Elius had barely made it a dozen steps down the corridor before the sound of his phone broke the quiet that had settled around him. The device vibrated in his coat pocket like a sudden pulse of energy. He slipped it out, glancing at the ID. Unknown number. But the moment he answered and brought the receiver to his ear, the voice on the other end made it clear who it was.
Gravel and velvet. Aged and sharp. The same old woman from the mission building.
"Elius," she greeted, her tone formal yet heavy with scrutiny. "Are you in a place where you can talk?"
He slowed his steps, turning into an empty garden hall lined with flowering trees that hummed with faint, artificial birdsong. Alone now, he leaned against a white pillar, phone pressed gently to his ear.
"Yes," he replied simply.
"Good," the voice said. "Because we need to talk about Keith."
At that name, Elius' expression barely shifted, but deep within, something coiled—a quiet storm waiting.
