Adam and Vicky walked down a long corridor, escorted by the agent.

  Adam’s stomach churned, much like it had during his economics exams back in college.

  His eyes darted around, studying his surroundings, but nothing satisfied his curiosity. The corridor bore no signs, only a series of closed doors with no nameplates.

  None of the agents they passed provided any useful information, nor did any of them seem to notice their presence. They all wore the same gray suits; the female agents paired theirs with high heels—gray, of course, what else would it be? And naturally, since they were indoors, none of them had on their dark sunglasses. That would’ve been downright ridiculous.

  Trailing behind them were two guards, close enough to make their presence known, and yes, they were wearing their cursed sunglasses.

  At the end of the hallway stood a massive double-leaf walnut door, imposing and rock-solid. Unlike the others, this one had a bronze plaque reading: Directors’ Office. The agent knocked firmly.

  A young secretary opened the door and ushered them into an anteroom. At least this space had a window overlooking the street and a ficus plant that added a touch of life to the wooden decor.

  The secretary wore glasses and pearl earrings. She was the only woman Adam had seen in the building with clear lenses instead of tinted ones, and she stood out further by wearing a miniskirt instead of the mandated pantsuit.

  With a polite gesture, she directed them toward another door, just as solid as the last, bearing the inscription: Rune Halstein, Director. Neither Adam nor Vicky recognized the name.

  Inside, they were greeted by the warm aroma of coffee mingled with a hint of tobacco and the soft strains of a waltz playing in the background—an ambiance that perfectly matched the office’s aesthetic. Everything was crafted from polished walnut: the antique desk, the high-backed armchairs upholstered in black leather, the enormous bookshelf lining the right wall, its glass-fronted cabinets filled with ancient books of various sizes, and the shelf to the left holding a vintage stereo system that looked to be at least thirty or forty years old. The entire space was curated for someone with a pronounced taste for the classic.

  Behind the desk, a vast window offered a commanding view of the city. The Director stood there, puffing on a thick cigar.

  I guess the no-smoking rule doesn’t apply here, Adam thought.

  Still facing the window, the man took one last drag from his cigar, stubbed it out in the desk ashtray, and turned down the volume of the outdated stereo system using a method almost just as archaic—a remote control.

  Adam had expected something entirely different—a high-tech setup filled with holographic screens, where a single finger snap could summon a coffee machine—which had to be hidden somewhere, given the aroma—or lower the music volume via voice command. Even his phone could manage that. So why was an agency specializing in capturing criminals equipped with advanced technology still working with such conventional tools?

  Was the decor a personal preference or part of an elaborate fa?ade?

  Finally, the Director turned to face them—a broad-shouldered man with harsh features and olive skin, almost tanned, who looked like he was just hitting fifty. He had round, shiny black eyes, thick eyebrows, a prominent nose, a well-groomed but bushy mustache, and a full head of dark hair streaked with a few grays, combed to the side like an old-school movie star. He wore a sleek jet-black tuxedo over a white shirt, a red tie peeking out from the folds of his jacket, and a matching handkerchief tucked into his breast pocket.

  “Welcome. I’m the director of the Orbit Agency and head of the Proxima Division for the Chironian Satellite Agency,” he introduced himself, offering a firm handshake—the kind only the bold and self-assured give. His voice was raspy, his tone deliberate. “Rune Halstein. A pleasure. Thank you for coming.”

  Funny, Vicky thought, the plaque on your door only listed the first of those titles. She almost voiced the observation but decided sarcasm wasn’t a good idea right now. Aside from a monitor and the ashtray with the remnants of his cigar, Halstein’s desk held a pile of documents, all in order. Perhaps one of those was an order for her deportation.

  She locked her sharp blue eyes onto the Director’s dark ones. People revealed a lot when you looked them in the eye. But this time, it was useless. The psychological wall Halstein erected was as dense as the darkness of his pupils.

  Get ready for trouble, dear, she thought to herself.

  Halstein opened a cigar box and offered them one. They politely declined, though Adam was tempted—smoking might have given him the calm he needed.

  “I see my men exaggerated the reports of your injuries, Mr. White,” Halstein said. “You look to be in good shape. That’s good to see.”

  “Thank you.”

  Adam wasn’t sure whether he should smile or not. He wavered between admiring the man’s composure and fearing what he might say or do. He had the distinct impression he was standing before a master negotiator, not just the head of an intelligence agency. What other purpose could lie behind such a pristine presence, if not to achieve something through a mix of arrogance and polished rhetoric?

