The polished marble floors of Newfangled Incorporation Hospital reflected the click of red heels. The woman's maroon dress swayed with each step, her presence slicing through the sterile air like a blade disguised as silk.
Every doctor and nurse turned their heads as she passed. Not because she was beautiful—though she was—but because she radiated something else. Authority. Danger wrapped in elegance.
"Madame, we've been expecting you," a middle-aged doctor stammered, fumbling with his notes. His lab coat rustled as he hurried to her side.
Her smile was warm, her tone calm. "Doctor Arthur. Relax."
But her gaze lingered on him long enough to make his throat dry. That kind of composure wasn't natural—it was practiced. The kind of calm that could command armies or orchestrate massacres.
The doctor bowed slightly, guiding her toward the VIP wing. His heart hammered. Whatever mask she wore, he knew better than to believe it.
INT – Grand Covenant Order, Corridor
The wheels of the chair rattled softly against the polished floor, the sound too loud in the otherwise silent corridor. Yuka sat stiffly, her fingers curled into the fabric of her skirt, while the commander of the Iron Clad pushed her forward with steady, unyielding steps.
If not for him, she wouldn't even be alive. That thought alone should've been a comfort. But it wasn't.
I know what they want from me.
Her lips pressed together as the silence stretched, each push of the chair reminding her of her weakness. To them, she was evidence. A survivor. A liability.
"I'll be fine, don't worry," she had told Evah earlier, voice steady as if saying it out loud could make it true.
But the lie tasted bitter.
Evah's voice echoed in her head even now—sharp, protective, angry: "I don't trust that guy. She might do something!"
And she wasn't wrong. Evah had stood beside her bed, arms crossed, eyes blazing despite her own injuries. Bandages had wrapped around her friend's arms and shoulders, yet not once had she complained. All her anger had been for Yuka's sake.
It's my fault. It's all my fault.
Her chest tightened. If not for her... Evah wouldn't have been dragged into this nightmare.
Still, Yuka had forced herself to smile back then, even while lying on her hospital bed, the faint numbness already warning her that her body would never be the same. "It's fine. They're law enforcement," she had said.
Evah had snapped back instantly: "Exactly! He wanted to run away rather than save you!"
Yuka's smile had wavered, but she hadn't let it fall. I'll be fine. I need to be.
Now, rolling down the cold corridor, her courage felt thinner than paper. The commander's broad back was a wall between her and the unknown. Every bump of the wheelchair was a reminder of her fragility, of how easily she could be broken again.
The walk ended before an office door. The commander stopped, pushed it open without ceremony, and rolled her inside.
Yuka's breath caught.
The office was neat, imposing in its simplicity. Sunlight spilled across polished wood, glinting off the gold-plated sign at the center of the desk.
Major General Erion McQuaide – Zone 4: Y'Ruen.
The name alone made her heart clench.
The commander left without a word, and the door shut with a heavy click.
Now, it was just her. Her, her racing pulse, and the desk of the highest authority in this zone.
Yuka expected a grizzled old soldier, scarred and terrifying. Instead, the man who rose from behind the desk looked barely older than her. His face was calm, almost gentle, his posture easy rather than commanding.
"Miss Iekami. How are you feeling?" His voice was smooth, steady.
Yuka blinked, her guard faltering. "I'm fine... thank you for saving us."
He smiled faintly. "I'm glad. As for the side effects... we're doing everything we can. My apologies."
Her chest tightened. His eyes carried sincerity, but sincerity didn't erase her guilt. "No. Thank you. For saving me. And Evah."
"I was just doing my job, Miss Iekami. No need to thank me."
The Major General's voice was calm, almost warm, his smile so gentle it eased the tightness in Yuka's chest for the briefest moment.
He must be one of the good ones… right?
He could have killed them that night. It would've been so easy. Instead, here he was, smiling like a man with nothing to hide. She found herself smiling back—hesitant, small—but the unease lingered, coiled deep inside.
"I know you've endured countless interrogations already," Erion went on. His smile thinned, fading into a mask of focus. "I apologize for dragging you in again."
The air seemed to grow heavier. His tone no longer held warmth—it cut, precise and controlled.
"But I need to get straight to the point."
The silence that followed was suffocating. The tick of the clock, the faint hum of the lights—each sound seemed to sharpen the edges of the room.
Erion's eyes narrowed, sharp as blades. "You have something they want, don't you? Or…" He leaned forward, voice low, almost predatory. "…perhaps you've discovered something you shouldn't have?"
The words struck her harder than any wound.
Yuka's breath caught. Her fingers tightened around her skirt as she lowered her gaze, unable to meet his eyes. Her silence said everything she didn't want to admit.
And Erion… didn't look away.
Erion rose, boots scraping softly against the floor as he moved closer. His shadow stretched across her lap.
"Not just dangerous for you," he continued, "but for everyone around you."
Evah's warning rang in her head. Don't trust him.
When he leaned down, his smile was faint, but his voice was absolute. "Leave the media. At least until this case is over. Otherwise..." His eyes softened, but his words didn't. "It won't just be you who pays."
Yuka's nails dug into her palms, a tremor racing down her spine. He wasn't asking. He was commanding.
Evah's face flickered through her mind again and again, the truth striking like a blade. She was the one he meant. The danger wasn't Erion's threat—it was the reality she had been dragged into.
And yet, even knowing that, his cold blue eyes burned into her, leaving nothing but shivers in their wake.
And in that moment, she realized—this wasn't the gentle rescuer she thought of. This was the Major General.