Jion sighed, letting the noise settle around them for a second before speaking.
“You already met them earlier.” He gestured toward the hacker.
“This is Niel.”
“I am winning!” Niel exclaimed.
“You are cheating!” the other one snapped instantly.
“I am optimizing!” Niel shot back.
Jion turned slightly toward Linn as if the interruption had never happened.
“Niel. Codename: Helium.”
Niel finally glanced over, his eyes flicking briefly toward Linn—sharp and observant, taking in more than he let on.
Then he gave a small, casual wave, as though this were the least important part of his day.
“Hacker. Surveillance. Tech systems,” Jion continued.
“If something can be accessed, he can get into it.”
“Not everything,” Niel muttered under his breath.
Jion ignored him.
“Cameras, signals, encrypted networks—he handles all of it.”
On one of the side monitors, a line of code flickered before vanishing.
Linn’s gaze lingered there for a second.
Of course he does.
Jion shifted his attention to the other man, who was still visibly offended by the previous match.
“Jace. Codename: XO.”
The man looked up immediately, as though he had been waiting for that cue.
He stood, stretched briefly, then turned toward Linn.
Up close, there was a different energy to him—less chaotic than a moment ago, more grounded.
Measured.
“Field scout,” Jion said.
“Negotiator.”
Jace gave Linn a brief nod, his expression settling into something calmer.
“Depends on the situation. Sometimes talking works. Sometimes it does not.”
Niel snorted.
“He means he tries talking before he punches people.”
“I don’t punch people!” Jace shot back, glaring at Niel.
“You literally punched someone yesterday.”
“That was different!”
“You said that last time too.”
Jion stepped in before it could spiral further.
“Jace handles external contact. He reads people well. Gets information. Keeps situations from escalating when possible.”
Jace tilted his head slightly.
“And when it is not possible,” he added casually, “I make sure we still walk away.”
Niel picked up the controller again.
“Rematch.”
Jace turned sharply.
“No!”
Suddenly, the door behind them slid open with a soft hiss.
All eyes shifted.
An old man stepped inside.
He was slightly hunched, his movements slow and measured, a cane tapping lightly against the floor with each step.
His hair was thin and gray, his face lined with deep wrinkles that made him look decades older than everyone else in the room.
In one hand, he carried a plastic bag.
Jace blinked in confusion.
“Who the hell are you?”
The old man said nothing.
He simply walked to them and dropped the plastic bag onto Jace’s lap.
Jace flinched.
“What—”
“Snacks,” the old man said, his voice rough with age.
Jace frowned.
“I did not order.”
“Of course you did not. You don’t even have money,” Niel muttered.
“Shut up! I have money!”
“You owe me from last week.”
“That was different!”
Jion did not interrupt this time.
He simply watched with his arms crossed.
The old man exhaled slowly, as though he were already tired of the conversation.
Then he reached up and peeled his face off.
The wrinkles disappeared.
The sagging skin lifted.
The gray hair came away in one smooth motion, revealing a completely different face underneath.
“Sean,” Jion said, glancing briefly at Linn.
“Codename: Lucifer.”
Sean rolled his shoulders once, as though shaking off the stiffness of the disguise, then tilted his head toward Linn.
A faint, almost playful smile formed on his lips.
“Disguise. Infiltration. Psychological manipulation,” Jion continued evenly.
“If someone needs to become someone else, or make someone believe something that is not true, he handles it.”
Sean’s smile did not falter.
If anything, it sharpened slightly.
“I prefer persuasion,” he said lightly.
“You mean lying,” Niel said with a snort.
Sean glanced at him.
“Only when necessary.”
“Which is always,” Jace muttered.
Sean ignored them, his attention drifting back to Linn for a moment.
His eyes moved over her with a precision that did not feel invasive, only observant.
As though he were already deciding which version of himself she would trust most.
Linn held his gaze briefly before looking away.
Up close, it was almost unfair.
Not just because he looked completely different from the old man he had been seconds ago, but because his features were refined—sharp without being harsh.
Clean.
Balanced.
Annoyingly so.
For a fleeting second, an absurd thought crossed her mind.
Why the hell is he prettier than me?!
She immediately shut it down.
Her gaze followed the discarded mask as Sean tossed it onto the table beside Niel.
The lifeless silicone face stared blankly upward, a reminder of how easily identities could be worn and removed.
Sean glanced at her once more, offering a brief, almost polite smile before shifting his attention back to Jace, as though nothing about what he had just done was unusual.
Jace looked down at the bag, then back up at Sean.
“Why are there snacks?”
Sean answered without hesitation.
“Because you were going to lose.”
Jace’s brows drew together.
“We did not even finish the game.”
Sean crossed his arms.
“Statistically, you already did.”
