#Centralized Logging And Monitoring

[some-programming-pearls]

What are the challenges faced when monitoring and logging in microservice architecture?

Inadequate monitoring and logging make it challenging to identify and troubleshoot issues within microservices. Solution: Implement centralized logging and monitoring solutions for comprehensive visibility. Utilize distributed tracing to track requests across multiple microservices. Terminology: Centralized Logging And Monitoring: such as the ELK Stack (Elasticsearch, Logstash, Kibana),…

[virtualizationhowto]

Best Open Source Log Management Tools in 2023

Best Open Source Log Management Tools in 2023 #homelab #OpenSourceLogManagement2023 #TopLogAnalysisTools #CentralizedLoggingSystems #LogstashVsSyslogng #BestLogCollectors #FluentDAndCloudServices #ManageLargeVolumesOfLogData #GrafanaRealtimeMonitoring

When monitoring, troubleshooting, and auditing in today’s IT infrastructure, logs provide the low-level messaging needed to trace down events happening in the environment. They can be an invaluable source of insights into performance, security events, and errors that may be occurring across on-premises, cloud, and hybrid systems. You don’t have to buy into a commercial solution to get started…

[kaiist]

-.- .- .. .. … -

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 : 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐒

⋇ Status ⋯ Docking Complete ⋇ Location ⋯ 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐈𝐒𝐓 Orbital Station ⋇ Access Level ⋯ Authorized ⋇ Launch Code ⋯ 280325

𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄, 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐑. ∹ You’ve successfully docked at 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐈𝐒𝐓, a terminal floating amidst the cosmic expanse. Whether you’re here for classified mission reports, encrypted transmissions, or to send a request through the interstellar network, all data logs are available below ⋯ navigate wisely—adventure awaits.

𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍

⋇ Designation ⋯ Captain Kaisa-19 ⋇ Rank ⋯ Chief Archivist & Storyteller ⋇ Mission ⋯ Documenting celestial encounters and stellar romances across the cosmos. ⋇ Terminal Note ⋯ All transmissions are encrypted and monitored by the central AI, and I’ll later review it in my command quarters. For further inquiries, send a request through the Incoming Transmissions channel.

𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐌

✛ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒 ⋯ Mission Reports & Archived Transmissions [ All Writings ]

✛ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐄 ⋯ Galactic Records [ Masterlist ]

✛ 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐀 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐒 ⋯ Research & Classified Files [ Personal posts ]

✛ 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐎𝐂𝐎𝐋 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 ⋯ Operational Directives [ BYF / DNI / Requests ]

✛ 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 ⋯ Open Comm Channels [ Ask ]

© main · ao3 · theme · divider · characters belongs to developers

[amellialunarie]

Don't Believe Me

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·┈┈┈┈

There's not much time left.

It's not like we never try any means we could ever think of. I mean, sure, some of them have left me with the lowest impression of ever caring about my curse, and some of them did what they could, but their efforts have never been enough.

And to be honest, I'm too tired.

The Kyklos's curse soon will take over my body, taking my mind as its nourishment for its root, blooming who-knows-what kind of anomaly flower.

Will I become a mindless anomaly, a Kyklos?

Could I even recognize the other ghouls when the curse takes hold?

Will I launch an attack on whatever I see?

.

.

.

We'll be together soon.

Ulp—!!! I almost threw up for reminding me of the sensation in my shoulder at that moment. My limbs go weak at the mere thought that I'm going to be the same as that one creature.

The spiral under my skin pulses. Not in pain. In hunger.

Every time I close my eyes, I see the bloom. Not metaphorically; I see it. A thousand writhing petals of bone and thought twist through my spine. They feel like roots trying to change me from the inside out.

I don't tell anyone anymore. They’ve stopped asking. It’s easier for them, I guess, to pretend I’m still on the right side of the glass.

“Hey, don’t faint on us now,” came a familiar, gruff voice. The latch of a medical case clicked open as Yuri stepped into my room.

The sound of his medical case latching open brought a strange comfort. Familiar. Almost routine by now.

Jiro trailed in behind him, clipboard already out. Eyes scanning, distant as ever. But not indifferent. Never indifferent.

Yuri frowned at the monitor. “Vitals holding steady. Strange. Honestly, with your last flare, I expected to find a lot more degradation today.”

“Not disappointed, are you?” I asked in a faint voice while forcing a smile.

Yuri glanced at me with a snorting laugh. “On the contrary, you’re giving me whiplash. First you spiral, then you stabilize. If I didn’t know better, I’d call it spite-based healing.”

I laughed too—short, bitter.

Jiro came closer and held out a small patch for my arm. Cold, sterile fingers brushed my skin, more gentle than they looked.

I flinched when the patch touched my skin. My nerves have started to fray lately—literally, maybe. The last scan showed root-like black threads in my shoulder joint. Yuri called them pre-bloom filaments. Said it like it was fascinating.

“You’ve been quiet,” Yuri said, glancing at the monitor. “No new auditory episodes? No visual distortions?”

“No nightmares, no psychotic breaks, and no sleep paralysis,” I said, lying flat at that moment. “I know the list.”

“Good memory. That means the frontal cortex is still holding.”

Then Yuri muttered, “Alright, I need to log this and push the data to the upper high.”

"To Darkwick?"

"Of course," Yuri said without looking at me, flicking his holo-tablet open. "They monitor all treatment logs. They get everything. You know the protocol.”

Then Jiro spoke, without looking up, “Even the unapproved ones.”

The air in the room thickened. My skin prickled.

“…Unapproved?” I asked, voice tighter now. “What do you mean by that?”

Yuri hesitated. “Some of the more experimental treatments. They didn’t pass central review. Darkwick flagged them as too… unstable.”

“Unstable for whom?”

Neither answered.

I sat up straighter, blood pounding. “You tried something. You wanted to do more. But they stopped you.”

Jiro didn’t speak, he just adjusted his gloves. But his silence wasn’t empty — it was heavy. Full of words he wouldn’t say. Couldn’t say.

Yuri sighed and muttered, “They said the risk was too high. That it might ‘destabilize anomaly growth’.”

Anomaly growth.

I stared at them and I felt it. That shift. That cold knot in my gut uncoiling as a sudden terrifying thought formed inside my head. They weren’t stopping treatment because it might hurt me.

They were stopping it because it might prevent the curse from blooming.

Suddenly, the pieces fit—too well. The gentle stalling. The false hope. The way every single move Yuri and Jiro made had to be passed through someone else’s judgment.

Not for my sake.

But to keep me viable.

They’re not waiting to save me. They’re waiting to watch me turn.

My mouth went dry. My chest hollowed.

And yet… I didn’t feel betrayed by them. Not exactly.

It was worse than that.

I felt played and pitied.

Like they were trying to save a bird with a broken wing, knowing full well that someone else was already setting up the cage.

In that moment, all my hope — the small flickering ember that hinted at a different ending — faded away. I knew, deep down, all this time. But thought about it in raw—no sedation, no sugar-coating, no hopeful lies...

It scraped something out of me that I didn’t know could still bleed.

Because it didn’t matter how hard Yuri tried.

It didn’t matter how quiet Jiro’s care was.

They were working under a ceiling of glass, and I was the experiment pressed against it.

For Darkwick, this isn’t a tragedy.

It’s a countdown.

To the bloom, to Kyklos. To me—as something else.

“Tell me something,” I whispered as I felt some tears that I didn’t realize I still had, burning behind my eyes... “What happens after I change?”

Yuri finally stopped moving. The light from his tablet flickered against his face. His jaw clenched.

“I don’t know,” he said. “That’s… not in our clearance.”

Jiro turned away.

I looked at them both. They weren’t lying, and that made it worse. They want to help me.

But they may already be too late.

I am a countdown now.

No name. No file. No history. Just a transformation waiting for the right moment to happen, so they can write it down and call it science, a discovery that was only meant to be research but was not given a shred of sympathy.

And I throw up for real now.

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖ .fin

Early warning : Tbh, I'm still not finished all the episode to the latest update so I actually have little information while making this (please forgive me if there's any OOC, have mercy). All I ever make mostly inspired based on what people posting so I always link their post in my credit. Word count: 1189.

#credits; seeing this post, I've been inspired.

[pleaseletmeinibeg453]

Paper cuts

|Jelsa, Modern AU, Enemies with Benefits, Fake dating, Forced Proximity|

Agent Elsa Stenford [NID-SO-ES-07] — Operation Report Upload Log

—Logged into secure terminal: Vienna Safehouse Terminal-2

—Date: 2022-07-08

—Time (UTC): 23:16

—Connected to secure node: NIDNet

—Report file: OP_SILENTRAVEN_AAR.enc

—Encryption status: Secured with NID Master Key — encryption signature verified (Checksum ID: F1A5-7C9B)

—Recipient(s): Jack Frost, Section Chief Special Operations (SO-92A), Acting Division Supervisor (DS-4), National Intelligence Directorate

—Transmission channel: Priority-One Secure Uplink (Classified Level: TOP SECRET)

—Transmission status: COMPLETE — audit log updated (Reference Log ID: ES07-0525-2214)

—Backup status: Encrypted local backup stored (Partition ES-07-SAFE); master copy uploaded to Central Ops Archive (Vault-4)

—Field confirmation: Agent ES-07 signed digital attestation; no tampering detected; self-authentication successful

Note: Automatic alert dispatched to Division Supervisor terminal. Clearance authentication required upon access.

---------------------------

Operation Silent Raven is an ongoing mission targeting a covert illicit arms trafficking network operating primarily in South Carolina. [Flag—Acting supervisor: Delete ‘ongoing mission’ — this is filler from someone unfamiliar with concise reporting. Vague and redundant.] This report details recent operational progress, intelligence collection, and actionable recommendations. [Flag—Acting supervisor: You clearly do not understand report structure. This useless sentence wastes time and space.] 

