The hallway was still tense.
Guards standing stiff.
Some confused.
Some… doubtful.
That doubt—
Emma noticed it instantly.
She walked toward them.
Calm.
Unshaken.
"Everyone."
Her voice cut through the silence.
Not loud—
But absolute.
All eyes on her.
She placed the small device on the table beside them.
The mic.
"Listen."
One guard hesitated.
Then pressed play.
Static.
Footsteps.
The slam.
Bodies hitting the ground.
Then—
the attack.
The struggle.
And clearly—
Emma's voice.
Controlled.
Questioning.
Not violent.
Then—
"HELP—! HELP ME—!!"
The recording ended.
Silence.
Heavy.
One of the guards swallowed.
"…She didn't attack."
Another nodded slowly.
"…It was staged."
The doubt—
Gone.
Replaced with something sharper.
Loyalty.
Emma crossed her arms slightly.
Not defensive.
Just… composed.
"He wants you to question me."
She spoke simply.
A pause.
"Don't."
No anger.
No explanation.
Just certainty.
She picked up the mic again.
Held it for a second—
Then handed it to one of them.
"Distribute it."
The guard blinked.
"…To who?"
Emma looked at him directly.
"Everyone."
A beat.
"The news."
That was all.
No speech.
No justification.
No effort to defend herself further.
Because she didn't need to.
"Understood."
The guard straightened immediately.
This time—
with conviction.
Within minutes—
calls were made.
Files sent.
Media contacted.
And then—
Across the world.
Phones buzzed.
Screens lit up.
Broadcasts interrupted.
"Breaking: Audio Evidence Clears Emma of Alleged Attack"
"Leaked Recording Reveals Setup"
"Was This a Political Move?"
Joseph's narrative—
cracked.
Not destroyed.
Not yet.
But shaken.
Back in the hallway—
Emma had already turned away.
Walking.
Like nothing happened.
But her eyes—
slightly colder now.
"…Nice try."
-----
A massive screen lit up the dark room.
News anchors talking over each other.
Clips replaying.
The audio—
Emma's voice.
Clear.
Cold.
Untouchable.
Joseph stood there.
Silent.
Watching.
"…So."
A faint chuckle escaped him.
He tilted his head slightly.
Eyes narrowing just a bit.
"Oh?"
The corner of his lips lifted.
Not anger.
Not frustration.
Interest.
He grabbed the remote.
Muted the noise.
Now—
only silence.
And the image of Emma on screen.
He stepped closer.
Slow.
Measured.
"…You're careful."
His voice was low.
Almost impressed.
He stared at her face.
Frozen on the broadcast.
Calm.
Controlled.
"…Good."
He adjusted his moustache slightly.
A habit.
A tell.
"They'd lose faith too quickly otherwise."
He turned away from the screen.
Walking toward a table.
Covered in documents.
Maps.
Photos.
One of them—
Emma.
Another—
himself.
Pinned.
Connected.
A game board.
He picked up Emma's photo.
Looked at it closely.
"…You didn't panic."
A small nod.
"Means you're worth killing."
A pause.
Then—
a quiet laugh.
Not loud.
Not crazy.
Just… certain.
He placed the photo back down.
Carefully.
"Let's raise it."
He grabbed his phone.
Dialed.
"…Begin phase two."
A voice on the other end:
"Already prepared."
Joseph's smirk deepened.
"Good."
---
He glanced back at the screen one last time.
Emma—
still there.
Still composed.
"…Enjoy your little victory."
His eyes darkened.
"It's the last easy one."
Click.
Call ended.
And somewhere—
far from the spotlight—
things began to move.
Quietly.
Dangerously.
The game wasn't shifting
It was escalating.
The office was quiet.
Too quiet.
Only the faint sound of paper shifting as Emma finished reading the documents.
Joseph's movements.
His expansions.
His influence.
The door opened without a knock.
Mostang stepped in.
Like always.
Uninvited.
Unbothered.
He closed the door behind him.
Lit a cigarette.
The flame briefly lighting his face.
"…Busy as always."
Emma didn't look up.
"Say what you came to say."
He exhaled smoke slowly.
Leaning against the wall.
Watching her.
