CHAPTER 267: TERMS OF ABSENCE

The room hadn’t moved, but the weight inside it had shifted. Like the air had buckled under the shape of a new presence. The man in white stood perfectly still in the open elevator, as if waiting not just for an answer, but for the gravity of the room to decide.

Charlie blinked up at him from the couch. "What’s the United Nations of the World?"

"A long story," I murmured. Then louder, to the others: "Stay here. Watch over him."

Camille’s hand tightened slightly in mine before she let go. "You sure?"

"They’re not here for a fight," I said, but it was more of a reassurance than an observation. Still, Sienna stepped forward, standing subtly between the man and the rest of the group. Alexis watched him like he was an experiment walking on its own legs. Evelyn didn’t move, but her posture sharpened.

"Charlie’s priority," I added. "No matter what."

"We’ve got him," Sienna said.

The elevator doors remained open. I stepped inside. The man in white didn’t so much as flinch. He merely pressed the lobby button, and the doors slid shut behind us.

The ride down was silent except for the soft hum of the lift. I kept my hands loose at my sides, not out of ease but control. The man beside me never looked over, just read something on his tablet as if updating the minutes of a meeting that hadn’t happened yet.

Outside, the lobby had been cleared. Or maybe it had never been populated. The few security staff by the entrance stood at ease, not alarmed. That felt intentional.

We exited into the open air. The city buzzed like it always did, but the noise seemed distant. Stretched. Like something had cut out the middle.

Two black cars waited at the curb, engines silent. The man stopped beside the second one, gesturing politely.

"If you’ll come with us, the meeting is being held at the Overwatch Terrace. The Prime Minister is in attendance remotely. The council has questions prepared."

I didn’t move.

"Unfortunately, I’ll have to say no."

The man blinked. Once. As if resetting. "I don’t believe you understood. This is not a court hearing. You are the topic. Your presence is a necessity."

"That’s exactly why I’m not coming."

A pause. "Elaborate."

"I just returned from two near-death situations. One involved a island with an unstable jungle and the other involved being dissected in a glass prison. If you think I’m walking into another room of suits that want to talk about me while I’m still leaking trauma like smoke from a vent, you need a better assignment."

He looked almost... disappointed. "Your refusal to cooperate may be seen as an international insult."

"Good. Maybe it’ll buy me a couple months of peace."

He folded the tablet closed. "Mr. Vale. Reynard. This meeting was organized by allied nations who wish to understand your role in recent global shifts. It is not meant as a trial."

"Then they’ll understand when I say no."

His jaw flexed. I caught the twitch in his temple. "If you do not give them clarification in person, they will act based on assumption."

"They were doing that before I was born."

The man stepped closer. Still polite. Still stiff. "There is no danger. There is no cage. No interview. Simply a room with people who want you to speak. Once."

I looked at the sky.

"I’m taking a break," I said. "You said this meeting’s now. When’s the next one?"

He hesitated.

"Three months."

"Good. I’ll see you then. If I feel like it."

The tension didn’t break, but it paused. He nodded curtly, then turned back to the car.

"I will report your decision."

"Send my regards to the Prime Minister and other allied nations."

He didn’t answer.

The elevator was already waiting by the time I stepped back into the building. The ride up was smooth, quiet—but my fingers wouldn’t stop curling against my palms. Every muscle felt tight in a way that wasn’t fatigue. It was kinetic. Like my body didn’t want to stop moving, even if my mind did.

I knew the signs. The twitch beneath my skin. The static crackle that came not from nerves, but from cells pushed too far, too fast.

The moment the doors slid open, I expected Camille or Charlie.

Instead, Alexis stood there, arms crossed, glasses slightly fogged from what looked like frustrated pacing.

"Office. Now," she said.

I blinked. "Which one of us is the babysitter again?"

She didn’t dignify that with a response. Just turned on her heel and walked briskly down the hall.

I followed, not because I wanted to, but because I recognized the tone—urgent, clinical, absolute. We passed the main lounge where Charlie was still awake and energetically reciting what sounded like dinosaur facts to Sienna, who looked both impressed and slightly overwhelmed.

Alexis led me not to her original office, but to the small room near the hallway that used to be a guest study. It had changed. The bookshelves were gone, replaced by file boxes, modular carts, and a single whiteboard that had become the war map of her mind. Notes were pinned up in layers, pages held with thumbtacks and strips of magnetic tape. Hand-drawn charts. Diagrams of cellular cross-sections. And amidst it all, a single chair in the middle of the room like a throne for the mildly dying.

