In the brightly lit yet cold steel corridor,
Noir sat in silence for a long while. Specter's words still echoed in her mind—not like blades cutting through ice, but like warmth slowly seeping into cracks that had always been there.
She turned slightly. Her gaze remained cold, but her voice dropped low, softened in a way rarely heard.
"Thank you."
Just two short words. No promises. No clear opening of her heart. But to him, it was everything.
Specter paused for a moment, then smiled faintly. He understood Noir better than anyone—a single "thank you" from her was worth more than a thousand confessions. He said nothing more, simply sat beside her, letting the silence become their shared language.
Noir leaned back against the cold wall, her eyes half-open. The dim light cast over her made her seem even more fragile after days of being drained by the organization.
Specter sat beside her, quietly listening as she spoke in fragments—about memories, about pain, about the overlapping pieces she wasn't sure she could ever fully piece together.
"Back then… when I first stepped out of that room filled with the smell of chemicals and the constant hum of metal machines… I had just turned seven. They sent me to break into a major weapons trafficking organization." Noir whispered, her voice hoarse, her eyes growing heavier.
"At the time… I only felt like I was a wolf, and those people were just small rabbits."
"Every shot, every stab… I still remember them clearly. Sometimes one bullet wasn't enough—blood kept flowing, their eyes wide open on the cold ground… That day… it was nothing but a sea of blood. When it was over, the VOID forces stormed in, took everything—goods, weapons… then piled the bodies high like a mountain. The smell of gasoline filled the air… and then they set it on fire… that hill burned so high… like a mass grave."
Specter stiffened slightly, a mix of fear and pity rising within him. She had bathed in a river of blood when she was still just a child.
Noir continued.
"After that… after earning their trust… I took part in most of their operations. Thousands of lives… even… innocent children…" her voice faltered slightly, "…Lysander was arranged by them too, so we could support each other. That's why… he understands me. That's why he can always find me so easily…"
Specter looked at her, his gaze softening. He was about to speak—but when he turned fully, he realized Noir had already tilted her head, eyes closed. Her breathing was slow and light, like a child finally succumbing to exhaustion.
A rare moment of peace.
He let out a quiet breath, then leaned down and gently lifted her into his arms. Noir didn't wake. She simply slept on, allowing herself to be held.
Specter's footsteps echoed softly through the corridor until he reached the room. Ari was already there, standing quietly. Her eyes were gentle, though a hint of surprise flickered within them.
She looked at the sleeping Noir, then met Specter's gaze. She said nothing, only gave a small, knowing smile.
Specter nodded slightly, then carefully laid Noir down on the bed. He pulled the blanket over her, his hand lingering for a brief moment before withdrawing, a quiet tenderness rising in his chest—something he couldn't quite name.
The room returned to silence. Noir slept. Specter kept watch. Ari quietly stepped away, leaving the two of them a space of their own.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the organization…
Inside an isolated holding room, cold blue light from a monitor cast sharply across his face. The organization had not given up. They were the ones who created cold-blooded machines to satisfy their twisted instincts… Every individual, every relationship, all existed under their control. And now, they sought to destroy the very masterpiece they had created.
Thus, interrogation after interrogation dragged on—cold, probing eyes pressing down on the one who had once stood closest to Noir.
Lysander.
He let out a faint, dry laugh, but in his eyes burned an unwilling fury.
/Noir… you chose to turn your back on me, even after I tried to hold you back./
The memory of their confrontation replayed again and again. Each time, it tightened around his chest. He didn't hate her. He didn't blame her… but that desire to hold onto her had twisted into chains gripping his mind.
Lysander clenched his fist, his eyes reddening.
/If I can't have you by my side… then I'd rather drag this entire world down with me./
A warped resolve began to take shape in the darkness.
In the dim room, red light flickered from the surveillance screens, casting shifting shadows across his face. The glow deepened his gaze, like an abyss swallowing what little reason remained.
Images of Noir—fallen, yet still resisting—flashed endlessly through his mind. He gritted his teeth, his grip tightening until blood surfaced.
/Since when… did you start letting someone else stand beside you?/
The thought cut into him like a blade.
Old obsession and long-distorted feelings merged into something more dangerous—a twisted form of possession. Noir was no longer just a comrade, no longer just the other half he once silently acknowledged.
Now, in Lysander's eyes—she was everything.
He stepped toward the console, entering commands into the system. Data surfaced one after another—hidden experiment logs, classified files…
"If the organization can't keep you… then I will." Lysander muttered, his low voice echoing in the empty room.
A cold smile flickered across his lips.
He began constructing a mad plan: to claim Noir entirely—even if it meant betraying the organization, even if it meant crushing everything in his path.
Maps of hidden facilities, emergency escape routes, even records of failed experiments—he gathered them all, piece by piece, like assembling a grand, dangerous game.
In Lysander's mind, there was no longer an organization, no ideals, no mission.
There was only Noir—
—and the overwhelming desire to possess her, at any cost.