Location: Conference Room, Umbra Operations HQ.Dallas, Texas, USA
Time: 11:42 am
Cold, clean light spilled out from within.Row after row of meticulously maintained weapons lined the room, precision rifles, tactical equipment, classified tech. This was the Umbra Operations's heart: their firepower, their history, their teeth.And now he was showing it to her.
He didn't speak. Just stepped aside, gesturing toward the open room with a subtle, gentlemanly flourish.No swagger. No speeches.Just permission. And trust.
Letting her in meant more than access , it was a silent promise:
You're safe here. I'll make sure of it.
She didn't move right away. She stood still for a moment, gaze steady, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes , like she understood the weight of what he'd just done.
Arthur noticed. And smirked again, voice low and teasing."Come on, Ms. Jar.You're the one who's so good at getting to the core of things… aren't you? Two million dollars for my good behavior, huh? That's one hell of a tip, sweetheart."
For a moment, she didn't move.Her gaze swept across the armory , walls lined with tactical rifles, polished gear, crates sealed with biometric locks. But it wasn't the weapons that caught her off guard.
It was him.Or more precisely, the way he stood there, just slightly to the side, door half-open, arm extended in a silent invitation. No swagger. No orders. Just a gesture, intimate and quiet.
Not a performance.Not a calculated maneuver.And certainly not the thrill of high-stakes diplomacy.It was something else entirely.
Something dangerous in how simple it was.She froze , just long enough for her heart to catch itself.Then her fingers twitched slightly at her side.
A breath. A blink.She wasn't supposed to feel this. Not here. Not now. But she did.
Maybe it was the conditioned reflex, the kind of psychological imprint that doesn't fade so easily. Maybe it was simply that he had the kind of face you'd expect out of Hollywood handsome, cinematic.Or maybe… It was nothing more than meeting the right person, at the right moment.
Arthur noticed. Of course he did. He'd been watching her since she walked in , eyes sharp, trained, and impossibly aware.
And when she hesitated, when that rare flicker of vulnerability ghosted across her features, he didn't push.He simply stepped forward half a pace. Not to close the distance, but to slow his own momentum. To wait for her.
Then he offered his hand.Big, warm, scarred, the kind of hand that could break things or hold them together. The kind of hand that made a promise just by being there.
It had been years, maybe longer, since anyone had looked at her that way.Or perhaps, it was simply that no one with both the right and the willingness had come along.
Not as a business partner, not as a negotiating opponent, not even as a piece on someone's chessboard.But as a woman. A woman worthy of having her hand held, of being protected, of being kept close to someone's heart.
And without a word, she placed hers into his.Her fingertips were cool. Delicate. But steady.His thumb brushed lightly across the back of her knuckles,not on purpose, not really , but just enough to let her know he felt it too.
Didn't speak. Didn't need to.He gave her time to settle her footing, then walked with her. Not ahead. Not behind. Just beside her.Together, they stepped into the vault.
And for a moment, the world outside that steel door ceased to matter behind them.
He led her into the armory as much as led her into his kingdom.No fancy lighting. No dramatic presentation.
Just rows of meticulously maintained weapons lined up on matte steel racks, the scent of metal, oil, and cordite thick in the air. It wasn't a showroom. It was a survival space.
The walls were lined with reinforced ballistic panels. The floor was heavy-duty composite, shock-absorbent, silent under boots. Every corner screamed function over form.
Didn't bother with a proper introduction. Arthur simply walked to the far right cabinet, pulled it open, and revealed a line of rifles, worn but spotless.
"These are mine," he said simply, like he was introducing her to some old comrades."SIG M7, customised. Dropped the factory sights, replaced with a micro red-dot system we built in-house. Heavier body. Slower recoil.Works just as well in cities as in the jungle."
He motioned to a shorter weapon on the lower rack. "MPX. Short barrel. Urban ops only. Quiet. Quick draw. Don't jam."
Then he glanced at her, a small, crooked smile tugging at his lips. "I don't care how pretty a weapon looks. If it's accurate, controllable, and saves my ass,that's what matters."
She turned slightly, letting her eyes trace the serial numbers, the fine-worn grips, the subtle mods."Every one of these has a story, and you seem to prefer German and American weapons." she said softly.
He nodded. The smile faded just a little. "Yeah, old hobbit from the Marine time. But I don't tell those stories. Staying alive is the only part that matters."
He led her a few steps deeper into the vault, opening a second cabinet."Custom field packs. Reinforced titanium-fiber frames. Slash-proof, water-resistant. We field-tested these last year in the South American jungle,72 hours straight. Not a single complaint."
His tone was casual, but she knew better.That kind of ease only came from dragging your gear and your life, through hell and back.
He stopped, eyes lingering on her."I know you're the type who reads through specs, audits performance, and calculates risk down to the decimal. But me?" He tapped one of the packs with the back of his hand."I only ask one thing: if I die tomorrow, is this something I'd trust to carry me into the fire?"
He paused for a beat."I'll let you know after this partnership whether WindCore's gear is worth that kind of faith."
She didn't say anything for a moment. Just looked at him.Then he turned slightly and reached for another pack, half teasing now."Whether Storm's weapons are worth it,I'll let you know after this deal's done." He said, simple but powerful.
She looked at him for a few seconds, her voice steady, eyes clear:"Combat is the only real benchmark. Storm's product line retains the precision and modularity of Western design but is built on the underlying logic of Eastern warfare arthurosophy. And through large-scale manufacturing, we drive down costs without compromising purpose. Our core principle is simple, fear of insufficient firepower."
She gave a faint smile, laced with both self-mockery and a quiet ache.
"Everyone in The Eastern country including the Storm's R&D carries the same inherited trauma, centuries of humiliation.It's something we can't forget, can't forgive, and yet can't stop asking ourselves: if it all happened again, how would we face it this time? And you know I was talking about the Second World War.So no, not like the precision American weapons prided themselves on, the Eastern designed weapons don't have to kill with a single shot. But they will cover enough ground, burn hot enough, hit hard enough.They're built to trade hundreds of enemy lives for every one of yours. Disposable, scalable, brutal. You'll like them, Commander. These aren't weapons to save one man, they're weapons to change the scoreboard."
Arthur had turned away, unsealing a tactical case. Hearing her words, he nodded and patted the matte black gear bag in front of him. "Makes sense. Truth is, Western PMCs like mine know far too little about Eastern gear. Storm being willing to export at all is surprising. I would've signed the deal even if you hadn't shown up in person, but sweetheart, I'm glad it was you. I appreciate the honesty."
Lyra lifted her gaze as he handed her the bag. She smiled."Just call me Lyra, Commander. And thank you for giving me this opportunity. It's a honor to visit Umbra."
He opened the bag, revealing the lean, efficient layout inside."Then call me Arthur."He paused, raised an eyebrow, grinned with just the right amount of smugness.
"And since you're staying a few days, I could have someone kit you out with a light loadout. You're walking around with a nearly two-million-dollar cheque on you,I think you deserve the protection to match."
She chuckled, eyes gleaming with playful defiance."Arthur, do you know why I didn't bring a single bodyguard with me?"
"Our security director at Wind Core practically raised hell about it. But I insisted,if I'm staying as your guest in Dallas and I still need to rely on my own team for protection… then with all due respect, Umbra should just shut down right now."
Arthur burst out laughing, eyes glinting with that signature cocky confidence."You're damn right, sweetheart. Wind Core's security can take a holiday. You're on my turf now. And if anyone even thinks about laying a hand on you in this city,"He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping,"I'll make sure they regret ever being born."