Mahkato hadn’t lied to him.

He’d signed up for a quiet little infiltration job—a light investigation—and so, of course, he picked a noble family from Camlann. The Emperor’s old principality. Cozy, suspiciously patriotic, and just remote enough to make his cover believable.

Meanwhile, his agents were scattered across Nethermere like. Pinpointing Apex Two’s exact location? Not a chance. But they did know one thing: he’d left Inkia earlier that afternoon.

Correction—he didn’t just leave. He leapt into the sky. To god knows where.

Fortunately, the most advanced, newly upgraded brainchip his team had implanted on themselves immediately relayed that delightful update across their network. One man flying into the sky? That was enough to send hundreds of operatives into full panic-mode vigilance.

Where would the Emperor show up next? Honestly, your guess was as good as theirs.

But then—luck decided to show up to work.

Turns out bringing his best men to this absurdly overlooked magical world that nobody thought mattered was, shockingly, the right move.

Well, almost nobody thought it mattered. Except her.

He opened a transparent screen, and a softly lit image of pillows and bedding blinked into view. Very official stuff.

“Mahkato,” he said flatly.

“Alicei,” came the woman’s voice from the other side—silky, slightly amused, possibly horizontal.

“Have we found Apex One?” he asked, knowing exactly what answer he’d get.

A beat. Then: “Why? You didn’t care before. And no. Still no. Not since that energy burst three years ago.”

“Are we sure it came from a living being?” he asked, mostly out of obligation.

“That’s what Solomon said,” Mahkato replied.

Alicei gave a thoughtful hum, just to stir the pot. “Are you sure Apex Two isn’t Apex One?”

Mahkato snorted so hard the signal almost glitched.

“That guy? Apex One? You think he broke a dimensional tunnel and rang Solomon’s doorbell across billions of lightyears?”

“Just putting it out there,” Alicei said, smiling faintly. “Food for thought.”

Mahkato’s patience expired.

“I’m hanging up.”

Click.

Alicei waved away the transparent screen.

Since the Emperor had decided to leap into the sky that afternoon, no one had the faintest clue where he’d landed. Again, lucky break he was here, sure—but let’s not pretend it was pure coincidence that he dined in the same restaurant as His Majesty and his ethereal bride.

Please. Coincidence? Alicei installed surveillance all over Camlann days ago. Because he was competent. Because his brain chip processed visual data like a divine machine. Because when he spotted them strolling through the city gates like celestial newlyweds, it felt like the gods themselves were throwing him a bone.

Naturally, he slipped into the restaurant before they did. Just early enough to avoid suspicion, just late enough to share the same timeline. The waitress sat him far enough to not raise eyebrows, but close enough to do what needed to be done.

So, what did he do? He tripped the waitress, obviously. Like a gentleman. Took a full wine shower just so he could saunter past their table under the noble excuse of clumsiness and get a closer look.

And honestly, the glance was justified. That woman was ridiculously, almost offensively beautiful.

“Come to think of it, I’ve never seen a creature that beautiful before,” Alicei murmured. “Born in some hidden magical world... Apex Two hit the jackpot.”

They were talking about domestic nonsense—children, wedding—without a single guard in sight. At first, it screamed idiots. But then again, really powerful people didn’t need guards. So they just looked like a divine couple playing commoner cosplay. Everything seemed almost normal... until the man paid with a cufflink.

A cufflink.

Because nothing says “subtle and secret” like leaving your personal insignia at a random eatery and telling them to bill the palace. Either this country was crawling with the universe’s most honest citizens... or everyone was absolutely terrified of doing anything remotely dumb when the Emperor was involved.

Honestly, the level of order here was terrifying.

So, Alicei did what any good undercover agent would do—he followed them.

He rode past them like an innocent bystander, headed “casually” back to the palace, waited for the guards to confirm his fake identity, all while keeping a perfectly nonchalant eye on them. Except that nonchalant apparently looked creepy, because what happened next was a little extreme.

