Suhal was a statue in the hospital bed, his arm encased in a cast, the rest of him a rigid line of bandages. He watched the ceiling with a fixed, hateful stare. Across the narrow room, Prudenzio shifted, the movement a silent testament to the pain his own body held. A pristine white bandage was taped over the precise spot on his chest where Suhal’s chain had cut him, a stark mark against his skin.

“You got lucky, stupido,” Prudenzio muttered, a tight smile playing on his lips. His gaze was sharp, a mixture of mockery and something else entirely. “I thought Elara was gonna kill your ass.”

Suhal’s jaw was a granite line, his eyes unblinking. The only sign he’d heard was a slight tightening in the muscles of his neck.

A nurse swept in, her movements a practiced, efficient blur. She checked a monitor, her voice low and brisk. “You’re a tough cookie. All your injuries are minor, but you need to calm down next time—or you might not leave here at all.”

“Nah,” Prudenzio said, his grin widening, a flash of pure impish charm. “I’ll come back every day just to see pretty girls like you.”

Her lips twitched. She fought a smile, but a pink flush crept up her neck, giving away her amusement. With a professional nod she couldn’t quite pull off, she walked out, the hint of a suppressed giggle following her.

Prudenzio leaned back, his own bravado fading as the door clicked shut. The grin was gone. “I gotta admit, they always said the fraternity in the U.S. branch was the weakest… but after today? I think they were wrong.” He let out a weary sigh, the sound heavy in the sterile silence. “Look, I know you don’t like me. I’m just talking out loud. But—let me get this straight—you got cucked by the woman you love, and that turned you into a flexing dick? That’s rough, amico.”

For the first time since their fight, Suhal’s rigid posture slackened. His gaze finally broke from the ceiling, dropping to his clenched fists. “When Elara started beating the hell out of me…” His voice was a raw, hesitant whisper. “I actually saw my life flash.” The admission hung in the air, a raw, exposed nerve.

Prudenzio’s easy smirk vanished, replaced by a momentary, quiet surprise. He shook his head slowly. “Yeah, that always sounded like bullshit to me too.”

“It’s not,” Suhal insisted, the quiet intensity in his tone growing. “And I didn’t like what I saw. I was a total asshole to Victoire… to Cross, too. To every woman I ever dated. None of them deserved it. All because of one heartbreak.” He exhaled, the sound a sharp, pained hiss of regret. “I don’t know why it took getting my skull nearly cracked open to finally see that.”

A beat of silence passed. Prudenzio’s usual smirk was gone, his face uncharacteristically sober as he stared at the bandaged man across from him. He finally saw the old wounds bleeding beneath Suhal’s bluster.

“So, you finally got it, huh?” a voice cut through the room, sharp and low.

Both men turned their heads to the doorway. Cross stood there, leaning against the frame, his presence an immovable weight. His eyes were steady and unreadable, but they held the kind of stillness that came only from immense power.

Cross walked in, his gaze sweeping over them. “You two have no idea how hard I’ve worked to get things this way. Out of your whole generation, only three of you made it to S-class, and I had to retrain every single one to push you further. We fight, we argue, we talk all kinds of shit—but at the end of the day, there’s nothing but love here. We’re family. A real brotherhood that doesn’t just kill together, but actually gives a damn about each other. Truly. That’s what we’re trying to show you youngsters.”

He leaned back against the wall, his eyes flicking from one man to the other. "Y'all only see the surface. The shouting, the insults, the hard edges. But underneath all that? That's respect. Earned in the fire, not handed out like candy."

He tapped two fingers on the table, slow and deliberate, as if counting old scars. "You think I like every bastard in this room? Hell no. But I'd still take a bullet for 'em. Because I know—when it’s my turn—they’ll do the same for me."

His gaze settled on Suhal, his tone softening but losing none of its gravity. "You're young. And young blood thinks strength is all about flexing and winning the next fight. But strength isn't what you can lift or who you can drop. It's knowing your brother's weakness and still trusting him with your life. That's what I mean when I say family."

