William was halfway through a damage-control briefing when his security chief burst into the room.

  “Sir,” she said, pale. “You need to leave. Now.”

  William looked up. “Why?”

  The lights flickered.

  Then went out.

  Emergency systems activated instantly, bathing the room in dull red.

  Every screen went dark.

  Every channel went silent.

  William stood slowly.

  “…That shouldn’t be possible,” he murmured.

  A footstep echoed in the hallway.

  Heavy.

  Unhurried.

  Deliberate.

  Security raised their weapons.

  They never fired.

  Because Tancred walked through the door.

  The metal frame bent inward around him like soft clay.

  Blood stained his knuckles.

  His coat was torn.

  He looked like he had come straight from a battlefield.

  He ignored everyone else.

  Only William mattered.

  “Leave,” Tancred said quietly.

  The word carried weight.

  The guards hesitated.

  William lifted a hand.

  “Go,” he said.

  They ran.

  The door sealed behind them.

  Silence settled.

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  “You shut down the building,” William said.

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  Tancred shrugged. “Hard work.”

  William exhaled.

  “Sit,” he said, gesturing to a chair.

  Tancred did not.

  He walked closer.

  Step.

  Step.

  Step.

  Until he stood directly across the desk.

  “You used her,” Tancred said.

  William did not deny it.

  “Yes.”

  “For politics.”

  “Yes.”

  “For optics.”

  “Yes.”

  “For stability.”

  “Yes.”

  Tancred’s jaw tightened.

  “And you’re proud?”

  “No.”

  William stood.

  “I didn’t have a choice.”

  Tancred laughed.

  A short, bitter sound.

  “You always have a choice,” he said. “You just didn’t like yours.”

  William’s voice hardened.

  “People were dying.”

  “They still are.”

  “Not there.”

  “Somewhere else.”

  William clenched his fists.

  “I stopped a chain reaction.”

  “You passed it on,” Tancred replied.

  Tancred paced slowly.

  “Do you know what they see?” he asked.

  “Who?”

  “Everyone,” Tancred said. “They see someone who bleeds so they don’t have to.”

  William swallowed.

  “She agreed.”

  “Because she’s better than you,” Tancred snapped.

  The words struck hard.

  William straightened.

  “You think I enjoy this?” he demanded. “You think I don’t see what it does to her?”

  “Then stop,” Tancred said.

  “I can’t.”

  “You won’t.”

  “I’m responsible for millions.”

  “And I’m responsible for her.”

  They stared at each other.

  Two definitions of duty.

  Two kinds of burden.

  “Xior wouldn’t do this,” Tancred said.

  William’s mouth tightened.

  “No,” he admitted. “He would build something where he didn’t need to.”

  “Exactly.”

  William walked to the window.

  The capital glowed weakly below.

  “I stayed,” he said quietly. “When others left.”

  “I know.”

  “I held it together,” William said. “Barely.”

  “I know.”

  “And now you’re telling me I’m wrong?”

  “I’m telling you you’re breaking her.”

  Silence.

  William whispered, “What would you do?”

  Tancred answered immediately.

  “I would burn the people who made it necessary.”

  “That isn’t leadership.”

  “That is honesty.”

  William turned.

  “If I did that, everything collapses.”

  “Maybe it should.”

  “That’s easy for you. You have somewhere else.”

  Tancred’s eyes hardened.

  “You think Abyss is peace?” he growled. “You think it’s easy?”

  “No.”

  “Then don’t pretend I escaped.”

  Tancred stopped pacing.

  “Iria died because people calculated,” he said quietly.

  William froze.

  “I won’t let her become another equation.”

  William’s voice softened.

  “I’m trying to protect her.”

  “By making her expendable.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  The air seemed to tighten.

  Not from power.

  From restraint.

  William knew.

  If Tancred chose, this building would fall.

  And he would vanish with it.

  But Tancred had not come to kill him.

  He had come to warn him.

  “Next time,” Tancred said, “you ask her.”

  “I did.”

  “You pressured her.”

  William flinched.

  “Yes.”

  Tancred leaned closer.

  “If you do it again,” he said quietly, “I will not talk.”

  William held his gaze.

  “…Is that a threat?”

  “It’s a promise.”

  Silence.

  Then Tancred stepped back.

  “You are not cruel,” he said. “You are exhausted.”

  “That’s worse,” William replied.

  Tancred turned to leave.

  “One more thing,” William said.

  He paused.

  “She still trusts you,” William continued. “Don’t waste that.”

  Tancred did not turn.

  “I won’t,” he said.

  The lights returned.

  Systems rebooted.

  Staff rushed in.

  William sank into his chair.

  His hands trembled.

  He stared at the empty doorway.

  “I’m losing everyone,” he whispered.

  And somewhere across the city, Elira checked her phone, saw the emergency alerts, and wondered who had fought for her this time.