The blindfold was removed with the same quiet efficiency with which it had been put on. I blinked against the sudden light, eyes adjusting to the gleam of golden fixtures and soft lamplight that pooled across the plush carpet beneath my boots.
The room was grand, but not in a garish way. Every detail whispered of old power—subtle, lived-in, smug. Velvet drapes framed the walls, and towering windows stretched up to a ceiling that looked like it belonged in a cathedral, not an apartment. It didn't feel like a room meant for meetings.
It felt like a room meant for indulgence.
And there—at the far end, seated like some immortal judge upon a fainting couch carved from obsidian and trimmed in blackened gold—was him.
The Supreme Leader.
He was old. But not in the way most people imagined. There was no frailty in him. No softening. His age was elegance—silver hair swept back with meticulous care, his posture regal even in relaxation. He wore dark silks, loose but tailored, like he'd been born into them.
But it was his mask that stole the breath from my lungs.
It was intricate—so much so I couldn't immediately tell where the metal ended and the etched gems began. Ornate patterns traced over his cheekbones, curling toward eyes that glinted through the slits like knives dipped in ink. There was no mouth visible. Just an unbroken smoothness of black and deep green, like marble and storm glass fused into one.
And at his feet—
Nine.
My breath hitched.
He was kneeling, head bowed low, and dressed in nothing more than a sheer, translucent robe that barely reached his thighs. The fabric clung to him in delicate strands, and I could see every shiver of his form beneath it. His shoulders were hunched inward like he was trying to disappear into himself. Hands resting delicately on his thighs, shaking. His violet eyes flicked up at the movement of my shadow, then down again instantly.
He looked terrified.
I took a step forward before I could stop myself.
The Supreme Leader raised a hand—elegant, aged, adorned with rings that didn't glitter so much as glower. I froze.
"You are the handler," he said.
His voice was smooth, not loud. It didn't need to be. It sank into the room like smoke. Calm. Measured. Cold.
"Yes," I said. My throat was dry. "Rhea Nyx."
He didn't respond immediately.
Instead, he looked down at Nine, who trembled once under the weight of that gaze. The Leader reached out—slowly, deliberately—and placed a hand atop Nine's head. Almost a caress. Almost.
Nine flinched.
My hands clenched at my sides. Nyx pressed hard against the inside of my chest, pacing.
He's trying to break him, she growled. Bit by bit. You see it. You feel it. That thing touches him like he's already a toy.
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
The Supreme Leader's masked gaze returned to me.
"He is exquisite," he said, like commenting on a vase. "Better than I anticipated. Fragile in the right ways. Taught obedience. Soft… still warm."
Still.
Warm.
The words made my skin crawl.
I wanted to scream. To lunge forward and yank Nine away from the place at his feet where he sat like a prize on display. But I couldn't. Not here. Not now.
"I was told," the Supreme Leader went on, as if we were discussing furniture, "that you handled his conditioning."
I forced my jaw to loosen. "I did."
"Then I commend your work."
My stomach turned.
Nine hadn't moved. Not once since I entered the room. Not even when the Leader had touched him. He was barely breathing.
"I will keep him," the Supreme Leader said after a long pause. "But I may still have use for you, Rhea Nyx."
My mouth opened, but I didn't get the chance to speak.
He waved a hand again, slow and final. "You may go."
I didn't move. I couldn't.
Not until Nine glanced up—just once—his expression unreadable, a flash of desperate apology in his eyes.
And then he looked away.
I turned on unsteady feet, the words clinging to my throat like ash.
But just as I reached the threshold, the Supreme Leader spoke again.
"One more thing."
I paused.
"I was informed you accompanied the transport of a particular prototype… Project WRAITH."
I swallowed hard, the echo of the creature's scent—like burial earth and silence—ghosting through my mind.
"Yes," I said carefully. "I did."
The Supreme Leader leaned back, thoughtful. "I ordered its creation. You are still affiliated with that division. We will be having a discussion later."