Well… I shouldn't have said that because the asshole… topped his game. To ensure he didn't cuddle me, I constructed a wall of pillows between us. You know what the absolute bastard did? He grabbed one of the largest pillows and, with a pout, began to hug it to his chest. A pout. From Levi.

“A-Are you trying to guilt-trip me, Levi?” I stammered, completely blindsided.

“Ah, my Pulla is evolving; he is getting accustomed to my usual manipulations. I am almost proud,” he replied, his voice a low, amused hum.

Wait. Did he just say proud? Proud of me? Oh, shit. I know where this is going. Oh, no, flaring up at the absolute worst moment. Fuck. Not now. Not now, when he’s looking right at my face, those intense eyes dissecting every micro-expression. I feel it… I feel good… I feel warm. Fuck! Go away, go away, that weird, confusing feeling of shame for wanting this.

“Shut up. We are not cuddling,” I murmured, a blush dusting my cheek. Gods, please. Make that blush go away.

“I know.” He squeezed the pillow tighter. “That is why I am reduced to hugging this inanimate object. Sadly, my husband unilaterally took away my favorite way to express the depths of my attachment to him.” He maintained the pout, laying it on thick.

“Rules are rules, Levi. No cuddling,” I insisted, trying to hold my ground against his very obvious… but still annoyingly effective manipulation.

“Ah,” he mused, his gaze drifting over me as if cataloging every curve and plane. He spoke to the pillow. “He can easily say ‘no cuddling,’ because he simply does not comprehend the profound contentment I derive from placing my chin onto the curve of his shoulder, and inhaling his scent. Or, how our thighs, when positioned just so, touch each other at the perfect spot, making his body fit into mine as if it was created for just that singular moment.”

“Oh my god, be ashamed of yourself, Levi, you’re a thirty-year-old man, hugging a pillow and pouting because we didn’t cuddle for a night,” I exclaimed, feeling the heat of my blush spread even further.

“You know I do not feel shame,” he shrugged.

I know you don't. That's the problem. That's why you can deploy a full-blown pout and a heartbroken soliloquy to a pillowt. It makes you utterly unstoppable. And it makes me… so susceptible.

“I am sleeping, Levi, good night,” I huffed and turned my back on him in the bed. Maybe if I didn’t see his pouty face, I wouldn’t give in.

“Sadly, no good nights for me tonight. Ah…” he sighed, impossibly mournful from behind me. “My Pulla is not here to share his warmth, so I am reduced to hugging his pillow and inhaling his scent, a poor substitute for the genuine article.”

“I… I am not hearing you,” I said, clenching my eyes shut, to block out his voice, and the image of him pouting with a pillow.

“I don’t need you to hear me, you can simply,” he murmured, and then I felt the mattress dipping slightly as he came closer to my back. “—take a look at the boring substitute who took your rightful place by my side, in my arms.”

“So what, are you going to keep whispering to my ear until I yield? It’s not going to happen, Levi, give up,” I declared, my voice a little shaky despite my best efforts.

I felt his arm snake over my waist, his elbow not touching my side. His large hand reached for mine, which was resting on my stomach, and he intertwined our fingers.

“Hand holding was not excluded from the rules, was it?”

I hadn't thought he would weaponize hand-holding. Who could possibly manipulate someone with hand-holding? Gods…

“Get your hands off,” I said, my voice still shaky.

“Don’t you feel sad for me?” he whispered to my ear, his fingers tightening around mine. “I only have my husband, I only crave his warmth, and his scent, which feels like how the earth smells after a rain, how that sunshine fills the sky with dancing colors…”

I know he's doing it to win this absurd wager. But a part of me, the vulnerable, daddy-issue-ridden part, is just… melting.

“Don’t say things like that, one night of not cuddling is not going to kill you,” I insisted, trying to inject some steel into my voice, even as my resolve crumbled.

“Are you certain?”

“My god, you…” I began, biting my lower lip hard to keep from breaking the niceness rule. “If you keep going with this, I’m moving to my own bedroom, so good night.”

He didn't let go of my hand. “Good night, dear,” he murmured. “Also, tomorrow, we are going to visit someone. Be duly prepared. He is a little eccentric.”

“Eccentric? Eccentric like Cassiel?”

“Worse,” he said simply, then pulled his hand away from mine. He sat up a little. “I am envious of his profession. I am a client of his; his services offered great help during the hunt for the nobles. But, since I do not wish to see my mother, I will need his service again.”

