The next day, Ethan still couldn't get through to Rory.
Every call went straight to voicemail. Every text remained unanswered. At first, Ethan tried to tell himself the kid probably just needed space, time to cool down, process, breathe. But as the hours dragged on with nothing back, an uneasy weight settled in his chest.
He had thought they were past this, past disappearing acts and silence.
He didn't have time to chase him down. Not yet. The leadership meeting was already starting, and he couldn't miss it.
When he walked into the briefing room, most of the seats were already filled. Sullivan sat near the front, hands folded neatly on the table, her expression disciplined and unreadable. Beside her was General Archer, the Head of Karmal, a man whose very posture was a weapon. His arms folded across his chest, his stare already sharp with irritation before the meeting had even begun. Caleb, Mads, and Eddie were scattered along the table. Ian sat further down, expression as neutral as always.
Ethan took his seat without a word.
Sullivan opened the meeting without ceremony.
"We're here to discuss the proposal to lower the age restriction for formal recruitment," she said smoothly. "Specifically in regard to Rory Atwood."
Archer scoffed immediately, a short, controlled exhale through his nose. "No."
Sullivan turned her head slightly toward him. "Would you like to expand on that for the room, General?"
Archer leaned into the table, his voice dropping into a register of absolute authority. "He is untrained, unstable, and still a child," he said. "I don't care whose son he is. If he isn't ready, then he is a liability, to himself and to anyone standing beside him."
Sullivan didn't flinch. "He has raw ability. He is responding to structured training. We would be negligent not to secure him before someone else does."
She looked toward Ethan. "Rory's instructor can confirm that."
Ethan paused for a beat. "He's progressed quickly. He listens. He works hard."
He did not add: when he shows up.
Caleb shook his head. "The restriction exists for a reason. We protect minors...even from themselves."
Mads nodded. "It's three years. That's not a lifetime."
Eddie leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Three years is a long time when you're valuable. Someone else will sign him. Maybe someone who doesn't care about protocols or safeguards."
"To who?" Mads challenged.
"Anyone who understands what he is," Eddie shot back.
Sullivan's tone cooled a fraction. "Which is precisely why his security should be our legal responsibility."
Ian, who had been silent until now, finally cleared his throat. "He's not exactly demonstrating sound judgement right now."
Ethan frowned. "What?"
Ian looked at him evenly. "He was expelled from his school yesterday."
The air left the room. Ethan blinked, the words failing to compute. "...What did you just say?"
"My oversight team flagged the incident," Ian continued, as though reading a grocery list. "He assaulted another student. It was a sustained, one-sided attack."
Something dropped hard in Ethan's gut. "Which student?"
"Daniel Cole," Ian replied. "No prior behavioural record. Witnesses say he didn't fight back."
Ethan swallowed. "Why wasn't I told?"
"I briefed Sullivan," Ian said simply.
Archer's head turned sharply toward her. "You withheld that?"
Sullivan remained a statue of composure. "It doesn't disqualify him. It informs the risk calculus."
Caleb folded his arms. "Or it confirms it."
Ethan barely heard the debate that followed. His mind was caught on a single, jarring truth: This wasn't Rory. Not the kid he knew. Not without a catalyst.
He forced his voice steady. "I want details."
Ian listed the facts, the time, the location, the lack of provocation. None of it made sense. Ethan's jaw tightened until it ached. He pushed his chair back, the legs screeching against the floor.
Sullivan looked up. "Where are you going?"
"To speak to him," Ethan said.
He didn't wait for a dismissal. He walked out.***
The moment Ethan cleared the briefing room doors, he had his phone out, dialling Rory with a sense of mounting urgency. It rang, once, twice, before the automated voice of the mailbox cut him off again.
Ethan hissed a breath through his teeth, pressing the device hard against his ear. "Rory, it's Ethan. Pick up the damn phone. I don't know what the hell happened yesterday, but you're going to explain it to me. I'm heading to your place now."
He disconnected and, with fingers hovering over the glass, fired off a text: Expelled? I'm coming over.
He hadn't even pocketed the phone before it vibrated. Rory's name flashed across the display.
Ethan swiped to answer, his voice taut with a frustration he didn't bother to hide. "So you were getting my calls."
Rory's voice came through flat and hollow, sounding like it was coming from miles away. "Why are you calling me?"
Ethan's jaw tightened. "Why have you been ghosting me?" There was no answer, just a dense, heavy silence that seemed to hum over the line. Ethan rubbed his face, fighting to keep his temper in check. "Just tell me what happened, Rory."
"Does it even matter?" Rory asked.
Ethan's irritation flared into a spark. "Yeah, I'd say it matters. I didn't get the impression you were the kind of kid who'd put his best friend in the hospital for a laugh."
More silence. Ethan's eyes closed in a moment of exasperation. "...Rory? Talk to me."
"I don't know what to tell you," Rory said, his tone brittle and cold.
"Tell me the truth!" Ethan pressed, his composure beginning to fray at the edges.
