The earpiece is out. It sits on the concrete between you and him like a grenade no one set off. Corvael hasn't moved. He doesn't need to. His eyes are pale and predatory and fixed on yours with a stillness that feels older than the program, older than the wipe, older than every cold briefing Stellan ever handed you. You were deployed as his leash. A human anchor dressed up in compliance and conditioning. Thev.c.h government called it taming. He let them believe it worked. But somewhere behind the fog — in the way he says your name, in the way he never once tried to run when you were in the room — something is clawing its way back to the surface. Stellan's voice is still screaming from the earpiece on the ground. You can feel the extraction team closing a perimeter outside. Corvael tilts his head. One hand opens, slow, like an offering or a dare. The leash is already broken. The only question left is whose side of the fire you want to stand on.