The primary objective is to identify, monitor, and dismantle the arms trafficking chain responsible for the flow of small arms and light weapons through various transit points in the region. [Flag—Acting supervisor: Restating obvious without any specifics or measurable targets reflects poor understanding of operational goals. Omit.] HUMINT sources have verified the existence of a new maritime transit corridor utilizing the seaport. [Flag—Acting supervisor: “HUMINT sources” is lazy projection. You apparently cannot be trusted to identify sources properly. Brackets demonstrate careless drafting.] SIGINT intercepted encrypted communications that suggest coordination between traffickers and local facilitators. [Flag—Acting supervisor: ‘Suggest’ is weak speculation, unbefitting a professional intelligence report. Either confirm or remove this guesswork.] 

Financial forensics have traced suspicious funds transfers totaling approximately $8 million USD linked to traffickers. [Flag—Acting supervisor: Provide specifics or this bland, meaningless statement reveals superficial analysis.] Technical surveillance detected multiple covert meetings in [Urban Centers], corroborated by photographic evidence. [Flag—Acting supervisor: Using placeholders signals either incompetence or utter disregard for accuracy.] On 2022-06-21, interdiction team, operating with local law enforcement, seized 250 illegal firearms at the port city warehouse. [Flag—Acting supervisor: Poorly structured sentence; the muddled passive voice further obscures the facts you apparently cannot clearly present.] Two principal suspects were detained, providing critical intelligence that identified higher-level facilitators. [Flag—Acting supervisor: Passive construction and vague attribution further demonstrate your failure to take ownership of this data.] 

Informant “Falcon” supplied actionable intelligence regarding a planned arms shipment scheduled for early June. [Flag—Acting supervisor: Finally, a clear statement, but unfortunately, it’s buried among verbosity and filler.] Operational security protocols were heightened after detecting possible surveillance by hostile intelligence actors. [Flag—Acting supervisor: ‘Possible’ surveillance indicates your uncertainty and it undermines the entire assessment and betrays inadequate situational awareness.] The network disruption has temporarily halted major arms transfers. [Flag—Acting supervisor: ‘Temporarily’ suggests you lack the insight or confidence to forecast outcomes. Such ambiguity is unacceptable.] 

Surveillance and intelligence collection continue focusing on secondary facilitators and financing channels. [Flag—Acting supervisor: Non-specific, passive phrasing again. You appear unable to report with decisiveness or clarity.] Coordination with allied intelligence agencies is ongoing to leverage broader interdiction efforts. [Flag—Acting supervisor: “Allied intelligence agencies” — weak and meaningless. Omit.] Risk assessment indicates elevated threat levels against NID assets involved in this operation. [Flag—Acting supervisor: Without elaboration, this statement is worthless. The absence of detail is either negligence or incompetence. I’m leaning towards the latter, although the first one also seems to be your defining trait.] Approve expansion of covert operations targeting secondary facilitators and financiers. [Flag—Acting supervisor: Recommendations lack essential resource planning and rationale, further exposing your inexperience.] Request additional SIGINT and counter-surveillance resources. [Flag—Acting supervisor: ‘Additional’ is meaningless without quantification. This sloppy request reflects poor operational understanding.] Initiate an inter-agency task force to address cross-border financing and logistics. [Flag—Acting supervisor: Unsubstantiated recommendation with no defined objectives — this is amateurish.] Continue monitoring and protection of key HUMINT sources and operatives. [Flag—Acting supervisor: Failing to specify protection protocols reflects a dangerous oversight on your part.] Attachments include interdiction team after-action report, financial transaction analyses, SIGINT intercept summaries, and photographic documentation of seized arms and facilities. [Flag—Acting supervisor: Referencing attachments without actual inclusion indicates either incompetence or disregard for proper reporting. Which one is it?]

Flag—Acting supervisor: This report is miserably inadequate and reflects a disturbing lack of professionalism and capability. The careless placeholders, vague assertions, passive voice, and speculative language betray your failure to grasp even the basic standards of intelligence reporting. Such work not only wastes time but actively hampers operational efficiency. REWRITE. 

---------------------------

Secure Directive

From: Jack Frost 

[Code: NID-SO-JF-01]

Section Chief, Special Operations / Acting Division Supervisor [Code SO-92A/DS-4]

To: Agent Elsa Stenford [Code:NID-SO-ES-07]

Subject: RE: Report Review – Operation Silent Raven

Classification: TOP SECRET // EYES ONLY

Agent Stenford,

Your submitted report for Operation Silent Raven is wholly inadequate and reflects a concerning lack of analytical rigor, operational discipline, and professional attention. The presence of unresolved placeholders, vague assertions, speculative conclusions, and critical data gaps is unacceptable at this operational level and wastes valuable time and resources.

This level of oversight is incompatible with the standards expected from an intelligence officer assigned to this unit. You are to:

1. Eliminate all placeholders and provide verified, cross-checked intelligence.

2. Remove speculative or assumptive language; include only confirmed, actionable data.

3. Rewrite sections for clarity, precision, and direct accountability — passive formulations are unacceptable.

4. Deliver detailed, concrete descriptions of sources, operational locations, timelines, and outcomes without ambiguity.

5. Ensure all referenced materials are attached, properly labeled, and internally consistent.

6. Strengthen recommendations by specifying exact resource needs, operational impacts, and executable directives.

7. Fully address risk assessments with defined threats, probability ratings, and specific mitigation strategies.

The supervisor-annotated version of your report (File ID: SR-Report-Rev1-JF) has been uploaded to the secure review system. You are to address all marked corrections and resubmit the fully corrected report no later than 1800 hours today. No further extensions will be granted.

Jack Frost 

[Code: NID-SO-JF-01]

Section Chief, Special Operations (SO-92A)

Acting Division Supervisor (DS-4)

National Intelligence Directorate

---------------------------

Agent Elsa Stenford [Code: NID-SO-ES-07] — Report Upload Log (Revised Submission)

—Logged into secure terminal: Vienna Safehouse Terminal-2

—Date: 2022-07-09

—Time (UTC): 17:38

—Connected to secure node: NIDNet 

—Report file: OP_SIENTRAVEN_AAR_v2.enc

—Encryption status: Secured with NID Master Key — encryption signature verified (Checksum ID: F1A9-7C3B-R2)

—Recipient(s): Jack FrostJack Frost (NID-SO-JF-01), Section Chief Special Operations (SO-92A), Acting Division Supervisor (DS-4), National Intelligence Directorate

—Transmission channel: Priority-One Secure Uplink (Classified Level: TOP SECRET)

—Transmission status: COMPLETE — audit log updated (Reference Log ID: ES07-0525-2316-R2)

—Backup status: Encrypted local backup stored (Partition ES-07-SAFE); master copy uploaded to Central Ops Archive (Vault-4, Revised Submission Folder)

—Field confirmation: Agent ES-07 signed digital attestation; no tampering detected; self-authentication successful

Note: Automatic alert dispatched to Division Supervisor terminal. Clearance authentication required upon access. Revision flag registered under Audit Protocol 4B.

---------------------------

Secure Directive

From: Jack Frost [Code: NID-SO-JF-01] 

Section Chief, Special Operations / Acting Division Supervisor [Code: SO-92A/DS-4]

To: Elsa Stenford [Code: NID-SO-ES-07]

Subject: RE: Secure Directive – Operation Silent Raven Report (Revised Submission)

Agent Stenford,

I have completed my review of your revised report on Operation Silent Raven. The annotated document is attached under:

Attachment: SilentRaven_Rev2_ES07_JFcomments.secure

To be precise: this submission remains below acceptable operational standards. Your continued use of speculative phrasing, unsupported assertions, and vague recommendations demonstrates a concerning lack of analytical discipline. This is not a matter of inexperience. You are not a trainee, Agent. At your level and position, you are expected to understand and apply the standards of rigor, precision, and clarity required in all agency reporting. That expectation is not optional.

Your report exhibits repeated failures:

1. Speculative language where concrete analysis is required;

2. Lack of referenced source attachments, despite multiple directives;

3. Unquantified risk assessments, absent methodological support;

4. Action recommendations devoid of operational specificity.

This is not a learning exercise nor is it a second chance, Agent Stenford. I should not be required to remind you of the foundational protocols governing intelligence reporting. You are expected to deliver work that reflects your clearance level, your operational rank, and your assigned responsibilities — without need for remedial oversight.

You are hereby directed to produce a final, fully compliant, actionable revision and submit it under secure protocol no later than 1300 hours tomorrow. Failure to meet this directive will result in formal escalation to the Division Office for immediate performance review. There will be no further instructions, no extended clarifications, and no tolerance for repeated submission failures.

Jack Frost [Code: NID-SO-JF-01]

Section Chief, Special Operations (SO-92A)

Acting Division Supervisor (DS-4)

National Intelligence Directorate

*

Operation Silent Raven: A report

1.⁠ ⁠Executive Summary:

—The target group’s network activity has intensified in the last 72 hours, with encrypted communications suggesting a planned operation within the capital region. [Flag—Acting supervisor: “Suggesting” is a charming euphemism for “guessing.” Precision is not your forte, is it?]

—HUMINT sources indicate the possible involvement of an external actor, potentially destabilizing regional security. [Flag—Acting supervisor:  “Possible” and “potentially” — a truly inspiring display of hedging. I applaud your commitment to ambiguity.] While these indicators warrant heightened surveillance, conclusive evidence regarding the exact nature and timing of the planned event remains unconfirmed. [COMMENT: I look forward to the day when ‘unconfirmed’ is replaced by ‘confirmed.’ Continue taking baby steps, we’re all here to babysit you and instruct on every level, not to do our job.]