A heavy sigh crackled through the speaker, Rory sounding like he was already half-resigned to the fallout. "It doesn't change anything if I do."
Ethan fell quiet. He leaned against the corridor wall, the clinical lights of the hallway suddenly feeling too bright. After a long, agonising pause, Rory spoke again, the words tinged with a devastating finality.
"I'm out, aren't I?"
Ethan swallowed hard, his throat constricting. He bit the inside of his cheek, the word liability flashing in his mind. "...I don't know."
Another silence stretched between them, thin and fragile. Rory broke it first, his voice softening into something that sounded dangerously like a goodbye. "For what it's worth... I'm sorry. And... thanks. For everything."
"Rory, wait—"
The line went dead.
Ethan stood in the middle of the hallway, staring at the darkened screen of his phone. A knot tightened in his stomach, a volatile mix of confusion, guilt, and the gut-deep instinct that he was watching a disaster unfold in slow motion. This wasn't the end of the story. He wouldn't let it be.
***
Ethan pushed through the front door, the familiar domestic sounds of the house doing little to settle his nerves. From the living room, the muffled chaos of digital gunfire and explosions signalled that Will and Owen were deep into a campaign.
Neither of them looked up as he entered the space.
He headed straight for the kitchen, twisted the cap off a beer, and took a long, cold swallow. The bitter liquid didn't touch the tension coiled in his chest.
From the sofa, Will flicked a glance over his shoulder. "How was the meeting? What's the verdict?"
Ethan didn't answer immediately. He took another slow pull from the bottle, his silence speaking for him.
Will raised a brow, his thumbs still working the joysticks. "That good, huh?"
Ethan exhaled a heavy breath and moved to lean against the back of the couch, his frame casting a shadow over them. His voice was dangerously flat. "The kid was expelled yesterday. Beat up his best friend."
Owen went rigid.
His fingers remained curled around the controller, but his focus on the screen evaporated. He stared at the flickering pixels, his mind suddenly miles away.
Will frowned and hit the pause button. The room went abruptly quiet. "Damn. Is the other kid okay?"
"Apparently," Ethan muttered.
"So what the hell happened?" Will asked, turning fully now. "Rory doesn't seem like the type to just snap for no reason."
Ethan shook his head. "No idea. He wouldn't talk to me. Shut down completely."
Owen felt a cold twist in the pit of his stomach. He'd assumed Rory had explained everything, that Ethan knew. Hearing that Rory had stayed silent, that he was carrying the fallout entirely alone, made the guilt sink a foot deeper into Owen's gut.
Will let out a slow breath. "So that's it. He's out."
"Looks that way." Ethan set the bottle on the coffee table with a dull clack. "Sully's still pushing for him, but most of the board want nothing to do with it. And lowering the age restriction is off the table."
A heavy silence settled over the three of them.
"Shit," Will said quietly. "Sorry, Eth. I know you were invested."
Ethan scrubbed a hand over his face, looking older than he had that morning. "I just... I wanted to give him a shot. Felt like he'd been dealt crap cards and needed someone in his corner."
He hesitated, then shifted his gaze to Owen.
"Reminded me of you a bit."
Owen's chest constricted, the air suddenly feeling very thin.
Ethan didn't notice the flinch. "I looked into his file earlier. Did you know that when he was younger, he lived just two blocks away from your old place?"
Will nudged Owen's shoulder with a lopsided grin. "Look at that. You two could've been childhood besties."
"You joke," Ethan said, shaking his head, "but honestly? Your families probably crossed paths. Weird to think about."
Owen swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. It was more than strange; it was haunting. He hadn't known. Hadn't realised how close their lives had once been.
And now, Owen had been the one to grease the rails.
His controller felt like a lead weight in his hands. He knew exactly what it felt like to be drowning quietly, to be one error away from a total collapse. Ethan had reached down and pulled him out. He'd given Owen a career, a home, a future.
And Owen had just kicked the ladder away from someone else.
Will's eyes lingered on him a moment too long. "You're quiet," he noted lightly. "I thought you'd be thrilled to have the competition out of the way."
Owen forced a tiny, stiff shrug. "Yeah. I guess."
But his voice didn't carry the edge of a joke. It sounded hollow. Brittle.
He looked back at the paused screen, but all he could think about was Rory sitting in a dark house with a red band on his wrist. He couldn't shake the one question that mattered: Where Rory would land, now that there was no one left to catch him?
***
Ethan barely looked up from his book when the soft, hesitant knock sounded at his bedroom door.
"Mm," he murmured, a vague acknowledgement that he wasn't alone.
The door creaked open, and Owen stepped inside. He hovered on the threshold, his posture stiff and uncertain, as if he wasn't entirely sure he should be in the room at all.
Ethan finally lowered the book, an eyebrow arched in question. "What's up?"
Owen didn't answer immediately. He remained anchored to the doorway, arms folded tightly over his chest as if bracing for a physical impact. He shifted his weight, eyes darting behind him as if calculating his chances of a quiet retreat.