“Service, and you are envious?” I echoed, truly intrigued now.

“Let’s not take the surprise away,” he said. “It will be perfectly clear tomorrow.”

“Levi…” I started, a sudden thought striking me. “I… you know, I want to reach my family, too… But I don’t have their numbers…”

“They do not have cell phones, since they are, at present, undocumented refugees. However, the house where I placed them has a landline. Annie will give you the number if you wish to call them.”

“T-Thanks…” I stammered. A beat of silence stretched between us, and a question tumbled out. “Do you… think… I am a bad person… for not reaching out to them?”

He shrugged. “Who cares about ‘bad’ or ‘good’? I know I do not, nor is my sufficiently underdeveloped frontal lobe. We saved them from a war-torn country in the first twenty-four hours of the conflict, then placed them in a secure house, offered financial support, and ensured their continued comfort and safety. This doesn’t align with what common societal metrics define as a ‘bad’ action. But, once again,” he added, his gaze holding mine, “I do not wish to see my mother either, so I cannot judge.”

“I… feel guilty for not reaching out. They saw a war… And I am not even strong enough to ask whether they’re okay or not…”

“Hm…” he hummed. “I do not perceive it as a weakness. It is most likely a manifestation of trauma from their denial, or condemnation, regarding your sexual identity.”

“But… I’m doing the same thing I did before… I ran away from home… And I’m running away again… Avoiding conflict…”

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” he replied. “What exactly is it that makes you… scared, or… whatever you are feeling, if you were to meet them?”

It’s the terror of rejection all over again, even when everything in my logical mind tells me they should be grateful, that they should understand.

“They… abandoned me… when, you know, your mother shot me, and news was all over the world, and they sent me a letter. They condemned me for marrying a man… let alone an Ascarian man… I don’t know… It’s the combination of many things… fear of rejection, accusation, disappointment… And… there’s something… I’ve never told you before…”

“What is it, dear?”

“They actually arranged a marriage for me… I ran away after I learned that. There was less than twenty-four hours between the moment they learned I was gay and… the moment they found a woman for me to marry… So… I… I never told you this, because I did not meet that woman at all… I…” I trailed off. It felt like admitting a cowardice I’d hidden even from myself.

“Arranged marriage? You’re talking my language. Raphael, there is nothing wrong with resorting to a self-preservation instinct. You didn’t want to marry a woman, and you ran away. And, I think you are focusing on the wrong part. You not only ran away, you built yourself a life in another country, Raphael. It is not something an average eighteen-year-old runaway teenager can accomplish.”

“T-Thank you for… saying that… It makes me feel better…”

“I banished my own mother to an island for arranging a second marriage for me,” he said, his voice as matter-of-fact. “You only changed countries. So, dear, once again, that was nothing but you taking control of your own life. Do not think of it as cowardice. And… tomorrow, the person we are going to see, might help you with something, a little.”

“Do you really think that… taking control of my own life?”

“Naturally. Our upbringings and responsibilities are vastly different, but it would be an insult to both of our intellects if we did not observe the parallels,” he replied. “There were expectations of rigid structures, and both of us did what we deemed necessary to have our own agencies. You skipped countries, and ironically, that same country now followed you, making you confront it. In my perspective, my mother was going to dethrone the king and make me wear the crown, so I made the crown go away. But… even after everything, my mother, for some reason I can't truly identify, is now impeding the divorces of fallen noble women… So, tomorrow, we will ascertain why.”

“Okay… So we’re having an adventure tomorrow?” I asked, trying to lighten the heavy air.

“Adventure… More like meeting a rather clingy, obsessive college student who has access to every single camera in the whole country. Ugh… I dread meeting him,” he said, a genuine note of distaste in his voice.

“The hell, Levi?” I demanded, sitting up slightly to face him.

“We are meeting the most prominent information broker in the whole country, dear. So, have a good night,” he said, a slow smile spreading across his face. Then he reached for the pillow he'd been using to torment me, hugging it to his chest once more. The smug bastard. He's won this round of psychological warfare, and now he's just rubbing it in.

So, tomorrow, I'm meeting a nationwide surveillance system run by a college kid. And I'm going to find out if Levi's mother is truly an anomaly in the universe of divorced noblewomen. This is going to be… an interesting day.

…

The next morning came, and instead of opting for our usual crisp suits, we were wearing… well, something Levi had clearly picked out.

"W-Why are we going out looking like homeless people?"

