Sentinel order

Chapter 8

Nathaniel leaned back in his chair, his sharp gaze fixed on the laptop screen. The security footage captured every brutal detail, the calculated strikes, the way Ronan suddenly became strong mid-fight, the ruthless efficiency of his final blow.

Beside him, Callum stood, his stance stern, eyes narrowed. He had seen plenty of killers before. But what just played out on the screen was nothing like he had seen before. How could someone who was getting his ass kicked just moments ago suddenly become so strong and defeat two C rank harbingers.

"What the hell was that?" Callum asked, his eyes dark with curiousity.

Nathaniel smirked, closing the laptop carefully, "News sure spreads fast, I didn't expect UN faction to be after him this soon."

He stayed quiet for a moment, tapping a finger against the desk, thinking. HQ had to have seen this by now. There was no way they'd let something this… unique slip through their fingers.

"The higher-ups must've already decided," Nathaniel said, his smirk widening. "They're gonna come for him themselves."

Callum exhaled sharply. "And what do you think happens now?"

Nathaniel tilted his head slightly, amusement flickering in his gaze. "Depends."

Callum narrowed his eyes. "On what?"

Nathaniel's smirk deepened. "On whether Ronan even knows what he's really become."

The phone rang once. Twice. Nathaniel leaned back in his chair, exchanging a glance with Callum before answering. He already knew who it was.

"It's Ronan."Ronan spoke coldly from the other end of the call.

Nathaniel leaned back, resting his elbow on the desk. "So?" His tone was calm, almost amused. "Have you made up your mind? Or did you call just to turn me down?"

The silence stretched as the waited, the office heated with tension, Finally, Ronan's voice came through—low, controlled.

"I'll do it."

Nathaniel's fingers drummed against the desk, his smirk barely shifting. He wasn't surprised. Only amused.

"You sure?" His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. A warning. This wasn't an offer Ronan could take lightly.

Ronan didn't hesitate. "I wasn't planning to turn you down."

Nathaniel exhaled a quiet chuckle. "Interesting." He leaned forward slightly. "You should know, Vale. This isn't the kind of life you can back out of. Once you're in, you're in."

"I understand."

Nathaniel finally smiled. Not the usual amused smirk—but something darker. Something satisfied.

"From this moment on, you're under us, Ronan. You don't get to act on your own. You don't get to walk away. And if you even think about betraying us—" He leaned forward, voice dropping lower. "We'll handle you the same way we handle everyone else who outlives their usefulness, is this clear."

"Yes sir."

"Good, I'll have someone come get you."

Click. The call ended.

Callum exhaled, arms in his pockets, his gaze still fixed on the phone. "Didn't think he'd give in so fast."

Nathaniel placed the phone down, intertwining his fingers as he relaxed his elbows on the table "He didn't give in. He only just realized what he had to do to protect the one thing he cherished the most."

"Also, before I forget...have David go pick him up...I want to know the secret behind his strength."

Callum nodded, bowing slightly before heading out of the office. Once Callum was out of sight, Nathaniel picked up the phone and dialed a number.

"I need you to do something for me. We're bringing in someone new, I want him to join your squad."

"But sir, that's..."

"Nothing to worry about, I'm sure you'll get what I mean when you see him yourself."

With that, he ended the call.

*******

Ronan buttoned his cuffs, adjusting the white turtleneck before shrugging into his coat. The new haircut made him look sharper—more professional. But no matter how much he cleaned up, it didn't change the reality of his situation. He wasn't heading to an office job. He was walking straight into a world where survival meant being useful.

"Going somewhere fancy?"

Ronan turned to see Noah who had just stepped out of his room , eyes locked on him with that same unimpressed expression he always had on his face.

Ronan sighed. "No."

Noah tilted his head. "New job?"

Ronan hummed and nodded.

"Where?"

"Just a better one."

Noah raised an eyebrow. "Better how? Better as in more money, or better as in you won't come home in a body bag?"

Ronan's patience thinned, this boy knew too much for his own good. "Enough, Noah. It's not a bad job. Just know that this will make our lives better."

Noah studied him for a second, then shrugged. "Alright. But..."

A knock on the door cut off Noah's words.

Dean stepped in, eyes immediately narrowing upon seeing Ronan dressed up. "So, you really went through with it."

Ronan met his gaze, giving a slow nod.

Dean exhaled sharply. "What the hell are you thinking?" His voice was low, restrained. He wanted to say more, but Noah was right there, watching.

Ronan clapped a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Help me take care of Noah."

"Yeah. Someone has to."

As Ronan turned to leave, Noah called out, "Hey, Dad?"

Ronan glanced back, his muscles tensing... Noah rarely called him Dad.

"Don't die."

Ronan smiled , feeling the urge to hold Noah in his embrace, but he didn't want it to seem like he was saying goodbye. "I won't."

Outside, sleek black car waited for him.

A man stepped out—tall, built like a damn tank, dressed in a sharp suit. His face was all hard lines and zero emotion. Without a word, he pulled open the door.

Ronan hesitated. He wasn't used to this kind of treatment. It felt… unnatural. But he forced himself inside.

The ride was silent. Ronan kept his eyes on the window, watching the city fade behind him.

Noah's voice echoed in his head. Don't die.

He'd make sure of it.

The car stopped in front of a heavily secured compound. No visible logos. Just reinforced gates and guards who looked like they could kill with a glare. And a huge nameplate at the top of the gate, Sentinel Order.

Nathaniel's faction.

Ronan stepped out, his eyes scanning the surroundings—until his gaze landed on a man standing by the entrance.

Thin. Pale. Almost sickly. But there was something off about him.

Ronan ignored him and moved toward the door.

But suddenly, a cold, iron grip clamped onto his wrist.

Ronan's muscles tensed immediately. The grip was wrong—too strong, too precise. It wasn't just someone stopping him. It was a message.

He met the man's eyes. They were empty, emotionless and calculating.

"He told me I'd understand when I saw you," the man said coldly, fingers tightening. "But all I see is a weak, intimidated man."

The pressure increased. Not enough to break anything, just enough to let Ronan know he could.

"Prove it, Ronan." The man's voice was calm, almost bored. "Prove you deserve to be here."