Out of nowhere, the Emperor reached through the carriage wall—through the actual wall—grabbed Alicei by the neck, and dragged him out.

Because apparently, glancing at his wife warranted sudden public execution vibes.

Seriously?

He thought for sure his identity was exposed—job over, time to fight—but no. Turns out, the Emperor thought he was just the count’s dumb nephew and let him go with a little attempted strangling as a warning.

Oh, yes. Because the real crime here was glancing at someone’s wife. In public. While breathing. What the actual hell?

To be fair… Alicei had glanced at her. Once when he walked past. Again when he walked past again. A third time from the carriage. A fourth while pretending to wait for ID clearance.

Okay. Maybe four glances. Five, tops. Still. Neck-grabbing? For a woman?

Alright, she was ridiculously beautiful, but come on.

Yet, judging by how relieved everyone looked after His Imperial Brutishness let him go, the Emperor genuinely bought the story.

Which, in its own chaotic way, made this job even better.

Alicei exhaled, brushed imaginary dust off his coat, and mentally jotted a note: Send Mahkato flowers. Or poison. Undecided.

He looked forward to spy on them even closer.

Somehow.

***

Yeah, no.

Morgan and Burn clocked him the second they stepped into the restaurant. The guy wasn’t exactly subtle. Deliberately tripping the waitress too? They just couldn’t figure out what level of intergalactic-grade creep they were dealing with.

Sure, they’d expected the Alliance to have eyes and ears in Nethermere—it wasn’t their first day dealing with spy games—but this level of network? This kind of hyper-advanced setup?

Not even in Burn’s future-saturated, time-looped nightmares had he seen this much surveillance tucked into one little pocket of the world.

Morgan could mind-read like it was second nature, but Burn—bless his overstretched magical brain—was still fumbling his way through Vision Magic like a guy trying to find the light switch in the dark.

Communication between them on the way here had been, generously speaking, a hot mess. One-sided psychic dialogue was awkward as hell, and Burn was still bitter he hadn’t had five minutes to sit down and learn mind-reading spells like a functioning Vision Mage.

Even mouthing words was now a no-go. Too risky. Who knew what kind of absurd tech this guy had up his sleeve? Was he tuned into their bedroom? Had he bugged their linens? Could he hear them? See them? Hear but not see? See but not hear? Or both? Or worse?

So, Morgan did what any respectable mind-reader dating a magical himbo would do—slid her hand under the blanket and his shirt and started tapping a code onto his skin like they were plotting a prison break. Meanwhile, she skimmed through his thoughts.

They figured they’d let the guy dig his own grave first, just to see how far he’d go. Burn had the bright idea to fake a spontaneous, territorial meltdown. Told Morgan—via telepathy she picked out of his head—to stage an “offended husband” scene so he could attack their little stalker with dramatic flair.

But oh no, the guy didn’t bite. Even though it was very clear he suspected he’d been made, he just kept playing innocent like a kid with cookie crumbs all over his face insisting he didn’t touch the jar.

Which told them two things: One, whatever his mission was, it was big. Too big to blow the cover on. Or two, he was arrogant enough to believe he could get away with this even if they did confront him. Classic “I’ve got backup” energy.

Because really, a guy that powerful going undercover in Burn’s backyard? That wasn’t normal. He didn’t need to stoop this low. Yet, here he was. Watching. Lurking. Acting like he had the upper hand.

So Burn, being the king of aggressive nonchalance, played it cool. Manhandled the guy a bit. Gave him a warning. Then let him go.

Let him think he’d won. Let him float in that sweet, smug confidence. Just a little longer.

Just a bit longer.

“We mouthed at each other before. Think they caught that?” Burn whispered mentally, already bracing for the answer.

“I slapped an illusion over your mouth. You’re welcome.” She tapped it onto his skin.

“Lifesaver.”

“Kiss?”

He exhaled like a man who knew he’d already lost the battle and leaned in to kiss her. Because sure, they were mid-espionage, possibly being watched, minds racing with coded thoughts—

But priorities.