"Because we are visiting a rather… Gods, I don't even have the right words," he sighed. "You see, we cannot allow paparazzi to follow us to that street, so we need to conceal ourselves."

“So, this person is that important? We have to look like we just survived an apocalypse to meet them?” I said, gesturing at my reflection in the mirror, which resembled a scarecrow dressed by a minimalist.

“No, it is not about him exactly, it is the street itself. It is a long story, and I will explain in the car,” he said, already heading for the door.

...

We got to the car, and after a long hour's ride, we reached a street in the middle of the capital. It was… a ghetto? A ghetto street, with dilapidated, grey buildings, piles of trash everywhere, and an oppressive air of neglect. Gods… What could possibly make this street… so important?

“Instead of looking at the buildings, look at the poles.”

I did as he said, lifting my gaze to the electric poles and streetlights. Every single one of them was clustered with cables, thick as vines, and dozens of tiny, blinking cameras, nestled among them like metallic birds.

“T-The hell?” I stammered, pointing.

“You see, there is a large, organized group of people who steal cables from other poles across the city, so they can have cheap ways to install these cameras,” he explained, admiration in his eyes. “And this street… It looks empty, but it is not. Look closely.”

I pressed my temple to the car’s cold glass. My eyes scanned the deserted street, tracing the lines of the grimy buildings and overflowing dumpsters. And then I saw them. Figures moving with fluidity amongst the shadows. They looked like homeless people, yes, but their movements were too purposeful. They were running around, darting from alley to alley, and in their hands… cables. Thick coils of them, being passed from one figure to another, disappearing into unseen crevices.

“H-How can they… you know… Is there no civilians here?” I stammered, my eyes wide.

“There were civilians,” he replied. “But after a while, always having issues with the electricity, they abandoned this place. Later, when there was a housing crisis, this syndicate placed astronomically high rents on this very rundown area, effectively ensuring no one ever dared to rent those houses. Even if they did, they ran away after mere weeks. This isn't exactly a red-light district, in the conventional sense; it is more of an unblinking black light district,” he said, his voice holding a hint of dark amusement.

“But… How do the police… or law enforcement… don’t do anything about this place?” I asked, gesturing vaguely at the cable-laden poles and the shadowy figures.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“They try from time to time. It’s always a spectacle to watch. They try to build a case, which they always fail to do, then they come here with guns in their hands, to at least confiscate their hard drives. But, you can’t exactly have a search warrant for an entire street, can you? A building, maybe… What about the tunnels, the sewers? Ah…” He paused, a glint in his eye. “They have a rather conventional method, which was used in police precincts before fax machines. There are pneumatic tubes, connecting every building to each other. In a moment of crisis, they gather their equipment and ship it away. Also, they always know when or if the police are on their tails.”

Pneumatic tubes? Like a giant, underground, information-broker-express system?

So, we're dressed like hobos, in a ghetto, to meet the head of a nationwide, untouchable, surveillance network.

“My head is going to explode, Levi… How can a college kid… do all of this?” I asked, gesturing wildly at the street.

“It is a family business, dear,” he replied, his gaze sweeping over the street. “His father was taking care of the operations before, as the head of their family, but he passed away, so his son is now filling his place. You see, this syndicate has existed for perhaps over three decades. At first, it was mostly spying, gathering data like private investigators, but even private investigators have to adhere to laws. They do not.”

"Thirty years? That's not a business, Levi, that's a dynasty of data thieves. And we're about to meet their new king?"

“Yes… sadly. He is a little clingy to me, so be prepared,” he said, his gaze drifting towards a particularly dilapidated building. “He offered great help when I was tracking down potential birth mothers and other nobles. Now, he's going to help with my mother’s machinations. I can tell your moral compass is about to shatter, and your mind is trying to grasp the sheer vastness of the operation, but let me offer you another perspective. They are not inherently malicious. I would describe them as a sponge. They gather information and data, and if you ask for it, they would give it to you for the right price.”

“So, it’s all business then?”

“When is anything not

about business?”

In Levi's world, it's always, always about business. Every interaction, every relationship, every calculation of utility and cost and benefit. It's a challenge, yes, but it's also a statement of his core philosophy. And I have no answer for it, because in his unblinking, logical world, there probably isn't one.

"You actually believe that, don't you? That everything's just a calculation," I said, a wave of resignation washing over me.