  Rune Halstein’s cadence was identical to that of the executives Adam met with at Homam Enterprises—the self-assured air of someone with a commanding personality who was accustomed to wielding significant power. Adam realized it right then: his usual charm wouldn’t be enough to win this man over. Flattery or a dinner invitation, the tactics he often used to seal favorable deals with businessmen, would get him nowhere here.

  “Perhaps you don’t remember, Mr. White,” Halstein said, “but we met some time ago at a party hosted by Homam Enterprises. Back then, as I recall, you were still dabbling as an underwear model for the youngest of the Carinae.”

  This time, Adam knew exactly what to do and forced a smile. That comment had been a deliberate jab to establish who in the room had permission to humiliate whom—and who didn’t. Surely, more remarks like it would follow.

  “Sorry, I don’t remember,” Adam replied. “I was more concerned about finishing the runway, getting dressed quickly, and not catching a cold than making small talk.”

  Now that he studied Halstein more closely, Adam thought he might remember him. Then again, he could easily be confusing him with someone else. He’d met so many businessmen and politicians during that time, and if the interaction had gone no further than a perfunctory, ‘This is Mr. So-and-So from Company Such-and-Such, nice to meet you,’ it was hard to retain a vivid memory of anyone, no matter how imposing they were.

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  “You’re probably wondering why I called you here,” Halstein said, motioning for them to sit. “I don’t like wasting time, so I won’t waste yours either.”

  With a swipe of his thick fingers, the Director activated the screen beside him. It displayed a photograph of a massive black ovoid rock, rising vertically from the cracked, arid ground, with dense vegetation in the background. Anyone with an ounce of imagination might have guessed it was the egg of some gargantuan bird, half-buried upright in a small desert and concealed beneath a lush jungle canopy.

  “This anomaly is located deep in the Black Plateau jungle, a small region just a few miles from Proxima,” Halstein explained. “It was discovered long ago by locals, who predictably named it Ita-Hu, which means ‘black stone’ in their native language. At first glance, it’s nothing remarkable beyond its size and shape. It wouldn’t have drawn our interest except for one detail…”

  The screen shifted to display a graph of the electromagnetic spectrum, filled with colorful waves.

  “Six months ago, we discovered it emits Kappa-type quantum radiation.”

  “Kappa?” Vicky echoed, glancing at Adam as if to jog his memory. “Kappa radiation is the type that can alter the space-time continuum. It’s only detectable in…”

  Adam nodded. “…in areas rich in heavy metals,” he finished. “Kappa Points. Yes, I remember.”

  It was hard to forget the torturous electric passage they’d endured—thanks to their wrist cuffs—to travel instantly to the Pannotia continent.

  Vicky turned her attention back to the monitor. “If the scanners picked up Kappa radiation, maybe there’s a Kappa Point there,” she speculated.

  Halstein shook his head. “That was our initial assumption, but there’s no Kappa Distortion Focus in that area—or, as you Markabians call it, a Kappa Point. This is an unknown emission that doesn’t distort space and time, at least not in the way true Points do. As one of my scientists put it, ‘A closed subway line.’ The radiation originates from the Ita-Hu itself.”

  The graph on the monitor shifted to an infrared image, showing that, indeed, the energy emission was coming from the ovoid rock—not from the ground.

  “Kappa radiation from space-time points has a wavelength of five units, but Ita-Hu’s has reached nine—the highest recorded level to date. As you can imagine, our scientists are baffled.”

  “You said you detected the radiation six months ago,” Vicky noted. “Did the rock start emitting it then, or…?”

  “We believe it’s been emitting it all along, Miss Viveka,” Halstein interjected. “It's just that the wavelength has increased recently, allowing our scanners to pick it up. That’s why I sent a team of agents to the jungle to study it, however…”

  “They got lost?” Adam guessed, and the man’s expression told him his suggestion was absurd. “Sorry. Please, go on.”

  Halstein took a deep breath and continued, “When we tried to collect a sample from the Ita-Hu, this happened.”

  The images on the monitor changed again, this time to show photos of tools—chisels, hammers, picks, and wedges—all with bent or warped edges, as if they’d been struck against a block of steel.

  “We tried using a diamond cutter, even firing at it with ammunition, but nothing.”

  “So, is the rock indestructible?” Vicky asked.

  Halstein shook his head again. “The damage to the tools wasn’t caused by the rock itself. Kappa radiation not only emanates from the Ita-Hu but has also created a force field around its surface—a shield that disables anything attempting to strike the rock.”

  Still somewhat intimidated by the Director, Adam tentatively raised his hand.

  “Pardon me, but wouldn’t it be easier to try drilling it with a high-precision laser? At the company where I work, we use lasers to drill through steel plates, some over two inches thick.”