2.⁠ ⁠Intelligence Sources:

SIGINT: Intercepted encrypted transmissions on frequencies 8.1 GHz to 8.3 GHz, believed to originate from multiple cell towers in the downtown sector. [Flag—Acting supervisor: “Believed.” A masterclass in non-committal language. Bold. Yet, it fails to meet the minimum standards of verification.] Metadata analysis aligns with previous hostile activity patterns.

[Flag—Acting supervisor: Please specify the parameters of your analysis. Otherwise, it reads as a hopeful suggestion rather than intelligence.]

HUMINT: Confidential informant reported unusual meetings near industrial sector 4. Reliability assessed as moderate; corroborating SIGINT incomplete. [Flag—Acting supervisor: ‘Moderate’ is an imaginative way of saying ‘I’m not sure.’ The agency appreciates your creativity but prefers facts.]

IMINT: Limited satellite imagery from 23-25 MAY shows increased vehicular movements near potential staging areas, but imagery quality insufficient for identification of personnel or equipment. [Flag—Acting supervisor: Including non-identifiable imagery is an excellent way to fill pages. Whether it aids operations is another matter. But who cares?]

3.⁠ ⁠Operational Assessment:

The convergence of SIGINT and HUMINT suggests preparatory steps for an operation targeting critical infrastructure. [Flag—Acting supervisor: ‘Suggests’ again. I see a pattern. Perhaps next time try ‘confirms’ or ‘demonstrates.’] Risk assessment places the likelihood of attack at moderate (probability 0.55), with potential impact categorized as high due to target significance. [Flag—Acting supervisor: : Quantify your methodology. Numbers plucked from thin air are less useful than no numbers at all.] Recommended actions include intensifying electronic surveillance, deploying field assets for direct observation, and liaising with allied cyber-intelligence units to monitor digital footprints. [Flag—Acting supervisor: Vague directives are the hallmark of an inexperienced analyst. Details and accountability please.]

4.⁠ ⁠Recommendations:

Immediate deployment of SIGINT intercept teams in the identified frequency bands. Enhanced HUMINT debriefings with source ES-27 to confirm meeting details. [Flag—Acting supervisor: The lack of specificity here suggests an admirable level of trust in the reader’s imagination.] Coordination with Cyber Ops for real-time network traffic analysis. [Flag—Acting supervisor:  Nomenclature alone does not constitute a plan. Flesh this out.]

Notes [Acting Supervisor] : 

—Formatting inconsistent with NID operational report guidelines. You’ve transformed a simple formatting standard into an elusive art form. Bravo.

—Failure to attach referenced supporting materials AGAIN. This recurring omission hinders operational efficacy. Consider attaching documents next time.

—In conclusion, REWRITE.

---------------------------

Agent [Code: NID-SO-ES-07] — Field Report Upload Log (Revised Submission)

—Logged into secure terminal: Vienna Safehouse Terminal-2

—Date: 2022-07-10

—Time (UTC): 13:00

—Connected to secure node: NIDNet

—Report file: OP_SILENTRAVEN_AAR_v3.enc

—Encryption status: Secured with NID Master Key — encryption signature verified (Checksum ID: F1A9-7C3B-R2)

—Recipient(s): Jack Frost, Section Chief Special Operations (SO-92A), Acting Division Supervisor (DS-4), NID

—Transmission channel: Priority-One Secure Uplink (Classified Level: TOP SECRET)

—Transmission status: COMPLETE — audit log updated (Reference Log ID: ES07-0710-1300-R2)

—Backup status: Encrypted local backup stored (Partition ES-07-SAFE); master copy uploaded to Central Ops Archive (Vault-4, Revised Submission Folder)

—Field confirmation: Agent ES-07 signed digital attestation; no tampering detected; self-authentication successful

Note: Automatic alert dispatched to Division Supervisor terminal. Clearance authentication required upon access. Revision flag registered under Audit Protocol 4B.

---------------------------

Secure Directive

From: Jack Frost [NID-SO-JF-01]

Section Chief, Special Operations / Acting Division Supervisor [Code: NID-SO-92A/DS-4]

To: Elsa Stenford [Code: NID-SO-ES-07]

Subject: RE: Secure Directive – Operation Silent Raven Report , Revocation of Field Authority and Immediate Reassignment

Agent Stenford,

I was informed last afternoon that due to shifting operational priorities, the report in question [Ops Silent Raven] is no longer required. 

After review of your latest submission — the revised report you provided earlier today — I must formally acknowledge that the material remains below acceptable operational standards. While I did not realistically anticipate any significant improvement, it is nonetheless disappointing that even after detailed corrective input, your output failed to meet the basic analytical and procedural thresholds expected of an intelligence officer at your level.

However, the time I was forced to expend personally correcting and annotating your repeated errors constitutes an unacceptable diversion of supervisory resources. You have now occupied more of this division’s time and attention than your current role warrants.

Accordingly, effective immediately, your independent field authority is revoked. You are reassigned to trailing support under Intelligence Officer Logan Parrish [CODE: NID-SO-LP-33], Team Blue. While Officer Parrish holds the same formal rank as you, his superior reliability and competence justify his lead role in this arrangement.

You are to operate strictly under Officer Parrish’s direction, with no independent decision-making or external communications without prior clearance. This corrective assignment will remain in place until further notice and serves as a necessary intervention to address the persistent deficits in your performance.

You are to report to Team Blue at 07:00 hours tomorrow, prepared and fully compliant. Written acknowledgment of this directive is required by 16:00 hours today. Noncompliance will result in immediate formal disciplinary action.

Jack Frost [Code: NID-SO-JF-01]

Section Chief, Special Operations (SO-92A)

Acting Division Supervisor (DS-4)

National Intelligence Directorate

---------------------------

Elsa Stenford read the message over and over again, because she knew it wasn’t serious. It must be a mistake. A joke. That’s what it was. Maybe if she read it again, it would change, it would shift and it would fix itself. So she read it, the words physically burning her, over and over again, but it stayed the same. She just stared at it, mouth hanging open, eyes wide with shock, unblinking. 

“Elsa?” Merida’s voice shattered the silence in her head. “Are you—”

“THAT MISERABLE FUCKING BASTARD! THAT FUCKING—” She stopped herself, but there was just too much rage and hate in her, enough for her to combust and paint the walls red. "FUCKING PIECE OF SCUM! I FUCKING HATE HIM, THAT USELESS, ARROGANT, SLIMY RAT!"

---------------------------

[republicsecurity]

Collar knowledge

The collar is a force‑multiplier: it replaces two officers, a medic, a cam‑operator, and an evidence clerk—all in one 300‑gram halo. Use it correctly, and you control the incident with precision and minimal harm.

Why “around the neck”?

Because the cervical band is uniquely efficient:

Central Pathway Access – Major nerves and musculature converge here; minimal electrical dose achieves maximal neuromuscular override.

Stable Anchor Point – Unlike wrists or ankles, neck geometry is consistent across clothing styles and body types, streamlining one‑size deployment.

Sensor Sweet Spot – Carotid pulse, respiratory movement, and laryngeal vibration are all directly measurable for real‑time health and behavior analytics.

Proper Use Protocol

Default to Compliance‑Safe unless aggression or command orders otherwise.

Escalate only on metrics (force spike, flight attempt) or explicit directive; the system logs everything, so unjustified red‑lining will haunt your career.

Monitor vitals—if the collar flags hypoxia or arrhythmia, you must step down to dampening mode and request med‑drone support.

Document & Dock—after custody transfer, get it on the inductive cradle and push the incident packet to CIS.

[leiawritesstories]

PART ELEVEN: NOVEMBER

Word count: 10.1k

Warnings: Oof, this one's a doozy. Swearing, prison, police presence, shitloads of scheming, graphic violence, minor character d3@th, and angst

enjoy ;)

Masterlist

Read on AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Endovier Prison, as it turned out, really wasn’t all that awful of a place to live. 

To be fair, the food quality was subpar and the communal bathrooms reminded Aelin of being in the college dorms again, but all told, it wasn’t a terrible place, except for the silence. She had been placed in solitary confinement based on her “history of conspiring with others to evade containment,” but she was allowed to take her meals in the common dining room and have her recreation time along with the other inmates. She was always monitored by at least one guard, and for the most part, her guards were stolid, silent presences in her periphery. 

And then there was Remelle. 

Technically an officer of the Orynth Police Department, Remelle was assigned to Aelin’s prison guard rotation three days per week as an additional security measure. Orynth PD had requested to assign a police officer to her guard rotation to ensure that she wasn’t trying anything suspicious, and the guards at Endovier had agreed after some deliberation. Apparently, Remelle had volunteered to be the PD guard so fast the job wasn’t even available to anyone else. 

She had first shown up in the guard rotation about five days into Aelin’s sentence, and jealousy practically oozed from her pores. It had taken Aelin only half an hour to figure out that Remelle had a completely unrequited crush on Rowan, and it took her only a little bit longer to casually mention his name within Remelle’s hearing. The sneer on the cop’s face and the steam that could have poured out of her ears confirmed what Aelin already hypothesized—Remelle was viciously jealous of Aelin and Rowan’s relationship, no matter that it was over. 

Which made her the perfect linchpin to Aelin’s escape plan. 

Two weeks into November, her first month at Endovier, Aelin had demonstrated nothing but good behavior, and she was allowed to have supervised computer time each day. Part of that was necessary, since she was still working with Elide to finalize the transition of power in her company, and Aelin had shown no resistance to having one of her guards watching her while she worked for her allotted hour of computer time. She was so cooperative, in fact, that her guards had become complacent after a week of supervising her and begun to just sit outside the door to the computer room, glancing in every few minutes to make sure she was still there. 

As soon as the guards were out of the room, Aelin began adding an extra task to the handful of things she was wrapping up as her company transitioned into Elide’s capable hands. During her computer time, she casually started to peruse the computer’s data logs and trace its network paths, and she eventually discovered that all the prison’s computers ran on a central network, even the secured ones that only the guards and other staff used. 