"Obviously," he replied, his voice completely unperturbed. "When you remove emotions from interactions with other people, there are only benefits. Also, I can sense you're going down that path of, 'Oh, what about me?' Quite obviously, you are my partner, so stop comparing yourself to those squishy meat and bones, Raphael."

“Well, thanks for cutting right into my insecurities, by your profound compliment, Levi,” I said, a dry, sarcastic retort escaping my lips. Gods… It always chilled me how he described any other human.

“Are the cameras moving?” he asked, completely unphased by my sarcasm.

“Y-Yeah, they are,” I stammered, realizing the tiny devices were swiveling, tracking something.

“Great, it’s time to go. Don’t let him get to your head, and don’t let him touch anything electronic,” he said, his voice now crisp and serious, and he started the car, slowly moving towards the end of the street.

...

We entered the building, and took the stairs up. The outside of the structure had been covered in grime and trash, smelling faintly of stale cigarettes. Finally, we pushed open another heavy door and entered a vast room.

It was a cavern. Dominating the center was a desk with two massive monitors. Beyond them, dozens of other, smaller monitors—some flickering, some displaying clear images—graced every inch of the walls, each one a live feed from different parts of the very street we had just traversed, like a thousand unblinking eyes.

A boy, who had clearly spotted Levi the moment we entered, erupted from the office chair. He came forward gleefully, with a distinct skip in his step. His bright, amber eyes were wide with an almost manic energy, framed by a shock of bright orange hair that seemed to defy gravity. He was… slim, and we were nearly the same height. He was maybe a bit shorter than me. Thank God. I can’t have a full-blown jealousy case over my very obvious height insecurities right now.

“Blake, welcome!” he chirped.

Levi, the picture of impassiveness, did not betray even a flicker of acknowledgment for the boy's very obvious admiration. Instead, he reached into his pocket, and threw a pack of cigarettes into the boy’s outstretched hand. “I smuggled them from the border, so, shut up,” Levi said, his voice flat as he walked past the guy, heading directly for the chair and settling into it.

“Hello, Raphael, nice to meet you! No need to be alarmed, I am Poe,” he chirped, his bright amber eyes fixing on me with an unsettling intensity.

Well… he obviously knew my name.

“H-Hi…” I stammered, caught off guard by his aggressively cheerful familiarity.

“So cold, come give me a hug,” he said, extending his arms with an open, inviting gesture that felt anything but. I reluctantly took a step closer, and his frail arms snaked over my back, squeezing me in a tight embrace. What a bizarre encounter. While this weird scene was unfolding, Levi was already busying himself at the computer, completely oblivious to —or intentionally ignoring— Poe's overtures.

A short while later, Poe broke the hug. He looked at me with a weird… admiration? Or more like a calculating gaze. It was not easy to decipher. He then walked to the other side of the room, pulling another chair and gesturing for me to sit on it. “Don’t stay up, come,” he chirped again, his bright eyes never leaving my face.

I did as he said, feeling a strange obligation to obey, and sat down on the chair. Now, I was looking at the monitors and what Levi was doing. He was aggressively typing addresses, and I realized he was following his mother’s movements right this moment. Cybil, was… right now at a cafe, possibly waiting for someone.

“Ooh!” Poe chirped, leaning down on the desk, his face practically glowing. “Are we following Duchess? Why? Wasn’t she at that island?”

Well… I kind of made a blunder and bought her a house… But no way am I saying that out loud.

“Shut up and smoke your menthol cigarette, I’m busy,” Levi replied, not even glancing up from the screen. I guess I could tell what he meant by 'clingy' now.

“You know I’m the best! Just tell me, tell me,” Poe insisted, leaning further over the desk, vibrating with eagerness.

Levi really knows how to find people, doesn't he? The adrenaline junkies.

Levi, however, remained utterly unphased by Poe's insistence, his focus entirely on the monitor. The screen displayed footage from a few days prior: Cybil, talking intently with a young man at a cafe. Levi’s right eye crinkled. “Who is that? If it’s a noble, I don’t know him.”

Poe, with a confident flourish, took the mouse from Levi’s hand and started typing rapidly on the keyboard. The monitors, no longer following the unknown man, shifted to display various databases. “Civilian, possibly, there are not many data points on him… He is boring,” Poe declared, a hint of disdain in his voice. The man’s life unfurled across the screens, mostly walking to his job, then straight to his unassuming house, a predictable pattern of ordinary existence.

“Why?” Levi asked, his brow furrowing deeper. “Why would my mother meet with a civilian? It does not make any sense, at all.”

