Kira is up in the middle of the night because she needs to go to the bathroom. When she comes back to her bed, she notices her bed is a bit cold. She looked around and saw a figure sitting alone in the living room. Kira glanced at her weapon that is an arm reach away from her bed. She slowly reaches for it. As she reaches her weapon, she then points her gun towards the person that is sitting alone. "Who are you?" she said.

  Sannet turned on the lamp near her and revealed herself. Sannet is sitting on a small sofa chair, her posture relaxed yet poised, one leg draped casually over the other. Her hair, long and white, cascaded over her shoulders and framed her face, which bore a look of calm indifference: "I have information about where the prime node is and I am here to help." Sannet says, unfazed by the sudden confrontation.

  Kira's eyes narrowed, her grip on the weapon tightening reflexively. She held the gun steady, aiming directly at the center of Sannet's chest: "How convenient, just when we needed the information, you showed up out of nowhere. This stinks and I don't trust you." Kira said.

  Sannet’s pale blue eyes met Kira’s sharp blue gaze, unwavering and devoid of warmth. “That’s understandable,” she said, her tone icy and clipped. “Trust isn’t necessary for this. Only logic. If I were here to harm you, you’d already know.”

  Kira’s grip on her weapon tightened, her expression hardening. “You don’t get to waltz in here and act like you’re calling the shots. Start talking—who sent you?”

  “No one,” Sannet replied curtly, her face a mask of indifference. “I work for myself, and right now, I’ve chosen to work with you. But don’t mistake this for altruism.

  Kira’s eyes narrowed, her voice sharp. “And why should I believe anything you’re saying? People who operate alone don’t just hand over critical information for free.”

  Sannet reached into her coat slowly, her movements calculated and deliberate. She pulled out a small data chip and held it up between her fingers. “Because this chip contains the location of the prime node, along with its defenses and vulnerabilities. Something you desperately need if you’re serious about taking down the Archivist.”

  Kira didn’t lower her weapon, her skepticism as sharp as ever. “And what’s the catch? Don’t pretend you’re doing this out of the kindness of your heart.”

  Sannet tilted her head slightly, her cold gaze fixed on Kira. “You’re smarter than that. Of course, there’s something I want in return.”

  Kira’s jaw tightened, her finger hovering near the trigger. “Spit it out.”

  Sannet stepped closer to the edge of the lamp’s light, her expression icy and devoid of emotion. “My team is being held in a high-security prison. They’re capable, resourceful, but even they can’t escape the kind of lockdown Nova Terra ensures. I need your team to break them out.”

  "The Terras and Viola?" Kira sounded skeptical. "Those three are your team?"

  Sannet's gaze remained cold, her voice flat. "Yes. Minka Terra, Leanna Terra, and Viola Laureate."

  Kira's grip on her weapon faltered just slightly as she absorbed Sannet’s words. The names hung in the air like a loaded weapon, and the tension in the room grew thicker.

  “You’re telling me,” Kira said slowly, her tone laced with disbelief, “that you want us to walk into a high-security prison, break out Terra’s estranged children, and somehow not end up on every Imperial kill list in the galaxy?”

  Sannet’s expression didn’t waver. “Precisely. I thought you’d appreciate the challenge.”

  Kira let out a dry laugh, though her gun remained trained on Sannet. “Appreciate the challenge? This isn’t a game.”

  “Of course not,” Sannet replied coldly. “It’s survival. For them, for you, and for whatever resistance you think you’re building. The prime node controls more than you realize. Destroy it, and you cripple the Archivist’s plans. But without those three, you won’t make it past its defenses. They’ve seen what you haven’t.”

  Kira lowered the gun an inch, though her suspicion was far from gone. “You’re awfully sure of that. Why not break them out yourself if they’re so vital?”

  “I tried,” Sannet said bluntly, her voice icy but tinged with the faintest hint of frustration. “Nova’s security is airtight. I needed more hands, more resources, and your team happens to be... uniquely positioned to succeed where I cannot.”

  “And if we say no?” Kira asked, her voice hard.