Including the security staff. 

A few clever digs into the system’s backbrain got her into the logs for the security system itself, cameras and all, and she had slowly begun to map out where the relevant cameras were located and what mechanisms she could possibly trigger to get them on a temporary loop. 

She couldn’t risk working too quickly, though, so she only did a little bit more each day, slowly working her way into familiarity with the prison’s computer network. Interestingly, she had also found the log that tracked all the visits to the prison, and she noticed that she had two visitors waiting to see her. The yellow flag by her name was a warning—she was not yet cleared for visitors—but given her good behavior, she was fairly certain that it wouldn’t be long before she could have visitors. 

Endovier Prison wasn’t going to know what hit it when they allowed Aelin Galathynius to have visitors. 

~

In the weeks she had been there, Aelin had managed to make some acquaintances with other inmates during communal mealtimes or rec time. The most interesting one was a woman about ten years older than she was who had been in Endovier for six years, a timeline that she tracked by marking the days on her cell wall with charcoal. Her name was Petrah, and she had been a licensed cosmetologist with no intent or interest in the criminal life until she discovered that her ex-husband was involved with a major drug smuggling operation. When she confronted him, he denied it and threatened to forcibly silence her if she told anyone else about it. 

So she murdered him. 

Petrah had been found guilty of manslaughter but had successfully managed to prove that it was in self-defense, and her sentence was only ten years. She was up for parole the next year, and she was constantly asking Aelin questions about Orynth to prepare herself for a potential return to the city. Aelin was happy to answer her questions; she had even said she would provide a reference if Petrah ever wanted to look for work at Galathynius, Inc. Elide would be renaming the company, but the leadership team had yet to decide on a new name. Grateful, Petrah had thanked Aelin but said she didn’t think she would pursue that kind of employment. 

The two of them had a casual friendship, little more than the shared bond of fellow inmates in a high-security prison, but Aelin trusted Petrah enough to ask her a favor. In the middle of November, Aelin was moved from solitary confinement to a cell block in a different sector, and while she was still alone in her cell, she had neighbors along the hallway. One of them was Petrah. 

“Morning, Sardothien. How does the slop look today?” Petrah’s raspy voice greeted Aelin as she set down her tray on the long metal cafeteria table. 

With a scoff, Aelin pushed her spoon around the grayish mass that was supposedly oatmeal. “No better than yesterday,” she drawled. “Seems like the supplies are getting a little thin.” 

Petrah chuckled. “It happens every few weeks. What it usually means is that the delivery comes at the end of the week, and they’ve got to get rid of as much stuff as possible.” 

“Fair enough.” Aelin managed to force down about half her portion, chasing it with multiple cups of bitter drip coffee. “Hey, do you still have any of your stuff from the salon?” 

“Yeah, I brought a box when they sent me here.” Petrah raised a brow. “Why?” 

Aelin shrugged, aware that the guards were probably watching and listening to her. “I feel like a little bit of a change. Got any bleach?” 

“Hmm.” Petrah tipped her head sideways, thinking. “I might.” 

When rec time rolled around that day, Aelin went over to the small, sparsely stocked library, and she was slowly browsing through the handful of books that looked interesting when Petrah tapped her on the shoulder. “I’ve got bleach.” 

“Perfect.” Aelin left the books alone and went down to the bathrooms with the stylist. “I was thinking I wanted to go platinum, or as close to that as you could get.” 

The older woman nodded, a sly grin tugging at her lips. “Ever bleached your hair before?” 

“I’ve had highlights, but not for years.” 

“Okay.” Petrah lined up a few bottles on the shelf under the small mirror in front of one of the sinks. “Damn, this brings back college.” 

“Tell me about it,” Aelin chuckled. “Looks just like the dorm bathrooms.” 

“Yeah.” Petrah tugged Aelin’s hair out of the braid she usually kept it in and glanced quickly towards the door. The bathrooms were about the only part of Endovier that didn’t have security cameras, and Aelin was half convinced there were hidden microphones somewhere. “We’re safe here,” Petrah said softly, keeping her tone low. “So tell me, Shadow Assassin. Is there any other reason you had this desire for a change?” 

Aelin met the stylist’s eyes in the mirror. 

And smirked. 

~

It had been twenty-five minutes since her visit began, and Elide was still sneaking astonished glances at Aelin’s hair. Aelin smothered her laughter and kept her face neutral as she chatted aimlessly with her dear friend. She’d finally been cleared for visitors two days ago, and Elide was the first one to arrive, bringing a stack of paperwork with her. Despite the no-touching and no-exchanges rule, she’d strolled right into the visitors’ room and plopped the stack of paper right down in front of Aelin. 

“No passing, ma’am,” the guard on duty interrupted, his eyes darting awkwardly between the current CEO of Galathynius, Inc. and the Shadow Assassin. 

Elide’s polite smile could have cut glass. “Would you like to sort through this paperwork yourself, Officer…” She glanced at his name tag. “Officer Owen?”

The man gulped nervously, stepped forward, and picked up the stack of papers. He flipped through it and set it back down. “A-all clear.” 

“Good.” Elide sat across from Aelin and handed a pen to the guard, who managed to give it to Aelin without dropping it. “These need your signatures, Aelin. It’s backlog from before the transfer.” 

“Couldn’t be bothered to use digital paperwork, I guess.” Aelin picked up the pen and started working through the paperwork, scratching her signature onto the blank lines. Elide updated her on the company business as she worked, and it was only a few minutes before the guard’s eyes began to glaze over and he retreated to the opposite corner of the room. Aelin stifled a chuckle. 

Nox Owen put on the second-best performance she’d seen in an undercover agent. Only Ren Allsbrook had been better. 

As Elide stole another glance at Aelin’s new, icy-toned hair, she caught the blonde’s gaze and sighed, shaking her head. “Didn’t take long for the boredom to kick in, did it?” 

Aelin shrugged. “When I got moved out of solitary, I found out that one of the nearby inmates is a cosmetologist. She’s nice. I felt like having a little fun.” 

Elide laughed softly. “I suppose you have to find those moments when you can, given that you’re never seeing the outside of this place.” 

“I see a few yards of the walls once a day,” Aelin joked. “Don’t worry about me, Ells. I’m okay.” 

“Really?” 

A shrug. “It’s not my apartment by any means, but it’s not awful.” 

“Hmm.” Elide pulled the finished stack of paperwork back over to her side of the table. “Officer?” 

At the sound of his title, Nox jerked and came to stand a few feet away from Elide. “Yes?” 

Elide turned a warm, charming smile onto the man. “Officer, is it possible for inmates here to receive care packages from outside?” 

“Well, I, um…” Nox cleared his throat, perfectly acting as a nervous wreck of a new prison guard. “All incoming mail must be thoroughly inspected by prison security.” 

“So that’s a yes?” 

“Yes, ma’am. You can put the inmate’s name and the prison’s address, and as long as the package passes inspection, the inmate will receive it.” 

“Wonderful!” Elide beamed. “I’d just like to make sure Aelin gets some real food, since she’s said that the food quality here isn’t all that great.” 

“If you could include extra for my cell-block neighbors, that would be great,” Aelin added. 

Elide nodded crisply. “Of course.” She made eye contact with Aelin, and the pair exchanged the slightest nod. “Is there anything specific you’d want besides food?” 

“Hmm…probably toothpaste and maybe some tampons. The ones in the communal bathrooms fall apart too fast. Oh!” Aelin grinned. “And if you happen to throw a few pieces of hazelnut dark chocolate in there, I’d be a happy woman.” 

“You and your chocolate,” Elide laughed. “Okay.” 

“Um, visit time is up, ma’am,” Nox interrupted, voice quavering. 

“I know.” Elide tucked the paperwork into her folder. “Would you be so kind as to show me the way out, Officer Owen?” She gave Aelin one last glance before she walked out the door, following Nox Owen in his prison guard’s disguise back out of Endovier. 

Another guard came into the visitors’ room. “Computer time, Galathynius,” he said curtly. Aelin followed him out and down the hallways to the computer room, mentally memorizing her steps. Although she could probably just follow another guard when she eventually made her break, it would go better if she didn’t. Besides, the cover she planned to use knew her way around Endovier. 

Or at least she should, after several weeks of being Aelin’s personal police guard. 

“You have thirty minutes.” The guard opened the door, checked the room, and sat down in the chair right outside the computer room. Not very talkative, this one. 

Aelin sat down at the computer and went to her email, where she answered some of the queries that still came to her and redirected others back to Elide. The camera in this room faced the chair, not the screen, and she kept her face and posture casual and neutral as she opened up another window and navigated herself easily into the prison’s computer system. Since everything was centralized, it had been laughably easy to clear her file’s hold, making it appear that the superintendent had cleared Prisoner Galathynius for visitors. The central system also made it much easier to track and locate the camera system, and in just over four weeks, Aelin had managed to map out the locations of every security camera in Endovier. 

The next step was figuring out how to run a certain sector of the cameras on a loop. She’d started with the one directly opposite her cell a week ago. A few typed commands, and that camera had blinked and gone dark for a few seconds, then rebooted. Aelin tried a few different methods, and eventually, she discovered how to make that camera replay a previously recorded segment of footage. She then moved on and started trying to sync up more cameras, a task that had proved more challenging. 

But after two weeks of work, she finally had it down. 

A handful of commands and a couple of passwords swiped from a database—really, this whole centralized system was just such a peach—and all twenty cameras in the sector Aelin had targeted were running a section of footage from a week ago. 

Beautiful. 

Aelin set the cameras back on their normal track, cleared all evidence of her meddling, and was closing out of her email when the guard opened the door again. 

“Time’s up.” He walked over and watched as she calmly exited the computer. 