  Halstein fell silent, as if Adam had pointed out the obvious. It was Vicky who offered the explanation.

  “Kappa radiation disrupts magnetic fields and destabilizes plasma particles,” she said. “Basically, as soon as a laser enters the radiation’s perimeter, it loses its destructive power and turns into a harmless beam of light.” Turning to Halstein, she added, “I’m guessing you had the same issue when trying to use an E.F.D.”

  Adam glanced at her sideways. That was terminology he hadn’t heard before.

  “Enhanced Fluctuating Discharge,” she clarified, “the technical name for a Fotia.”

  “We’ve tried everything,” Halstein said. “There’s no energy or physical action that can penetrate the force field. But the mystery of the Ita-Hu doesn’t end there. When I said its wavelength has increased over the past few months, I wasn’t exaggerating. Kappa Points typically have a maximum area of around sixty-five square feet. This kind of Kappa Point, caused by the Ita-Hu, has expanded to a radius of approximately one thousand three hundred feet. What we’re trying to determine now is whether it’s still growing or if its sudden expansion was an isolated event.”

  “That rock must be packed with heavy metals,” Vicky guessed.

  Halstein shrugged.

  “We won’t know until we analyze it. What I can tell you is that the terrain beneath the rock doesn’t match any recorded Kappa Point characteristics. However, the area directly under the Ita-Hu has started to change.

  “Imagine our surprise. While trying to study a strange type of radiation, we stumbled upon an even bigger mystery. The Ita-Hu doesn’t just protect itself with a force field; it also emits radiation at an unprecedented level, neutralizing any form of electrical energy that could pose a threat, plus altering the soil conditions around it. Of course, we could use a proton bomb to blast it into a thousand pieces and retrieve a sample afterward, but that would be extreme—and would defeat my goal of preserving it as intact as possible. Understand that even if we could break through its protective field, my intention is not to destroy the rock or remove it from its location. I only want to take a tiny fragment to analyze its composition and uncover the source of the radiation. Kappa quantum radiation is still partly a mystery, and examining a piece of that rock under a specialized lens could help us solve it.”

  “And you want us to help you get that sample,” Vicky guessed.

  The Division Chief nodded, gesturing toward Adam. “Using his abilities,” he said. “We believe Mr. White’s powers might work.”

  Adam let out a nervous laugh. “What are you talking about, sir? I don’t…”

  ‘I don’t have powers.’ Was that what he was about to say? Because it was obvious the man in the black suit knew the truth.

  “You said you’ve tried everything and failed to breach the electromagnetic field, right? So why do you think my powers will succeed?”

  The screen displayed another colorful electromagnetic spectrum chart, similar to the previous one.

  “This is another source of Kappa radiation, discovered less than a month ago,” Halstein explained. “Our systems picked it up for the first time on Saturday, September 22, at 12:43 a.m. The reading was low, and while the radars pinpointed the emitter in Proxima, we couldn’t trace it. The second emission occurred on Sunday, September 30, at 11:22 p.m. Its level was higher, allowing us to determine its origin and set up an observation post to track future emissions. The third emission was recorded on Thursday, October 4, at 6:52 p.m., and this one wasn’t just an emission—it was an explosion! Then there were others: Sunday the 7th, Monday the 8th, and Tuesday the 9th. Those last three were detected between 7 p.m. and 8 p.m. in the Cyan District’s nature reserve and along the cliffs by the Blue District coast. Should I be more specific, Mr. White? Or can you already imagine the source of this radiation? Or rather, who is emitting it?”

  Adam’s breathing quickened. In the early minutes of Saturday, September 22, Juzo and he had been cornered by Broga and his mercenaries in Liberty Park. 12:43 a.m. must have been the moment Juzo… Then, on Sunday the 30th, after interrupting his date with a nurse, he’d manifested his powers for the first time, accidentally blowing a hole in the ceiling and burning his pants. On Thursday the 4th, at sunset, they were attacked by Simon, whom he defeated by fusing his spirit with Juzo’s. And then there were his trips to the nature reserve and the sea, where he’d tried to burn off excess energy by hurling fire grenades into the water.

  “Uh… Well, those days, I didn’t… Uh…”

  Halstein smiled beneath his thick mustache.

  “Let’s not act clueless, Mr. White,” he said, tapped a key, shrinking the photos on the screen, and pulled up a video.

  It was a nighttime recording from a security camera focused on the upper floors of an apartment building. Adam’s eyes widened. It was the Carter building; he recognized it immediately. The video showed fire pouring out of one of the windows.

  No! This can’t be happening!

  But it was. It was footage from the night Simon had attacked them.