Belvarlia—now better known as the Pan-Belvarlia region—had been in flux for four decades. Years ago, the Belvarlia Guard, an armed internal security force, stormed the capital and drove out the “elected” government, which had previously overthrown a dictatorship with foreign backing. The expulsion reignited civil war, plunging the entire region into what would become a true battlefield of a hundred factions.

  Now, with the assassination of Alexander Valniev—the last leader of the exiled Belvarlia government and the last remaining political common denominator—what little hope of peace remained had been extinguished.

  Tyto’s convoy, under Richard’s command, rolled along a desolate back road, radios off, holding strict comm silence. As they neared contested territory, the distant thud of artillery and scattered gunfire could be heard.

  Abandoned tanks and APCs lined the roadside—some rusted, some still dusted with blast soot. Others had been scavenged, torch-cut open and stripped of their innards, like gutted mechanical beasts.

  Lately, the ultranationalist Belvar Resistance had been active in the area. UN peacekeepers operated nearby and might, in theory, side with Spiral Matrix—but they had problems of their own. In the cab, Malik flicked through radio bands in the G63, hoping for a local broadcast. Nothing but static.

  In the G63, Ricochet slowly sat up from the floor and looked through the ballistic glass. The wind tore across the land. Beneath a ceiling of iron-grey clouds, Belvarlia bled on.

  Malik caught her movement in the rearview and snapped, “Don’t look.”

  She ignored him.

  “Let her,” Tyto said, leaning back, eyes closed—but his mind was elsewhere.

  Back during a rest stop, Tyto had pulled Louis aside. No one else was nearby.

  “You crossed a line.”

  Louis stiffened. “I don’t follow.”

  Tyto lit a cigarette, exhaled smoke into his face. “Don’t play dumb. You dosed the target with a recreational compound. You know what I mean.”

  “Oh, that,” Louis said, a little calmer. “I just thought… it might make her a bit happier for a few days.”

  “Happier?” Tyto’s tone sharpened. “Does she look happy to you? Since when is our job handing out ‘happiness’?”

  “You’re right… I’m just a medic. But I’m not blind. Once she reaches Granitz, she’ll end up as a lab rat—if she’s lucky. More likely, dead. We’re just transporting a corpse. I gave her a little peace before the end. Isn’t that more humane than whatever you think you’re doing?”

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  “If you were that humane,” Tyto said coldly, “you wouldn’t have left her starving for three days. Dressing up your filth as mercy doesn’t make you cleaner than me.”

  “…Look, you’re sharp. I get it. But this op doesn’t need your lectures. I didn’t harm her. Viktor and the others would say the same. And if you’re Giftborn, maybe you’re taking all this too personally.”

  Tyto didn’t answer.

  “I could ask Malik what you’ve been saying behind my back,” he said, voice flat. “You two worked together before I joined.”

  Louis went pale. “If I said anything out of line, I apologize—”

  Tyto crushed the cigarette out against the front pocket of Louis’ tac vest.

  “You’re taking me for a killer and a fool.”

  “You… you threatening me?” Louis stumbled back. He won’t. He wouldn’t. Right?

  Tyto didn’t blink.

  “You should be grateful I don’t threaten corpses. If this goes up the chain, Richard will be forced to make an example of you. For the sake of appearances. That’s the only thing keeping you alive.”

  Louis swallowed hard. “Alright… I’ll switch to a proper neuro-inhibitor. Let’s just call this settled, yeah?”

  “Settled?” Tyto gave a faint smile. “You think after this, I’ll let you near her again?”

  He stepped forward.

  “To me, you’re the biggest threat in this convoy. Now get lost. Before I change my mind.”

  Back in the G63, Malik finally tuned into something. A crackling voice spoke fast and urgent:

  “…Yesterday, ultranationalist fighters from the Belvar Resistance clashed with UN forces at the Spero Bridge. The structure has sustained heavy damage. Civilians west of the Spero River are being evacuated, but—”

  Ricochet kept looking out the window.

  Tyto checked his watch. Time. He reached for the cold box and opened it. Louis had been reassigned to the rear vehicle, which meant this task now fell to him. Maybe he shouldn’t have gotten involved.

  But even if the hallucinogen worked as intended, letting discipline slide was dangerous. He pulled out the neuro-inhibitor and unlocked the cage.

  Ricochet turned to him, wary.

  “I’ll be handling this from now on,” he said.

  She nodded and held out her arm. Tyto knelt and took it. Her skin was marked—bruises, punctures, irritation near the veins.

  “Other arm.”

  She obeyed.

  As the drug entered her bloodstream, she said, “That’s not a hallucinogen, is it?”

  “No. Neuro-inhibitor.”

  “You people know how to deal with me.” Her tone was even—more like observation than complaint.

  Tyto capped the syringe. She was almost too compliant. According to intel, she was supposed to be dangerous. This didn’t match.

  Either the intel was wrong, or the obedience was a mask.

  And if her Gift really was allure… would this drug be enough? What if she started begging, bargaining, making promises? He wouldn’t break—but he’d learn her limits.

  Yet she just sat there. Still. Silent. Like an armadillo guarding its soft belly.

  She looked out again. Tyto asked, “First time in Belvarlia?”

  She smiled. “Trying to fish for intel? Trade something if you want answers.”

  “What do you want?”

  He leaned in slightly. In the cramped G63, even kneeling, he had physical presence.

  She didn’t flinch. Her eyes moved across his uniform, to his belt, and settled on his knife.

  “When was the last time you killed someone?”

  Tyto: “Last week. You?”

  Ricochet hesitated. “I don’t kill often.”

  That was a strange answer. Tyto frowned.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “They all kind of… ran into the blade. Does that count?”

  Tyto stared. Cold.

  “You’re not very good at jokes.”

  “Oh, that wasn’t one. I’m quite good at jokes, actually.” She smiled faintly.

  There was a sharp contrast between her docility and the edge in her words. She didn’t fear provoking him—in fact, she seemed to enjoy the tension. The verbal sparring.

  Fine. For now, the upper hand was theirs.

  And so was the inhibitor.