__KIRA'S POV__
Monday 29, 11 AM...
- Gray or black? I ask Nashtia, who is already ready and sipping a steaming coffee, her determined gaze focused on a page in her notebook.
- Wear a dress like me, it's better, she replies without even looking up from her notebook.
I sigh, grab the black suit that fits a little too tightly around my waist, and head toward the bathroom.
As I walk there, I feel the pressure building on my shoulders lighten slightly, even though the uncertainty of the impending meeting keeps a dull tension inside me.
The bathroom is spacious and empty, offering a moment of intimacy before diving into the storm that awaits us.
Lately, everything seems to be tightening around us, and I can't help but feel anxious.
Once I'm ready, I join Nashtia and Hren, who are waiting for me by the door. Ruthén, the secretary, arrives to invite us to follow her. Her rigid and professional posture fails to mask her disdain for me as she looks me up and down.
I start to fear that something is off.
We move toward a table near a bay window, where Furz is present. Although the light is dim, I always feel like something is watching us from outside.
This is starting off badly.
I glance around nervously, analyzing the surroundings. Nashtia seems lost in her thoughts, while Hren displays a nonchalant indifference, as if this meeting doesn't matter at all.
The meal order begins, and even though I know Nashtia will try to limit her intake, I keep repeating to myself that it might be better to be cautious.
Especially with that jerk around.
I choose the least risky dish, grilled meat flavored with honey. Ruthén takes the orders, her movements quick and almost nervous, revealing that she is not comfortable.
Everything is fine, a reassuring voice murmurs in my head. I run my hand over my pants, trying to calm the rapid beating of my heart.
Suddenly, the room is filled with a deafening noise, like glasses shattering.
Before I can react, bullets whiz by, and Furz's chief dives to the ground to hide, mimicking Hren's reaction as he flips the table.
My breathing quickens, each second stretches, reality hits me, and my protective instinct for Nashtia awakens.
I freeze behind the debris of the overturned table, glancing to ensure she remains safe. Panic rises within me, drowned by the desire to protect this fragile moment.
The tension in the room is palpable. Hren seems engulfed in silent rage, his weapon in hand. An agonizing silence settles after the shots cease, leaving me with my tumultuous thoughts.
Through the bay window, I can't help but observe the strangeness of a city that doesn't know a shot has just been fired on one of its stages.
A man enters, his footsteps breaking the heavy silence and leaving me perplexed. The glances at the table cross in a dance of distrust.
- Pyat, says Furz's main chief instantly, inquiring about the stranger's intentions.
I grip my thigh, biting my lip as the discussion attempts to establish itself against the backdrop of recent tension.
With each mention of the contract, I shudder with anxiety. What is really going on?
My thoughts ebb and flow, scanning every detail, every fleeting expression, searching for hidden motives that might be lurking behind this palpable tension.
Then Pyat's suggestion arises, asking that members of our organizations exchange within the other clan to understand the enemy's intentions.
A maneuver I find perilous. I frown, my protective instincts kicking in.
- I'm not sure that's a good strategy, I murmur, my words colliding with the echo of the present tension.
- Why? It will bring us closer to spending time together, hisses a voice oscillating between amusement and boredom.
I want to ignore it. But...
- Nicke, we are not the problem, but the "Lega Echi," we are! I respond coldly, ignoring his gaze on me.
But my words go unnoticed, the others exchange glances, and voices rise.
I scan Nashtia, seeing her eyes darken as she perceives the truths in Hren's gaze.
He has always had a knack for sensing true intentions, a valuable ability in tense situations like this one.
In moments like these, choosing someone to expose in risky territory cannot be taken lightly.
- It's decided, one month should be enough to conduct our investigation, announces Orian.
I tense at the thought of losing one of them, fearing this might be the beginning of something much more complex.
Hren and Orian begin to negotiate. I cast a desperate glance at Nashtia, who seems swept away in a dull despair.
I understand her anger; I should feel the same.
Tension rises, every word exchanged by Hren and Orian marks the limits of respect and intimidation.
I feel the urgency to get closer to Nashtia, but the events jolt my movements and thoughts.
She avoids my gaze, and as the rain begins to fall, I wonder if this simply marks the arrival of a storm or the beginning of an even darker episode.
