Cain drank tea that has been Standing Out for way too long. It was cold, bitter, and tasted faintly of metal—like regret in liquid form. He didn't flinch.
Across from him, the subordinate of the God Kael—some polished thing with gold-thread synthskin and too many eyes—fidgeted. It was subtle, but Cain saw it. He saw everything.
Elohan stood near the window, silent and perfectly still, as if carved from glass and chrome. His presence was always sharp around the edges, like a weapon you couldn't see until you bled from it.
Abel sat at Cain's left, fingers steepled, watching him the way one might watch a dog they've trained to bite on command—and wondered if it might turn on them instead.
«She'll strike again,» the subordinate said, voice modulated but anxious beneath the synthetic calm. «The last incursion was reckless. Twelve dead. Seventeen wounded. Your systems compromised. She extracted Riel in under forty-five minutes.»
«Almost an impressive Task,» Abel muttered half under his breath.
Cain put his Cup down with a hard thump and pulled all Attention towards him. «She is still just a human. No enhancements, nothing. She took us by surprise. It won't happen again.»
«And yet she still managed to hold her own against you twice, Cain,» Elohan said. His voice was emotionless. There was no disappointment, No Hate, No spite. Just pure and ice cold facts. «That makes me wonder, how capable you actually are.»
Cain did not respond. His jaw locked tight, but he kept his eyes low, calm. To the others, he seemed composed. Serene, even. Only Abel noticed the twitch at the corner of his eye. The faint tremble in his hand, quickly stilled.
Abel leaned forward slightly, voice smooth. "We both know underestimating her is a mistake. But pushing him won't help either," he said, casting a glance toward Elohan before shifting back to Cain. «She's coming again. For Aren and Liora this time.»
The room shifted with quiet tension. The other subordinate, cloaked in the sigil of another god, adjusted his posture. He was here as a formality—an observer. His god demanded only results.
«She cannot be allowed to continue,» the subordinate said. «Every time she survives, she legitimizes the Godhunters. Mortals need to fear the consequences of rebellion. Not mythologize it.»
Cain finally looked up.
His eyes were empty of rage—but not of something darker.
«They will,» he said quietly.
«And what is your plan, then?» the subordinate asked. «We can't afford another breach.»
Cain didn't answer.
Instead, he leaned back, hands folded, the ghost of a smile brushing the corner of his lips. That smile unsettled even the machines.
«I know exactly what she'll do,» he said. «I know how she thinks. What she'll risk. Who she'll protect.»
«And?» Abel asked softly.
Cain turned his head, meeting his brother's eyes. His voice dropped just for him.
«Let her come.»