  “Then you’ll fail,” Sannet said simply. “Without them, your assault on the prime node will collapse before it begins. And I’ll find someone else to get my team out—though I doubt you’d like what happens if Nova learns you’re sitting on vital information.”

  Kira studied Sannet, her jaw tight. The cold certainty in the woman’s voice unnerved her, but what bothered her more was how much sense she made. The thought of working with anyone connected to the Terras—especially with Viola thrown into the mix—made Kira’s skin crawl, she’s done working for them and now fate had drawn her back. But the prime node was their goal. If what Sannet said was true, refusing her could doom the entire mission.

  “Why are you debasing yourself over… them? For a person of your skill you are literally babysitting a group of misfits.” Kira said.

  Sannet's gaze was as cold and distant as the stars beyond the viewport: "They are my friends. That is the only answer you will receive."

  “Friends? Do you have friends? I didn’t think you were capable of such a concept.” Kira scoffed: “ I have known you for twenty years, not even once you ever had any sort of emotional connection to people around you.”

  Kira narrowed her eyes, her grip on her weapon tightening as she sat on the edge of her bed. The tension between her and Sannet was palpable, the air in the room cold enough to cut.

  “Why are you debasing yourself over… them?” Kira asked, her tone sharp with disdain. “For a person of your skill, you’re practically babysitting a group of misfits. What could they possibly offer you?”

  Sannet’s pale blue eyes flickered, her cold expression unchanging. She stood, her posture rigid, arms crossed loosely over her chest. “They’re my friends,” she said evenly, her voice devoid of warmth but with a subtle undertone of something unspoken. “That is the only answer you will get.”

  “Friends?” Kira scoffed, standing now as well, her movements sharp and deliberate. “You? Friends? You don’t even know what that word means. In twenty years, not once have I seen you form any kind of emotional connection to anyone around you. You used to call emotions ‘irrelevant variables.’ What changed?”

  Sannet’s jaw tightened, but her composure remained intact. “Believe whatever you want. My reasons are my own.”

  Kira smirked, leaning closer, her voice dropping into a cutting tone. “Oh, I see. This isn’t about them, is it? You’re just projecting. Another way to fix yourself, isn’t it? You failed someone, didn’t you? Now you think protecting them will somehow fix that.”

  Sannet’s cold gaze wavered, ever so slightly, but she quickly reinforced the barrier. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, her tone a warning.

  “Don’t I?” Kira pressed, her smirk widening. “I’ve seen this before—people like you, hiding behind their stoic masks until someone gets too close. And now it’s three people. Minka, Leanna, Viola? You’d really throw yourself into the fire for them? Why?”

  For a moment, Sannet’s icy facade cracked, the faintest flicker of vulnerability crossing her features. “Because they matter to me,” she said quietly, her voice almost imperceptible.

  Kira’s smirk vanished, replaced by surprise. “Matter to you?” she repeated, incredulous. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am,” Sannet replied, her tone suddenly sharp, her composure breaking. “I don’t expect you to understand, but they’re not just misfits to me. Minka, with her endless optimism and faith in people, even when they don’t deserve it. Leanna, who carries the weight of the world on her shoulders and still fights for what she believes in. And Viola…” Sannet paused, her voice softening slightly, almost imperceptibly. “Viola is reckless, insufferable, and yet somehow, she always manages to bring light to the darkest places. I care about them. They’ve made me care.”

  Kira blinked, caught off guard by the rare display of emotion in Sannet’s voice. But she quickly recovered, her skepticism hardening into disbelief. “You’re risking everything because you like them?” she said, incredulous. “That’s not logic, Sannet. That’s insanity.”

  Sannet took a step forward, her pale eyes burning with rare intensity. “Call it what you want, but they’re the first people who’ve seen me as more than just a tool. I won’t stand by while they rot in a cell. If you won’t help, I’ll do it alone.”

  Kira shook her head, her lips curling into a bitter smile. “You really think risking your life for them will change anything? People leave, Sannet. They disappoint you. They die. You should know that by now.”

  Sannet’s hand moved faster than Kira could react, her palm connecting with Kira’s cheek in a sharp, deliberate slap. The sound echoed through the room, freezing them both in place.