A thick silence hung in the air. Even Prudenzio’s usual smirk faltered, as if the words had cut deeper than he expected.

Cross leaned forward, his voice a low, gravelly whisper. "Don't mistake love for softness. Love is the reason we don't fold. Love's why we’re still here when everyone else burned out, washed up, or ended up in a grave. You catch me?"

Suhal shook his head, a clear line of defiance on his face. “But this goes against everything we were taught back home. You can’t just rewrite eons of practice, especially in a place like this, in the year 2000.”

Cross didn’t move. He just watched him, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across his face. “Watch me, little nigga.” He paused, letting the silence stretch, then delivered the final cut. “I trained Byron and Elara just fine. And last I checked, Elara slept your ass. Must be doing something right.”

Prudenzio couldn’t hold it in. A harsh bark of laughter burst from him, loud and unexpected.

Suhal’s posture stiffened. His eyes, now filled with a burning, renewed fury, locked on Cross. “Okay, old man… that’s a new kind of low.”

With that, Cross got to his feet and moved to the doorway, his silhouette blocking the light. But he didn’t leave. He stopped, his shoulders squared, and looked back over the room. “Do you two remember our creed?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, their voices rose in unison, a new kind of respect in their tone. The words were a rhythm they had practiced since childhood, a cadence of honor and duty.

“quia potentes veritatem pro utilitate torquent, veritatem non quaerimus. inter bonum et malum, in medio laboramus. finis noster est potentem rationem dare, et liberam voluntatem servare. sumus umbrae quae solem adiuvant. sumus architecti pacis secretae.”

(Because the powerful twist truth for their own gain, we do not seek the truth. Between good and evil, we work in the middle ground. Our goal is to hold the powerful accountable, and to protect free will. We are the shadows that help the sun. We are the architects of a secret peace.)

A slow, proud smile spread across Cross’s face. He finally turned and walked away, the click of the door marking a quiet victory.

A few hours later…

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows as Victoire and Leo walked through a park, the fresh scent of cut grass filling the air. Leo, now a little more at ease with the outside world, was pointing at a squirrel chattering up a tree, his small hands still signing with precise movements.

(It’s collecting food for winter,) he signed, his eyes tracking the animal. (Like humans collect money to buy food.)

Victoire chuckled. "Exactly, sweet pea. You’re getting the hang of it."

Beside them, Byron strode with a relaxed gait, hands casually in his pockets, occasionally glancing at Leo with a faint, almost imperceptible smile. The days of discreet tailing were over. After Victoire’s pointed "lesson" by the ice cream shop, he’d accepted his fate as the official, visible escort.

"So, you two having fun out here?" Byron asked, his voice a low rumble. He wasn’t spying, but he was definitely listening.

"Loads," Victoire replied, her tone dry but amused. "Leo’s been dissecting everything from traffic patterns to socioeconomic disparities in squirrel nut-gathering habits."

Leo tilted his head, curious. (What are socioeconomic disparities?)

"See?" Victoire said to Byron with a shrug. "Never a dull moment." She turned back to Leo. "It means… well, some squirrels might have better access to nuts than others, like some people have more money or opportunities than others."

Leo nodded slowly, filing the information away. He then looked at Byron, his gaze direct. (You’re very quiet today, Mr. Byron.)

Byron’s lips twitched. "Just enjoying the peace, kid. Don’t get much of that back at the Fraternity." He glanced at Victoire, a knowing look passing between them. The peace was indeed a welcome change from the usual chaos, especially with Suhal and Prudenzio now officially part of the equation.

Byron cleared his throat, pulling Victoire a few steps away from Leo, who was still absorbed in the squirrel’s antics. "Doc, can I talk to you for a second? Just us." He lowered his voice, making sure it was too quiet for Leo’s hawk-like hearing. "That kid… the way he made that punk run from the ice cream shop. You felt that, right?"

Victoire nodded, her expression grim. "Like a punch to the gut. It was… heavy. Like his feelings were radiating."

