Outside the Dune Law Enforcement Bureau, a fleet of black luxury sedans was parked along the street. Dozens of tall, imposing men stood at attention, their black suits sharp and their black umbrellas straight, forming an unblinking wall of vigilance.

  The silence was broken when a large, well-built man pushed the door open, his assistant handing him a cigar. He took a slow drag, waving his hand dismissively before breaking into a smile.

  "Well, well. I’ve heard Captain Skye is quick and efficient. But I never imagined he’d resort to these little tricks."

  "Skye was so sure of himself," the man continued, his voice laced with irony. "Who would’ve guessed that the 'evidence' he had was nothing but a bunch of lies?"

  Beneath the umbrellas, a group of law enforcement officers stood beside Captain Skye. The man they were talking to was none other than Nash.

  But Nash wasn’t addressing Skye directly. Instead, he turned to the elderly figure beside him—Vexler, the director of the Law Enforcement Bureau.

  "He wanted to solve this case quickly. But he did go too far this time. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure he gives Mr. Wolfe a satisfactory answer."

  Skye's head dropped slightly at the old director’s words, his bloodshot eyes betraying his exhaustion. The tension from days of political maneuvering and backstabbing was clear, but it wasn’t just fatigue that weighed on him. Skye had never seen Director Vexler, normally so cold and aloof, speak with such a soft tone—especially to Nash, who was years younger.

  Nash’s displeasure was evident. His brow furrowed slightly as he glanced at Skye, the edge of irony in his gaze. Five days ago, the scene of Skye confidently taking Wolfe away in front of him was still vivid in his mind.

  Skye underestimated Wolfe. Who would’ve thought Wolfe’s connections ran deeper than anyone had anticipated?

  "Not only do we need to give Wolfe an answer, but we owe it to the public, too," Nash said, his tone sharp. "You can't just snatch someone out of their home and drag them off without consequences. This whole mess has caused a shitstorm."

  Vexler stayed silent for a moment, Skye gritted his teeth and stood up.

  "Skye, go back. You’ve made your mistakes. What else do you want to say?"

  Skye’s fists clenched, but he knew what this meant. Vexler wanted to protect him.

  "You’re suspended from the team for six months," Vexler continued, his tone firm. "Freya will take over as captain."

  “Boss!” a few of Skye’s team members protested. They knew how much this could set Skye back in his career. He was on the rise, eyes on the deputy director position, and this suspension could destroy all of that.

  "Understood," Skye said, his voice low. He stepped forward, bowing his head slightly in respect before turning to his team. "Enough."

  The officers around him instantly fell silent. Nash watched from a distance, his gut twisting. He knew the kind of danger someone like Skye posed in politics.

  "Mr. Vexler, I can see that you’re thinking of the greater good," Nash said, his smile polite. "That’s admirable. Truly."

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  With a final glance at Skye, Nash turned and walked away.

  As the rain began to fall harder, the luxury convoy left, surrounded by the usual procession of guards. The officers standing by the Enforcement Bureau looked on with frustration and a touch of resentment.

  "Boss..." Skye murmured, his voice full of regret. His relationship with Director Vexler had always been distant. Skye had thought Vexler was just another old bureaucrat, playing the game to survive in Dune.

  But today, that perception had changed. Skye had made a serious error. The chain of evidence had been flawed from the start. His deductions were wrong, and he thought his career was over.

  Instead, Vexler, who was nearing retirement, had stepped in, offering protection when Skye had expected condemnation.

  "Don’t say anything, Skye," Vexler said, his voice softer now. "Come on, let’s take a walk."

  Vexler was tired. Skye, still carrying an umbrella, walked beside the old man as they left the Bureau, stepping into the misty, rain-soaked streets of Dune.

  The two walked in silence for a long time, the rhythmic patter of rain tapping against the pavement as they passed through the streets of Dune.

  "Look at Dune now," Vexler suddenly spoke, his voice quiet but filled with a kind of nostalgia. "It’s developing so good"

  He gestured at the city around them—the rows of modern buildings, the lights twinkling in the evening mist, and the groups of young people huddling under eaves or eating at roadside stalls, trying to stay dry. Vexler’s voice dropped slightly as he sighed.

  Skye, unsure of what he meant, said nothing, simply listening.

  "It wasn’t like this before," Vexler continued, his tone distant. "I remember when I was a kid, mutants had only appeared for less than ten years. There weren’t many awakened people, and death was everywhere. People couldn’t even find food to eat."

  Skye stayed quiet, not interrupting.

  "Then, more awakened people started showing up. But instead of stabilizing things, everyone was obsessed with quick breakthroughs, so the infected started spreading like wildfire."

  Vexler’s eyes narrowed."No one saw it coming. The very heroes who fought against the mutants... ended up turning on their own people. And just like that, the little peace we had was shattered by the infected."

  Skye’s heart clenched. He knew about the "Dark Age," that dark chapter in history marked by the Mutation Day and the rise of the infected. It was all written in the textbooks, but hearing it from someone who had lived through it made it feel far more real.

  "My father died during that time," Vexler added, his voice dropping lower. "It was one of his former comrades who killed him."

  Skye didn’t know what to say.

  "After a few years, we figured out how the infection worked. Though we still have occasional outbreaks, the situation is under control now."

  Skye watched as Vexler’s expression hardened, the older man’s eyes flickering with something Skye had never seen before—pure, unfiltered rage.

  "I don’t hate the infected," Vexler said, his voice colder than ice. "But I hate the bastards who use them to make money."

  For the first time, Skye saw Vexler with that fire in his eyes. It was a side of the old director that Skye had never known existed.

  "I know you probably think I don’t care about my work," Vexler continued, his eyes meeting Skye’s. "But the truth is, I know exactly who we’re up against. These are people who’ve sold their morals and their conscience. They’re ruthless, cruel—if you can’t take them down in one blow, don’t make the mistake of poking the hornet’s nest."

  Skye stayed silent, processing the weight of Vexler’s words.

  "I’m getting old, Skye. This position will eventually be passed on to the younger generation." Vexler’s gaze softened. "But I hope you don’t give up because of this. The path ahead is long, and what you need more than anything is patience."

  Skye felt a strange tightness in his chest. He had never expected such a heart-to-heart talk from Vexler, of all people. The older man had always been distant, focused, and relentless in his duty. To hear him speak like this, with such genuine hope, left Skye a little dazed.

  When Vexler extended his hand, Skye hesitated for a moment before shaking it firmly.

  After escorting Vexler to his car, Skye headed back to his office. He started packing up his things, but when he looked around, he noticed something odd. His subordinates were still there, none of them had left.

  "Waiting for your instructions?"

  "A bunch of bastards," he muttered, rolling his eyes. The group gathered around the table, their eyes on Skye. He took out his phone, and his eyes flickered over a missed call notification.

  "Axel?" he murmured, his brow furrowing slightly.