Harvested Minds

The moment Seraphina stepped into her apartment, exhaustion clung to her like a second skin.

She didn't even bother with a shower. Instead, she dropped onto the bed, barely pulling the covers over herself before sleep claimed her.

Morning came too soon.

The first thing she noticed—pain.

Her muscles ached, her limbs screamed in protest.

She exhaled slowly, forcing herself to move, even when every fiber resisted. This was normal. Expected.

If she wanted to keep up with Ezrin's brutal training, she needed to adjust—fast.

Dragging herself into the bathroom, she turned the shower to hot and let the water ease her soreness.

It helped. A little.

By the time she made it to the kitchen, she felt slightly better—enough to function, at least.

She poured a cup of hot milk and paired it with a proper breakfast.

This was necessary now.

She had to keep her body strong—not just to survive, but because she knew Ezrin wouldn't go easy on her tonight.

And she couldn't afford to fall behind.

Jogging was next.

Her feet pounded the pavement, muscles gradually syncing with the rhythm. It hurt—but she didn't stop.

Her mind, as always, refused to rest.

Ezrin's voice echoed in her thoughts.

"You hesitate.""You're slow.""React faster."

She knew what was coming.

And she could feel tonight's training would push her further.

A vibration in her pocket broke her focus.

She slowed to a stop and pulled out her phone.

A message.

From Callum.

Let's have lunch together today.

Seraphina exhaled. Lena was out of town—she didn't have other plans.

Alright.

She tucked the phone away and resumed jogging, heading home.

Another shower. Another moment to prepare.

Then—lunch with Callum.

Seraphina stepped into the restaurant exactly at 1 PM, dressed in a black fitted turtleneck, high-waisted dark jeans, ankle boots, and a long beige coat. Her hair was tied in a sleek ponytail.

She didn't have to scan the crowd—he found her first.

From across the room, Callum waved, smiling with ease like they were old friends rather than strangers from a single encounter.

Seraphina exhaled quietly. Too comfortable.

Still, she walked toward him, movements calm and calculated.

As she reached the table, he stood slightly—a small gesture of courtesy—then greeted her with effortless confidence.

"You actually came." His tone was amused.

Seraphina arched a brow. "You sound surprised."

Callum chuckled. "More impressed, really."

She didn't respond—just settled into her chair.

He liked to talk.

The conversation started light. Nothing important, nothing intrusive.

When the waitress arrived, they placed their orders without much thought. Smooth. Easy.

After she left, Callum leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table.

"So, tell me something interesting about you, Seraphina."

A harmless question. Expected.

Seraphina tilted her head, eyes sharp. Calculating.

"Why ask?"

His lips twitched like he welcomed the challenge. "Curiosity. Isn't that reason enough?"

Seraphina tapped her finger against the table. "Curiosity is never just curiosity."

Callum paused, then grinned.

"I think I like you."

Seraphina raised a brow. "I think you don't know me."

If he was thrown off, he didn't show it.

In fact, he looked entertained.

"Not yet."

She leaned back slightly. "And what exactly do you think you'll find out?"

"That depends on how much you let slip."

"I don't slip."

"Yet."

His grin widened, like he enjoyed poking at walls just to see if they'd crack.

Seraphina exhaled, shaking her head faintly. "You're persistent."

"I prefer charming," he said, leaning back.

"Persistent and charming aren't the same thing."

"No," he agreed. "But sometimes they work together."

She huffed a quiet laugh. "Annoying is also an option."

"That too." He raised his glass in mock salute.

She studied him a moment longer. There was no pressure in his tone.

No prying. No digging. Just easy banter.

He wasn't trying to unravel her.

That was new.

The waitress returned, setting down Seraphina's Bjúgu and Callum's Plokkfiskur.

Seraphina picked up her fork, glancing at his plate. "Plokkfiskur?"

Callum smirked. "Judging my taste?"

"Just surprised."

"Why? Expected something more dramatic?"

Seraphina shrugged. "Not sure yet."

She shifted the conversation.

"So, Callum. Since you're so curious about me, let's balance this. Tell me something about you."

He grinned. "Fair trade. Ask away."

She considered him a moment. "Why Iceland?"

Callum leaned back, thoughtful. "Business."

She raised a brow. "Vague."

"Not intentionally," he said with a smirk. "I work in international trade. Textiles, mostly. Iceland happens to be a good place for a few of my... investments."

She studied him. He was telling the truth.

She could always tell.

That realization let her relax—slightly.

"Alright," she said, sipping her drink. "Next question—family?"

He chuckled, stabbing at his fish. "Older sister. Parents back home. No tragic backstory, if that's what you're fishing for."

"You assume I care."

"You asked."

His grin didn't fade.

She didn't respond, just kept eating.

He shifted the focus back.

"Your turn. Family?"

Her fingers didn't hesitate. She cut into her food with quiet precision.

"No tragic backstory," she echoed.