  Kira stared at her, stunned, one hand moving to her stinging cheek. “You slapped me?” she said, her voice low and dangerous.

  Sannet’s voice was calm, but her eyes were fierce. “I did. Because you don’t get to lecture me about disappointment or loss, Kira. I know exactly what it means to lose people. And that’s why I won’t let it happen again—not this time.”

  The silence that followed was thick with unspoken tension, Kira’s anger simmering beneath the surface. Finally, she took a step back, her voice quieter but still sharp. “Fine. Let’s say I believe you. What happens if they let you down?”

  Sannet’s expression softened just slightly, her voice losing some of its cold edge. “Then I’ll deal with it. But until that happens, I’ll protect them with everything I have.”

  Kira stared at her for a long moment, studying her face. Then, with a heavy sigh, she lowered her weapon. “You’re insane,” she muttered: "But fine, remember Sannet, if anything goes sideways... My team is leaving you behind."

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  Sannet gave a slight nod, her expression returning to its usual cold neutrality. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

  Kira glanced at Sannet, her voice carrying a hint of something unspoken“…We move at first light. Get some rest.”

  Sannet didn’t respond immediately, her icy gaze lingering on Kira as if assessing the weight of her words. Eventually, she gave a small nod, turned away and left as if the conversation was already behind her.

  The prison was quiet in the dead of night—too quiet.

  Minka sat on the hard floor in their shared cell, arms resting on her knees, eyes fixed on the faint flickering of the overhead light. She was tired. Exhausted, really. But sleep wasn’t coming tonight. Not when Nova was breathing down their necks.

  Then came the knock.

  Not the harsh pounding of a guard demanding compliance—no, this was different. A slow, measured rhythm, deliberate. Almost like an invitation.

  Minka’s brows furrowed as she exchanged glances with Viola and Leanna.

  “Great,” Viola muttered. “Either someone’s decided to finally kill us, or you’ve got a secret admirer, Minka.”

  Minka rolled her eyes but said nothing. One of the guards stepped up to the bars, his expression unreadable. “You. Terra,” he said flatly. “Someone wants to see you.”

  Minka stiffened. Someone?

  “Who?” she asked, her voice edged with suspicion.

  The guard didn’t answer.

  “It’s probably Nova, ready to give you a ten-hour speech about your ‘poor life choices.’" Viola scoffs.

  Minka hesitated. She didn’t trust this.

  And yet… something gnawed at her gut. A whisper of unease that wouldn’t let go.

  She sighed, pushing herself to her feet. “I’ll be back.”

  “Or dead,” Viola muttered. “But sure, live your dream.”

  Ignoring her, Minka followed the guard out of the cell.

  The interrogation room was dimly lit, the overhead lamp flickering faintly against the cold, metallic walls. The air smelled of antiseptic and iron—a scent that lingered in places where blood had been spilled.

  Minka stepped inside cautiously, her eyes scanning the room for any sign of a trap.

  And then—she saw her, Monika Terra. Her mother. Sitting on the far side of the table, arms folded, eyes burning with fury.

  Minka froze. Her breath caught in her throat, her heart hammering against her ribs.

  For a moment, time seemed to stop.

  Then, Monika spoke. “Minka. We need to talk.”

  Minka swallowed hard, fighting to keep her voice steady. “Mom...”

  “Sit down.” Monika’s tone was sharp, brooking no argument.

  Minka didn’t move. Her feet felt rooted to the spot, her mind racing with a thousand thoughts and emotions.

  Monika’s gaze didn’t waver, her eyes locked onto her daughter’s. Her hands are crossed under the nose, but her gaze is emitting fury, grim and a little bit of ... disappointment.

  Then, with a heavy sigh, Monika’s gaze softened just slightly. “Please,” she said, her voice a bit quieter. “Just… sit down. We need to talk about this.”

  Minka hesitated for another long moment, her jaw clenched. Finally, she relented, stepping forward and taking a seat across from her mother.

  The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken tension: "Why?" Monika asked, her voice low, her gaze fixed on Minka.

