Solan pushed the door open.
The hallway looked exactly the same. Portraits lined the walls, their gilded frames catching the low yellow light.
Damien hadn’t moved. He was leaning against the wall like a nail hammered into it. Just there.
The strange sense of unreality Solan had felt inside the chamber—toast, tea, milk, that pretty sister comment he wished he could swallow back—suddenly snapped into place again. It felt like something that had happened to another person. But now the hallway, and the silent judges staring from the walls, dragged it all back onto him.
Damien lifted his eyes, his gaze rested on Solan for a brief second. For some reason, Solan suddenly thought he looked like a security guard.
“You were waiting out here the whole time?” he asked.
“Mm.”
“…I think I’m clear now,” Solan added quickly, like someone requesting early dismissal from work.
They started down the corridor. Half a minute passed before Damien spoke again, his voice flat, almost like reading a line from a report. “The ring. You still have it?”
“Yeah.” Solan instinctively touched the pocket of his pants.
“What are you planning to do with it?”
Solan didn’t answer right away. His thumb pressed against the shape of the ring through the fabric. He could say he hadn’t decided yet. That was probably the normal answer. Safer, too.
But standing there in that hallway, with those portraits staring past them and Damien walking like none of this was optional, I haven’t decided suddenly sounded like the beginning of a bigger problem.
So when he finally spoke, it came out flatter than he meant it to.
“…Take it back.”
Damien didn’t stop walking, but his pace slowed by half a step.
“Take it back?”
“Take it back to Aurichen. Straight return policy. That thing stays on me and who knows what happens next—last time I just tried to take it off and…” He trailed off, realizing that saying I don’t want to hurt anyone would sound unbearably self-important. So he corrected himself mid-sentence. “I just don’t want to embarrass myself again.”
The corner of Damien’s mouth moved. Barely. “Embarrass?”
Solan raked a hand through his hair. “Waking up in your bed was already bad enough.”
“That was my bed,” Damien said.
“Exactly. Worse.”
The elevator doors opened and closed without a sound. Cold air slid out like a thin blade. The car descended, the indicator lights blinking down one floor at a time. Solan stared at the red numbers, feeling his thoughts sink with them.
Then he remembered what Yun had told him. Damien had pulled him out of the training dome before things got worse.
“…Thanks. For last night.”
He didn’t bother explaining it. Damien would probably know what he meant.
For some reason, Damien didn’t answer.
When they stepped out of the elevator, Solan realized they were on a different floor from Damien’s room.
“I’ll drive you to Aurichen,” Damien said.
Solan blinked. “Now?”
“Now.”
They stepped outside the building. The sky had cleared completely.
“You don’t… have other things to do?” Solan asked. He didn’t even know why he was hoping Damien would say yes. At least then he could prove he hadn’t been quietly added to someone else’s schedule.
“On the way,” Damien said.
“You have a car?” Solan asked, immediately realizing how stupid that sounded. In a place like Foundry, even the air felt budgeted. Of course there were cars.
The only reply was the soft click of a remote unlock. A silver Porsche waited in the shadow of the stone wall, its body low enough to look almost glued to the ground. Damien opened the driver’s door and slid inside with the clean efficiency of someone completing a familiar routine.
Something about the car’s shape tugged at Solan’s memory. He felt certain he had seen it somewhere before. Solan stood outside the passenger door, hesitating for half a second. “I can sit in the back,” he said.
Damien had already started the engine. One hand rested on the steering wheel. He didn’t even turn his head—just lifted an eyebrow. “I’m not your Uber.”
Only then did Solan realize the back seat was basically two symbolic dents—fine for bags, maybe for a person if necessary, but absolutely indifferent to human knees.
Getting into the passenger seat was awkward enough already. His knee nearly hit the center console.
The door shut. The engine didn’t sound like a sports car at all. It was quieter than that—more like a breath being held down. As the car rolled past Foundry’s gate, Solan noticed they were on the academy’s far northern side. He rarely came here.
Solan was about to say something when Damien spoke first.
“Does anyone else know about the ring?”