"Exactly," Byron said, his eyes flicking to Leo, then back to her. "I’ve felt something similar from Cross, from Elara… but never like that. Never from someone who wasn’t even trying." He paused, weighing his words. "He’s got something inside him, Doc. Something big."

"I know," Victoire whispered, a shiver running down her spine despite the warm air. "It’s like his emotions are physical. But what does it mean? What is he capable of?"

Byron shook his head, his gaze troubled. "I don’t know. But we need to be careful. He’s learning to feel, but he doesn’t understand control yet. If he can do that without even knowing it… imagine what happens when he figures it out."

Victoire looked at Byron seriously. “If you really think that little boy is a threat, I’m not-” she started but got cut off.”

“I ain’t saying all that. Plus I was kind enough to even let you know what Leo was, you saw that file just like me. You and I both he’s not normal worth a fuck.” Byron said, making sure to keep an eye on Leo while talking.

“Normal is subjective anyway, what’s normal to us doesn't need to be set in stone for him.” Victoire said in defense of Leo.

“Oh, so ‘normal is subjective’? He just emitted a goddamn invisible aura that intimidated people, like some TV show shit! If normal is subjective, then billions of others in the world would agree with me.” Byron’s voice rose with each word.

Victoire’s gaze bore into Byron, her voice firm. "You’re talking about a child with Asperger’s, Byron. He perceives the world differently, yes, but that doesn’t make him a threat. What you call ‘intimidating aura,’ I call an emotional processing overload. He feels things so intensely, it literally radiates from him. He doesn’t have the filters most people do."

Byron scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "Filters? Doc, he just cleared out an ice cream shop with a silent death stare! That ain’t a filter problem, that’s a power problem. You saw the file, you saw the Project Übermensch stuff. This kid is designed to be something else. What happens when he ‘feels intensely’ and decides to level a city block? He’s always calm, always rational, until he’s not. What happens when that switch flips?"

"That’s exactly why he needs empathy, not fear," Victoire shot back, stepping closer. "He’s docile because we’re showing him how to navigate these emotions, how to understand them. He’s learning to feel, not just process. You think fear is going to teach him control? It’ll just make him suppress it until he ‘crashes out,’ as you so eloquently put it. And then what? We lose him, or worse, he becomes exactly what you’re afraid of."

"Or," Byron countered, his voice lowering to a dangerous rumble, "we prepare for it. We understand what he’s capable of. ‘Docile’ is fine for now, but what happens when that calm breaks? Because it will break. Every human snaps. And he’s not just any human, Victoire. He’s a walking, talking, highly intelligent, possibly super-powered toddler. He’s a ticking time bomb of potential chaos, and we’re sitting here debating whether he’s ‘normal’ because he’s got autism. Autism doesn’t explain that." He gestured vaguely in the direction of the ice cream shop.

"No, it doesn’t explain that," Victoire conceded, her voice softer but no less resolute. "But it explains why he’s so focused, so analytical, why he needs to categorize and understand everything. It explains why he struggles with expression. And it gives us a starting point to help him. If we treat him like a monster, he’ll become one. If we treat him like a child who needs guidance and love, maybe, just maybe, he can learn to channel whatever ‘that’ is." She looked at Leo, still observing the squirrel, a faint, almost imperceptible smile on his face. "He deserves a chance to be more than just a weapon."

“Monsters can have good up brings too doc, I already told you what I had to do if he becomes a danger. And I really don’t want to kill a child.” Byron said.

Victoire looked at him with a serious expression. “I won’t let that happen.”

“You don’t have a choice, and I suggest you stick to your role please. I don’t want anything else to happen necessarily.” Byron said vaguely but the meaning was clear.

“Monsters can have good upbringings too, Doc. I already told you what I have to do if he becomes a danger. And I really don’t want to kill a child.” Byron’s voice was strained, a hint of desperation in his tone.

Victoire’s gaze was unwavering, her expression grim. “I won’t let that happen.”

Byron’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t have a choice. I suggest you stick to your role, please. I don’t want anything else to happen.” The unspoken threat hung heavy in the air between them.