Levi placed a long-suffering palm over his face, pressing against his brow. After a moment, he reached for his phone. He glanced at Poe, his eyes narrowed slightly. “Stay away from my phone.”

Poe was visibly disappointed, his bright features falling. “You never let me do anything fun,” he whined, a childish pout on his lips.

Ignoring the complaint, Levi quickly dialed. He put the call on speaker, his gaze still fixed on the monitors.

“Yes, Levi?” Isolde answered.

“Tell me what you gathered yesterday,” he said.

“It’s… a little complicated,” Isolde began, a note of hesitation in her tone. “She was meeting with noblewomen, we gathered, but wasn’t actively touching or hurting them. We really don’t know what she’s doing, Levi. But, knowing that old harpy, she must have an agenda.”

“That is what I am trying to decipher. She is meeting commoners.”

“Commoner? What? Why would she?” Isolde asked, sounding genuinely bewildered.

To hear Isolde, sound so utterly confused about something was... something.

“Reach me if you find something tangible,” Levi said, his voice clipped, and then he ended the phone call abruptly. He lifted his gaze to the ceiling, his brow still furrowed in a display of true contemplation. “What am I missing…”

He rubbed his face with his palm again. “I officially require cigarettes,” he muttered. Then he reached for his pocket and grabbed his pack, pulling one out with more force than necessary.

“Uhm… Levi… Maybe, as we thought… instead of, you know, stopping the divorces… she’s kinda helping those women, in a really twisted way,” I ventured, trying to offer a lifeline to him, however improbable it seemed.

He took a long puff from his cigarette, the smoke curling around his face. “If that were the case, she wouldn’t meet a civilian,” he stated, his gaze fixed on the wisps of smoke. “Point out an infidelity, maybe? But the guy isn’t seen with any noblewoman… I do not know.”

“Blake, tell me from the start,” Poe chirped again.

He began to explain the entire convoluted situation. He recounted how Cybil was actively engaging with those divorces, and how both Isolde and he had taken measures to help the noblewomen, attempting to shield them from Cybil’s mysterious machinations. Poe, for his part, listened with stillness, his eyes fixed intently on Levi.

“My network can trace her every communication, Blake,” Poe insisted, a confident smirk spreading across his face.

“That is not necessary; it would not give us the underlying motivation,” Levi countered, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “See, the main problem is, even if she ensured no divorces went through… there is no benefit. The old guards are gone. And she knows that. So, stopping divorces would not benefit neither her, nor her circle. Ugh…”

“M-Maybe… we should check that guy further…” I suggested, the idea forming slowly.

Levi took another drag from his cigarette. “Poe, you do that. I’m taking a breather,” he said, the words heavy with a frustration. He then rose from the chair and, walked out of the room, leaving me alone with the orange-haired, clingy man. Well… This is bound to have something interesting.

Poe, vibrating with renewed purpose, instantly slid into the vacated chair. He began rattling off details, his eyes glued to the monitors, which now displayed a dizzying array of personal information, financial records, and surveillance footage of the civilian’s life. “Banker, college graduate, married, two kids… Bought some stock last month… Went to a wedding last week… Had a neck hernia three years ago… Nothing interesting,” he recited, disappointment tinging his tone with each mundane detail.

My god, this kid is terrifying. He's pulling up everything... All with a few keystrokes, and all because Levi's mother met a 'boring' civilian.

“H-How do you do all of that?” I asked, gesturing vaguely at the screens.

Poe chuckled brightly, a sound utterly at odds with the gravity of his words.“We use the same system the police use, it’s actually something you can buy, if you have a license! Also, cameras! Look,” he said, pointing excitedly to the wall. “Those cameras belong to the government, and even you can access them with your phone, if you download an app!” His grin widened. “And if a camera isn't inbound, meaning, if it's connected to Wi-Fi, we can easily hack them!”

This is terrifying. Truly, genuinely terrifying.

So, the same systems meant to protect citizens are also their biggest vulnerability. And Poe, this kid, hacks them with a casual grin, like it's a game.

“And… There is no one to stop… you?”

He chuckled again, the sound oddly bright. “They’ve been trying for a long time now. My father wasn’t like me; he wasn’t interested in the technology as I was. So, when he had brushes with the police, it got violent sometimes. But, I am nothing like him. Sometimes detectives, if they’re searching for a big criminal and they’re scared their case might become a cold case, they come to us,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice.

