Veil of the forsaken.

"Admirer."

The lab was dimly lit, the soft hum of machinery filling the silence between words. Ronan leaned back in his chair, boots propped up on the desk as he twirled a stylus between his fingers. A screen beside him flickered with Veil's report—detailed, thorough, and just vague enough to piss off the higher-ups.

A woman's voice crackled through his comms, smooth, lilting, with that ever-present air of amusement.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" she mused, as if she could see the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Going through her report like it's some kind of bedtime story."

Ronan let out a low chuckle, tapping the stylus against his knee. "Oh, you know me. I love a good mystery. And Veil? She's got a real talent for making things sound just a little too clean."

The woman laughed softly, the sound familiar—too familiar. "Messy girl. Always leaving just enough breadcrumbs to let someone think they know what's going on."

Ronan rolled his shoulders. "You sound like you admire her."

"I admire good work." Her tone was teasing, laced with something else—something old. "And speaking of good work, you still owe me that drink."

He let out a deep, exaggerated sigh. "Damn. You never forget a thing, do you?"

"Not when it comes to you."

That earned a small chuckle. "That a threat or a compliment?"

"Depends. Are you still as insufferable as ever?"

Ronan grinned, staring at the screen but seeing something else entirely—memories, long nights, laughter that turned sharp at the edges. "You tell me."

She exhaled through the comms, and he swore he could feel her smirk. "Oh, I already know the answer to that, darling."

He tapped the report, gaze flicking back to Veil's name. "You keeping an eye on her?"

The response was slower this time, measured. "Aren't we all?"

Something in her tone made him sit up just a little straighter. His voice was casual, but the question was real. "And should I be worried?"

A beat of silence. Then, softly—almost too soft:

"Not yet."

Ronan exhaled, shaking his head with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You always did know how to keep a guy on his toes."

"And you always did know how to make trouble."

He smirked, voice dropping just enough to mirror something from the past. "Wasn't that why you liked me?"

She laughed again, light but edged. "That, and your terrible taste in whiskey."

Ronan chuckled, stretching his arms over his head. "Well, darling, some things never change."

"And some things do." Her voice lingered, almost thoughtful, before she switched back to business. "Keep an eye on Veil. And don't make me regret talking to you."

Ronan spun the stylus one last time before flicking it onto the desk. "Wouldn't dream of it."

The comms cut out with a quiet click.

Ronan stared at the screen, at the name blinking back at him. Veil.

With a slow sigh, he muttered to himself, "Guess we'll see what kind of mess you're really in, huh?"

The door slammed open so hard it rattled the walls.

Ronan barely spared a glance from his desk, tilting his head slightly as Utopia stormed in, her heavy boots striking the floor like gunfire. He had expected this. No, he had been waiting for it.

The air in the dimly lit office turned electric as she came to a halt in front of him, fists clenched so tight her knuckles had gone white.

"You killed them," she seethed. "Six high civilians, Ronan. Six. Do you have any fucking idea what you've done?"

Ronan, utterly unbothered, leaned back in his chair, tilting it lazily on two legs. "Of course I do," he mused, twirling a pen between his fingers. "Why do you think I did it?"

Utopia slammed both hands onto his desk, her golden eyes burning like a supernova. "You just started a war."

Ronan only smirked. "Oh, sweetheart, that war was already brewing. I just gave it a reason to boil over."

Her glare sharpened, filled with a fury so intense it could've burned through steel. "Don't sweetheart me, you arrogant son of a bitch."

He sighed, shaking his head. "Always so dramatic."

Utopia's patience snapped. She grabbed the collar of his jacket and yanked him forward so suddenly that his chair slammed back onto all fours. Their faces were inches apart now, close enough for her breath to warm his skin.

"You don't get it," she growled, voice low and dangerous. "This isn't one of your games, Ronan. You didn't take out some low-level operatives or a handful of spies. These were high civilians. People with influence, people who kept the balance. Do you have any idea how many powerful names are going to come for our heads now?"

Ronan chuckled, completely unfazed by her grip on his jacket. "Let them come."

Utopia's eyes flashed, and for a moment, it looked like she was going to hit him. She probably wanted to. Hell, if it were anyone else, she wouldn't have hesitated.

But Ronan had always been different. A thorn in her side. A ghost of her past.

She shoved him back into his chair, stepping away as if being too close to him would make her sick. She ran a hand through her hair, exhaling sharply.

"I knew you were reckless," she said, voice quieter now, but still brimming with rage. "I knew you didn't care about consequences. But this? This is insanity."

Ronan tilted his head, watching her carefully. "And yet, you're still standing here. Still talking to me instead of reporting me."

Utopia scoffed. "Don't test me, Ronan."

"Oh, but it's so fun."

She turned away, pacing like a caged animal. Her mind was racing, trying to calculate the damage, trying to figure out how the hell they were going to come out of this alive.

"You don't see it, do you?" she muttered. "You really don't see what you've done."

Ronan leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "Enlighten me, then."

Utopia whirled around, eyes burning with something more than just anger. Frustration. Maybe even desperation. "You just declared war on VLTR. They've been waiting for a reason to wipe us out, and now you've handed it to them on a silver fucking platter."

Ronan just smirked, like none of this mattered. Like it was all just a game.

"Wars are won by those willing to act," he said smoothly. "While you sit here and panic, I've already moved the pieces into place."

Utopia clenched her teeth, stepping closer again. "And what if your pieces fail? What if this blows up in your face and takes all of us down with it?"

Ronan met her gaze, unwavering. "Then we burn together."

For the first time, Utopia hesitated. It wasn't the words themselves that made her pause—it was the way he said them. Like he meant it. Like, deep down, he didn't care if he burned as long as he took everyone with him.

She exhaled slowly. "You're insane."

Ronan smiled. "You've always known that."

Silence settled between them, thick with unspoken things.

Then, finally, Utopia straightened, forcing herself to focus. "What now?"

Ronan's smirk widened. "Now? We get ready for war."

She stared at him for a long moment before shaking her head. "God help us all."

And with that, she turned and walked out, leaving Ronan alone in the dim light, smiling to himself.

End of part.