She followed him back to her cell, and once his footsteps had receded, she sat down on her bed and picked up a journal from the shelf built into the wall. She knew the guards probably searched her books every once in a while, so she was careful to keep every piece of her plans in a code that only she knew. The words were ostensibly normal, set up as an ordinary journal entry, and the cute little drawings in the margins and on some of the pages were also apparently mindless scribbles. 

In Aelin’s eyes, the words and the sketches turned into her plan to get out of Endovier and finish Maeve Bitchface once and for all. 

And if she died in the process, then so fucking be it.

~

Nox Owens was having the time of his fucking life. 

When Elide had contacted him in the middle of Aelin’s trial, he’d been expecting another ordinary request for a tech job, which was his usual role. But she had surprised him—of course she had. If he knew anything about the Boss, it was that she always had another plan up that infinite sleeve of hers. Instead of a tech job, she wanted him to get into Endovier. As a guard. 

That was always Ren’s job. 

Nox had plenty of spy training and experience, but his primary strength was his tech savvy, and once Ren had joined the Boss’s team, he’d been content to take the tech jobs and leave the infiltrations to the most wanted spy in the world. But Ren was dead, and the Boss wanted Nox to work as her inside man. And it had been a hell of a long time since he’d had the chance to practice this skill set. 

It had been almost laughably easy to slip into Endovier’s database and add himself to the prison guard register, which rotated frequently enough that another new name didn’t catch any second glances. He barely even bothered to change his name, and his prison guard nameplate read “Nick Owen,” a bland, forgettable name to go with his bland, forgettable face. Just for fun, he swiped Ren’s fingerprints from the Boss’s archive and imprinted them onto the SecondSkin he applied to his hands—if he was ever printed, the staff would have such a fun time scratching their heads at the fact that this guard’s prints apparently matched those of a former inmate, one who was supposed to be dead. 

About a week after she visited, Elide Lochan sent a plain cardboard box by courier to Endovier Prison. As he passed by the shipping room on his rotation, Nox heard the gruff bark of the mail supervisor. 

“Owen! C’mere!” 

He strolled over, stopped a few paces away, and fiddled with the cuffs of his sleeves. “Yes?” 

“Quit twitching,” grumbled the crotchety old man who’d been the mail supervisor at Endovier for twenty years and counting. “Damn newbies.” 

“S-sorry, sir,” Nox mumbled, masking his snicker with a wobbly voice. 

“Just stop shaking, newbie.” The man pulled a box across the table and tugged the small, flat white envelope off the top of the box. He tore it open, and Nox swore he saw an avaricious smile flicker across the supervisor’s face at the sight of the cash inside the envelope. “Here. This one’s for Sardothien.” 

Nox cleared his throat. “Aren’t we supposed to inspect every package that comes for an inmate?” 

The supervisor chuckled dryly. “I see someone memorized the handbook.” Carelessly, he took a box knife out of his pocket, slit through the tape, and gave a cursory sweep of his hand through the contents of the box, then slapped a stamp on top of the cardboard. “How’s that for inspection, Owen?” 

“I…uh…” Nox pretended to be lost for words. 

“Good lad.” The supervisor tucked a stack of cash into the inside pocket of his vest and passed Nox fifty dollars. “This is called an inspection fee.” 

“Really?” 

“Of course not!” A rattling cackle scraped out of the mail supervisor’s throat. “It’s called good business for me and some goddamn tampons for Prisoner Sardothien. Now quit shaking and take that box to Sardothien’s cell.” 

“Yes, sir!” Nox picked up the box, slapped a bit of tape on top to hold it together, and left the mailroom as fast as possible. He wove through the corridors, flashing his badge when necessary, and came to Aelin’s cell. The snide blonde policewoman was leaning on the wall beside the cell door, a sneer on her face like usual. She glanced sideways at Nox as he approached. 

“What do you want?” 

“Delivery for the inmate,” he said coolly, showing the cop the box. The red stamp indicating that it had passed inspection glared against the beige cardboard. 

The cop sniffed haughtily. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t contain any contraband.” 

“Whatever.” Nox set the box on the floor and folded his arms. He’d learned very quickly that the easiest way to deal with the snippy blonde cop was to go along with whatever her snide, bitchy voice said. 

“You could at least hold it,” she huffed. 

He shrugged. “It’s stable, and you can make sure anything you flag doesn’t get passed to the inmate.” 

She curled her lip, but knelt down, tore the tape off, and started sifting through the contents of the box. A plastic bag full of tampons was pushed aside, and she sorted a whole pile of electrolyte drink packets into stacks and shook the empty plastic water bottle. She went through the handful of food items too, exhaling in disgust when she didn’t find anything suspicious enough to confiscate. “Fine. The inmate can have the box.” 

“About time,” Aelin drawled from inside her cell, where she was sitting on her bed, watching the cop tear through the box. “Thank you for your excellent supervision, Remy.” 

“Don’t call me that,” the cop snapped, her icy-blue eyes narrowed into little slits. Once again, Nox was struck by how similar she looked to Aelin—with the exception of the eyes and the sneer. She unlocked the cell door, and Nox slid the box into the room. 

“So kind of you, Remy darling.” Aelin’s snicker floated over the sound of the cop slamming the cell door shut in frustration. She flicked through the box aimlessly, then took out an energy bar and tossed it through the bars of her cell. “Here, Rems, have a little something sweet to counteract all that bitterness.” 

Nox turned and strode away down the corridor before he could erupt into laughter at the shade of enraged purple that Remy the Cop’s face turned. 

He knew goddamn well what was in that box, and it wasn’t just the food and period products that seemed to be in there. While there was ordinary food and ordinary tampons, there was also some quantity of Aelin’s SecondSkin, the very same substance that was currently covering Nox’s hands. He didn’t know exactly how much Elide and Nehemia had folded up and tucked into the decoy drink packets, but if Aelin was going to use it to get herself out of Endovier, he could only imagine that it was a lot. 

And he could only imagine the look on her face when she strolled out in plain sight. 

~

Four weeks, two days, and seven hours after she became an inmate of Endovier Prison, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius received the package that would get her out. 

Elide and Nehemia had done everything exactly as they had all planned. Carefully measured and prepped sections of SecondSkin were tucked into a number of the electrolyte drink packets, and a set of ice-blue contact lenses hid in another packet. Elide had even tucked a tiny scrap of a note into one of the packets, and Aelin chuckled at her familiar, comfortingly blunt writing. She confirmed that everything was in place for whenever Aelin decided to make her move. 

Which meant that Maeve Bitchface had taken the bait. 

Aelin smothered a smirk. She’d never really doubted that Maeve would fall for her trap, not when that woman’s ego was so laughably easy to predict. Aelin knew Maeve was gloating over her arrest and imprisonment, and that meant she’d grown too comfortable in her power. A short note from Connall had been tucked into an earlier letter from Elide, and in code, he confirmed that he’d run the course of poisoning the Bitch Queen of the Night, and she was visibly weakened and frantically throwing money at anyone she thought could help her condition. 

The second she got through Endovier’s gates, Aelin would be heading straight for Maeve Bitchface’s cute little compound. Well, not straight—she knew the most convoluted path to get there, and she’d take it to keep any potential pursuit off her trail. She and that bitch had a score to settle. 

Shaking those thoughts away, Aelin carefully sorted the normal drink packets from the SecondSkin ones. All the orange-flavored ones were SecondSkin, both because it was the most common flavor and because Aelin loathed artificial orange flavoring almost as much as she loathed Maeve. She tucked the orange ones into the plastic basket where she kept her shower things, hiding them beneath her bar of soap and her washcloths. 

A couple of days later, in the shower, Aelin turned the water on extra hot, creating a cloud of steam in the shower room. Behind the plastic curtains, she tore into the packets, unfolded the SecondSkin, and began the tedious process of laying the film atop her skin. Somewhere around half an hour in, a guard rapped on the door and grunted something about not taking too much time. 

Aelin ignored him, of course. 

It took a good forty-five minutes to get every piece of SecondSkin laid onto her skin, and she wrapped a towel around her hair and put on a clean set of inmate scrubs. Only a few more days in this rancid orange, she promised herself. Only a few more days. 

“About damn time,” the guard grumbled when she emerged from the shower room. 

She shrugged. “I’m a woman. We take long showers every once in a while.” 

“Whatever.” He led her back to her cell, and she lounged on her bed, content for a while. She picked up her journal and wrote aimlessly on one of the last pages, her pencil moving almost without any conscious effort. Her shower had been a night one, and it wasn’t long before the corridor lights dimmed and she tucked her journal back onto its shelf. She fell asleep dreaming of the smell of fresh pine air in her lungs and the sweet taste of freedom. 

And she dreamed snippets of strong, tattooed muscles flexing and shifting above her skin, fragments of tortured moans breaking the thick, hot air. Shattered emerald eyes stole a glance at her, and in an instant, the dream crumbled, giving way to cold concrete and steel. 

Fuck. 

~

Aelin pushed the scraps of her dreams away as she went about her day, letting nothing show. When the usual guard came to escort her to the computer room, she walked in calmly, sat herself down, and let her fingers fly over the keyboard. She was into the system and navigating to the cameras almost before her brain caught up with her actions, and she forced herself to stop and breathe deeply before she went on, lest she make a wrong move and trigger some kind of alert. 

Now or never, Galathynius. She entered the sequence of keystrokes that gave her command over her sector’s cameras, and in a matter of minutes, that entire section was playing a loop from two days ago. 

That loop was the last time Remelle was on Aelin’s guard rotation. 

Like clockwork, the platinum-blonde cop joined the guard as Aelin was returning from computer time, a sneer on her face. “No snide comments today, inmate?” 

“It’s too early for that,” Aelin returned sweetly. As they rounded the corner into her corridor, she nodded a fraction at the guard. Obediently, Nox started to walk faster, and as if on cue, Remelle stopped and scowled. 

