A building somewhere.
The concrete walls shut out all sound from the outside world.
At the end of the corridor was an arched door, and beyond it lay a room with a long rectangular table. Light from recessed wall sconces carved each face at the table into sharp relief, shadows pooling deep.
At the head of the table sat a middle-aged man in his forties, his hair with a natural slight wave.
A patch of old burn scar stretched from his cheekbone down to his jaw on the left side of his face, the skin shriveled and twisted.
His right hand rested on the armrest, fingers drumming lightly against the surface in a slow, idle rhythm.
"The goods from that Bai kid have all been inspected," the man reporting said, standing beside the table with a list in hand. "Quantity is full, quality is sound. Please take a look, Chief."
The Chief took the long list, scanning it from top to bottom.
"Good."
Just two words, but the man reporting visibly relaxed, retreating to his seat.
The meeting room fell silent again.
A dozen or so people sat on both sides of the long table. No one spoke or exchanged glances. They all quietly watched the man at the head.
Click.
A faint, joint-popping crack.
A man seated near the front of the table suddenly lurched forward, his elbow slamming hard into the tabletop, rattling his teacup.
Ji Bai slid off his chair.
His skin was that pale, sun-starved white, with blue veins clearly visible at his temples and along his neck. The narrow ends of his eyes were drawn up in agony, and his lips had been bitten bloody.
He hit the floor on his knees, both hands braced hard against the freezing tiles.
Beneath the fabric of his back, something was slowly undulating.
The shape was small, but unnatural.
As if some hard, sharp matter were trying to push through the skin on either side of his spine. With each squirm, the cloth over his back bulged into an irregular lump, then sank back down.
Like something alive, breathing under his skin.
No one dared look at him.
The room was quiet enough to hear the wet, slithering sound of whatever moved beneath the skin of Ji Bai's back — damp and fine, like insects gnawing on bone.
Ji Bai fought with every ounce of strength to control the tremor in his body, forced himself upright on his knees, and pressed his forehead hard to the ground.
"Chief." The words came through gritted teeth. "Last time… it was my failure. I couldn't bring her back."
His forehead pressed against the cold floor, cold sweat dripping from his temples.
"I beg to make amends. Please, Chief…"
He didn't get to finish.
Another violent squirm tore through his back, curling his whole body over in agony.
He bit down on his tongue so hard that blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.
A massive scar on his right shoulder burned faintly beneath his clothes — a gift from that sniper in Zero Squad.
Now compounded with the agonizing backlash of his own mutation, born from the forbidden energy that was his ability.
Without the Benevolence, he wouldn't last much longer.
Last time he'd failed to bring back Jiang Nuan, the Benevolence had been cut off. A full month now.
The Chief said nothing.
The silence stretched.
So long that the breathing of everyone else in the room became shallow and faint, as if they were not a gathering of ability users but a bunch of rats with hands clamped around their throats.
Then the Chief stood.
He walked around the table, step by step, until he stood before Ji Bai.
Then he bent down.
Both hands gripped Ji Bai's shoulders, lifting him to his feet.
The movement was gentle. Almost tender, even.
"Get up." His tone was like an elder comforting a wayward junior.
Ji Bai was still trembling slightly as he was helped upright.
The Chief tilted his head slightly, gesturing with a wave of his hand.
A man who had been standing in the corner hurried forward, holding a box. In a foam-lined hollow lay a syringe, waiting quietly.
The Benevolence.
The man took out the syringe and pressed the needle into the side of Ji Bai's neck.
The effect was immediate. The lumps under his skin seemed to be pressed back down by some force, slowly receding beneath the surface.
Ji Bai's ragged breath eased into steady rhythm, the sickly pale grey fading from his face, a touch of color returning.
"Thank you for the Benevolence, Chief."
He raised a hand to wipe the cold sweat from his brow.
"Last time… it was my carelessness."
He paused, then looked up.
"I didn't know Jiang Nuan had lost her memory. Her reactions were completely different from before. And then Zero Squad stepped in out of nowhere. I was caught off guard."
"If the Chief is willing to give me one more chance…"
The Chief studied him for a few seconds, then reached out and patted Ji Bai's shoulder. "What's the rush."
He walked back to the head of the table, sat down, and picked up the tea that had long since gone cold.
"If Jiang Nuan has lost her memory, then she doesn't remember what she set out to do either." He took a sip. "So we don't need to be in a hurry."
His fingers tapped on the list.
"Right now, there's something more important."
He set the cup down.
"That Bai kid's deal is simple: we take care of his people in the Bai family, and he hands over the shipment. We leave the old man alive, so there won't be too much turbulence, and he can sit more securely in his seat."
"A nice calculation."
No one in the meeting room dared to respond.
The Chief looked down at his own hands — long, clean fingers.
"But he sealed Jiang Nuan's memory."
That sentence dropped, and the air in the room froze for a beat.
"Because of his selfishness, there's a new variable in our plan."
The Chief's gaze shifted from his fingertips to Ji Bai's face.
"When there's a variable, someone has to pay the price."
"Ji Bai. Take 005 to the docks. The Bai family's ship hasn't returned yet, and those people are still there."