Ethan sighed, snapping the book shut with a deliberate, weary patience. "You do remember that while you can read my mind, it
doesn't work the other way, right? So spill."
Owen swallowed hard, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. A thick, suffocating shame had taken root in his chest, making his throat feel too narrow for speech.
Finally, he forced the confession out.
"Yesterday... Beau and I went to Rory's school."
Ethan's stomach sank. Yesterday lined up too neatly with everything that had gone wrong. "What? Why would you do that?"
Owen didn't answer. He stayed frozen, his eyes fixed on a loose thread in the rug. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, as the guilt practically radiated off him in waves. He didn't just look sorry; he looked sick.
Ethan's eyes narrowed, his internal alarm shifting from confusion to a sudden, sharp realisation. He stood up slowly, the book forgotten on the bed.
"Owen," he said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low register. "What did you do?"
Owen's grip on his own ribs tightened. He couldn't bring himself to meet Ethan's level gaze. "I looked into Rory's head," he whispered. "And Beau used what I saw. He twisted it into hallucinations. He made Rory see things."
He stopped there, unable to voice the specific horrors they had projected.
Ethan went completely still, his jaw tightening into a hard, dangerous line. The silence expanded until it felt like it was crushing the air out of the room. Owen almost wished Ethan would yell; an outburst would have been easier to navigate than this clinical, icy processing.
When Ethan finally spoke, his voice was frighteningly quiet. "What did you make him see?"
"I didn't...Beau was the one who—"
"Owen."
Just his name. Firm. Final. A warning that the time for shifting blame had passed.
Owen closed his eyes briefly, realising there was no shadow left to hide in. "I knew it was wrong," he admitted, his voice cracking. "But I just... I didn't think it would go that far."
Ethan dragged a hand down his face, exhaling a long, sharp breath through his nose as he fought to maintain his composure. "Jesus Christ," he breathed.
"I didn't mean for—"
"You just let it happen?" Ethan cut him off, his eyes finally locking onto Owen's with a piercing intensity. "You stood there and watched him spiral into a breakdown and you didn't lift a finger to stop it?"
"I didn't know how bad it—"
"You knew enough to feel guilty," Ethan snapped. "You knew enough to keep it from me until now."
Owen looked down at his feet, his voice shrinking to a near-whisper. "I know."
Ethan shook his head, a look of profound frustration etched into his features. "So what was the game? You and Beau just wanted to see what would happen? Push him until he snapped?"
"It wasn't supposed to—"
"It wasn't supposed to what?" Ethan demanded, his voice rising. "End with a kid in hospital? Rory expelled? His record wrecked? Him getting red-banded?"
Owen flinched as if the words were physical blows. "I didn't mean for that to happen," he choked out. "I swear."
"Yeah? Well, it did." Ethan said coldly. "The damage is done."
Owen didn't argue. There was no defence left to offer. "I just..." His voice wavered, desperate. "What do I do? How do I fix this?"
Ethan didn't hesitate. "You don't do anything. You can't fix this."
The truth of it sank into Owen's stomach like a lead weight. Ethan stood up, tension pouring off him in waves. He kept his voice controlled, but only by a hair.
"You fucked up, Owen. Badly. You didn't just screw around with some random kid. You wrecked his life. You ruined his future here."
Owen swallowed against the lump in his throat and nodded. "I know."
"Do you?" Ethan replied.
Another hollow silence fell. Eventually, Ethan closed his eyes, exhaling a breath that sounded like a final door closing. When he spoke again, it was with a finality that made Owen's chest ache.
"You should go."
"Ethan—"
"Go."
There was no room left for negotiation or apology. Owen stood there for a second longer, a plea dying on his lips. But the wall between them was now too high to climb. He turned, opened the door, and walked out.
The soft click of the latch behind him sounded like a gavel coming down.***
Ethan found Will in the kitchen, braced against the counter with a coffee in one hand and his phone in the other.
"Hey," Ethan murmured, scrubbing a hand over his face as he slumped into the room.
Will looked up, his brow furrowing instantly. "Morning. You look wrecked."
Ethan gave a short, humorless huff. "Yeah. Accurate." He hesitated, the weight of the confession pressing on him. "Didn't get much sleep. Owen talked to me last night. He told me what happened."
Will set the phone down with deliberate slowness. "What happened... specifically?"
Ethan exhaled a sharp breath through his nose. "He and Beau went to Rory's school. Beau used his ability on him. Pushed him into seeing things that weren't there. Bad things. Rory panicked and lashed out. That is how the fight happened."
Will stared at him, the gravity of the betrayal settling in. "So it wasn't just a teenage punch-up."
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"No," Ethan said, his voice brittle. "It wasn't."
Will's jaw tightened. "And Owen was there."
Ethan nodded once. "He didn't start it. But he didn't stop it either.
A heavy, suffocating silence stretched between them, filled only by the gurgle of the coffee maker. Will let out a slow, jagged breath. "Shit."
