Damon walked back to his room, completely lost in thought. People stepped out of his way with terrified expressions as they noted the warm blood still dripping from the tip of his blade.

The name given to him by the man echoed in his head, playing on repeat like a broken record player. No matter how much he thought it through, against everyone else, it was one person he didn’t expect it to be.

He arrived in front of his room without realising, standing there for a moment longer than necessary before entering.

As he stepped inside, he was caught slightly off guard to see Hana still inside his room, lying on his bed, out of which she only rose when she realised he was there.

"You’re back already–" her words died quickly as she accidentally read his mind. "No... That’s not–"

"It is. I have an ability that tells me if someone is telling the truth. The man wasn’t lying."

Hana sat up fully, her notebook sliding off the bed onto the floor.

She didn’t bother picking it up as she walked slowly toward him. She’d caught enough from his mind to know how much it weighed on him and how much he didn’t want it to be true.

She stopped right in front of him, wrapping her arms around his torso.

"I’m sorry," she murmured. "What will you do?"

"What needs to be done," he replied flatly, though in his head he knew it wasn’t going to be that simple.

She pulled back slightly, her gaze meeting his.

"You should go get some rest," he suddenly said, catching her slightly off guard.

"Are you sure?" she asked, not about her going to rest but the thoughts spiralling in his head.

"I am."

She looked at him for a long moment before turning to leave, picking her notebook from the floor on the way out.

Damon stood alone in the room for a moment, letting what he was about to do settle in his mind first before he finally moved toward the door, heading directly to the traitor’s room.

***

Knock! Knock!

Damon’s fist struck against the wooden door with a little more force than acceptable, the impact echoing faintly across the corridor.

He could hear footsteps hurrying to open up, and when they did, he saw Victor standing in front of him.

Victor looked at him with the particular expression of someone who had been expecting this knock for longer than tonight.

He stepped aside without a word.

Damon entered without skipping a beat, the door closing behind him with a quiet click.

The room was small and kept with the neatness of someone who didn’t own much and took care of what they had. A single lamp burned on the desk, casting pale light across the room.

Victor moved to stand near the window, putting the width of the room between them in a way that wasn’t quite deliberate.

The silence held for a moment, until Victor spoke up.

"You found out."

"Yes," Damon replied.

Another silence followed, longer and far heavier this time.

"Then do what you have to," Victor said quietly. His eyes dropped to the floor.

Damon looked at him.

There was no defiance in it. No attempt to justify, negotiate, or pretend to be innocent. Just the quiet acceptance of someone who had decided not to make this harder than it already was.

It made no sense.

Damon had confronted people before. He knew what guilt looked like, what fear looked like, what desperation looked like when someone was cornered. Victor looked like none of those things.

He looked the same way he had always looked, apologetic.

But not for being caught, he looked like he expected this, he seemed to be apologetic about something else entirely.

"Why?" Damon finally asked, just as he summoned his weapon to the palm of his hand.

"Does it really matter?"

"No," Damon’s reply came fast. "But I still would like to know."

Victor said nothing. His jaw tightened once before releasing. His eyes stayed glued to the floor.

"Do what you have to," he said again. "It’s not like I can fight you..."

"I need to know why," Damon said. "We can do this either the easy way or the hard way."

The lamp flickered once on the desk.

Victor looked up for the first time since Damon had entered. His expression carried the particular combination of exhaustion and grief that came from carrying something alone for too long.

"They have my sister," he said.

The room held its silence.

"She was separated from me early on, before any of this existed." He looked at the window. "I only found out recently, during one of my scouting missions..." He paused for a second, digesting something he was about to say. "They told me if I don’t provide the information they want, she would be the first one they would kill."

Damon remained silent, listening carefully to his words as his Verdict ability continued to confirm that everything he said was true.

"The quest requires a leader to die," Victor continued, his voice quieter now. "If we win, her citadel falls. If she’s on the losing side when it does—" He stopped, unwilling to finish the sentence.

Of course, he didn’t need to finish what he was about to say for Damon to get the gist of it.

Damon took a long look at him.

Victor was a man who had sat in every council meeting, delivered honest intelligence about everything except the one thing he couldn’t afford to be honest about, come back from a solo rift with both arms severed and never once shown anything but loyalty.

"What’s her name?" Damon asked.

Victor looked at him with the expression of someone who hadn’t expected that question, the particular surprise of someone preparing for an ending and receiving something else entirely.

"Ava," he said quietly.

Damon lingered for a moment before asking. "How do you know she’s alive?"

"They allowed me to see her. It was only once, but they brought her outside the citadel."

It now made sense why he was going on that many missions lately. He was providing information to the enemy in exchange for keeping his sister alive.

He couldn’t blame him, nobody could, but with his sister still in their grasp, he couldn’t trust him.

Damon’s grip on his weapon tightened as he took a step toward him.