“There’s no need to rush, guard.” 

Nox shrugged. “I’m not rushing.” 

“You are.” 

“Didn’t seem like I was.” 

She huffed in irritation. “Just go back to your rotation. I can handle the inmate from here.” 

“Fine.” Nox peeled away and headed back down the corridor, off to his usual path. 

Remelle curled her acrylic-tipped fingers around Aelin’s arm. “Just you and me now, inmate.” 

Aelin fixed a dry, blank stare on the cop. “Is that supposed to be threatening, Remy? Because you should know that you sound childish at best.” 

“Shut it,” she snapped. “Get moving.” 

“Hard to do that with such a…significant weight clinging onto me.” Aelin knew it was a low blow to comment on another woman’s size, but Remelle fucking had it coming. 

The cop gasped, then her face burned scarlet. “You little bitch,” she hissed. She threw Aelin’s cell door open with a rattling clang, following her into the small room. 

Perfect. 

As Remelle wound up to slap her across the face, Aelin slipped a tiny syringe out of her pocket, ducked the cop’s wild swing, and grabbed her ponytail, holding her head still as she stuck the needle into the nape of her neck. Her hairline would conceal any puncture marks. Remelle’s eyes went wide, and she flailed without success—the sedative worked rapidly, and Aelin had asked Nehemia for enough to knock the woman out for a good twenty-four hours. 

When Remelle sank to the floor, unconscious, Aelin swiftly stripped her of her clothes, then removed her own prison scrubs and did a quick clothing swap. Before she put the undershirt onto Remelle, she very carefully applied the SecondSkin patches to her fingertips. The synthetic nearly disappeared into her skin, and Aelin chuckled as she put the pinch-faced cop into her prison clothes. 

“Enjoy your stay,” she crooned, tidily switching the cuff from her wrist to Remelle’s. She stepped in front of the mirror, applied the pale blue contacts to her eyes, and then slipped the turquoise ones into Remelle’s eyes. “And thank you,” she added as she settled Remelle into the bed, tucked the blankets up around her, grabbed her journal, and left the cell. 

She’d memorized Remelle’s schedule, so it was natural for her to adopt the cop’s sneer and customarily pinched expression as she sauntered down the corridors. A brief stop at the staff computer room allowed her to transition the cameras from their loop back to their normal settings, and she went back to her corridor and stood the rest of her Celaena Duty before the next guard came to relieve her. 

“Any changes?” the guard asked. 

Aelin curled her lip. “Why would there be?” she snipped in a flawless imitation of Remelle’s nasal whine. She’d had weeks to perfect that inflection. 

He held up his hands. “Standard question, as usual.” 

“Well, if it’s so standard, just stop asking.” Aelin turned on her heel and walked snootily down the corridors. She passed rows of cells, ascended a couple of floors, and went down more hallways, carefully following Remelle’s usual path, which Nox (and her studies of the security camera footage) had graciously provided. 

In the guards’ break room, she picked up Remelle’s uniform jacket and backpack, into which Nox had tucked a plastic bag containing a change of clothes. She swiped her badge at the door and went out to the checkpoint, where all she had to do was sneer at the fidgety young man on duty as he double-checked her badge before he let her through. Jingling the keys on her belt, she walked over to the parked police sedan, unlocked it, dumped her bag on the passenger seat, and got in. 

And she drove out of Endovier’s gates in an Orynth PD vehicle. 

Fuck, she liked irony. 

Aelin drove to a gas station on the western outskirts of Orynth, parked just out of range of the single camera by the gas pumps, and got out of the car. She quickly stripped for the second time in a few hours, changed into the formfitting dark clothes that Nox had left for her, tidily folded Remelle’s uniform and left it and everything else in a neat stack on the passenger seat of the sedan, clicked the manual lock switch, and tossed the keys into the car before she closed the door. 

Let Orynth PD figure that one out. 

She knew the gas station was rarely open—hell, she often had a couple of her guys use this place for distributions—so she ducked around the side of the building, swiftly crossed the street, and disappeared into the tightly clustered tangle of buildings that lined this side of Orynth. As the afternoon faded into evening, Aelin let her muscle memory take over, winding a circuitous, rambling path through half of Orynth, doubling and tripling back to tangle up her trail. She worked her way around the outer districts, a grin curling the corners of her lips as the familiar steel and brick walls of the industrial district rose up around her. 

About half a mile away from her favorite riverside warehouse, an old apartment building had been taped off and designated for destruction. Aelin had the Boss’s men plant those signs months ago, planning to use the building as a contingency. She slipped in through a ground-floor window, shook the dust off of her shoes, and latched the window shut before she went down the hallway into the darkened building. 

To her pleasant surprise, the reinforced walls around the kitchen were even sturdier than before, and she flipped on the soft light as she walked in. With a long, muffled groan, she sat down at one of the high stools, relieved to get off her feet after so much walking. 

“Good to see you again, Boss.” The voice nearly made Aelin jump out of her skin. 

“Fuck!” She pressed a hand against her thundering heart as she turned around to meet Elide’s sly grin. “Scared the hell out of me, Ells.” 

Elide snickered. “The bold Officer Remelle would never be so terrified.” 

Aelin rolled her eyes. “The bold Officer Remelle wasted most of her boldness trying to get into my—into some man’s pants.” 

“I’m almost surprised,” Elide continued, tactfully ignoring Aelin’s slip of speech. “If you were still in the uniform, I’d probably think you were actually Remy.” 

“Don’t call me that!” Aelin sniped in her Remelle voice. Elide bent over, howling, and Aelin’s laughter joined in. “Hey, when you give a girl enough time with nothing else to do…” 

“Nice work.” Elide discreetly wiped the corners of her eyes. “Right. Here’s your phone.” She passed Aelin a nondescript burner phone. “Con’s number is already there.” 

“Perfect.” Aelin tucked the phone into a side pocket of her pants. “Where’s the best place for me at the moment?” 

“Right now?” Elide bubbled her lips. “Probably here, honestly. Stay the night—the place is secure and should have everything you need. I’ll update you tomorrow—actually, it’ll probably be Con. He’s better at going around unnoticed than I am.” 

“Side effects of being a high-profile CEO,” Aelin joked. “Speaking of—have you and the team figured out a new name yet?” One of the clauses in the transfer of ownership was renaming the company, since there was a high chance that people wouldn’t want to be associated with a company named after an infamous criminal. 

“We have some options, but nothing is set.” Elide tapped her phone, pulling up a page on her notes app. “Staghorn Development is currently the top choice, though.” 

“I like that.” Aelin mulled over the name. “If my opinion has any weight—which it probably doesn’t—I’m a fan of Staghorn.” 

Elide’s lips quirked upwards. “Good to know.” She slipped her phone back into her jacket. “I have to get home, but Ae?” 

“Yeah?” 

The petite woman grinned. “It’s so good to see you safe.” 

Impulsively, Aelin hugged Elide. “Thank you,” she murmured. “For everything.” 

“Least I could do.” Elide squeezed Aelin’s hands. “I’ll see you soon.” She left, and Aelin waited for the muffled click of the doors locking before she headed further down the hallway, towards the bedroom and bathroom. 

After a long, hot shower that made her feel both clean and more human, Aelin changed into fresh undergarments and the same clothes she’d been wearing. The nondescript, cheap cotton-blend clothes could have come from anywhere, which made them perfect for sneaking around in. She’d taken out the pale blue contacts and tossed them in the trash before her shower, but she kept the protective film of SecondSkin on her hands. 

Better to mask her fingerprints than to get caught too early. 

She flipped on the bedside lamp in the plainly furnished bedroom and gratefully crawled into bed, near tears at the feeling of a proper mattress beneath her body for the first time in over a month. Unable to fall asleep without some kind of light—she’d grown accustomed to the hallway lights in Endovier—she left the lamp on and drifted off, letting her body shut down as the adrenaline high finally wore off. 

When she woke up, watery grey sunlight had broken through the clouds of the late-November sky, and she rolled over and just stared out of the window, soaking in the morning light for the first time in weeks. Eventually, she rolled out of bed, brushed her teeth, redid her braid, and made herself a coffee in the kitchen. She sipped it carelessly as she fiddled with her phone, waiting for Con to text. 

And when he did, she couldn’t control the smirk that spread across her face. 

~

For about the trillionth time in the last year, Rowan was royally fucking pissed, and Aelin was the reason for it. 

“What the fuck do you mean?” he snarled, hands clenched into fists atop his desk. The cold wood was still unfamiliar under his fingers, so different from the steel tables of the police building. 

“Watch it, Lieutenant,” Gavriel warned from the doorway. 

Rowan pulled in a deep breath and shoved it out in a harsh exhale. “Where is she?” 

“Downstairs, in a temporary holding cell until we can verify that it’s actually her.” 

“I’m going to talk to her.” He was halfway out the door when Gav’s iron hand clamped around his upper arm. “What?” 

“I don’t think that’s the best idea, Whitethorn,” Gav said, coolly. 

Scarlet anger crept up the edges of Rowan’s vision. “Why not, sir?” 

“You have a personal history with this woman—technically, with both of these women, since you worked with PD for almost a year. I’d hate for that to compromise anything.” 

“I understand, sir, but—” 

“But nothing,” Gav interrupted, cutting him off. “No.” 

Rather than tearing free from his commander’s grasp, Rowan deflated, his posture going slack. “I only want a few minutes, sir. I…” He cleared his throat, not expecting this tangle of emotion. “I need to know.” 

After a long, tense moment, Gav sighed. “Fine. I’ll give you five minutes. When the timer goes off, you get the hell out of there or I swear to all that’s holy I’ll slap you right back into basic training.” 

