Lately, I had started being in control.
No hesitation. No second-guessing.
So when Mark asked his question, I did not flinch.
It was brief, just a single hitch—so subtle that even I barely noticed it. But I was still human, and for a fraction of a second, humanity bared its fangs at me.
I buried it instantly.
Mark watched me carefully from behind his desk. His hands were interlaced, his elbows resting lightly on the polished wood. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes? His eyes were sharp.
A hunter waiting for movement.
I could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on me, but I had carried heavier burdens before. I straightened my posture, exuding the same unshakable presence I always did. My mask—my real mask—never slipped.
Instead of reacting, I tilted my head ever so slightly, letting silence stretch between us. Then, with perfect composure, I asked:
Mark didn't answer immediately. He let the question linger, studying me, as if weighing my response against whatever expectations he had.
Finally, he leaned back, exhaling through his nose. "You're familiar with an A-Rank evaluator named Evelyn, I presume?"
I smiled, just barely. "Quite."
That was an understatement.
Evelyn had been suspicious of me for a long time. She was the type of person who saw patterns, who connected dots before most people even realized there was a picture.
I had made the mistake of intriguing her.
And now, it seemed, she had made a move.
Mark tapped his fingers against the desk. "She sent a warning. Not just to us, but to evaluators across the world. Apparently, there's been a... trend."
His gaze didn't waver. "Masked individuals—Mr. Fox, Mr. Dust, and now, Mr. Angel. All arriving in the same evaluation center. All displaying abilities that far surpass their official rank. All completing an event quest before leaving."
Mark continued, his voice steady. "One other similarity stood out. A Strategist skill at Level 4."
A slow hum left my throat, thoughtful. "That's quite a coincidence."
Mark's expression didn't change. "She doesn't believe in coincidences."
I smiled again, this time more openly. "Neither do I."
There was another pause. Then, he spoke again, and I knew this was the part he had been leading up to.
"The warning concluded with an additional detail," he said. "The individual known as Mr. Angel... calls himself their leader."
The silence between us thickened.
I did not react. I did not flinch.
Instead, I simply breathed.
Then, finally, I spoke—slowly, deliberately, with the weight of a prophet delivering scripture.
"I merely have followers," I said. "And they do their jobs well."
Mark watched me, his fingers pressing together. "So," he said, carefully, "you wouldn't say you're involved in a terrorist organization? Or something of the sort?"
I let the words settle.
Then, softly, I exhaled through my nose. "No," I said simply. "We simply do the jobs that others cannot. You can't expect everything from a C-Rank, after all. That would be... unfair."
Mark's lips twitched slightly, almost imperceptibly. Not quite a smile. Not quite amusement. But close.
"Interesting," he murmured.
Then, with a glance down at the documents in front of him, he added, "You are a C-Rank, though. And yet, your abilities far outrank that letter."
I tilted my head slightly, acknowledging the point. "Touché."
Mark sighed, setting the documents aside. "Either way, it's not like you've committed a crime. And, well... it's far too late to stop the mission now."
I gave him a slight nod, as if in agreement.
He leaned back once more, the weight of our conversation settling into finality.
"That being said," he continued, "there's something else you should know."
"The mission," he said, "will be broadcasted to the world."
For the first time, my mask's blinking feature activated.
He watched my reaction, gauging it. "Think of it like the Moon landing. A historic moment. But..." He tilted his head. "Only your landing will be shown. You'll be the face of this mission."
I let the information sink in.
Then, beneath my mask, I smiled.
Sienna and Camille would see me.
The whole world would see me.
The conversation ended smoothly after that, the atmosphere shifting back to something more neutral. Mark had done his part—given me the warning, ensured I was aware of what Evelyn was stirring. And I had done mine—remaining steady, unwavering.
It was, in the end, just another conversation.
And soon, it would be forgotten.
The mission would not.
News anchors spoke in rapid voices, excitement and awe laced into every word. Camera crews captured every possible angle—of the headquarters, of the launch site, of the millions of people gathered in front of screens, waiting.
I had already said my goodbyes.
Sienna had held my gaze for a long time, the worry in her eyes unspoken. She had not begged me to stay. She had not tried to stop me. She had simply looked at me, her expression firm, and said:
I had promised her I would.
Camille, on the other hand, had sighed, shaking her head. "You're insane," she muttered.
I had only smirked. "You knew that already."
An astronaut suit covered my body, the thick layers pressing against my skin. Inside the spacecraft, the world felt distant—muted, almost surreal.
The countdown had begun.
I sat in my seat, strapped in, my breathing calm. The helmet was secured, the radio feed filled with technical jargon as mission control ran final checks.
I could hear my own heartbeat, steady and unfaltering.
Across the world, thousands of broadcasts were happening. Children pointed at the screens, their eyes wide with wonder. Families huddled together, watching history unfold.
At headquarters, Elliot stood among the crowd, his hands clenched, his eyes fixed on the screen.
I closed my eyes for a brief moment, letting the weight of it all settle in.
Then, as the countdown reached its final numbers, I opened them again.
The world was watching.
The countdown reached one.