The living room remained a disaster. Rebecca righted the overturned armchair, its stuffing poking out where it had been ripped. Jeffrey began stacking the fallen books, his movements jerky with suppressed anger. Cristina swept up the broken glass with short, sharp strokes of the broom. Mariah stood near the guest room doorway. She looked exhausted, her shoulders slumped.

  Rebecca stopped, straightened up, and looked directly at Jeffrey. Her voice was weary but firm.

  "Hadic must be behind all of this. We’re all being attacked. This was a direct attack."

  Mariah stepped forward.

  "He's stable for now. The healing worked… I’m surprised. I was reaching my limit."

  She gestured to herself. It was a quick, almost apologetic movement.

  "I haven't used my abilities properly in years. I can barely hold it a minute, maybe two at most. I’m glad that was enough."

  Jeffrey paused in his task of stacking books. He shifted from Mariah to the closed door of the guest room, his expression troubled.

  "Good thing you came,” he told Mariah. “But… Olt. If it worked, it must mean he has access to the Aether? He drank the potion. But how?"

  Mariah hesitated, then spoke with a professional, albeit slightly awed, tone.

  "It's a theory. There’s something called the Dormant Genes. For ages researchers have been trying to uncover the mysteries that these genes have on users. But, a lot of that info has been kept secret by the Firms, especially the oldest ones like Krautzberger. It’s left the rest of us with speculation.”

  Mariah sighed.

  “That might explain it. Might not. I don't know for sure if he awakened power. It could be a fluke, adrenaline, anything."

  She emphasized the uncertainty, shaking her head slightly.

  "Regardless, he needs watching."

  She was direct and practical.

  "And… honestly, after that, none of us should be alone tonight. Rebecca, we should stay."

  Mariah looked at Jeffrey.

  “You could use the help, Jeffrey. And… I’d like to talk to Olt properly when he wakes. See what he remembers, what he felt. He might have questions, and it might help us understand this much more."

  Cristina stopped sweeping, leaning on the broom, her expression skeptical and sharp.

  "Visas…" she said, suspicious. "Ganjo was pushing them hard. Right before this."

  Cristina gestured around the wrecked room with the broom handle.

  "He shows up with visas, offers a way out, and then we get attacked here? All of it on the same day! How did they even find us here?"

  Jeffrey's suspicion, already simmering, hardened into anger. He slammed a book down on the growing stack. The sound was loud in the tense room.

  "Cristina's right. It’s too good to be a coincidence. No way."

  His tone was tight, controlled, but the fury was evident.

  "I don't like this. I don’t trust him." He started moving towards the door, his movements agitated, impulsive.

  "Forget this. I need to talk to Ganjo. Now!"

  Rebecca stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

  "Jeffrey, wait. Calm down. Going to Ganjo now, in the middle of the night, angry? Really?"

  She spoke calmly, logically, trying to de-escalate the situation.

  "We need to be smart. Everything is moving fast, and we don’t know what the next move is. We’re already at a disadvantage.”

  Rebecca reminded Jeffrey of the importance of strategy.

  "Tomorrow, we can all go speak with Ganjo. But, first we need a plan. We need to know more about what happened. We need to talk to Olt."

  She paused, her voice firm.

  "But let’s do it with a clear head. Not impulse."

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Jeffrey hesitated, his fists clenched, his body still vibrating with the urge to confront Ganjo. He took a deep, shaky breath, then slowly nodded. He was still tense, still angry, but he recognized the logic in Rebecca's words. He ran a hand through his hair. He knew rushing off half-cocked would accomplish nothing, and it could even make things worse. But the suspicion, the feeling of betrayal, gnawed at him. The urge for immediate answers, warred with the need for caution.

  …

  The full moon hung like a silver coin in the inky sky, bathing the overgrown backyard in an almost surreal light. The rain had stopped. Stars glittered like scattered diamonds. Two Adirondack chairs sat empty near the edge of the yard, facing away from the farmhouse. Their wooden slats gleamed faintly in the moonlight. A stone path, its edges softened by encroaching grass and wildflowers, wound away from the house, disappearing into the deep shadows cast by the surrounding trees. The only sounds were the incessant chirping of crickets and the whisper of wind rustling through the leaves. It was a constant, almost unnerving energy.

  Jeffrey paced restlessly on the stone path, his boots crunching softly on the uneven surface. Rebecca sat in one of the Adirondack chairs. She was wrapped in a light coat against the chill night air. She focused on Jeffrey's agitated movements. The faint glow from Olt's room was the only visible light from the farmhouse.

  Jeffrey stopped pacing abruptly, turning to face Rebecca.

  "Olt told me," he began, "About you… and Ganjo. And this… Veronica."

  He gestured towards the house with a frustrated wave, the movement jerky and uncontrolled.