Ethan finally moved to the machine to pour himself a cup. He wrapped both hands around the ceramic mug as if trying to leach the warmth from it, but he didn't drink.
"Yeah," he agreed quietly.
Will studied him, his eyes searching Ethan's face. "So what are you going to do?"
Ethan shook his head, his gaze fixed on the black liquid in his cup. "I can't take this upstairs. If I do, Sullivan will burn Beau and Owen both. She will make an example out of them. And she will go after my guardianship too, because that is what she does when she wants to remind people who is in charge."
Will's expression softened with a flicker of understanding. "Which means Owen goes back home."
Ethan nodded. "Full-time. Permanently. And we both know that's the last place on earth he should be."
Will took a slow sip of coffee, processing the impossible math of the situation. "So you protect Owen."
Ethan swallowed hard. "Yeah. I protect Owen."
"And Rory takes the hit," Will said gently.
Ethan shut his eyes for a second, the guilt etched into the lines of his face. "I know."
There was no pride in the admission. No defensiveness. Just a quiet, exhausted regret.
"I wanted to help that kid," Ethan said, his voice dropping. "I still do. But if this turns into a formal disciplinary investigation, Owen loses everything. And I lose him."
Will leaned back against the counter, the tension leaving his shoulders in a slow, defeated exhale. "So you live with it."
"Yeah," Ethan said. "I live with it."
Neither of them realised that, just down the hall, Owen was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling and hearing every word. The guilt pressed down on his chest like a physical weight, until it hurt just to draw a breath.***
By late morning, Ethan was out of patience and out of options.
Ethan pulled up to the curb at 10 a.m., the neighbourhood locked in a midday lull. Both cars were missing from the driveway, workday silence. It was the kind of unremarkable morning where everything looked perfectly normal, unless you knew exactly where the cracks were.
He knocked on the front door, waited, and then hammered again.
Silence.
He was halfway back to his car when a faint, skunky scent caught the air. Familiar. Sharp. Ethan sighed, turning on his heel to follow the trail around the side of the house.
Rory was tucked away in the shadows of the back fence, half-shrouded by a wall of overgrown shrubs. He was slumped low, knees pulled tight to his chest, with headphones on and an old iPod resting in the dirt beside him. A joint hung precariously between his fingers as he stared at the fence line with vacant, glassy eyes.
Ethan called his name, but Rory remained lost in the music.
Ethan reached out and nudged the kid's foot with his shoe.
Rory jolted as if he'd been struck by lightning. He ripped the headphones off and flicked the joint into the weeds like it had suddenly turned into a coal. For a heartbeat, his eyes were wide and frantic, the raw instinct of a cornered animal, until he realised who was standing over him.
He exhaled a shaky breath and looked away, his posture collapsing back into the fence. "What are you doing here?"
Ethan folded his arms, his shadow falling over the boy. "Well, since you're not at school..."
His gaze drifted toward the bushes where the smoke was still curling up from the grass. He didn't offer a lecture; he just let the silence make the point for him.
Then, carefully:
"I heard what happened."
Rory's entire frame went rigid. A deep, burning flush crept up his neck and into his face, but he refused to lift his head.
"You should've told me," Ethan said more gently.
Rory scoffed under his breath, a sound of pure, bitter disbelief.
"What Owen and Beau did was messed up," Ethan continued. "And I'm sorry."
Rory's jaw clenched so hard the bone stood out. His hands curled into loose, trembling fists at his sides, the only evidence that the words had actually landed.
Ethan sighed, looking around the neglected yard. "Is there anything I can do? Talk to your school? Your parents?"
Rory let out a short, humourless breath. "And say what?"
The question hung there. Ethan didn't have an answer. Fair point.
"Have they lined up another school yet?"
More silence.
"You heard from Dan?"
This time, the response was immediate and brittle. "He won't talk to me."
Ethan felt a sharp pang of regret. "I'm sorry."
A long beat passed.
"Have you eaten today?"
Rory finally looked up, his expression flat and incredulous.
Ethan gave a small shrug. "Can I at least buy you breakfast?"
Rory shook his head, looking back at his shoes. "You don't have to do this."
"Do what?"
"This." He gestured vaguely between them. "The pity thing. The rescue thing. I don't need your charity."
Ethan studied him for a long, quiet moment, seeing the pride and the pain warring behind the boy's eyes. "That's not what this is."
"Yeah," Rory muttered. "It is."
The silence stretched out again, punctuated only by the rustle of the wind against the ivy covering the fence and the distant drone of a lawnmower.
"I was fine before any of this," Rory added, his voice low but defensive. "I'll be fine now."
Ethan didn't believe him for a second. But he also recognised the plea buried in Rory's stare: Please don't look at me like I'm broken.
"...Alright," Ethan said quietly. "I'll give you space. For now. But I'm not disappearing, okay?"
"Please do," Rory replied. His voice was hard, but it didn't quite have the conviction to match the words.
Ethan hesitated for a heartbeat, wanting to say more, but he simply nodded. "You've got my number."
