Shelly pulled up the system interface, holographic screens blooming around her like petals.

[But there’s no way the favorability could’ve lied.] She pointed at the numbers, which glowed brightly. [It jumped this much for nothing? Something must’ve happened, Host.]

Neville’s jaw tightened. He knew she was right—something had happened— but with no memory to support it, what could he even do?

"Don’t dwell on it too much," he said, voice low. "Let’s just get back to the topic, shall we? The system shut down."

Shelly frowned, gears in her little head whirring.

[But Host, it doesn’t add up. Your body was drenched in drugged wine. Some of it must’ve been absorbed through your skin. In theory... You should’ve gone into a pseudo-heat.]

She flicked open a secondary panel, scrolling fast through the purchasing history.

[And there’s no record of you purchasing extra inhibitors. Just those earlier doses you administered before the mission.]

Neville leaned back, expression thoughtful. "But as you already said, I already took the inhibitors. They should’ve lasted. You said yourself—they were effective for a long time."

[Yes, Host.] Shelly nodded gravely. [But not long enough under those conditions.]

Her tone changed as she explained.

[With the toxins still in your system, you would’ve needed another dose. Without it, side effects would set in—hallucinations, pseudo-heat, loss of restraint.]

Neville paused. "...Surely, Grayson must’ve called a doctor to stabilize me."

[That part’s certain,] Shelly agreed. [But only system-grade inhibitors can stabilize your condition that quickly. External ones wouldn’t be strong enough.]

Neville’s voice dropped. "So you’re telling me that..."

[Your target must’ve done something else.]

The words hung heavy between them.

Neville frowned. "And what exactly are you suggesting that he did?"

[...I’m not sure about that.] Shelly admitted, shrinking a little.

Of course. How could Shelly know for sure? He could only ask the person in question.

But then, Neville saw Shelly fidgeting, clearly hesitating to say something.

"What is it?" he pressed.

[Host, please don’t be alarmed,] she said quietly. [But given your condition... it might not have been by your target’s choice that he acted like so.]

"...What are you trying to say?" Neville asked, pushing down a sudden, cold dread.

Shelly’s voice softened, almost guilty. [You might have... forced your target to do what he did.]

Neville felt like he had been struck by lightning. He looked out the window at the towering Maxwell Corporation building that loomed in the distance. For the first time that night, he felt a pang of dread twist deep in his chest.

Tomorrow, he would have to go to work and face his employer.

And he wasn’t sure how.

...

Neville stood before the entrance of the secretarial department. The space felt... emptier than before. He turned his head, eyes scanned the open space where Mick’s massive, pretentious office used to be.

A sharp, low whistle broke the silence, and Sarah popped out behind him.

"Disappeared like smoke, huh?" she commented.

Iris joined in shortly after, arms crossed. "They did a better job than I expected."

Bryan approached, his footsteps deliberately heavy. "Don’t just stand there gawking. Get someone to move the damn workstations around. We still have a day to get through."

Neville heard Sarah grumble as she opened her light brain, doing as she was told, muttering complaints as she went.

He must have been staring at Bryan a little too long, because Iris tilted her head and asked, "Looking for someone?"

He offered her a faint smile and shook his head. As if I could tell her I’m looking for Grayson... just to get a few answers.

Bryan seemed to have heard them, or maybe he was just perceptive, sharp, and knowing. "If you’re wondering about that guy, yeah, that loser will be back for the big circus."

Neville blinked. "That guy?"

Before Bryan could reply, "He still has the nerve to get back here?" Sarah shouted from across the room, "Can’t he just disappear off the face of this world already?"

Ah. Mick.

Bryan seemed to catch the flicker of concern in Neville’s eyes. He walked over and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Don’t worry too much about scum like him," Bryan said, his voice dropping slightly. "He’s not off the hook yet, mostly political bullshit. If he’s lucky, he’ll get himself killed one of these days."

Neville gave a small, weary smile, burying his thoughts deep in his mind. Iris, however, was clearly dissatisfied. She flicked Bryan’s hand right off Neville’s shoulder.

She pointed a finger directly at Bryan’s chest. "If he still doesn’t crash and burn soon, I’ll go ahead and report him to the authorities myself. Or better yet, expose him publicly."

The two started bickering, and Neville could only sigh softly. They always did this—fighting in front of him.

Before he could intervene, Bryan turned to look back at him with a grin. "Anyway, check the rankings later."

Sarah froze mid-step. She hurriedly dashed over and grabbed Bryan’s arm.

"Wait— the results are out?!" she gasped, rushing over.

Iris roughly pulled Sarah away from Bryan and turned back to Neville, "Hope, get your presentation ready."

Neville blinked. "Why?" Did she already know the results?

Iris pointed at Bryan without looking. "That guy wouldn’t waste his breath with pointless news if you weren’t on the list."

Make sense, Neville thought, nodding to himself.

As the trio descended into their usual chaos, Neville lingered in thought. Between the upcoming presentation and the unanswered questions circling in his mind, he could only watch them—half amused, half distracted—and wonder how he would get through the day.

...

For most of the week, Neville buried himself in work — anything to forget what Shelly had told him. But of course, fate wasn’t about to let him off that easily.

Midway through his shift, he rounded a corner — and nearly jumped out of his skin.

Down the hallway, standing beside Bryan, was him.

Grayson.

Even in a simple suit, he looked effortlessly composed — silver eyes steady, expression unreadable. Neville couldn’t help thinking, if he looks this good in normal office wear, how devastating would he be in a military uniform?

Unfortunately, while Neville was busy staring, Grayson’s gaze drifted over—and landed right on him.

Panic hit like a punch to the gut.

Oh no. Oh no no no.

What was he supposed to do now? Nod? Wave? Bow? Pretend he wasn’t pointlessly staring like an idiot? He couldn’t just walk over—

That would look weird, right? Say something? No, that would be worse—

While he was still running through his options, Grayson turned away.

Neville froze. From where he stood, it almost looked like Grayson’s expression had hardened. It looked cold, maybe even annoyed.

His stomach dropped.

Oh, shit. I must’ve really messed up this time.

He stood there, overthinking every breath he had taken in the past five seconds, completely missing the way Grayson’s ears had flushed red.