Shi had already turned toward the balcony when he stopped.

  One hand rested briefly against the doorframe.

  He turned back.

  “Are you certain,” he asked evenly, “that the human you chose is ordinary?”

  Chen looked up, a flicker of unease crossing his face.

  “His physiology is… different from the human baseline I’ve studied,” Shi said, his tone thoughtful. “There’s something else at work.”

  Chen’s arms folded across his chest, more to shield himself from the truth than from Shi’s gaze. ‘Genetically—because of an accident, I gave him a portion of my genes.

  Shi looked at Chen for a long while, and then he spoke. “You understand what that implies.”

  Chen tried for nonchalance, but his voice was thin. “I understand what it will imply—if anyone bothers to look.”

  Shi’s gaze sharpened. “They always look, Chen. If they discover you’ve altered the royal bloodline and tied it to an outsider, they won’t just question your judgment—they’ll see it as a threat to Teleopea’s future.”

  The words hung between them, heavy with memory.

  Chen’s mouth curved, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Then I’ve made myself inconvenient.”

  “You’ve made yourself… redistributed,” Shi said. “And that attracts the kind of attention that gets people erased.”

  For a moment, neither of them spoke. Outside, the city hummed—oblivious to the quiet, lethal politics at play.

  “Anyhow, I’m returning to the ship to get more medical devices. Won’t be too long.”

  At the balcony, Shi glanced back once more. “Try not to test Mien’s patience.”

  Chen lowered his head. Golden hair slid forward, shadowing his eyes.

  “He doesn’t respond well to emotional variables,” Shi continued, his voice dropping. “Especially when they threaten his sense of control.

  “Thank you for your advice… Teacher.”

  Shi’s mouth lifted faintly. “Save it.”

  He turned his back.

  And with that, he jumped from the balcony.

  Cloaked, Shi flew toward the small craft hovering within the cloud layer. The city lights faded behind him as he soared into the clouds.

  As Shi’s silhouette vanished into the clouds, Chen lingered in the quiet apartment, Shi’s words echoing in his mind. He turned to Yan Qing, suddenly aware of how fragile everything around him was.

  Chen watched Yan Qing’s breathing.

  “Mm…”

  Still unconscious, the human scientist frowned lightly

  Chen sat beside the bed, his usual composure stripped away. Pain etched deep lines across his features.

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  It’s alright… Yan Qing…

  He laid a hand gently on Yan Qing’s smooth forehead and sent his thoughts into the other man’s mind in the softest way he could.

  The tense line between Yan Qing’s brows slowly eased. His breathing steadied.

  “Chen…” Yan Qing murmured.

  Chen felt the brainwave pattern settle into deep sleep.

  “Rest,” he whispered.

  He leaned down and pressed a light kiss to Yan Qing’s forehead.

  —?!

  Just as Chen started to pull his hand away, a jolt of energy—sharp and cold as lightning—shot through his mind.

  —la ta lest crestte mi da loiv—

  That was—

  Kroladis language?!

  Chen jerked back, staring at Yan Qing’s sleeping face, his hand still resting on his forehead.

  —la ta lest crestte mi da loiv—

  A childlike voice—young, ghost-soft—echoed through Chen’s mind.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Three times.

  Endless repetition, as if insisting the meaning be understood.

  “What is this…?”

  And beneath it, like the undertow under a whisper—

  —Please protect in my place—

  Far across the city, in a house where the lights burned low and the air was thick with old money and older secrets, another kind of storm was brewing.

  Something shattered against the marble floor.

  The sound rang too loudly for a house like this — a quiet, old-money street where even anger was usually contained behind thick walls and expensive manners.

  “What the hell do you mean by this?”

  O’Neill stood near the fireplace, one hand braced against the mantel, knuckles white. The other pointed toward the door, where armed men still hovered, uncertain whether they were about to be dismissed or slaughtered.

  Across from him, stretched along a white sofa as if this were a casual visit, Chris barely looked up.

  “What I mean,” he said mildly, crossing one ankle over the other, “is that you sent people into a place I asked you not to.”

  His tone was almost conversational.

  “That was not a suggestion.”

  O’Neill laughed — sharp, brittle. “You don’t own this city.”

  “No,” Chris agreed. “But I decide who bleeds in it.”

  The air tightened.

  O’Neill straightened, eyes narrowing. “Your men attacked my men first.”

  Chris finally looked at him.

  The change was subtle — posture unchanged, expression relaxed — but something in the room shifted, like pressure building before a storm.

  “Because you sent a group that almost killed my friend,” Chris said.

  No name. No clarification.

  O’Neill sneered. “So?”

  The word landed wrong.

  “I’d say you’re far more invested than you pretend,” O’Neill continued, emboldened by Chris’s stillness. “Hovering around that human like a guard dog. Letting that Teleopean parade him around like property. Honestly, it’s almost—”

  Chris moved.

  One moment he was across the room; the next, O’Neill’s back hit the wall hard enough to rattle the framed artwork. Fingers closed around his throat with surgical precision — not crushing, not hurried. Controlled.

  Chris leaned in, close enough that O’Neill could see the pupils shift — diamond facets catching the light.

  “Do not,” Chris said softly, “mock him like that.”

  O’Neill clawed uselessly at his wrist, face flushing. “Y—you think threatening me changes anything? The Star Emperor’s already mobilised. Kill me and Fenreiga loses a front—”

  “I know exactly what killing you would cost,” Chris interrupted.

  That was the point.

  For a heartbeat, he didn’t move. His grip never tightened — but it never loosened either.

  Then he released him.

  O’Neill collapsed forward, coughing, barely staying on his feet.

  “This alliance,” Chris said, straightening his jacket with deliberate care, “exists because I am willing to sacrifice a little.”

  He met O’Neill’s gaze — cold now, stripped of humor.

  “Do not mistake that restraint for weakness.”

  O’Neill wheezed, fury burning behind his eyes. “My plan can rebuild our world faster. If we follow your idealistic path, who knows how long we’ll be stuck on this planet?”

  Chris paused at the doorway.

  “I agree with your plan,” he said. “For now. I expect results—and they’d better be good enough to justify why I’m still keeping you alive.”

  Outside, the night air cooled his skin.

  The hostility slipped off him the moment he stepped onto the sidewalk — posture easing, shoulders relaxing, as if he’d taken off armor. Streetlights cast soft gold across his hair as he pulled out his phone.

  He hesitated.

  Just for a moment.

  Then dialed.

  “Hey,” he said, voice light, familiar. “How’s your cold today?”

  A pause. A smile — real, this time.

  “Yeah. I figured you’d say that. Don’t overwork yourself.”

  He listened, expression softening at something only he could hear.

  “We’ll talk later,” he said gently. “Rest.”