It wasn't an answer.

Callum noticed—but didn't push.

"Guess I'll have to keep guessing, then."

She took another bite, unbothered.

By the time she placed her fork down, it was 4 PM.

Time had slipped by faster than expected.

Callum noticed. "Leaving already?"

"You sound disappointed."

"Maybe I am," he said easily. "Not every day I get company like this."

She scoffed, stood, and slipped on her coat. "I'm sure you'll survive."

"You wound me."

She didn't reply. Just gave a short nod and stepped outside.

The crisp air greeted her. Then—buzz.

She groaned.

"Why is everyone obsessed with messaging me?"

Kieran.

Oblivion. 5 PM. Don't be late.

She sighed. Of course.

Tightening her coat, she began walking.

One moment, she was dining with a stranger.

The next, she was heading straight back into the shadows.

The second Seraphina stepped into her apartment, a sleek black car pulled up outside.

She groaned. "You're kidding me."

A glance in the mirror—still in her lunch outfit. Too polished for Oblivion.

She exhaled. "Forget it."

She locked her apartment and slipped into the car.

By 5 PM sharp, she walked through Oblivion Division's doors.

She made her way toward her office—but her phone buzzed again.

She glanced down.

Kieran.

Boss's office. Now.

Of course.

She turned and headed through the dim corridors.

This wasn't just work.

Something was waiting behind that door.

When she entered Ezrin's office, the atmosphere had shifted.

Same dim lighting. Same hum of the aquarium.

But Ezrin wasn't behind his desk.

He stood near the glass wall, arms crossed, unreadable.

Kieran was already seated, casual but tense.

She shut the door behind her. "Something's wrong."

Ezrin turned. "Not wrong. Expected."

Kieran leaned back. "We have a lead."

Seraphina crossed her arms. "So soon?"

Ezrin didn't answer. He tapped the screen—an encrypted transaction appeared.

Her eyes narrowed. "The money."

Ezrin nodded. "You were right to dig deeper. We traced who sent it. And who received it."

Kieran tapped a folder. "Problem is, the recipient isn't a person. It's a ghost company. No records. No address."

Seraphina exhaled. "So we can't hit them directly."

"No," Ezrin agreed. "But we can force their next move."

Another screen lit up. Case files.

Seraphina's eyes narrowed as she scanned the names.

Every victim the manipulator had targeted.

She pieced it together. "They weren't just intelligent. They had rare skills."

Ezrin nodded. "If we analyze the pattern, we find the next one."

Kieran leaned forward. "We identify the next target—before they do."

Seraphina's lips curved slightly. "And we set a trap."

Silence.

Then Ezrin said, voice calm but absolute, "This time, we don't chase them. We make them come to us."

He looked at Seraphina. "Dig deeper—find the pattern we missed."

She nodded, already scanning data.

Ezrin turned to Kieran. "Track the shell company. Find a weakness."

Kieran scoffed. "Tracing ghosts. My specialty."

"You both have five hours."

Challenge accepted.

Seraphina dove into the files.

The deaths seemed scattered—until they didn't.

"They were all researchers," she muttered.

Fields like neurology, AI, cognitive science.

They weren't just brilliant. They were on the verge of breakthroughs.

She flipped through postmortems.

Some mentioned missing brain tissue.

Her breath caught.

No. Not missing.

Extracted.

This wasn't murder.

It was experimentation.

Meanwhile, in Kieran's office—

His screen flickered as he decrypted layer after layer.

Then—breakthrough.

He leaned forward. "Got you."

The money was being funneled to a hidden organization.

No public records. No name.

But powerful.

Seraphina's search led her to seven institutions—all linked by advanced cognitive research.

That's where the next victims would be.

Her phone buzzed.

Kieran.

Kieran: Office. Now.

She entered.

Kieran turned the monitor toward her.

"Watch."

Transaction logs appeared.

Payments. Bribes.

And then—a name.

The organization backing the manipulator.

"They're buying researchers," she whispered.

Kieran nodded. "Their minds, specifically."

Everything made sense now.

The manipulator wasn't working alone.

He had support.

And new targets.

They didn't speak. Just moved.

Together, they walked to Ezrin's office.

No knock.

Kieran opened the door.

Ezrin looked up.

"Talk."

Seraphina dropped the list of institutions on his desk.

"The victims weren't random. Every one worked at one of these."

Ezrin's eyes darkened.

Kieran placed his own file beside hers. "He's not just killing them. He's buying them."

Ezrin tapped the desk. A small reaction.

"Explain."

Seraphina leaned in. "The encrypted transactions lead to an organization specializing in... minds."

"Bribes," Kieran added. "He uses them. Extracts what he needs. Then disposes of them."

A heavy silence.

Ezrin leaned back.

Calculating.

Finally—

"We're no longer dealing with just a manipulator."

His gaze sharpened.

"We're dealing with a network."