Jace looked betrayed.
“You were not even here!”
“I did not need to be.”
“So you just bought food in advance?”
Sean nodded once.
“Charged to your upcoming salary.”
Jace froze.
Niel lost it.
“He pre-ordered your defeat!”
“YOU WHAT?!”
Jace shot to his feet.
“YOU CAN’T JUST CHARGE THINGS TO MY SALARY!”
“I already did.”
“ON WHAT BASIS?!”
“Probability.”
“THAT IS NOT A VALID FINANCIAL SYSTEM!”
“You agreed to the bet,” Niel cut in, still laughing.
“Loser treats.”
“THAT DOES NOT MEAN YOU CAN PREDICT MY LOSS AND BUY IN ADVANCE!”
Linn stood quietly beside Jion, watching the entire exchange unfold—the chaos, the humor, the ease with which they slipped between seriousness and nonsense.
A disguise expert who had walked in as someone else.
A hacker who cheated without getting caught.
A negotiator arguing over snacks he technically had not paid for yet.
And a leader who simply let it happen.
For a moment, she forgot everything else.
This felt absurdly normal.
And somehow, that made it even harder to trust.
Jion watched the exchange for another moment before quietly exhaling, as though he had reached his limit.
“We are done here. Let’s go.”
Linn cast one last glance at the group before following Jion toward the door.
The moment it slid shut behind them, the guys’ voices faded, replaced by a controlled, almost sterile silence.
“Other floors.”
They stopped in front of a secured elevator.
A soft chime sounded, and the doors slid open.
Jion stepped inside, and Linn followed.
When the elevator opened again, the shift was immediate and almost jarring.
The silence was replaced by movement, overlapping conversations, and the soft rhythm of people going about their work.
Employees walked past them carrying tablets, coffee, and files—ordinary things.
The contrast was stark enough that Linn slowed without realizing it, her eyes scanning the space.
“This floor is different,” she said.
“The previous floors we visited are restricted,” Jion replied without slowing.
“They are reserved for Crossline operations and operatives who reside within headquarters.”
He glanced briefly at her.
“Like us. And you.”
Linn nodded faintly, connecting the pieces.
It made sense now why her room, Niel’s workspace, and Jayden’s lab were all located on the restricted floors.
“But what about this floor? This does not look like a workspace for operatives like you.”
“Exactly.”
“Exactly?”
One of the employees passed by and greeted Jion casually, as though it were the most normal thing in the world.
He returned the gesture just as naturally.
There was no tension.
No sign that anything about this place was unusual.
“They don’t look like operatives. I don’t understand.”
“Because they are not.”
She stopped walking.
For a brief moment, she simply stared at him, trying to process what he had just said.
“So they are civilians? In the same building?”
“Yes.”
“And they have no idea?”
“None.”
Jion resumed walking.
Linn followed, more slowly this time.
They passed rows of glass-walled offices, workstations filled with employees focused on their screens, and meeting rooms where quiet discussions were taking place.
Everything about it looked legitimate, structured, functional, and real.
They stopped in front of a wide glass panel overlooking a larger office floor.
At the far end, mounted cleanly against the wall, was a name in simple, professional lettering:
Velaris Systems.
“Velaris,” she repeated under her breath, her gaze lingering on it.
“Public identity,” Jion said.
“A technology company specializing in cybersecurity, infrastructure, and data systems. That is what this place is to everyone outside, and to most people inside.”
His gaze moved briefly across the employees below.
“All Crossline operatives are assigned civilian positions here. They exist only as part of their cover, complete with legitimate records and responsibilities.”
He glanced briefly at her.
“My cover is a senior position within the company. Yours is Administrative Assistant under Administration. Ordinary enough not to attract attention.”
Linn looked back at him.
“So you are hiding in plain sight.”
“We are operating in plain sight,” Jion corrected.
“Crossline exists within Velaris. Not above it. Not separate from it.”
Linn frowned slightly, still trying to reconcile the two realities in front of her.
“And these civilians just work here every day, not knowing what is under them?”
“They are safer that way,” Jion said calmly.
“The less they know, the less they can be used.”
“Used by Zeropoint,” Linn said, more certain this time.
Jion did not need to answer.
She looked through the glass again, watching people who had no idea how close they were to something dangerous.
For a moment, the scene felt almost surreal—two completely different worlds existing in the same space, separated only by knowledge.
“So this whole place is a lie.”
Jion shook his head.
“It is a layer.”
The word lingered longer than the rest.
Linn simply stood there, letting it settle.
A layer.
A normal world on the surface.
Something else beneath it.
Her eyes drifted back to the people beyond the glass.
“They go to work every day, thinking this is just a job.”
Jion followed her gaze.
“And beneath them is a war they will never see.”