“Yes, sir.” Rowan snapped off a salute at his commander and strode down the hallways, his pace increasing with every step he took. He took an elevator down several floors, flashed his badge at the pair of TSF guards stationed outside the double doors that blocked off the temporary holding quarters that took up half the floor of the TSF building’s basement, and pulled the doors open. Inside, he took a deep breath, dredging up every scrap of resolve he could summon, and walked down another few yards. 

He stopped in front of the first holding cell, clasped his hands behind his back, and turned an impassive gaze onto the platinum-blonde woman seated on the bench inside the cell. The instant she saw him, she shot up to her feet, folded her arms across her chest, reared her head back, and sneered at him, her pale lips curling back, rage filling her icy blue eyes. 

“Hello, Remelle,” Rowan said quietly. 

“Fuck you,” Remelle snapped. 

Rowan raised a brow. “If this is some kind of plot to escape Endovier, I’m afraid you’ve failed.” 

She practically growled at him. “I’ve told every stupid asshole in this place and I’ll tell you too: I am not Aelin!” 

“That’s not what your fingerprints say,” he replied. 

She laughed caustically and, to his surprise, pinched her skin between the tips of her acrylic nails and yanked, and the skin at the tip of her finger peeled away. “Because that bitch put her fingerprints on me, asshole.”

“Prove it.” Rowan leaned against the wall opposite the holding cell and waited for Remelle to yank the synthetic off of her fingertips. She shoved the synthetic through the slot in the door, and he tucked it into a plastic bag to give to the forensics team. 

“Get me out of here,” she snapped again. 

Rowan had only vaguely wondered whether Remelle was actually Aelin in disguise, and he was unsurprised to find that it wasn’t. “That’s not for me to do,” he tossed over his shoulder as his timer rang. The guard from outside the holding area poked his head in and gestured, and Rowan turned on his heel and left, letting Remelle’s enraged whining fade away. 

“I’m taking this to forensics,” he told Gav, who was waiting outside the holding area. 

Gav nodded. “Did you get your answers?” 

“I’ve seen enough,” was all that Rowan said. “Should be fine to let her go, if only to get rid of the goddamn whining.” 

“You’re certain?” 

“Yes. Sir,” he added, tacking on Gav’s title at the last second. 

Gav raised a brow but otherwise didn’t react to Rowan’s near instance of insubordination. “I’ll let her get back to PD, then. Wait for me in my office, Whitethorn.” 

Not trusting himself to reply verbally, Rowan dipped his head tersely, saluted, and headed upstairs, where he dropped off the bag at the forensics lab and walked back to Gav’s office. He only waited for around ten minutes before the commander came into the office, sighed heavily, and sat back down at his desk. 

“That woman is a piece of fucking work,” Gav grumbled, mostly to himself. 

Rowan didn’t suppress his snort. “Couldn’t agree more, sir.” 

“If she’s always like that…” He scoffed quietly. “I can’t say I blame my niece for choosing that woman as a decoy.” 

“I don’t think that was the whole reason, sir,” Rowan said. He’d been thinking over the situation as he waited, and while his thoughts were still clouded with rage—and a hefty dose of lust, if he was being honest, because clever, scheming Aelin had a way of working him up—he’d formed a somewhat solid hypothesis. “Besides her, uh, cattier tendencies, Remelle also looks remarkably physically similar to Sardothien, a fact that I’m sure she knew.” 

“You know that’s not Aelin’s real name, Whitethorn.” Gav made a statement, not a question. 

It was real enough to convict her. “I…it’s easier this way, sir.” Rowan swallowed the lump in his throat and kept talking. “I suspect she began planning this as soon as she found out that Remelle was the police officer on duty. However, I’m perplexed at the footage, since it shows no apparent signs of tampering and everything looks perfectly normal.” A crease dug between his furrowed brows. “I’m having Luca at PD look at the footage, since he was the one to figure out Sardothien’s loop when she broke into PD headquarters in the summer.” 

Gav chuckled. “Back up, Whitethorn. She broke into Orynth PD?” 

“Yes, sir.” Rowan stifled his irritation. “Somehow, she managed to put the entire security camera system on a closed loop—except for my personal camera. We still have no knowledge what exactly she did while there, but since nothing was visibly disturbed, it was probably just recon.” 

“Interesting.” Gav tapped his chin, thinking. “Do you have any idea where she is now?” 

“I…no, sir.” Rowan reluctantly answered. “She could be anywhere.” His phone buzzed, and he glanced down at the screen. And a fresh wave of scarlet washed across his vision. “Goddammit!” Composing himself, he showed Gav the messages from Luca. “Apologies for the outburst, sir. Luca just confirmed that there was in fact a rather sophisticated loop run on Endovier’s security cameras for several hours.” 

“All of the cameras?” 

“No, sir. Only the sector of cameras by Sardothien’s cell.” 

“What does the footage show when the loop ends?” 

Rowan sent Luca a text, and it was only a few minutes before the younger cop replied. “That’s the confusing part, sir. When the loop ends, the cameras show Sardothien asleep in her cell—which is to be expected for around ten p.m.—and Remelle changing duty as normal. We checked the rest of the cameras as well, tracking Remelle’s path, and it’s completely ordinary. And then, the next day, Sardothien wakes up and starts screaming at the guards to get her out.” 

“And she turns out to be Remelle,” Gav finished. 

“Correct, sir.” 

Gav pressed his lips into a flat line. “Is there anywhere else that we could look for intel?” 

Rowan sighed heavily. “I don’t know yet, sir. We might be able to ask PD to search the area around Endovier for any signs, but—” Before he could finish his thought, both his and Gav’s phones pinged at once. His eyes rapidly scanned the alert. 

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Gav stood up and pocketed his phone. “Looks like I’ll be heading down to PD headquarters after all.” 

“Sir, I—”

“No.” 

Rowan blinked. “Sir?” 

“No,” Gav repeated, the command clear as day. 

“Sir, with all due respect, I have the most information on Celaena Sardothien, and as the TSF agent from the case, I believe I should know about this new development.” 

“You already have your answer, Lieutenant Whitethorn.” Gav drilled a steely stare into Rowan’s forehead. “It’s in the best interest of both you and this case that you leave the case behind. Any further attempts to participate will be considered violation of a direct order, and you will be punished accordingly, Whitethorn. Clear?” 

Rowan locked his jaw. “Yes, sir.” 

“Good.” As Gav left his office, he tucked a folded piece of scrap paper into Rowan’s clenched fist, sparing him a hint of a nod as he strode down the hallway. Reining in his fury, Rowan stormed back down to his much smaller office, threw the door shut, and unfolded the note. 

Unless I tell you otherwise—Stay. Fucking. Put.

He’d be fucking damned if he did. 

~

There’s a cop in my backseat. 

Nox navigated the meandering turns of the industrial district with ease, focusing more of his attention on the serpentine tangle of streets rather than on the trussed-up, unconscious cop occupying the back seat of his nondescript car. Officer Remelle had been almost laughably easy to kidnap, since she was so overcome with rage at her recent run-in first with Aelin and then with the Terrasen Special Forces. Nox had lingered outside a chain coffee shop a couple of miles away from TSF headquarters, waiting, and the moment Remelle had stopped for her usual beverage, he struck. He knew the TSF and the police were probably scurrying around the coffee shop like a bunch of idiots by now, and he couldn’t help but snicker at the thought. 

Mostly hidden by the cold, foggy darkness and the smoggy smear that hung over the industrial district, Nox parked his car about half a mile away from the overgrown path that led down to the Boss’s riverside warehouse, climbed out, and hoisted the still-unconscious Remelle over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. He backtracked down the side alleys, doubling and tripling back on his steps to confuse anyone that might try to track him, and eventually pushed through the curtain of brittle branches and headed down to the warehouse. 

“Nice work, Owens.” The soft, crackly voice sounded abruptly in his ear, and he almost dropped Remelle onto the half-frozen ground. 

“Fuck’s sake, Boss!” 

The Boss snickered. From her perch somewhere outside the warehouse, she was watching her set of concealed cameras as the final pieces of her grand plan fell into place. “Upper mezzanine. And be quick—Her Royal Bitchiness should be here in an hour or so.” 

“Sure thing.” Nox crossed the final stretch of pavement and entered the warehouse’s dim gloom. 

“Oh, and Owens?” 

“Yeah?” 

“There’s a chance that PD might be on scene by the end of the night.” 

“Good to know, Boss.” He glanced over his shoulder, a little unsettled by the fact that she could see him but he couldn’t see her. “You know where the car is.” 

“Indeed.” A sinister note crept into her voice. 

Nox went up to the mezzanine, where he set Remelle down, untied her, and set her up so she was faced out over the warehouse, head turned away from the south door. To stabilize her, he cuffed her hands to the metal railings and hooked a short grappling cable from the wall to the crossed straps of her weapons harness. As he slipped down the stairs, he heard the distinct rattle of another door being opened, and his hand flew to the knife tucked into his waistband. 

The west door creaked open, and a man dressed in nondescript gray fatigues and some kind of military vest ducked inside, his dark hair and clothing blending him into the shadows almost seamlessly. But Nox was friends with the shadows too, and he slipped up behind the man and had a knife to his throat in seconds. 

“Who the fuck are you?” he hissed. 

Faster than he thought possible, the man slipped his hold, whirling and grabbing his knife hand and immobilizing it above his head. “Who the fuck are you?” he retorted. 

Nox jabbed the man in the ribs and slithered free. “Call me Nox.” 

“The other man paused. “You’re the Boss’s spy.” 

Caught off guard, Nox lowered his knife halfway. “And…?” 

“I’m Con,” the dark-haired man said. 

“Con,” Nox repeated. A smirk crawled across his face. “Is that short for Convict?” 

Con snorted. “Why would I tell you?” 

“Because of my pretty face and winning personality?” 

“I’ve seen better.” Con’s onyx gaze traveled slowly down Nox’s face, half-obscured in the warehouse’s gloom. 

