Three days had passed since the explosion.
And Kai was back to "normal"—or whatever counted as normal for someone like him.
Alia sighed as she parked her sleek black car in the lot near the Awakeners Guild. The morning sun reflected off the windshield, bright but cold. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel.
He was alone at home again. She had left him in the living room, staring blankly at the wall like a forgotten doll. She had spoken, asked if he wanted breakfast, and he had turned his head toward her but said nothing. No recognition. No response.
Just those empty eyes.
Is this really better?
She stepped out of the car, heels clicking on the pavement. The city was already alive with movement, but it felt distant to her—like she was moving in a separate stream from the rest of the world.
The lobby greeted her with familiar voices and a sterile sort of warmth.
"Morning, Miss Alia!" the receptionist called out.
Alia nodded but didn't slow down. Her mind wasn't here.
It was with Kai.
He's the same as before, she told herself. He's quiet again. Still. No outbursts. No unexpected words. No cracks in the mask.
But wasn't that what had made her hope, even just a little?
When he first woke up in the hospital bed—frightened, crying, asking questions with a trembling voice—it had felt like maybe something in him could still come back. Like there was a part of her little brother buried in that shell, struggling to breathe.
And now…
Now it was as if that flicker had died again. Snuffed out before it could even become a flame.
God, what is wrong with me?
She cursed under her breath as she entered the corridor.
Wishing for him to feel pain just so he'd seem human again… that's sick. I'm sick.
But the thought wouldn't go away.
Pain meant feeling. It meant he was still alive inside, still reachable.
Now, he was just… quiet. Too quiet.
Alia bit her lip.
She'd already gone through the house. Removed anything sharp. Locked the drawers. Replaced the glass panels. Even the medicine cabinet had been cleared out and replaced with empty bottles for show.
She hated how good she'd become at this. At making a house safe for someone who might not want to live.
Is this what it means to be a sister? Or just a warden?
She turned a corner—and slammed straight into someone.
Alia gasped as she stumbled backward and landed hard on the floor.
"Sorry," came a voice. Detached. Disinterested.
Yuri.
He didn't stop. Didn't look back. Just kept walking.
She sat there for a moment, dazed. Then slowly narrowed her eyes at his retreating back.
He's stronger than me, she thought. But is he stronger than Ruki?
Before she could follow the thought, a face appeared far too close to hers.
"Hello," said Ruki, expression blank as ever.
Alia jumped.
"Wha—Ruki?!" She clutched her chest, heart pounding. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"
"Did I scare you?" Ruki blinked. "Sorry. It wasn't my intention."
Alia groaned and sat up slightly. "Where did you even come from?"
Ruki raised a hand and pointed upward. Alia followed her gaze—and saw a vent, high on the wall, with frost clinging to its edges.
Of course.
"…Couldn't you use a hallway like a normal person?"
Ruki only shrugged, as if the question was too mundane to answer.
Then she offered a hand.
Alia looked at it, hesitating. But then she accepted.
Ruki helped her to her feet with surprising gentleness. Her hand was cold.
"Thanks," Alia muttered, brushing herself off.
The chill in her bones wasn't from Ruki's hand.
It was from the realization—crystal clear now—that something in Kai had changed. And no matter how much she wanted to believe it was over, that he was safe now… deep down, she knew:
The real Kai hadn't come back.
Not yet.
And maybe he never would.
Alia entered her office and shut the door behind her with a quiet sigh. The familiar hum of the overhead lights greeted her, along with the sterile scent of recycled air and old paper.
She sat at her desk, booted up her computer, and began typing out reports—mindlessly filtering through numbers and field data that blurred together. The work was repetitive, but at least it kept her thoughts from spiraling.
The silence was soon interrupted by the sharp ring of her office phone.
She glanced at the caller ID.
Division 1 – Vice Leader Kolpùr.
Her brow twitched.
She picked up the receiver. "This is Alia."
A familiar sluggish voice came through, muffled slightly, as if the speaker were lying down. "Suh… Lia…"
Yup. Definitely Kolpùr.
"Could you take me to the meeting room…?" he asked in a drawn-out tone. "I ird…"
Alia sighed quietly through her nose. Kolpùr always spoke like his mouth couldn't be bothered to move. She imagined him slouched somewhere, hoodie sleeves dragging far past his fingertips like always. The guy looked like a walking blanket more than a combat veteran.
"Ask Yuri," she said, fingers still moving on her keyboard. "Or literally anyone else in your division. I'm working."
"…Elp me… once…"
Her typing paused for a beat. She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose.
"No."
There was a soft clunk—the unmistakable sound of a phone dropping.
Then another voice came on. Calm. Crisp. Familiar.
"I'm sorry to bother you, Miss Alia," said Yuri. "I hope my vice leader didn't cause any trouble."
She shook her head slightly and replied, "No worries."
Click. She hung up.
Her gaze lingered on the phone for a moment.
How in the world did Kolpùr end up in Division 1?
That division was reserved for the top-tier elites—men and women who had bathed in blood and walked away without flinching. Veterans. Killers. Operatives with nerves of steel and instincts honed by war.
And then there was Kolpùr.
A hoodie-wearing, half-asleep, soft-spoken boy who looked like he needed help crossing the street, let alone leading a tactical unit.
Is it all just an act? she wondered. Or does he have some kind of support ability I don't know about?
There were rumors. Quiet ones. That Kolpùr had never once lost a direct confrontation—though no one could agree on how. Some said he manipulated space. Others claimed he broke the minds of his enemies without lifting a finger.
But no official file ever said anything concrete.
And Kolpùr wasn't the type to brag.
Still weird, she muttered inwardly.
I think I should ask Taural or Ruki about it, she added to herself. If anyone knows why Kolpùr's in Division 1, it's one of them.
She turned back to her screen.
The soft glow of the monitor bathed her face in pale light as she resumed typing, but her fingers moved slower now.
Her thoughts, uninvited, drifted back to Kai.