CHAPTER 113: TAKE THE BAIT?

The word hung in the air between them, heavy and cold. Extermination.

He watched Mara react. Predictable. Her face drained of color, mouth falling slightly open as if the air had been punched from her lungs. Her hand, the one not gripping the edge of the archway, trembled visibly where it hovered near her chest. Fear. A familiar scent in the air around humans. Useful, sometimes. Annoying, often.

"Extermination?" Her voice was thin, stretched taut like a fraying rope. "Fin, are you... are you serious?" She took another shaky step back, putting more distance between them, her eyes wide and reflecting the pale light of the kitchen.

"You can’t just— they’re not all monsters! There are good people in the Association, Hunters who just do their jobs, people who—"

He tuned out the specifics. Good people. Bad people. Irrelevant classifications. The Association, as an entity, had marked him. Had hurt Meg. Had sent assassins into his domain – his domain. Sentiment wouldn’t stop the next attack. Only force would. The logic was simple. Unpleasant, perhaps, to someone like Mara, but undeniable.

They drew first blood, he thought, the memory of Jericho’s cold efficiency, of Rowena’s chilling smile, flashing briefly behind his eyes. They wouldn’t stop until he was captured or dead. The kill order proved that.

"...they have families!" she was saying now, her voice rising, edged with disbelief and something else – fear directed squarely at him. He saw it in the way she held herself stiffly, the way her gaze darted towards the door as if contemplating escape.

He met her gaze, his own expression unchanged. The green light in his eyes, remnant of the power he’d wrestled under control, was steady, unwavering. He needed the information. Her fear was inconvenient but expected. A tool, perhaps. Or just noise. He hadn’t decided yet.

"This isn’t you," she whispered, shaking her head, the movement jerky. "The Fin I knew wouldn’t talk like this. You... you’re scaring me."

Scaring her. He registered the data point. Filed it away. Fear made people compliant. Or it made them desperate. He’d have to watch which way she leaned. He didn’t feel malicious, not exactly. Just... resolved. This was the necessary path. The only path that led to survival. His survival. His people’s survival.

He took a step closer, deliberately moving past the edge of the wine-stained rug, closing some of the distance she had tried to create. He stopped, leaving the coffee table between them still, but forcing her to look up at him.

"The list, Mara," he repeated, his voice perfectly level, cutting through her panicked words. "Now."

There was no heat in his tone. No anger. Just the flat, cold certainty of his decision. The Association was a threat. Threats needed to be neutralized. Completely. It was the only way.

He watched her stand there, trembling slightly, caught between the archway and the spreading wine stain. Her eyes, wide and fixed on him, held a visceral fear he hadn’t intended to provoke quite so strongly. Not here. Not with her.

"Never," she breathed, shaking her head again, the movement sharp, definite. "Fin, that’s insane. It’s suicide! And it’s... it’s monstrous. I won’t help you do that. I can’t."

He saw the resolve solidifying behind the fear. She wasn’t just scared; she was drawing a line. Direct pressure wasn’t working. It was actively backfiring, making her dig in her heels. Annoying. He needed the list. Jericho proved they could find him, could invade his sanctuary. Knowing who else might be capable, who might be sent next... it wasn’t optional. Extermination was the logical endpoint, the only guarantee. But if she wouldn’t provide the means...

Plan B, then. He hated Plan B. It usually involved unnecessary complexities. Talking. Pretending. Acting.

He let out a long, deliberate sigh, the sound echoing slightly in the tense silence of the apartment. The green glow faded completely from his eyes, leaving them just brown again, maybe a little tired. He ran a hand through his now-black hair, pushing it back from his forehead, a gesture that felt strangely hesitant, almost human.

He leaned back against the sofa armrest, letting his posture slacken from the coiled readiness it had held. He even managed a small, humorless quirk of his lips that might pass for a smile in poor lighting.

"Relax, boss," he said, the sudden shift in tone jarring even to his own ears. He pitched his voice lower, aiming for something casual, dismissive. "You looked like you were about to bolt." He waved a hand vaguely towards the door. "Seriously, extermination? Come on."

He watched her reaction closely. Confusion warred with the lingering fear in her eyes. Her stance didn’t immediately soften, but the rigid terror eased fractionally. Maybe this works.

"I was messing with you," he continued, forcing a light chuckle that felt rough and unnatural in his throat. "Long time no see, figured I’d see if you still jumped at shadows." He gestured around the apartment. "Though, breaking in probably didn’t help my case."

He saw her frown deepen, suspicion replacing the outright fear. Her arms remained crossed, but her knuckles weren’t quite as white. She doesn’t trust it. Good. Less chance of her doing something stupidly trusting later.

"Messing with me?" she repeated slowly, her voice still tight. "By threatening mass murder?"

"Dark humor?" he offered, shrugging slightly. "Guess it didn’t land." He pushed himself fully onto the sofa again, leaning back into the cushions, deliberately adopting a non-threatening posture.

"Look, forget extermination. Bad joke, okay? But Jericho... he wasn’t a joke." He let his expression turn serious again, but without the earlier cold intensity. "He found my place, Mara. Walked right in. If he can, others can."

He leaned forward again, resting his elbows on his knees, mirroring his earlier posture but attempting to project weary concern instead of menace.

"I need to know who they might send. Who has abilities like his? Who specializes in tracking mana signatures? Who are their top assets near Arclight?" He met her gaze, aiming for sincerity. "It’s not about killing them all. It’s about knowing who’s coming for me. For Meg. Survival, Mara. That’s all."

He watched her process this. The new story. The shift from aggressor to potential victim needing intel for defense. It was weaker, logically.

Killing them all was the best defense. But weaker might be more palatable to her. More likely to get him the list. He waited, keeping his expression carefully neutral, projecting only a weary need for self-preservation. Her fear had lessened, replaced by a guarded, calculating look.

Better. Now, would she bite?