The elevator rose smoothly through the center of the building.
Numbers climbed one after another above the door while pale white light reflected across the metallic walls.
Vincent van Gogh stood with one hand in his pocket. Casually watching the numbers increase.
"Strange place it is. Just like our headquarters. "
He glanced around the spotless elevator walls and polished chrome corners.
"This feels expensive."
Beside him, Melisande remained composed as always.
"That is intentional. Organizations with influence likes making power look comfortable."
Vincent smirked faintly. "You always sound like a report document."
"Nuh uh. Not all walls are shiny. Everything has a bad sides and mine is to annoy people."
The elevator gave a soft tone.
Immediately, the atmosphere changed.
Four gaurds were already waiting outside the lift entrance. None of them looked surprised to see the two guests arrive.
Their posture was rigid, professional, hands resting close to concealed weapons beneath dark uniforms.
One of the guards stepped forward.
"Seize your feet."
Vincent slowly raised both hands with exaggerated innocence.
"What if I say I am emotionally offended?"
"No exceptions."
Melisande already understood the situation and calmly opened her coat slightly to allow inspection.
The gaurds searched both of them carefully. Sleeves, inner pockets, belts, shoes and collars.
One guard even scanned small accessories using a handheld detection device that emitted dim blue light across their clothing.
Vincent sighed softly while the process continued.
"You know, the place feels very polished. The kind of polished that makes me think somebody here is terrified of uncertainty."
One guard looked at him without expression.
"That observation is unnecessary."
Vincent smiled faintly.
"Most honest observations are."
"Clear." A gaurd spoke.
Melisande stopped before the dark wooden door and knocked three times.
A voice answered from inside.
"Come in."
She pushed the door open alongside Vincent van Gogh and both stepped into a spacious lounge wrapped in dim amber light.
The room carried the scent of blossom scent, polished wood and expensive alcohol.
Beyond the glass doors leading to the balcony, two men stood casually overlooking the city in the very distance.
Adam Moore leaned against the railing with one hand in his pocket.
His dark formal shirt was partly unbuttoned near the collar, sleeves folded neatly to his elbows. The kind of composure that looked natural rather than practiced.
Beside him stood Zenon Caeser. Silver rings glinted under the balcony light.
He laughed quietly while exhaling smoke sideways into the morning air.
"I'm telling you, the bartender looked more interested in you than the girls."
Adam snorted,
"That is because you talk too much after drinking."
Vincent cleared his throat politely from inside the room.
"Excuse us."
Both men turned. The casual atmosphere shifted, though not completely.
Adam gave a small nod first.
"Guests from Atlantis."
Zenon flicked ash from his cigarette and smiled lazily.
"You took your time."
A few moments later everyone moved inside properly.
Adam and Zenon settled onto separate sofas across the lounge while Melisande and Vincent took the longer couch together opposite them.
Adam Moore rested one arm across the sofa and studied the two Atlantis agents.
"So, Atlantis sends two Four-Star agents instead of diplomats. That probably means this is either an annoyance… or suspicion."
"Usually both." Vincent van Gogh replied.
Across the room, Zenon Caeser let out a low chuckle and leaned back into his seat.
"I will admit, you two have courage. Walking into the headquarters of the Order of the Third Hand and questioning two Semi-Kings directly. Most people above your rank would be thinking multiple times."
Melisande remained perfectly composed.
"We are not here to prove our courage. We are here because intruders recently captured in Atlantis have operational similarities connected to your organization."
The room became quieter after that sentence. Vincent folded one his one hand on another.
"So we'll ask directly. Were those operatives yours?"
Zenon's smile remained, though thinner now.
"That depends. Do you believe organizations are single-minded creatures? Because they aren't. They are cities wearing one name."
Adam finally spoke again before the tension gone further.
"No official order was given from us. If someone acted under the banner of the Third Hand, then either a faction moved independently… or someone wants Atlantis to believe we are involved."
Vincent watched both men carefully.
"You say that very calmly."
Adam shrugged slightly.
"Because panic makes innocent people look guilty."
Zenon tapped ash from his cigarette into a crystal tray nearby.
"If we truly intended to assassinate a Martial… you would not have caught the attackers alive."
Vincent van Gogh leaned back slightly.
His gaze moved between Adam Moore and Zenon Caeser. Almost appreciative in the way one studies a complex performance.
"I want to be careful with my wording. Because what I'm about to say is not an accusation."
He waited for a moment if they say something. Then he spoke again.
"You both spoke about factions inside organizations as if they are weather systems and indicated it like it was something rough. That is fair. But there is something more precise hiding underneath your language."
He tilted his head slightly.
"When people describe chaos as something they merely 'manage' rather than 'fear,' it usually means they are positioned close enough to the source of it that fear becomes unnecessary. It is simply, they are already inside its architecture."
Zenon's expression didn't change. Adam's fingers stopped tapping the armrest.
"And then there is timing. The intruders we encountered in Atlantis were not random operatives.
Yet when we ask you about them, you don't deny existence, nor do you confirm control. You instead redirect into unauthorized hierarchy."
He smiled more like acknowledging a difficult equation.
"That specific response usually belongs to systems that don't want ownership attached to actions but still get benefits from their existence."
The room felt tighter, though nothing physically moved. Vincent lifted a hand slightly. He waved his finger in midair drawing an imaginary paper.
"I am not saying you are the ones commanding everything. I am saying something more inconvenient."
His eyes settled evenly between them.
"If chaos in this world has a center of gravity, then your conversation sounds like people standing very close to it. Describing the pull without admitting they are already leaning inward."
Adam's patience finally snapped.
"Stop! What the fuck are you even implying now? You walked in here, started connecting shadows to shadows and now you're building a throne out of coincidence?"
His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a clean edge through the room.
Zenon Caeser exhaled through his nose. He spoke,
"This is why I hate long conversations. People start turning uncertainty into mythology. There is no proof here. Only interpretations stacked on top of guesses."
Melisande finally made her objection.
"Interpretations are not the problem. Consistency is. Your organization has repeated actions in multiple incidents across Atlantis jurisdiction."
She paused slightly rolling her eyes sideways.
"Even if you are not directly responsible, your internal fragmentation is now external risk."
Zenon gave a smile.
"That's a very polite way to say 'we don't trust you.'"
Melisande didn't deny it.
"I don't need trust, I need stability in the suspect."
Adam stared at them for a moment longer, then let out a short, frustrated breath.
"Enough! Both of you are done talking."
Zenon tilted his head slightly. "Oh?"
Adam's voice dropped.
"You came here to inspect us like suspects in our own home. Fine. Then we will respond like suspects would in a world that already decided we are guilty. Agents, detain them!"
The atmosphere changed instantly. Footsteps came from the hallway outside.
Agents of Third Hand were approaching here.
Melisande's eyes shifted slightly toward Vincent without turning her head.
Vincent van Gogh didn't look surprised.
Instead, he slowly stood up adjusting his coat like someone preparing for a performance on stage.
"Well, so this is where the conversation stops pretending to be civil."
Melisande exhaled once,
"It was never civil, idiot."
Vincent glanced toward the door as the first shadow of approaching agents appeared.
"Then let's stop talking like guests and start moving like intruders."