No wonder Levi called him a monster. He is.

“And they just let you continue to run your… ‘family business’ from here? Knowing all this?” I asked, gesturing around the room.

“Some of them do, some of them don’t,” he said, already typing something into the keyboard. “Look right now, there’s a car crash about ten kilometers away,” he chirped, pointing at one of the larger monitors. The screen showed the scene; flashing lights, crumpled metal, and first responders. “As you can see, some officers are doing their jobs, some of them are just drinking their coffee.” He then scrolled through various feeds, showcasing different officers at the scene, some actively directing traffic or aiding victims, others leaning against their patrol cars, mugs in hand.

It’s not just about the big criminals, then. It’s about every single person, every single movement, every single inconsistency in the system. And he shows it with that bright, disturbing glee, as if he’s just showing off a cool new toy.

“Oh my god…” I murmured, my gaze still glued to the monitor, the car crash triggering the unwelcome memory of our own accident, the one that had left Levi with that jagged scar. “And… You just… watch it? Don’t do anything?” I asked, aghast.

“Ah!” he said, a disturbing brightness in his eyes. “We have a very strict no intervening policy.”

“The fuck do you mean?” I demanded.

“What happens when everybody knows there’s this group of people, watching them?” he explained, completely unperturbed by my expletive. “Everyone will want a piece of us. It is preservation, and safety of my people.”

That's what Levi meant by 'monster.' Not a violent one. A parasitic entity that thrives on the chaos and ignorance of the world, never disturbing its host.

“So… a nature documentary type of thing?” I asked, the words feeling utterly hollow as I tried to hold onto the last vestiges of my moral compass.

“Wow!” he said, his eyes widening in what seemed like genuine delight. “A really good analogy! Yes!” he chirped, clapping his hands once. “So, tell me, Raphael, is there anything you want to see? Look at?” he asked, leaning forward.

Shit.

I am really doing it.

“T-There is… I think… I…” The words clawed at my throat, each syllable a desperate plea for the moment to pass. My gaze darted from the myriad of monitors to Poe's expectant eyes. “C-Can I see my… family… I’ll… tell you the address…”

“Sure!” he chimed, utterly oblivious to my turmoil, his fingers moving over the keyboard as I recited the address. In less than a second, one of the massive central monitors flickered, then resolved into an image of a suburban house in the capital, nestled within a tree-lined street. The windows were dark, curtains drawn tight. They weren't outside in the yard, tending to flowers or sweeping the porch; they were likely inside the house.

“This is the house,” Poe confirmed, pointing a slender finger at the screen.

“C-Can… you rewind it… I mean… when they left the house?” I choked out. Way to go, Raphael. Eight years later, you'll finally see your parents from a cold, unblinking black light, through the eyes of a pervasive, illegal surveillance network. You fucking coward.

Poe clicked the mouse and typed something on the keyboard, his eyes narrowing slightly. “There’s not much information on them… They are refugees, aren’t they?”

“Y-Yeah… They’re undocumented, right now… Since it’s been very little time since the… war started,” I managed, the words catching in my throat.

The screen flickered, rewinding rapidly, then settling on the day they first came to that house. Annie, was there, along with a few of Levi's guards, helping them with their luggage, carrying boxes and bags into the house. They were… exactly as I’d left them. Tall, broad figures, a stoop to my father’s shoulders, the way my mother clutched her handbag. The only difference was their blonde hair was streaked with silver that hadn't been there before. Since it was simply a CCTV feed, I couldn’t get a clear look at their faces, couldn't see their expressions.

Shit… There’s… a boulder… on my chest.

“There’s not much activity, just grocery deliveries… Some people were visiting them from time to time,” Poe said, his voice flat, clearly still unimpressed.

“Lawyers or… translators… probably,” I said, my throat restricted.

“They don’t really leave the house.”

That’s expected, I guess… Not knowing the language… Not knowing anything… I can’t… It is hard to breathe.

“I-Is there… anything you can give me… about them?”

Poe’s eyes darted across his monitors, but he shook his head. “Not much. Since they aren’t registered here, I can’t access their records. Nor do I have access to the Cyrusian government’s databases, so… Sorry, Raphael, there really isn’t much information I can give you,” he said, an apologetic note in his chirpy tone.

“Thanks anyway, Poe.”

What a bitter pill to swallow. I’d tried to spy on my own estranged family, compromised my morality, only to meet with this wall of non-existence.