Solan almost said Clara. He stopped himself. Clara had been there that night, yes—but she didn’t actually know anything about the ring. And bringing her up here felt strange. Like forcing something private into a route that had nothing to do with it.
“My roommate,” he said instead.
“Does he need to come with us?” Damien asked, in the same tone someone might use to ask if they should bring an umbrella.
Solan looked out the window. “Mm.” Then he shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Damien didn’t press. He guided the car through a slow bend in the road, steady and unhurried, as if deliberately giving Solan space to decide.
For a moment, the car went quiet again. Then Solan noticed a familiar figure ahead on the sidewalk.
A loose jacket. A walk that always looked like it was chasing the next piece of excitement. Solan felt his temple twitch. “…Maybe you should just ask him,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
Solan lowered the window slightly and leaned out.
“pspspsps.”
Damien glanced sideways.
“What are you doing?”
“You’re not gonna believe this,” Solan said. “My roommate is literally right there.” He leaned farther out the window. “pspspsps.”
“Stop,” Damien said. “What’s his name?”
Solan didn’t get the chance to answer. Matt had already noticed something—someone calling him. His shoulders stiffened. His pace quickened. “Matthew D. Edinburgh,” Solan said. He regretted it immediately. Saying the full name made it sound like an arrest warrant.
Damien slowed the car and leaned across toward Solan’s window. His voice wasn’t loud. But it carried with the clarity of a verdict. “Matthew D. Edinburgh.”
Matt slowed for half a step. He didn’t turn around. He walked faster.
Damien said it again. “Matthew D. Edinburgh.”
Matt broke into a jog.
The third time, Damien’s tone didn’t change at all. “Matthew D. Edinburgh.”
Matt started running.
Solan stared. “Why is he running?!”
Damien stopped the car. He unbuckled his seatbelt. “Stay in the car.” Then he stepped out.
The movement was clean and efficient, like someone who had finally encountered a problem that could be solved. From the passenger seat, Solan watched a completely ridiculous chase unfold on the north side of campus. One man ran like he was in an action movie. The other followed like he was executing an arrest.
The strangest part was that the pursuer never seemed hurried. Just… inevitable.
Less than a minute later, Damien returned, dragging Matt with him. Matt hung there miserably, like the world had grabbed him by the back of the neck. “Boss! You can’t blame me!” he was already protesting. “I didn’t know things were gonna turn out like this! I was just—”
“I’m not your boss,” Damien said.
“Then who are—” Matt finally noticed Solan sitting in the passenger seat. “Fuck!” His eyes widened. “Roommate—you’re not dead?!”
Solan had no idea how to respond to that.
Damien pushed Matt toward the car. “I called you. Why did you run?”
Matt was still catching his breath, but his answer came out with the absolute seriousness of someone explaining physics. “Boss, that’s how it works in mob movies. Someone calls your full name from behind. You turn around. They confirm identity.” He made a finger gun. “Then—bang!”
Solan rubbed his face.
“This is Damien,” he said. “Damien Vale.”
Matt turned and stared at Damien’s profile for two seconds. Then realization hit him. “Oh shit—wait—I knew you looked familiar.” He pointed. “You’re Clara’s brother, right?”
Solan’s ears went hot instantly.
Matt, leaning through the lowered window, secretly offered Solan a fist bump. Solan seriously considered strangling him.
Damien opened the passenger door. “Get in.”
Solan unbuckled and climbed out so Matt could get in.
“Wait—this back seat actually fits a human?” Matt protested. “These are decorative dents—” Despite the complaint, his body was already folding itself inside.
After Matt finally wedged himself into the back, Solan climbed back into the passenger seat and shut the door.
Matt folded himself into the space like a collapsing chair. His knees pressed hard into the back of the front seats. His face looked deeply wronged, though his mouth kept moving. “Seriously. This car’s back seat is for children. Or enemies.”
No one answered.
Matt, however, seemed newly energized—like a missing piece of the universe had just snapped into place.“Holy shit,” he said. “I finally met Evermend in person.”
“Stop yelling,” Solan cut in. “What Evermend?”