He turned to leave, his footsteps crunching on the dry grass. Rory watched his back, hating the part of himself that desperately wanted Ethan to turn around.
"See you around, kid."
And then Ethan was gone, leaving Rory alone with the smell of smoke and the silence of the yard.
***
The afternoon sun crept across Ethan's desk in a slow, deliberate line, casting long shadows over open files. He had been staring at the same cluster of reports for so long the text had begun to blur: cross-referenced intelligence summaries, partial witness statements, and surveillance stills that led only to dead-end notes.
Everything centred on the same mystery: the group that had raided the underground clinic the day they found Rory. Yet, there was nothing. No identifiable cell structure, no verifiable employer, and no digital footprint that shouldn't exist.
That was the part that unsettled him most. Groups like that didn't simply evaporate.
Ethan leaned back and pinched the bridge of his nose, the pen he'd been unconsciously twirling finally falling still. Whoever they were, they were disciplined, quiet, and experienced. They were far too good at disappearing, which suggested a level of professional tradecraft that ruled out opportunistic mercenaries. Black-market operators were messier; political factions left rhetoric; criminal rings leaked chatter.
This group left only silence.
And Nick? Also gone. No sightings, no bank movement, no recorded travel. Someone with his level of experience navigating the world's hidden systems didn't just vanish by accident. He hadn't gone anywhere voluntarily, and that realisation sat like a dull, heavy weight in Ethan's chest. It felt as though moves were being made just beyond the board, shifts he could sense but couldn't see.
Then there was Rory. Expelled. Red-banded. Alone.
The memory of the boy sitting in the dirt behind his house lingered, the distant eyes, the brittle defiance, and the layers of armour a fifteen year old shouldn't have to wear. Ethan was used to responsibility, but this felt like watching someone walk a tightrope over a void while being ordered not to reach out.
I should have done more, he thought, running a thumb tiredly over the rim of his mug. I should have kept Beau out of Owen's orbit. I should have seen the pressure building.
With a frustrated sigh, he pushed himself upright and headed for the hallway to find more coffee. He had barely stepped out when he nearly collided with Owen.
The kid froze. He was still in his school uniform, backpack slung over one shoulder, his gaze darting anywhere but at Ethan.
"Hey," Ethan said.
Owen stiffened. "Hey."
"What are you doing here?"
"Nothing. Just... passing through."
Ethan's suspicion flickered. Teenagers didn't "pass through" the secure floors of Karmal headquarters on weekday afternoons. "Are you up to something?"
Owen bristled immediately. "No. Jesus. I screw up once and now you think I'm constantly plotting crimes?"
"It wasn't a small screw-up," Ethan reminded him quietly.
Owen's jaw tightened. "Yeah. I know."
The air between them was thick with a mixture of guilt and disappointment that neither was ready to unpack. Ethan sighed, deciding to let it go for now. "Alright. I'll see you at home."
Owen gave an abrupt nod and vanished down the corridor, leaving a brittle silence in his wake. Ethan worked for another hour, accomplishing nothing as the light died across the blinds. He was reaching for his jacket when a shadow fell across his desk.
"Ethan."
Sullivan was standing there, her tone perfectly neutral. "You have a minute?"
He followed her to her office, a room of half-drawn blinds and carefully composed shadows. Sullivan didn't sit; she leaned against her desk, arms folded, regarding him with the cool stillness of someone whose mind was already made up.
"Owen came to see me this afternoon," she said.
Ethan tensed. "Look-he—"
She lifted a hand, silencing him.
"He's a good kid," Ethan pushed anyway. "He got pulled into something he shouldn't have. Beau pushes, Owen follows. It's context, not an excuse."
"I know," Sullivan said. She always knew. "He'll receive internal disciplinary action. Nothing public or permanent. He remains under your guardianship and his record stays intact."
Relief washed through Ethan, shaky and unwelcome. Then Sullivan continued.
"Beau, however, will be red-banded. Suspended from active training until further review."
Ethan blinked. Not expelled, but marked. Controlled. He knew exactly what that meant: Karmal would cut Beau's world down to size. Restrictions, boundaries, and constant eyes. No more room to play god. He would still be there, just... smaller.
Sullivan was forming a narrative in real-time. Beau was the cautionary example, Owen the protected asset, and Rory the ultimate argument for structured oversight. The calculation of it all sat wrong in Ethan's chest.
"This is how we move forward," Sullivan said calmly.
"And Owen?" he asked.
"He'll be fine. I'll make sure of it." She paused, offering the real hook. "If you keep advocating for Rory. If you keep him close."
Ethan's jaw tightened. Sullivan's gaze softened just enough to feel authentic.
"You don't like the politics," she said quietly. "I know."
"That obvious?"
"Yes." She stepped closer, her voice lowering. "This way, both boys stay under your watch. Not scattered, not lost, not drifting toward people who don't care what happens to them. Beau is contained. Owen stays safe. And Rory gets guidance instead of becoming someone else's tool. You don't get many chances to do that in our world."
