
"I could," Crowe agreed. "And a lot of people would sleep better if I did."
The voice inside Jack stirred.
"He is lying to himself."
Jack ignored it. "Then why didn't you?"
Crowe looked at him, really looked at him.
"Because when I sensed you back there… I didn't feel a monster," Crowe said. "I felt a door."
Jack's blood went cold. "A… door?"
"Something open," Crowe continued. "Something that shouldn't be. But not something that was trying to hurt me. Not yet."
Jack didn't know what to say to that.
Before he could try, the lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then the air changed.
Jack felt it first — a pressure that didn't come from mana or aura, but from something deeper. Like reality itself was leaning in to listen.
Crowe's posture went rigid.
"Stand behind me," Crowe said, rising to his feet.
Jack laughed weakly. "I can't even stand."
Crowe didn't look at him. "Then stay alive."
The door slid open without a sound.
A man stepped in.
He didn't look like an S-Rank.
He wore no armor. No weapons. Just a simple dark coat, hands in his pockets, black hair falling messily across calm eyes.
But the moment he entered the room, Jack's skin prickled like he was standing under a storm cloud.
This was not power.
This was inevitability.
Crowe's breath caught.
"…SS-Rank," he whispered.
The man smiled faintly. "Crowe."
"You're not supposed to be here," Crowe said. "This case hasn't been escalated."
"It was the moment the gate collapsed," the SS-Rank replied softly. "Some things echo."
His eyes moved to Jack.
And Jack felt like he'd just been seen for the first time.
"Hello, Jack," the man said gently.
Jack's heart hammered. "You know my name?"
"I know more than that," the SS-Rank replied.
The voice inside Jack hissed.
"He sees too much."
Crowe stepped in front of Jack, tension coiled in his body. "You can't interrogate him without authorization."
The SS-Rank didn't even glance at him.
"This isn't an interrogation," he said. "This is a warning."
He walked closer.
Every step felt heavier than the last.
"I know what's attached to you," the SS-Rank said to Jack. "Or at least… I know what it pretends to be."
Jack's throat tightened. "I don't—"
"There are two futures for you," the man interrupted quietly. "In one, you save more lives than any hunter ever has. In the other…"
He paused.
"You end everything."
Jack's vision blurred. "That's not—"
The SS-Rank leaned down so their eyes were level.
"And both futures begin the same way," he whispered. "With you saying yes."
Silence filled the room.
Crowe turned slowly. "What are you talking about?"
The SS-Rank straightened.
"This boy is standing at a crossroads," he said. "One path leads to hope. The other leads to something far worse than hell."
He looked at Jack again.
"And he doesn't even know which one he's walking."
Jack's hands trembled.
The voice inside him was very quiet.
Watching.
Waiting.
The SS-Rank stepped back.
"Protect him if you want, Crowe," he said. "Lie for him. Bleed for him. It won't matter."
He turned toward the door.
"When the time comes," he added softly, "he won't belong to any of us."
The door slid shut behind him.
Crowe stood frozen.
Jack stared at the ceiling, heart racing.
And deep inside, something smiled.