Matt straightened slightly, launching into explanation with the solemnity of a lecture. “His Kamuy. Reknit. Regeneration type. Full tissue restoration. Fixes you like nothing ever happened. By the way last night you—”
“Last night can wait,” Damien said. His voice stayed calm. “Sit properly.”
Matt immediately shrank back into the seat. “So serious,” he muttered. “Are all Foundry people this intense?”
Solan didn’t answer. Damien pressed the accelerator again. The silver car slipped forward almost silently, like a blade that preferred not to make noise.
“So where are we going?” Matt asked. “Roommate, where did you disappear to?”
“Aurichen,” Damien said. This time it wasn’t a question.
“It’s… complicated,” Solan added. “Something about the ring.”
Then Solan remembered something else. Matt’s betting pool. At the time Matt had called it “just for fun,” but in practice he had treated it like a full project—odds, livestreams, people placing money. If the Herman fight stream had simply cut out—
All that money would’ve vanished. Gone clean. Like dropping it into a river. Solan didn’t ease into the topic.
He asked it the way someone might ask about the weather. “How much money do you have left?”
Matt went quiet in the back seat. Solan glanced over his shoulder. Their eyes met.
“Don’t do that,” Matt said.
The entrance to the elevated highway rose ahead of them. The car dipped once, then climbed. Solan instinctively reached for a handhold. His fingers found leather stitching instead. Smooth. Firm. Too new.
He used to take the tram. You stood among strangers. The car swayed once, everyone swayed together. You could disappear in that. This was different. A closed space. Someone else holding the wheel.
From the back seat came a sharp intake of breath. Matt was practically curled into himself—not from fear, but excitement. One moment he scratched at the texture of the seatbelt with his fingernails. The next he pressed his face close to the window to watch the traffic flowing below the elevated road. Like a kid seeing an aquarium for the first time.
“Boss,” he whispered reverently, as if addressing a sacred artifact, “is this a 911 GT?”
Damien didn’t answer. His hands on the wheel were so steady it didn’t even look like driving. It looked like he was pressing each lane marker into submission.
Matt waited a moment, then leaned forward between the seats. “I’ll put on some music—”
His fingertip reached the edge of the center screen. Damien still said nothing. From the passenger seat, Solan saw Damien lift an eyebrow slightly, as if suppressing a sigh.
Then Damien nudged the volume dial down one notch. The screen lit up. The interface opened to the playlist.
Matt brightened immediately and began scrolling with enthusiasm, moving around like the car already belonged half to him. He picked something loud. The beat hit, and suddenly the entire cabin woke up.
The traffic below the elevated road broke into rhythm. Even the streetlights seemed to pulse with the music.
Matt leaned forward even farther between the seats, half wedged between Damien and Solan, still flipping through tracks. “Whoa—these speakers—listen to that bass—”
Damien guided the car smoothly onto the long straight stretch of highway. The engine noise stayed sealed somewhere behind glass, clean and distant, almost inhuman.
Solan turned in his seat and explained the situation to Matt. Matt resisted at first. He insisted he had better channels. Other ways to move something like that. Then he seemed to notice Damien’s eyes in the rearview mirror.
After that, he quieted down. A few minutes later the car slipped off the elevated highway and into VERDANT ROW. Stone walls, deep windows, and storefronts so restrained they bordered on arrogant passed by one after another.
Inside Aurichen, the lobby was almost too quiet. The lighting was the kind that smoothed over faces—not warm, not cold. Just bright enough to make everything look manageable.
Solan hadn’t even spoken yet when an older man stepped forward.
Three-piece suit. Gloves. A thin gold chain. His posture was so straight it looked like someone had drawn an invisible line through his spine. Solan recognized the face. The same man from the chaos last time. The one who had told him to choose a relic.
The man smiled, as if none of that had ever happened. “Good morning. A pleasure to see you again, gentlemen.” His eyes shifted to Damien. “Mr. Vale. A rare visit.”
Damien answered calmly beside him. “Mr. Michel.”
Solan’s throat tightened slightly. He only nodded. He had just learned the man’s name was Michel. And apparently Damien already knew him. Everything about the moment suggested that this was completely normal.