Nashtia resumes the conversation, saying that we have nothing to gain from this. Her words resonate within me, a firm decision for which I am grateful.
I especially don't want her to bear the guilt of such a risky choice. Hren is there to protect, but it doesn't reassure me to worry about him while he plays the game of cat and mouse.
I watch the rain, its drops sliding in front of the bay window like tears, a symbol of my own frustrations.
Passersby, their faces hidden under umbrellas, traverse this moment without knowing that we are battling another reality, a very old tradition of betrayal and loyalty.
Orian turns to me, seeking an answer. I realize that my reactions could influence the course of events.
In an instant, I feel the weight of these decisions permeating the air around us. It's now or never to make my voice heard.
- I don't believe we are here to take on unnecessary challenges, I say slowly, my voice ready to vibrate with authority. We are here to conclude an agreement that will benefit us all. Let's not get carried away by this minor disagreement.
I turn to Nashtia, who seems to support me silently. Her gaze tells me not to let my guard down and to stay focused.
This strength, this bravery buried within her, gives me courage in the face of the darkness surrounding us.
- ...Then, Lessimo will stay, Kheïl will go to Italy. Orian breaks the silence, his voice coldly calculated.
I nod slowly, lost in my thoughts.
This decision could bring us closer to what we seek or plunge us further into chaos.
When Nashtia stands to make a final statement, I rise with her. Let's unite our forces, showing Orian that we are stronger together.
My heart tightens at the thought of what I just proposed. But the time is for clarity; we must move forward together amid this contract.
We are just a step away from possible alliances.
We then sign the contract, and I feel a shiver of apprehension run down my spine.
This gesture, though symbolic, commits us to a dangerous collaboration where alliances and betrayals constantly coexist.
I hate this feeling of uncertainty that hangs in the air, heavier than the rain cloud accumulating outside.
As we put our names on the document, I can see the exchanged glances between Hren, Nashtia, and Orian.
Each of them carries a subtext that I struggle to decipher. The importance of this signature is exacerbated by the sound of the rain pounding the glass debris all around the room.
Ruthén comes to collect the contracts, her professional demeanor trying to mask the ambient tension.
But I can't help but see her as a threat, a piece in a game whose rules I do not yet fully control.
- So, are we all in agreement? Hren asks, his voice sharp as a blade. His gaze scrutinizes each face, searching for approval or a sign of betrayal.
Orian nods, and we look at each other, Nashtia and I. Everything about her screams disapproval, yet we are trapped in this labyrinth where any disapproval could cost us dearly.
- I'm not sure that "in agreement" is really the right term, murmurs Nashtia, before reconsidering. But we don't really have a choice, do we?
Her voice trembles slightly, and I take her hand in a sign of support. She has just returned to her world, and now she is plunging into a seemingly indecipherable trap.
This alliance is hard to digest, but we must move forward. I struggle to believe that this decision is the right one.
- I will gather our men for a meeting, says Pyat. The shadow of the threat still looms, and we must prepare for all eventualities.
I feel a shiver run down my spine. The idea that we are already threatened, only at the beginning of our commitment, itches at me; I don't want to lose control.
We exchange details, strategies. Every word spoken is listened to by all with attention. I wonder how much Orian knows what he is doing.
Is he really an ally, or is he playing a double game?
When we finally leave the room, the atmosphere remains heavy. Hren takes the lead, and I walk beside Nashtia, who seems as lost as I am in this exchange.
Finally, we step out into the pouring rain, shivering from the cold drops on my skin. The city, in a monotonous gray, seems almost unaware of our near shooting.
I cast a glance at Nashtia, who sighs, her mind probably already evaluating our next step. We need to prepare. I feel it deep in my gut.
- We should have stayed out of this, she murmurs, brushing aside a wet strand of hair that clung to her forehead.
I nod, but I know we are already too far into this macabre relationship.
The association we have just formed could become our lifeline… or our coffin.
We don't know yet, but I am determined to understand every piece of this puzzle before it's too late. For Nashtia. For myself. And above all, for what remains of Exus.
The driver arrives with the van, and the three of us get in. I look up at the old bay window to meet his icy gaze watching me with a sarcastic smirk.
I step inside completely and then close the door, my heart racing. This was unexpected, damn it.
This so-called alliance has already failed, me in Italy with this spycop? Orian, you made the decision, and now it's time to face the consequences.
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