  "You’re dragging him into this, Rebecca! Out here, in the open! Into a world he knows nothing about!"

  There was bitter disbelief.

  "A Firm?" he continued, his voice rising. "Intelligence operations? He's a professor, Rebecca, out in there with killers!"

  It was an absurdity in Jeffrey’s opinion.

  Rebecca remained seated. Her posture was outwardly calm, but a discomfort tinged her as she responded. As she spoke, she gestured around the yard.

  "Jeffrey, we didn't drag him. He chose this. He made his decision, just like we are."

  "What choice did we have, Jeffrey?" she continued, her voice rising slightly. "Hide? Wait for them to come back?

  She looked up at the moon, then back at Jeffrey.

  "Besides, Ganjo didn’t keep this a secret from you," she added, her voice softening slightly. "He brought those visas. That was his way of letting you know; offering a way out."

  The gesture, meant as an olive branch, now felt like another layer of deception to Jeffrey.

  "Visas?" he scoffed. "That's more reason to be suspicious, Rebecca. He could be manipulating us. Scare us off with a physical threat, and influence us to run away."

  Moving closer, Jeffrey leaned over Rebecca’s chair, his shadow falling across her.

  "Or are you conveniently ignoring it? Are you so eager to make deals with Ganjo, because of what this Veronica might offer you? What’s to say that this isn’t a trap?

  He pressed further, his voice hardening with accusation.

  "You want this plan of his to work. You want to play heroes and get revenge for what…your father?

  The words were a direct challenge. They were a questioning of Rebecca’s motives, of her judgment, and her very perception of reality. The accusation stung. Rebecca stood up, facing Jeffrey. The rawness of her emotions, stripping away any pretense.

  "Jeffrey, look around you, it’s only us. There’s no Guardians anymore, there’s no safe house, no protection guaranteed, it’s just us!" she exclaimed. "How dare you question my judgment, after all we've been through together!"

  “Jeffrey!" she continued, her voice trembling slightly. "You spent years trusting Ganjo with your life, in scenarios that kept us an inch from death. Years of loyalty, of relying on each other."

  Rebecca’s voice softened, becoming a plea for understanding.

  "And now, suddenly, he's the enemy? Because he offers us a chance to fight back." The irony of his sudden mistrust, his questioning of their long-standing alliance, was almost unbearable to her.

  She challenged Jeffrey directly, her eyes searching his.

  "What happened to trusting your instincts, Jeffrey?”

  They stood facing each other, the unresolved tension a palpable presence between them.

  Jeffrey broke eye contact with Rebecca, turning his gaze towards the moonlit yard, the stone path winding away into the shadows. Memories of Ganjo flickered through his mind – their shared past in dangerous operations, a time when they had relied on each other. Ganjo had always been reliable in a fight, a man of action and muscle. Jeffrey, on the other hand, had operated in the shadows, relying on stealth and deception. Different skills, but they had been on the same side, back then. Yet, a nagging suspicion about Ganjo's true nature lingered. Jeffrey had always perceived an edge to Ganjo, a sharpness that hinted at opportunism. Ganjo’s alliance with the Dasa Vech after Oliver's fall only deepened that suspicion. It was a move born of survival, perhaps, but it still felt like a betrayal.

  The specter of Alberto Pointe, a dark and unspoken chapter in their past, rose in Jeffrey's thoughts. He had never known the full story, intentionally kept in the dark, along with Rebecca. Ganjo, however, had been involved in the deeper, darker aspects of that operation. They were things he never spoke about. The thought that the Dasa Vech was now protecting Ganjo, despite his past actions against them, was deeply unsettling. It suggested a bargain.

  Had Ganjo sold them something? Someone?

  The possibility that Ganjo had betrayed Oliver, tipping the scales in his own favor, was a bitter scenario Jeffrey struggled processing.

  After a long pause, Jeffrey spoke, his voice weakened from stress.

  "You're right."

  He didn't elaborate.Then, he continued.

  "You’re right about Ganjo. He never put us directly in danger."

  Jeffrey looked back at her, his conflicted emotions showing in his eyes.

  "He hasn't… yet."

  Rebecca nodded slowly, a small, almost imperceptible movement. She didn't push the point. She saw the internal struggle in Jeffrey's face.

  Jeffrey turned away again, the moonlight catching the lines of worry carved into his features. He found it ironic that Rebecca, of all people, was the one taking a pragmatic approach. She had more reason to distrust Ganjo than he did, considering her father and the lingering mystery of Alberto Pointe. Yet, she was the one urging caution, while he was consumed by suspicion. He wondered if he was simply too close to the situation, too emotionally scarred by the paranoia to see Ganjo clearly. Perhaps the old wounds were clouding his judgment.