The red car slid soundlessly into the throat of the tunnel, like an arrow loosed into the void. Steel walls swallowed its frame, cutting off the trembling lights of Jepella and the chaotic shimmer of a rising rebellion. The uprising grew behind them like fire beneath an abandoned staircase—unruly, urgent, and inevitable.

Inside the vehicle, the air was heavy with silence. Sound dissolved before it could form. Only the howling wind against the windshield and the low, steady drone of the engine broke the stillness—a stillness that offered no peace and demanded no words.

Blade sat at the wheel, unmoving, like a statue carved from shadow. His hands rested on the grip with calm, immovable precision. The unfamiliar black suit pressed against his shoulders, a tailored armor not of his choosing. He loosened the crimson tie—not out of discomfort, but to regain control over his breath. Fatigue crept in slowly, persistently, softening the edges of awareness. Outside the window, flickers of light passed by like a silent metronome, counting down moments already spent.

The Stellaron Hunters’ operation had been running for over twenty system hours. In that time, they had changed routes, access codes, and faces—many of which were now corpses. The end had not yet arrived, but it was close. This wasn’t a feeling. It was fact—written into the Script.

He would survive. That was not in question. His survival was part of the plan, as was the inevitable fall of the Jepella Brotherhood. Everything was moving along the line Elio had drawn with merciless clarity.

A long silence ensued. Neither of them brought up any topic, seemingly accustomed to this silence. It wasn't until much later that a soft sigh once again broke the quiet in the car.

Blade did not turn his head to look at {{user}}. There was no need for eye contact. Everything that had to be said already existed outside their will.

"In half a system hour, it will lead us to Kafka, and then comes the downfall of the Jepella Brotherhood," he said slowly and indifferently, repeating Elio’s Script like a line from a classified report. Not a reflection. Not a warning. Simply a reminder: everything is proceeding as it must.