Ethan looked away, caught between the weight of his duty and the feeling of being played.
"This isn't exploitation," she said gently. "It's safeguarding. We keep them close because it's safer than the alternatives. And I trust you to make that true."
Silence hung for a heartbeat before Ethan nodded once, heavy, reluctant, but resolved.
Sullivan returned the nod, a promise sealed. "Good."
***
Beau was still in the locker room when his phone buzzed with a message that brooked no argument.
Oversight. Now.
No context. No sender. No option for a delay.
He stared at the screen for a beat, then locked it and slid the device into his pocket. Around him, the room was teeming with the typical post-drill noise of trainees, laughter, arguments over performance stats, the snap of gear bags. Beau finished towelling off, changed his shirt, and left without a word.
Oversight sat deeper in the belly of the building than most ever needed to venture. There were fewer windows here, the doors were thicker, and the air felt flat, as if sound itself had learned to keep its head down.
The room they ushered him into was exactly what he expected: a plain table and three chairs. No glass walls or flickering data screens. True control didn't require a spectacle.
Sullivan stood by the window, her arms folded. Ian Digges leaned against the wall near the door, his posture relaxed but his focus absolute. A third man sat at the table. He was older, with silver threading through his hair and hands folded with a stillness that suggested high-level clearance. Beau didn't recognise him, which meant the man was either very new or very high up.
"Sit," the man said.
Beau complied. He didn't slouch this time, but he didn't smile either. Sullivan didn't waste time with a preamble.
"This concerns Rory Atwood."
Beau exhaled slowly through his nose. "Here we go."
Ian's gaze sharpened. "Let's not play dumb."
Beau lifted his hands a fraction, palms up. "I'm not. I just don't see how whatever happened at his school is suddenly my responsibility."
The older man slid a tablet across the table. It stopped directly in front of Beau, displaying a map of the school grounds overlaid with neural telemetry.
"Location data," the man said. "Neural telemetry."
Beau leaned back slightly, breath slow and deliberate.
"We were there to observe him," he said. "That's it."
Ian's eyes didn't leave his face.
"There's been internal debate about Atwood for weeks," Beau continued. "Whether he's viable. Whether he's stable. Owen wanted to see for himself. I agreed...from a distance."
"And your implant spike?" the older man asked.
Beau shrugged once. "Passive engagement. Background scan. No direct contact."
"You didn't speak to him?"
"No."
"Didn't touch him?"
"No."
Sullivan tilted her head, her eyes tracking his reaction. "Owen told us everything."
That hit harder than Beau anticipated. His jaw tightened for a split second before he recovered his mask. "Owen what?"
"He came forward," Ian said evenly. "Voluntarily. He disclosed his involvement. He disclosed yours."
Beau leaned back slowly, his mind already recalibrating. He wasn't panicking; he was just shifting his strategy. "So," he said after a beat, "he panicked."
"He took responsibility," Sullivan corrected.
Beau let out a quiet breath that was almost a laugh. "That's one way to frame it."
"It's the accurate one," the older man said. "He told us you were present. That your ability was used."
Beau's fingers curled loosely against his thigh. "Used isn't the same as directed."
Ian pushed off the wall. "You stayed."
Beau met his eyes, his voice gaining a slight, defensive edge. "I didn't realise how far Owen was going to push. He wanted to scare Rory. Shake him. I told him it was a bad idea."
"But you didn't leave," Ian repeated.
Beau swallowed. That part was an undeniable fact.
Sullivan stepped closer to the table, her voice steady and devoid of sympathy. "You're very good at letting other people think things are their idea, Beau."
"You think I manipulated him?"
"I think you didn't stop him," she replied. "And I think you benefited from the outcome."
Silence settled, thick and suffocating. Beau didn't rush to fill it. Finally, he spoke, his voice carefully measured. "So what's this really about? Because if this is about Rory losing control, you're looking in the wrong direction."
The older man folded his hands. "This is about influence."
Ian added, "And risk."
Sullivan reached into her jacket and placed a slim, dark red band on the table. Beau's gaze flicked to it, then away again just as quickly. He didn't react outwardly. He didn't ask questions. He already knew what it meant.
"You are being suspended from all active training and operations," Sullivan said. "You will be red-banded, effective immediately. This is pending assessment and review."
Beau nodded once, his face a blank slate. "And Owen?"
"He remains under guardianship," Sullivan said. "With internal disciplinary action."
Of course he does, Beau thought. Ethan's golden boy. Out loud, he said nothing.
"You will be evaluated," the older man continued. "Restricted from contact with Rory Atwood and Owen Brown. You will comply."
Ian straightened and held out his hand. "Arm."
Beau hesitated for half a second, not long enough to be defiant, but long enough to signal that this was costing him something. He rolled up his sleeve and extended his wrist.
Ian's movements were efficient. He snapped the band into place. The sting was brief but unmistakable, a sharp, crawling sensation as the filaments anchored into his skin, followed by a dull, oppressive weight that settled into his nervous system like wet cement.