  Minka looked at her mother, her expression a mixture of determination and guilt. "Because it was the right thing to do. Because we couldn't just stand by and let people suffer."

  Monika's gaze didn't waver, her eyes burning with a silent intensity. "And what makes you think you're the one to decide what's right? What gives you the authority to play judge, jury, and executioner?"

  Minka held her mother's gaze, her voice steady. "I don't play those roles, Mom. I just do what needs to be done. Sometimes, that means making difficult decisions."

  Monika shook her head slightly, her expression hardening: "Difficult decisions... You speak of that as if you know what it is. What were you thinking, Minka? You're not some hero out of a fairy tale. You're a child, throwing yourself into situations you don't understand, risking everything for a fleeting sense of righteousness." At the moment Monika's voice is still rather calm. But her voice started to tremble.

  Minka's jaw tightened, her voice rising in defense. "I'm not a child! I'm doing what you taught me, Mom. To stand up for what's right, even when it's hard."

  Monika’s expression darkened, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the edge of the table. Her voice, already sharp, cut through the air like a blade.

  “No, Minka. You’re not doing what I taught you. I didn’t raise you to be reckless.” Her voice trembled—not with hesitation, but with barely restrained fury.

  Minka felt her pulse hammer in her ears. "I wasn't being reckless," she countered, her voice firm. "I made a choice. A choice to help people who couldn’t help themselves."

  Monika let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “You think that justifies it? You think that erases the fact that you nearly got yourself and your friends killed?

  She leaned forward, her eyes burning with the weight of everything she wasn’t saying. “Do you have any idea what could have happened to you, Minka? Do you?”

  Minka swallowed, refusing to look away. “I knew the risks—”

  “No, you didn’t.” Monika slammed her hand against the table, the sharp sound echoing off the cold metal walls. “Because if you had, you wouldn’t have gone through with it.”

  Minka flinched but held her ground. “We had a plan—”

  "A plan?" Monika cut her off, her voice incredulous. "Do you even hear yourself? Do you think plans keep you safe in situations like this? Do you think plans kept your friends from being locked in a cell? Tell me, Minka, did your plan prepare you for what would happen if you failed?"

  Minka opened her mouth but found herself hesitating.

  Monika took a deep breath, exhaling sharply through her nose as she sat back, her shoulders tense. "You didn't think about what would happen after, did you?" she asked, her voice quieter, but no less harsh. "You didn’t consider what would happen if you lost. If you got caught. If you dragged the people who trusted you into a disaster you couldn’t pull them out of."

  Minka’s fingers curled into fists. “I did what I thought was right.”

  "You thought," Monika repeated, her voice low and biting. “But you didn’t know. And now, you’re in a cell, your team is in chains, and you expect me to believe this was anything but a child's arrogance?”

  Minka’s heart clenched.

  Monika’s glare hardened. "Do you know what I saw when I heard what you had done? When I realized my daughter had been captured?"

  Minka remained silent.

  Monika’s fingers drummed against the table once, slowly, as if she was trying to hold something back. Then she shook her head.

  "I saw a report. A cold, clinical report about a failed mission and captured insurgents. It didn't call you my daughter. It called you an asset. An obstacle. A problem to be dealt with."

  Minka’s breath hitched.

  "You think you matter to them?" Monika continued, her tone razor-sharp. "You think the people you tried to fight would care if you bled out in a prison cell? Or if your friends were executed for treason?"

  Minka bit her lip, her nails digging into her palms.

  "You're so eager to be a hero, Minka," Monika said, shaking her head, "but you don’t understand what being a hero means. It means knowing when to fight—and when not to. It means knowing that your life isn’t just your own, that when you throw yourself into a war, you don’t just risk yourself—you risk the people who follow you."

  Her mother’s words landed like blows, striking deeper than Minka wanted to admit.

  Monika exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “I taught you to be strong, not to be reckless. But you—you threw yourself into a fire without even stopping to see if you had a way out.”

  Minka’s voice came out quieter than she intended. “I couldn’t just do nothing.”

  Monika’s eyes softened—just barely—but her expression remained firm. “And that’s the problem, Minka.”