"Yes." Ji Bai nodded. "As agreed, should I bring Old Master Bai out?"
The Chief smiled faintly.
"As agreed?"
He picked up the cold tea and took a sip, the rim of the cup against his lips, pausing for a beat.
"He gave me a variable, so I'll give him a gift in return."
"This time, on that ship — not one of them survives."
A pause.
"Go."
Ji Bai lowered his head. "Yes."
He turned, pushed open the meeting room door, and walked out.
The door closed silently behind him.
Morning sunlight filtered through the corridors of the Bai estate, casting warm pools of light on the flagstone path.
Jiang Nuan had just taken a short walk around the front courtyard with Ye Que.
"Sister."
A gentle voice came from the side.
Bai Siyuan stood at the covered walkway, his white shirt collar still buttoned to the very top. Sunlight fell on his shoulders, clean in a way that seemed almost unreal.
He tilted his head slightly, looking at Jiang Nuan, a gentle smile curving at the corner of his mouth.
"Did you rest well last night?"
Jiang Nuan's spine stiffened.
Last night.
That dream of memory, the words in the black hardcover notebook — [She should be mine alone.]
And Shen Wu's words: "The one who placed the seal is wavering himself."
She faced Bai Siyuan, a complicated emotion churning in her chest.
You're hesitating about whether to let me remember, aren't you.
"I rested very well." Jiang Nuan curved her lips into a smile, her voice betraying nothing.
"That's good." Bai Siyuan nodded. "I mentioned yesterday I'd take you to see the greenhouse. I'm free today, and the plants were just watered this morning. It's the best time to go."
Jiang Nuan nodded. "Alright."
That place was indeed somewhere the group hadn't been before.
The three of them walked toward the back garden, Bai Siyuan in the lead. Jiang Nuan followed half a step behind. Ye Que walked at her side, neither too close nor too far.
Just before they reached the greenhouse door, Bai Siyuan turned around.
His gaze first settled on Jiang Nuan's face, then shifted to Ye Que, and finally back to the distance between the two of them.
"You two really are inseparable."
Jiang Nuan casually looped her arm through Ye Que's and lowered her head with a soft laugh.
"Can't help it. He can't live without me."
Ye Que turned his head to look at her.
When that gaze pressed down on her, Jiang Nuan's heart inexplicably tightened.
Then he turned his hand over and clasped hers, fingers closing together, wrapping her palm completely inside his own.
"Mm," he said.
"I can't live without her."
If it had been before last night, Jiang Nuan would have thought this guy was playing his part perfectly—born actor, truly.
But last night.
That sentence cut off mid-way on the couch.
Words like these coming out of his mouth were no longer just an act.
That ledger of the past—she couldn't tally it up.
Jiang Nuan lowered her eyes to cover the complicated look on her face, but the quickening of her heartbeat made it even harder to calculate.
Bai Siyuan withdrew his gaze and turned toward the greenhouse's glass door.
His fingers rested on the handle as he glanced back, as if something had just occurred to him.
"By the way, the plants inside the greenhouse require special care conditions. Too many people isn't ideal."
He looked at Ye Que, smile gentle.
"Mr. Ye, would you mind waiting outside? Just a moment."
Jiang Nuan did not answer immediately.
Ye Que looked down at her.
The entire greenhouse was transparent. Glass walls stretched from the ground to the dome, every angle in full view.
Standing outside, every move inside could be seen.
Which meant the line of sight would never be cut off.
Jiang Nuan pulled her hand out of Ye Que's. "Wait for me out here, just a bit. I'll be quick."
Ye Que's shoulders tensed for an instant. "Twenty minutes."
Jiang Nuan nodded. "This greenhouse isn't big. Twenty minutes is more than enough."
Bai Siyuan pushed open the greenhouse's glass door.
A wave of damp, warm air rushed out, laced with the thick scent of soil and plant breath.
Jiang Nuan stepped over the threshold.
Behind her, the glass door closed silently.
Sunlight poured down through the dome, spreading at her feet.
And before her, a room full of red roses was blooming in quiet splendor, the air thick with a fragrance so rich it was almost cloying.
Bai Siyuan turned around, looking at Jiang Nuan standing among the flowers. He didn't glance at the wary man beyond the greenhouse glass—his world seemed to have only her in it.
"A Nuan." Bai Siyuan walked to the fullest-blooming rose and snipped one off with the silver shears. "You once said there are no flowers in the refugee zone, and that if you could ever have a garden of your own, it would be a dream come true."
He carried that rose, step by step, until he stood before Jiang Nuan.
"Now, you have a garden." Bai Siyuan held the rose out to her. "As long as you're willing, everything here is yours."
"Thank you, brother." Jiang Nuan took the rose and looked at it for a long moment.
The petals layered over one another, each one plump and vibrant.
In the apocalypse, such a thing was practically priceless.
She appreciated it with genuine admiration.
"A Nuan."
Bai Siyuan watched the woman before him, head bowed in admiration of the flower.
She stood among the roses he had planted, holding the rose he had cut for her.
He looked at her for a long time.
The corner of Bai Siyuan's mouth lifted slightly.
"There's something your brother wants to tell you alone."