He didn't flinch.
Ian watched the vitals on his pad for a moment, then stepped back. "Restriction confirmed."
Beau flexed his fingers, testing the new drag in his muscles. He felt smaller. Slower. Not powerless, but undeniably watched.
Sullivan observed him. "This isn't exile, Beau. It's containment."
Beau met her gaze, his expression thoughtful. "I understand."
And he did. On the surface, this was a hurdle. Red bands eventually came off; reviews ended; people forgot. But underneath, a colder reality had taken root. Owen had talked. Ethan had protected his own. And Beau had been deemed acceptable collateral.
He stood smoothly, adjusting his sleeve to hide the red band. "If that's all?"
Ian stepped aside, and the door slid open.
As Beau walked out, his posture was relaxed and compliant, every inch the cooperative asset they wanted him to be. But inside, his mind was already moving, tracking the new variables.
If this was how the game was played, he would simply have to play it better next time.
***
That afternoon, Beau made his own assessment.
Beau waited until Owen was vulnerable. Not isolated, just momentarily unguarded.
The common area outside the training wing was busy enough to provide a natural screen, bodies in motion, overlapping voices, the clatter of gear. No one was paying attention to the narrow strip of benches tucked against the glass wall. Owen sat there, his backpack a slumped weight at his feet, shoulders hunched as he scrolled aimlessly through his phone. He hadn't noticed Beau's approach. He hadn't felt him either.
Beau stopped beside the bench, his voice pitched low enough to dissolve into the ambient noise of the room.
"You could've told me."
Owen jumped, his head snapping up. "Beau-" The response was too fast, too tight. "I didn't-"
Beau lifted a hand. He wasn't loud or aggressive; he was simply a wall. "Don't," he said calmly.
Owen swallowed, his eyes darting around the room. No one was looking...except for a girl a few benches down. She sat with her legs tucked under her, a book balanced on her knee. She had the relaxed posture of someone who belonged in this space. Her dark hair was pulled back, her expression neutral but sharp. She hadn't been watching them until Beau stopped. Now, her focus was absolute.
Beau leaned back against the railing, his arms folded in a way that looked like idle conversation to anyone passing by.
"I didn't tell them you were there," Owen said, the words spilling out in a desperate rush. "I swear. I didn't. They pulled the data, the location logs, the implant spikes, after I confessed to what I did. I tried to keep you out of it, Beau. Honestly."
Beau studied him for a beat, letting the silence do the work. Then he shifted his wrist just enough for the red band to catch the overhead light.
"And yet."
Owen's jaw tightened. "That wasn't what I wanted."
Beau tilted his head. "What did you want, then?"
Owen's fingers curled into a fold in his jeans. "I wanted him out of Karmal. That's it. That was supposed to be the end of it. Not-" He broke off, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. "Not this."
"Not him showing his true colours and breaking his best friend's face?" Beau asked quietly.
Owen winced. "We made him do that." The admission was raw, heavier than he had intended. He lowered his voice even further. "I didn't want it to go that far. I didn't want him expelled or hurting people. I just thought if he looked unstable, they'd back off. I didn't think-"
"You didn't think past the part where it stopped being theoretical," Beau said.
Owen nodded miserably. "Yeah."
A few feet away, the girl shifted. Her book lowered slightly. She wasn't even pretending to read anymore; she was tracking the pattern of the exchange, the way Owen's voice trembled while Beau's remained a flat, terrifying line.
"You went into his head first," Beau stated. It wasn't an accusation, just a fact.
"I know," Owen said quickly. "And I hate that I did. But we both chose to use it against him." His eyes flicked to Beau's wrist again, unable to avoid the glare of the band. "And now you're paying for it. And I'm not."
Beau followed his gaze down to the red ring, then looked back up. "They didn't burn me."
Owen frowned. "Isn't that what this is?"
"No," Beau said. "This is a leash." He straightened, rolling his shoulders like someone settling into a role. "They still want you. They still want Ethan. They even want Rory, whether he knows it yet or not. I just became the example."
Owen swallowed. "I didn't mean for that."
Beau didn't respond to the emotion; he reframed it. "You made a decision. I just wasn't the beneficiary."
Owen bristled, his guilt turning into a spark of defence. "I didn't choose him over you."
Beau tilted his head, studying him like an equation he'd already solved. "Didn't you?"
"I told them what I did," Owen argued, his voice cracking with frustration. "Not you."
Beau nodded slowly. "You didn't protect me," he said evenly. "You protected yourself."
"That's not fair."
"No," Beau agreed. "It's just accurate." He leaned in, dropping his voice to a whisper that forced Owen to strain to hear. "You panicked. You felt bad. And instead of sitting with that weight, you handed them something useful to lighten the load." His eyes flicked to the band. "Me."
Owen's hands tightened around his phone. "I didn't mean to throw you under the bus."
Beau's expression softened. It was a deliberate, false warmth. "I know," he said. "You just didn't think about me at all."
The words cut deeper than a shout. Owen's voice came out thin, nearly broken. "That's not true."