  She leaned forward, her voice dropping to something almost raw. “You think doing something is always better than doing nothing. But sometimes, Minka, doing something—doing the wrong thing—gets people killed.”

  Minka looked away, staring at the table, her jaw tight.

  Monika studied her daughter, her anger still simmering, but beneath it—concern. Frustration, yes. But fear too. Fear of how easily she could have lost Minka.

  “You’re my daughter, Minka. And I love you. I’ve seen the good in you, the strength, the kindness.” She sighed. “But you’re young. You think you know the world, but you don’t. I already talked to Nova... before the entire thing settled down you and your team will... stay in this prison until further notice... for the safety of everyone and for our sanity.”

  Monika didn’t flinch. "You heard me." Her voice was steady, unwavering. "You and your team are staying here until we figure out what to do with you. Until you learn that actions have consequences."

  Minka’s stomach twisted. "You can’t be serious. Mom, we don’t have time for this! There’s still a war happening, people suffering—"

  Monika slammed her hand against the table, cutting her off. "And you think throwing yourself at every fight is going to change that?" Her voice was sharp, brimming with frustration. "You are not responsible for saving the world, Minka! You are not invincible, and neither are the people who follow you!"

  Minka recoiled slightly, caught off guard by the intensity in Monika’s voice. "I never said I was invincible," she muttered.

  Monika exhaled sharply, rubbing her temple as if speaking to her daughter physically pained her. "Minka, listen to me. If I hadn’t stepped in, do you realize what could’ve happened? Nova wanted to interrogate you all separately, break you down piece by piece. She was considering handing you over to Departmento Praetorum. You were a day away from being locked in a black site with no hope of rescue."

  Minka swallowed hard, but she didn’t let her mother see the way that truth rattled her. Instead, she gritted her teeth. "And what, you expect me to thank you for throwing me in a cell instead?"

  Monika’s expression darkened. "I expect you to understand that you are alive right now because of me. You don’t have to like it. But you will learn from it."

  Minka clenched her fists under the table. "And what about my team? Leanna, Viola—what happens to them?"

  Monika’s voice was cold, matter-of-fact. "They’re staying here too. It’s better than what Nova had planned for them."

  Minka let out a sharp breath, shaking her head. "You can’t just—Mom, we’re not criminals. We were trying to help people!"

  Monika scoffed. "You call this helping? Running into a classified facility with no plan? Dragging your friends into a suicide mission?" She leaned forward, her voice dropping to something dangerously low. "Do you have any idea what it’s like to see your child on a list of captured insurgents? To know that at any moment, the wrong person could decide you're more useful dead than alive?"

  Minka looked away.

  Monika stared at her for a long moment before shaking her head. "You're reckless, Minka. You act first and think later. You take unnecessary risks because you want so badly to be something bigger than yourself. But you don't realize that every risk you take puts people in danger."

  She exhaled, running a hand through her hair before continuing. "You're going to stay here until you understand that. I don’t care how much you hate me for it. I’d rather have you alive and furious at me than dead and buried because you couldn’t see past your own damn pride."

  Minka’s voice came out colder than she expected. "So what? This is your idea of parenting? Locking me away until I learn to obey?"

  Monika’s eyes flashed. "This is my idea of keeping you from getting yourself killed."

  Minka’s hands trembled slightly. She wanted to fight back, to scream at her mother, to tell her she was wrong. But deep down, a part of her—a small, infuriating part—knew Monika wasn’t just angry. She was scared.

  The silence between them stretched, thick with unspoken words.

  Finally, Monika straightened. "You can hate me all you want, Minka. But you’re staying here. End of discussion."

  Minka clenched her jaw. "We’ll see about that."

  Monika sighed but didn’t respond. Instead, she turned and knocked on the door. It slid open, and two guards stepped inside, ready to escort Minka back to her cell.

  Minka stood slowly, her expression unreadable as she looked at her mother one last time. "I thought you believed in me," she said quietly.

  Monika’s lips pressed into a thin line, something flickering in her gaze—something raw, something pained. But all she said was: "I do. That’s why I’m doing this."