Victoire’s stomach dropped when she glanced to her side and found nothing but empty air where Leo had been. Her fingers twitched like they still felt the warmth of his hand, but he was gone—vanished.

“Leo?” Her voice cracked as she spun in place, searching the park’s cheerful chaos. Byron, a few paces ahead, froze at the panic in her tone.

“What?” His relaxed swagger evaporated instantly, his whole frame snapping taut like a guard dog scenting danger.

“He’s… he’s gone.” The words fell out of her like stones, her wide eyes flicking from picnickers on blankets to the shadow of the playground slides. The sunny park suddenly looked hostile, every laugh a mockery.

Byron’s gaze swept the trees, sharp and fast. “Gone? Gone where? I looked away for two seconds! Does he teleport when I’m not watching?!”

“I don’t know, I just had his hand!” Victoire’s voice pitched higher, a tremor betraying the dread bubbling in her chest. She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, “Leo!” The echo bounced back, thin and useless.

Byron muttered a curse and broke into a sprint. “Split up! You take the playground, I’ll sweep the woods. Move!”

Victoire bolted, her pulse pounding in her ears. He can’t be far. He’s never been out here alone. He’ll be terrified. Yet in the back of her mind, the memory of the ice cream shop whispered: Was Leo even capable of fear?

Meanwhile, Byron tore through the underbrush with soldier-like precision, scanning the ground for any sign. “Leo!” he barked. “This isn’t funny! Kid, I swear if Cross finds out I lost you—” He cut himself off with a string of colorful curses.

Then he broke through a thicket, stopped short, and blinked.

Up above, three stories high, Leo sat perched on a branch like he’d been born there. His legs dangled casually, surrounded by an audience of squirrels and songbirds, all of them gathered like disciples at the feet of their tiny, silent guru. Leo fed them crumbs with one hand while the other signed with serene grace, a faint smile ghosting his face.

Byron’s jaw unhinged. “Oh, for—” He dragged both hands down his face and stared up in disbelief. “Leo. Kid. What the actual hell are you doing? You’re not Snow White!”

Victoire heard Byron’s voice and came running, breathless. “What is it? Did you—” She followed his wide-eyed stare upward and froze.

“Sweet baby Jesus!” Her hands flew to her head. “How the hell did he get up there!?”

Byron threw his arms out, exasperated. “Don’t look at me! Kid scaled that tree like he was auditioning for National Geographic! I swear he’s part squirrel!” He shifted under the branch, ready to catch Leo if gravity decided to get involved.

“Leo! Sweetheart, what are you doing?” Victoire called up, her voice trembling as she tried to sound calm.

Leo glanced down at them, then without hesitation, launched into a descent that looked less like climbing and more like a stunt reel. He leapt branch to branch, flipping, swinging, and dropping with acrobatic precision.

Victoire’s heart nearly gave out. Every daring jump made her whip her eyes away, only to snap them back, unable to stop watching.

Byron, meanwhile, just stood rooted to the spot, slack-jawed. “Are you seeing this? The kid’s out here turning a tree into his personal jungle gym—and I think I’m actually impressed.”

He landed softly in front of them, hardly a leaf rustled. His eyes were bright, and he looked… happy.

(I was having fun, Dr. They like my crumbs, and they taught me how to climb. The little fluffy ones are very good at it,) he signed, a genuine, delighted smile spreading across his face.

Victoire stared at him, then at the impossibly high branch he’d just vacated, then back at him. Her face went pale, a faint green tinge appearing around her lips.

"He… he learned to climb?" she whispered, her voice reedy. "Like that? In five minutes?"

Byron chuckled, shaking his head. "Seems so. The kid’s a damn natural."

Suddenly, Victoire swayed, her eyes rolling back into her head. "Oh… oh God… I’m gonna… I’m gonna puke…"

She dropped to the ground with a soft thump, completely out cold.

Leo blinked, then looked at Byron, confused. (Did she break?)

Byron sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Nah, kid. She just fainted. You gave her a heart attack."