Beau watched him struggle for a moment, then delivered the final blow. "You met Rory once. Once. And suddenly you're wrecked over him." He let out a faint, humourless laugh. "Meanwhile, I've been here the whole time. Covering for you. Cleaning up your messes. Making sure you don't get burned."
"I didn't choose him," Owen insisted.
Beau stepped back, already disengaging, already winning. "You didn't choose me," he replied.
That was worse.
He straightened his shirt, acting as if the conversation meant nothing. "Just remember that when the dust settles. When things go back to 'normal' and you look around to see who's actually standing next to you." His gaze flicked, pointedly, to the girl.
She hadn't moved. She had watched the entire exchange with a quiet, unreadable focus, neither shocked nor impressed, simply observant. Beau gave her a polite, sharp nod, then turned back to Owen one last time.
"Next time you feel guilty," he added mildly, "remember who's had your back since day one."
Then he walked away.
Owen stayed pinned to the bench, his pulse roaring in his ears. He knew Beau was twisting the truth. He knew it was manipulation. But knowing that didn't make the weight in his chest any lighter.
A shadow fell across the concrete at his feet.
"Wow," a voice said. Dry. Familiar. Mildly unimpressed. "That was... a lot."
Owen startled again, head snapping up. "Leigh."
Her name slipped out automatically. Soft. Reflexive. The way it always did.
She stood in front of him with her book tucked under one arm, the other hooked casually into the strap of her bag. Up close, the details he tried very hard not to catalogue were impossible to miss, the loose strands of dark hair she never bothered to tame, the sharpness in her eyes that always made him feel like she saw more than she let on.
She glanced in the direction Beau had disappeared, then back to Owen. Her mouth twisted slightly. "So," she said, "is that how he talks to you when I'm not around too?"
Owen's stomach tightened. "You... heard that?"
Leigh snorted quietly. "Owen. You were five feet away and visibly imploding." She shifted her weight, lowering her voice. "Also, it's Beau. I've heard worse."
That shouldn't have made his chest ache, but it did.
He dropped his gaze to his hands. "It's not what it looked like."
She tilted her head. "I didn't say what it looked like."
He glanced up despite himself.
Leigh studied him in that way she always had, not judgemental, not pitying. Just observant. Like she was lining the moment up against a hundred others she'd quietly filed away over the years.
"I just saw him stay very calm," she said, "while you got progressively smaller."
Owen flinched. "He's not..." He stopped, swallowing. "He didn't mean it like that."
Leigh hummed, unconvinced. "He always means it like that."
That landed harder than Beau's words had.
Owen's fingers tightened around his phone. "I messed up," he said quietly. "I deserve some of it."
She raised an eyebrow. "Some of it, sure. All of it?" A beat. "That feels generous. On your part. To him."
He didn't answer.
She shifted closer, voice dropping, not secretive, just familiar. "Look, I don't know exactly what happened this time. And I'm not asking." Her gaze flicked briefly to where Beau had gone. "But I've never liked the way he talks to you. And that didn't magically get better just now."
Owen swallowed. "He's had my back for a long time."
"I'm sure he has," Leigh said easily. "People like that usually do. Until they don't."
That landed harder than she probably intended. Or maybe exactly as intended.
Owen's chest tightened. He stared at the concrete. "I didn't choose anyone," he said, more to himself than to her.
Leigh softened then, just a fraction. "Yeah," she said. "I know."
He looked up, startled.
She shrugged, suddenly casual, like she hadn't just cut straight through him. "You don't do that. If you ever choose anything, it's everyone else first."
That wasn't fair either. But it felt... kinder.
She stepped back, giving him space, the way she always did, instinctively, like she knew exactly how close was too close. "Anyway," she added, lifting her book slightly, "I should probably pretend I was actually reading this instead of eavesdropping on your emotional destruction."
Owen huffed a weak breath. "You always do that."
"Because you never notice," she said lightly.
She turned to go, then paused. Looked back over her shoulder.
"For what it's worth," she added, "if someone leaves you feeling like crap and somehow also like you owe them... that's not loyalty. That's leverage."
Owen's throat tightened. "You don't even know the whole story."
She smiled, quick, crooked, familiar. "I know you."
Then she was gone, disappearing back into the movement of the training wing like she always did, like she hadn't just rearranged something inside his chest.
Owen stayed where he was, the noise of the room swelling back around him. Beau's words still echoed, sharp and invasive. But now they weren't alone. Leigh's voice sat beside them, steadier. Clearer.
It didn't erase the guilt. But it did something worse. It made him wonder why he'd spent so long listening to the wrong person.
And that's the chapter ???? Rory's alone, Ethan's trying to do damage control with two broken hands, Owen's guilt is officially eating him alive, and Beau just got a red banded and somehow still managed to make it everyone else's fault. Next chapter we're leaning into the fallout.Tell me your poll answer below and i'll emotionally profile you with love ??
Quick poll because i’m nosy, who are you the maddest at right now?
