Chapter 12: No longer harmless. 

The door shut behind Elias with a quiet click, sealing him into the office like a held breath.

It was colder than he expected, with dark-paneled walls, minimalist décor, a desk that looked carved from volcanic glass, and a single window spanning the far side of the room. The view revealed the city's skyline in sterile silence, with each building below merging into forms and rushing lines traced by traffic. 

Victor wasn't there.

Elias moved slowly, gaze catching on the details. Nothing was out of place. Not a speck of dust, not a crooked frame. The room didn't invite you to sit. It reminded you that you'd already stayed too long.

On the desk, a nameplate in brushed black steel:

Victor Numen

Executive Oversight – Internal Affairs Division

His fingers hovered over the edge of the desk before pulling back. 

Victor Numen. The oldest of the Numen heirs. The one people talked about in lowered voices and careful turns of phrase. An alpha like his younger brother Samael, but sharper. Unpredictable. Dangerous in a way no amount of power could polish smooth.

He was supposed to be the next patriarch once.

Until the accident.

Some said it was divine judgment. Others whispered it was sabotage. Whatever the truth, the result was the same: Victor was struck down during a ritual at seventeen, his ether channels burned, and his body ruined. And yet, he didn't vanish like most expected. He turned. Changed. Quietly took over internal affairs and turned them into something feared.

Now thirty-two, he rarely appeared in public. But his name showed up in sealed files. In corporate restructures. In people suddenly disappearing from the temple's upper echelons without ceremony.

The silence stretched.

Elias stood still, not trusting the space enough to sit. His hand drifted toward his bag pocket, fingers brushing the edge of Ruo's phone, still powered off, still haunting. Just enough weight to remind him he wasn't here by accident. Or even invitation. He was here because someone wanted him here, and they weren't offering a seat at the table.

A faint sound broke the stillness.

Wheels.

Soft, calculated rubber on marble, rolling in a steady rhythm until the door behind him clicked open again, without an announcement but with the inevitability of a closing jaw.

Victor entered without escort or helper. 

The wheelchair was matte black, low-profile, designed less for accessibility and more for dominance. A machine built for control. His presence followed a half-second later, dark and palpable, like static before a storm. Not large, not loud, but immediately the center of the room.

Victor Numen looked nothing like the carved-out husk Elias remembered from old footage.

He was tall even seated, lean, with posture so rigid it gave the illusion of standing. Black hair swept neatly back, sharp at the temples. He was dressed in a suit more expensive than anything Elias owned, the silk layered without ornament, everything muted except for his eyes.

Crimson.

Not red, not warm. Crimson in the way of blood hitting snow. Unnatural in daylight.

They met Elias and didn't move.

"You're early," Victor said, voice low, unhurried.

"I thought it better than being late," Elias answered, careful to keep his tone measured. Neutral. As if neutrality might matter.

Victor's gaze dropped briefly to the folder Elias carried. Then to the bag. Then back to Elias's face.

Silence again.

"I've read the brief," Victor said. "The original, not your revision."

A pause, deliberate.

"Would you like to tell me why your professor thought we wouldn't notice recycled projections and obsolete citations?"

Elias swallowed, his tongue slow to move behind his teeth. "Because he assumed you weren't the one who'd read them."

Victor tilted his head at that, fractional but there.

"Honest," he murmured. "A poor survival trait."

He rolled forward, stopping precisely at the desk, gloved hand tapping once against the glass surface. A screen flickered to life behind him, opaque light spilling into the room.

"Start your presentation," Victor said. "And if you lie, even once, I'll know."

Elias looked at the man in front of him, the oldest Numen heir, the one everyone feared but no one saw. Victor took his place at the center desk without a word, his presence folding into the room like a closing door. 

"Then there's no need for a presentation," Elias said. The words came low, matter-of-fact. He knew it might earn him Victor's temper, whatever form that took, but fatigue had eroded any sense of self-preservation. He wasn't here to perform.

He reached into his bag, fingers brushing past the polished folder and tablet, and pulled out the one thing that mattered. Ruo's phone. 

He placed it carefully on Victor's desk with a soft thud. 

"I only came to bring this. To any of you."

Victor didn't move at first. He simply stared down at the phone, expression unreadable, the sharp lines of his face half-shadowed by the pale morning light. Then he reached for it, fingers curling around the device like it was something fragile, dangerous, or maybe both.

He didn't look at Elias right away. He turned the phone once, inspecting the back, then the front, as if confirming it was real.

When his gaze finally lifted, the light had shifted through the window just enough that Elias's glasses caught it, two quick flashes over the lenses, hiding his eyes and revealing nothing. A mirrored glint in an otherwise controlled face.

Victor held his stare. Then spoke, calm as cut glass.

"She's home."

Elias did not blink, his voice sounding the same as when he caught a student cheating. "I never said whose phone it is." 

Victor leaned back on his chair and, surprisingly, smiled. A wicked smile.

"So, what do you want?" He asked while tapping the phone lightly on the expensive desk. 

Elias tilted his head slightly, the glint of his gold-rimmed glasses catching what little sun had slipped through the tall window behind Victor. His expression didn't shift much, just enough to suggest he'd anticipated the question. That he'd run this conversation in his mind before ever stepping into the room.

"I want to know if she's safe," he said. "Actually safe. Not escorted around a manor like a guest under lock."

Victor drummed his fingers once against the edge of the phone, the sound light but deliberate. That smile remained, twisted at the corners, like he was amused Elias had skipped the pleasantries.

"And you think I'd tell you if she wasn't?" he asked, voice velvet-wrapped steel.

Elias's gaze didn't waver. "No. But I think you're smart enough to know what happens when someone outside the family starts asking the wrong questions and finds the right answers anyway."

Victor stilled.

Then his hand moved, flipping the phone over in one smooth motion. The screen reflected the ceiling lights, pale and empty.

"You know," Victor said, tone musing, "I wasn't sure what kind of man you'd be. The ones who orbit around someone like Ruo are usually... softer."

Elias gave a humorless smile. "I am soft. That doesn't mean I'm blind."

Victor's eyes narrowed, sharp and crimson-dark, and for a moment the room felt colder, the space between them pulled taut like a drawn wire.

Then he leaned back again, relaxed.

"I suppose," Victor said, "we'll see how deep your loyalty goes. And how far you're willing to dig before someone decides you're no longer harmless."