No one spoke. Solan nudged Matt with his elbow. Your line.
Matt planted his hands on his hips. “Aurichen. A place this big—and you’re selling fake products?”
Solan wanted to turn around and walk straight back out. This was not the script they had discussed in the car.
The plan had been simple: the relic was unstable, Matt had chosen it, they were returning it, and ideally Matt might recover some of the betting money.
Instead Matt was yelling about fraud. Luckily the store wasn’t crowded this early. Still, his voice carried. Solan noticed several people looking over. Even Damien turned his head slightly.
Instead Matt was yelling about fraud. A couple of attendants nearby stopped what they were doing.
Solan noticed people turning their heads. Even Damien shifted his attention to the displays beside them.
Mr. Michel raised a hand calmly. “I understand the gentleman’s concern,” he said. “Perhaps we could discuss the details in a private room.”
He led them inside. Matt followed with exaggerated confidence. The room they entered was small and controlled. Pale gray walls. A table with no visible grain.
Matt dropped onto the sofa and crossed one leg over the other. “So what’s the solution?” he said. “My friend put that ring on and passed out. I’m considering legal action.”
Mr. Michel remained perfectly composed. “First, please present the relic.”
Another attendant stepped forward, already wearing gloves. A long black tray was placed carefully on the table. Solan set the ring down. The metal made a small sound. Short. Like a swallow.
Mr. Michel glanced at it without touching it. “The binding marks are intact,” he said. “This ring is indeed an Aurichen relic.”
Matt straightened, triumphant. “See? I told you! So what’s the explanation?”
Mr. Michel nodded slightly. “We can accept the relic’s return. The record can be closed.”
Matt leaned forward immediately. “Hold on. Closing the record is fine—but can this thing be liquidated? Buyback, credit, internal valuation—something.”
Mr. Michel’s tone remained courteous. “Sir, Aurichen sells selections. We do not repurchase consequences. As stated when the relic was chosen, items from that level remain the responsibility of the client once they leave the premises.”
He folded his hands lightly. “Of course, you are free to seek valuation elsewhere. Another establishment may offer a price that satisfies you.”
Matt laughed. The laugh collapsed halfway through.
“Are you serious? Wait—shit—you did say that, didn’t you? Oh my god. I’m dead.”
Solan knew Matt was fighting for his life here. It was still incredibly embarrassing to watch. He glanced at Damien. Damien looked like he would rather not be part of this conversation.
And they had already agreed in the car—no matter what happened, the ring was going back to Aurichen today. Solan sighed and leaned closer to Matt. “How much are you short? I still have two Stabilin vials.”
To be honest, Solan had no idea what kind of operation Matt had been running behind his back. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that some of it was his fault. If he hadn’t tried to remove the ring, the whole betting pool probably wouldn’t have collapsed.
Matt’s eyes lit up again. “Roommate!” he said warmly, “I knew I trusted the right man.”
He waved his hand dramatically toward the tray. “Take it. Take it. Your lucky day.”
Only then did Michel put on his gloves. He picked up the ring slowly. The movement had the quiet dignity of someone putting away a piece of unpleasant history. “Return acknowledged,” he said. “Aurichen will record this item as a closed loop.”
Matt raised a finger. “By the way—your open bar still running?”
“Of course,” Michel replied. “If the gentleman requires it.”
Damien was already standing.
For a moment Solan wasn’t sure whether he should follow Damien, or drag Matt with him and then follow Damien.
But Damien suddenly turned and asked: “Want to train?”
Solan blinked. What? The question came out of nowhere.
He and Damien weren’t that close. Training together felt… awkward. And Damien was Clara’s brother, which somehow made it even more complicated. Still. Maybe—
“I don’t want to mess up your schedule,” Solan said.
“Send me yours,” Damien replied. “You don’t need to worry about the time.”
Then he left. Solan had the brief impression Damien was relieved to no longer be stuck between him and Matt.
Matt stayed beside him, head tilted, studying him with a faint knowing look.
Solan felt his temple twitch again.
“Don’t even.”