"…You handled the situation well."
A pause.
"But you know…"
He tilted his head slightly.
"…sometimes you have to sacrifice."
Emma finally looked at him.
Cold.
Direct.
"I already know that."
Silence.
Smoke drifting between them.
Mostang's eyes narrowed slightly.
Studying her.
Not her face—
Her hands.
"…You changed."
Emma didn't respond.
"Valeria's death changed you."
A small pause.
"But Diana…"
His voice lowered.
"…she completed it."
Still—
Emma said nothing.
"…You're not the same."
That's when she spoke.
Flat.
Immediate.
"I didn't change."
A beat.
"And I'm not trying to appear changed."
Mostang didn't react.
Didn't argue.
Instead—
He stepped closer.
"…Then why—"
His eyes dropped again.
"—are you holding your palm like that?"
Silence.
Emma froze.
Just for a second.
Her hand—
subtly clenched.
Fingers pressing into her own skin.
Like she was grounding herself.
Or—
holding something in.
"…That's not you."
And then—
"SHUT UP."
It wasn't calm.
It wasn't controlled.
It was loud.
Sharp.
Almost violent.
Not the voice of an emperor.
The voice of someone—
cracking.
Even Mostang went silent.
Emma's breathing was slightly uneven.
Her eyes—
not cold anymore.
Something else.
Fear.
Not of Joseph.
Not of war.
Of loss.
"…Don't act like you understand."
Her voice dropped.
Lower now.
But shaking under the surface.
"I know what sacrifice is."
Her grip tightened.
"I've lived it."
Images flashed behind her eyes—
Valeria.
Diana.
Smiling.
Alive.
Then—
gone.
"…Every time I choose it…"
A pause.
"…I lose something I can't get back."
Silence filled the room again.
Heavier this time.
Mostang took a slow drag from his cigarette.
Then exhaled.
"…Yeah."
A quiet response.
"I know."
But he didn't push further.
Didn't provoke again.
Mostang didn't say anything else.
He just looked at Emma for a second longer.
Not as a subordinate.
Not as a soldier.
Just… someone who understood.
Then—
he crushed the cigarette in his fingers.
"…I'll be around."
A quiet excuse.
Nothing more.
He turned.
And walked out.
The door closed behind him.
Soft.
Final.
The hallway outside was alive again.
Staff moving.
Guards repositioning.
Normalcy—forced, but present.
Then—
heels.
Fast.
Confident.
A woman approached him.
She stopped right in front of him.
Eyes scanning him openly.
No hesitation.
"Wow…"
A small smile.
Playful.
Bold.
"You're new here?"
She stepped a little closer.
Too close.
"…Didn't think someone like you worked under her."
Her tone dropped slightly.
Flirtatious.
Heavy.
Mostang didn't even slow down.
Didn't look at her.
"Hey—"
She followed.
A hand almost reaching for his arm.
"Come on, at least tell me your name."
Nothing.
Not even a glance.
He walked past her like she wasn't there.
Her smile faded.
Confusion replacing it.
"…Seriously?"
But he was already gone.
Out of the building.
The night air hit him.
Cool.
Quiet.
Real.
He stopped.
Just outside.
Looked up.
The sky stretched endlessly above him.
Dark.
Empty.
"…Tch."
A quiet sound.
Not annoyance.
Not anger.
Something heavier.
His hand moved slightly.
Like he was about to grab a cigarette—
But stopped.
"…Diana."
Her name barely left his lips.
A memory.
Clear.
Alive.
Her smile.
Loud.
Annoying.
Their missions together, emma sent them.
The kind that filled space without asking.
"…You were stupid."
A faint exhale.
"But…"
A pause.
"…you were real."
His jaw tightened slightly.
He rmembered that day.
Not the details.
Not the fight.
Just—
the end.
The stab.
And the one name tied to it.
"…Vencor."
His eyes darkened.
"…I didn't even get to say it."
Silence.
The city moved behind him.
Cars.
Voices.
Life.
But up there—
Nothing.
Mostang stood still for a while.
Just looking.
Then finally—
he turned.
"…Sleep well diana."
And walked off into the night.
Alone.
Carrying something he never got to finish.