The hotel corridor was quiet in the way expensive places always were—thick carpets swallowing footsteps, lighting designed to flatter rather than illuminate, silence curated like luxury.
Daniel walked without urgency.
No disguise.
No weapon visible.
Just another man who belonged there.
That was the trick.
Security had already collapsed, though no one had noticed yet. Phones that should have rung didn't. Messages that should have escalated stalled in invisible queues. The people paid to watch the floor were alive, awake, and completely unaware they were no longer relevant.
Daniel stopped outside the room.
Inside, Alfred laughed.
The sound landed wrong.
Not because it was loud—but because it was unburdened.
Daniel closed his eyes for a brief moment.
Then he entered.
ALFRED
Alfred turned first.
Confusion crossed his face, not fear.
"Excuse me—" he began.
He never finished the sentence.
Daniel moved quickly, efficiently, without excess force. A precise strike. Alfred staggered. Before he could recover, his wrists were already restrained, lifted, secured.
The process took seconds.
By the time Alfred understood he was hanging upside down, blood rushing to his head, the room had already changed ownership.
"Jessica!" he shouted.
Daniel said nothing.
He stepped aside.
JESSICA
Jessica stood near the window.
She had not screamed.
Had not flinched.
Had not reached for help.
She turned slowly, expression composed, eyes sharp with recognition rather than shock.
"So," she said calmly, adjusting the sleeve of her dress. "You finally decided to stop hiding."
Daniel looked at her the way one looks at a completed equation.
"You knew this would happen," he said.
Jessica smiled.
Not nervous.
Not forced.
Confident.
"I knew someone would come," she replied. "I didn't expect it to be you."
Alfred strained against his restraints. "Jessica—get out of there!"
She didn't look at him.
Not once.
Jessica stepped closer to Daniel, heels clicking softly against the floor.
"You're late," she said. "If you wanted to win, you should have come earlier."
Daniel tilted his head. "Winning was never the goal."
Her smile widened slightly.
"That's what all moral men say right before they become predictable."
THE CONVERSATION THAT MATTERS
Daniel gestured subtly toward Alfred.
"Do you want him to hear?" he asked.
Jessica laughed quietly.
"No," she said. "He doesn't need to."
She turned at last, just enough to meet Alfred's eyes.
"This is just business," she said gently. "Stay calm."
Alfred's face twisted in confusion and fear.
"Jess—what is she talking about?"
Jessica looked back at Daniel.
"You see?" she said. "He trusts me completely. That's love."
Daniel's voice was steady. "Joseph trusted you too."
For the first time, something flickered behind her eyes.
Not guilt.
Annoyance.
"That boy was careless," she said. "Sentimental. He thought loyalty was protection."
Daniel stepped closer.
"He called me the Devil," Daniel said. "Even while dying."
Jessica's smile sharpened.
"I would have killed him slowly," she said without hesitation. "But time is expensive."
She leaned in, close enough that only Daniel could hear her next words.
"I have one month left to deal with you. I can't afford patience."
Daniel exhaled softly.
"I don't have one month," he replied. "I have less."
She studied him more carefully now.
Then she understood.
Her smile didn't vanish.
It transformed.
"So you're real," she said. "I thought you were just a rumor."
She straightened, shoulders back, chin lifted.
"The Devil," she said again. "I expected more horns."
Daniel smiled faintly.
"I won't expose you," he said. "Not to him. Not to anyone."
Jessica laughed, genuinely amused.
"Even now?" she asked. "After everything?"
"Especially now," Daniel replied. "I lost my humanity. I won't lose loyalty."
For a moment—just a moment—Jessica looked impressed.
Then the hallway echoed.
Footsteps.
Voices.
A door opening somewhere far too late.
Jessica's smile finally faded—not into fear, but into irritation.
She turned her head slightly, as if listening to a sound only she could hear.
"Well," she said. "That's unfortunate timing."
THE END OF THE ROOM
The sound came again.
Close.
Final.
Jessica didn't step back.
Didn't plead.
Didn't reach for Alfred.
She held Daniel's gaze.
"Do you think he'll forgive you?" she asked calmly.
Daniel didn't answer.
The sound ended the question.
AFTERMATH
Alfred screamed.
The sound tore through the room, raw and animal, stripped of rank and reason. He fought the restraints until his voice broke, until the world narrowed to the shape of her name.
The door burst open.
People rushed in.
Hands cut him down.
By the time Alfred reached her, she was already gone—skin cooling, expression almost peaceful, as if she had simply decided to stop participating.
Alfred held her and cried.
He never looked at Daniel.
Daniel was already gone.
WHAT REMAINS
Later—far away, on open water—Daniel spoke once into a secure line.
"Three hundred million," he said. "Everyone out. New identities. No drugs. Let them live."
A pause.
"And you?" Arun asked.
Daniel looked at the horizon.
"Twelve days," he said. "That's enough."
He ended the call.
The sea carried the rest.