She pointed to it. "Sit."

I dropped into the seat, exhaling. "Do I get a sticker after this?"

"Vitals," she replied flatly, pulling a device from her coat.

"Alexis—"

"Don’t talk. You’re not fine. And that was before

you started collecting children and turning down global summit invitations like you’re on sabbatical."

"I am on sabbatical."

She pressed a syringe to my neck, took a blood sample with a flick of her wrist, then started syncing data across multiple screens.

"This about the job title again?" I asked.

"Partially," she said, tone clipped but not cold. "The Jobmaster title wasn’t granted—it materialized. There was a request, a System confirmation. That’s not how job acquisition works, Reynard. It’s like the System wanted to be you to have this title. Even now, it’s not syncing properly."

I tilted my head. "Unstable how?"

She turned the tablet toward me. The interface flickered. My skills were blinking in and out like weak signal bars. Some had clear names, others scrambled into code fragments or vanished between refresh cycles. One of them read [ERROR: USER PATHWAY UNDEFINED] for three seconds before vanishing entirely.

"You see this?" she said. "That’s not fatigue. That’s your cells adapting in real-time to skill resonance fluctuations. We talked about you’re pushing yourself faster than your biological processes can reabsorb or regulate. Your Full Profession Sync seems to have worsened the effects."

"So what—you think I’m vibrating to death?"

"No," she said. "But you are metabolizing skill inputs like a stimulant junkie mainlining a dozen substances. The effect is identical: elevated neural traffic, unstable adrenaline release, and worst of all—your cells are moving too fast. Dividing faster. Repairing faster. But not... evenly."

I sat up straighter. "Like cancer?"

"No," she said quickly. "Not yet. But the principle is close enough that I’m not comfortable letting it go unchecked. Something in your physiology is absorbing too much. Boxer and Journalist were the last triggers, right?"

I nodded. "Right after those, I had hallucinations. Vivid ones. And the pain was... different. Not injury pain. Internal. Remember the whole phantom, mental pain."

She nodded grimly. "That’s what worries me. And it’s not just about you. If job titles can cause this level of physiological response in someone like you, I need to know how they’re affecting the others too. Camille. Sienna. Evelyn. And in the case that they have even the slightest contagious property even Charlie, eventually—if his System activates young."

I blinked. "You want to run tests on them?"

"No," she said. "I want to monitor them. Quietly. Responsibly. I’m not running experiments—I’m keeping them alive. You think I haven’t noticed the way Camille’s reflexes spike when she’s emotionally provoked? Or how Sienna’s muscle fibers retain strength even under malnourished conditions? Evelyn’s cortisol levels are nonexistent, even under stress. That’s not normal. Something is wrong with all of us."

I leaned back, rubbing a hand down my face. "You think the System’s evolving?"

"I think it’s already changed."

She stood, placing the datapad on the desk beside her, fingers tapping at a screen, then looked back to me.

"You’re the outlier, Rey. But you’re also the test case. If I can figure out what’s happening to you, maybe I can stop the rest of us from tipping over the same edge."

"Sounds like a lot of pressure."

She folded her arms. "You’re used to that, aren’t you?"

I gave a faint smile. "Yeah. But pressure builds cracks."

"Which is why I need you to let me help before you break completely."

She stared at me, not blinking. I’d seen that look before—on hospital floors, during bad diagnoses, in emergency tents during the war. That quiet certainty that something bad was just one unknown away.

I looked down at my arm. The marks had already faded, but the muscle beneath twitched slightly—like it wanted to move on its own.

I flexed my fingers. The tremor was subtle now. But it had been getting worse.

"Alright," I said finally. "What do you want to do?"

She nodded once. "Tonight, I run a full cell activity scan. Compare it with your last scan from when you had hallucinations. And I run resonance diagnostics across all active skills. If we’re lucky, I’ll isolate the trigger zone."

"And if we’re not lucky?"

"You’ll still be alive. Just... twitchier."

I laughed. Not loudly. But enough that something unspooled in my chest.

Outside the office, I could hear Charlie laughing again—probably being carried around like a backpack by Sienna or being spoon-fed cereal by Camille.

It felt distant.

But real.

And worth protecting.

Alexis turned back to the tablet. "Go get some rest. I’ll knock when I’m ready."

I stood slowly.

At the door, I paused.

"Hey," I said.

She looked up.

"I know you care. That’s why I’m still breathing."

Alexis rolled her eyes, but didn’t argue.

"Don’t make me regret it," she said.

I left before she could see the shake in my hands.