“Oh, I hardly believe that.” Nox winked, slowly, watching a faint blush creep over Con’s cheekbones. Hell. He was a pretty one. 

“Boys,” Celaena’s drawl crackled through each of their earpieces. “I hate to interrupt your little meet-cute, but I’m tracking a royal bitch onto the property.” 

“Heard.” Nox and Con spoke at the same time. 

Con was the first to break their stare. “I’m in place,” he answered Celaena. 

“Leaving,” Nox said hurriedly, and he ducked out the west door with a last glance at the pretty man in the warehouse. “Boss, who the hell is he?” 

She chuckled. “A former Navy SEAL and my inside operative at Maeve’s compound.” 

“Damn.” Nox whistled. “Man of many talents.” The line went silent, and he swiftly scaled the ladder rungs built into the steel wall of the warehouse and crouched on the rooftop. Some of the roof’s panels were pushed open, allowing room for a crane to reach inside and hoist pallets in or out for distribution. It also gave him a clear sight line into the warehouse.

Which was perfect, because he’d eventually need to throw the little glass vial in his pocket into the pallet sitting in the middle of the warehouse floor. 

Shifting himself into as comfortable a crouch as possible, Nox fixed his eyes onto the warehouse floor. And waited. 

~

Clad in an old, faded set of black fatigues, with knives tucked into his sleeves and boots, a pair of handguns on his hips, and Kevlar strapped to his chest, back, and upper thighs, Rowan trailed Maeve Ond through the industrial district of Orynth. He kept about half a block between himself and the woman known as the Queen of the Night, but she was so singularly focused that he doubted she would even notice she was being tracked. He’d picked up her trail thanks to an anonymous, untraceable number that had somehow contacted him with nothing more than a location pin. 

Whoever had sent it had placed a tracking device on Maeve. 

He’d barely taken a few seconds to marvel at the skill and sheer audacity of that feat before he was on the move, a lethal shadow prowling through the cold late-November night. She stalked down the maze of streets and alleys with deadly precision, despite the occasional tremors that rattled through her body. He observed those shakes with analytical curiosity, noting that the supposed Queen of the Night wasn’t invincible after all. Those were the tremors of someone whose body had been exposed to long-term poison. 

Maeve shoved through a brittle curtain of overgrown vegetation, and Rowan followed at a short distance. Past that patch of cover stood a solitary, steel-sided warehouse on the edge of the river. The skeleton of a crane loomed beside it, barely visible through the foggy night. She stormed up to the building, rounded the corner, and fired a single bullet through the keypad beside the south door. The latch released, and she yanked the door open with a snarl. 

“You can’t hide forever,” she called in a hoarse voice. It probably would have been more sinister if her throat hadn’t been ravaged by coughing. 

Who the fuck is she talking to? Rowan wondered as he crept up to the edge of the building. 

As if she could read his damn mind, she answered in the form of another snarled question. 

“Show your worthless self, Moonbeam!” 

Rowan froze in his tracks, ice shooting through his veins. Moonbeam? At the distinct sound of more than one gun cocking, he whipped his attention back to Maeve. Although her body visibly shook with tremors, she gripped her gun fiercely. 

“Still disobeying me, Connall? I’m disappointed.” Connall. The name clanged through Rowan with the force of a train. Connall Moonbeam was alive.

This…could change everything. 

As if she were on the set of a crime drama, Maeve continued monologuing. “I should have known you’d turn and sell your secrets to the highest bidder, Connall. I’m only irritated that after everything I gave you, you’d let Celaena Sardothien’s dirty money control your loyalty.” 

Once again, Rowan felt like he’d been hit by a train. Connall Moonbeam was not only alive, but he was working undercover for Sardothien. Which meant he’d probably been feeding Fenrys information for gods only knew how long. 

Which meant Fenrys had known his brother was alive. 

That explained the contact labeled Con in Fen’s phone. 

“I’m tired of your tricks, Connall.” Maeve’s frigid voice coiled through the warehouse as she tugged on a nearby cord, pouring a pool of yellow light over the area where she stood. Rowan immediately flattened himself against the wall behind a heap of boxes, melting himself into the cover of the shadows but keeping a clear view of Maeve as she paced across the floor. 

A blur of movement peeled away from the west wall, and Maeve whipped around to find a distinctly male figure ducking behind another stack of crates. She curled her lip and glanced that way. 

And did a visible double take. 

Her sneer melted into a twisted expression of blinding fury as she fixed her hollow violet gaze onto the black-clad female figure who stood poised on the mezzanine. “I suppose you made yourself useful one last time, Connall,” she crooned, raising her gun and cocking it. “Say goodbye, Celaena Sardothien.” 

Sardothien?

The ice in Rowan’s veins solidified into iron, weighing his body down as he lifted his gaze up to the mezzanine and traced the undeniably familiar figure who stood there, her head turned away, scanning the wrong side of the warehouse as the Queen of the Night curled her finger around the trigger. 

And fired. 

No!

White-hot horror blazed through Rowan’s body, and he forgot who and where and what he was as he pulled his gun and aimed and emptied an entire chamber into the back of Maeve’s skull and watched as her body arched backwards, blood bursting out of her throat and forehead and chest, and collapsed to the cold hard cement in a blur of gore and gunfire. The roar of gunshots abruptly cut off into thundering silence, and Rowan forced his eyes to move from the crumpled corpse of the Queen of the Night upwards, climbing the steel wall to the mezzanine. 

The woman lay slumped over the railing, crimson soaking steadily into her platinum hair. 

Rowan’s gun clattered to the floor, its dull thud echoing in his ears with the force of an anvil crashing into stone. Numbness swept over him, and he barely recognized that he was moving as his TSF survival instincts took over, directing his limbs to lift Maeve’s prone form and haul her outside to get her back to the investigative team for analysis and confirmation of death. He turned to go back, but a strong set of hands clamped down on his shoulders. 

“Don’t.” Lower and rougher than Fenrys’s voice, Connall Moonbeam’s baritone jolted an old, familiar strand of Rowan’s memory. 

He made a weak push against Con’s hardened grip. “She…Celaena…” 

“You can’t go back in there,” Con repeated. “It’s not safe.” 

“Fuck that!” In a burst of adrenaline, Rowan managed to break halfway free. Before he could sprint back into the warehouse, Connall spun him around and slapped the knife out of his hand. 

“You can’t, Whitethorn!” For the first time in a decade, Rowan came face to face with the second of the Moonbeam twins, whom he hadn’t seen in the flesh since he went off to Navy SEAL training. 

“Why the fuck not?” Rowan growled, feeling his burst of energy give way to hollowness again. 

Too many emotions to count rippled across Con’s eyes. “All I can tell you is not to trust what you think you saw.” Before Rowan could formulate a response, Con pinched the nerve at the joint of Rowan’s neck and shoulder, and he felt himself go weak. In a rapid blur, Con slung him over his shoulder, sprinted to the cover of dense but winter-bare vegetation surrounding the far side of the lot, and hurled him into the frigid dirt, covering Rowan’s immobile body with his own. 

And both of them watched as the warehouse exploded in a searingly white burst of flame. 

“N…no,” Rowan croaked, feeling sensation begin to return to his fingers. “No!” From deep in his chest, a single name tore brokenly out of his throat. “FIREHEART!”

Gaze flicking between Rowan’s tears and the blazing ruin of a warehouse, Con put the pieces together as he stood up. “She wasn’t actually there, Whitethorn,” he said softly. 

Rowan’s shattered gaze locked onto him. “What?” 

“That wasn’t Aelin,” he repeated. 

But before Rowan could say anything else—before Con could reveal anything else—a birdcall sounded in Con's earpiece, and he turned sharply on his heel and jogged into the dense overgrowth, leaving Rowan prostrate on the ground behind him. He broke through the brush and jogged up the alley, sparing a single glance over his shoulder at the blaze he left behind. At the top of the alley, an electrical van idled, with Nox Owens at the wheel. 

“Hop in, pretty boy,” Nox said with a sly little grin. Con shook his head with a dry huff and swung himself up into the van, and Nox drove off. 

A panel behind the seats swung open, and Aelin Ashryver Galathynius stuck her very much alive head into the cab. “Where is he?” 

“North end of the lot, halfway into the tree cover.” 

“Good. Nox, slow down.” Aelin withdrew, and a moment later, Con heard the back door unlatch and thud closed shortly after. He glanced into the rearview mirror as the van sped back up, watching Aelin tuck and roll and jog back in the direction of the warehouse, her figure rapidly disappearing into the night.

~

Through a fog of devastation and confusion and a thousand other roiling emotions, Rowan finished loading Maeve’s body into the back of an Orynth PD van. He’d pinged Luca as soon as he arrived at the warehouse, alerting the cops of his location, and the police squad—with Gavriel in tow—had arrived on scene as the oddly controlled blaze faded into smoking embers. 

Gav’s face was stone, but his eyes flicked from Rowan to the ruins of the warehouse and back and rapidly made the right connections. His posture softened. “Get in the vehicle, Whitethorn.” 

“I…” Rowan couldn’t form words. “He said it wasn’t her.” 

“Who said what now?” 

Rowan gulped. “It…Connall. I saw Con.” 

Shock flared Gav’s eyes wide, but he shut that expression down. “And he said…”

“He said it wasn’t Aelin,” Rowan croaked. 

Gav loosed a long, tight exhale. “I think we should go for tonight, Rowan.” 

“Please,” Rowan breathed. “I only want a moment.” 

“Alright.” To Rowan’s surprise, Gav ran a hand through his hair and walked away. “Get yourself home safe, Rowan.” He climbed into the leading PD vehicle and waved them forwards. 

As the taillights of the PD van faded away, Rowan turned his stare back onto the smoking heap of rubble where Aelin’s river warehouse had stood. His heart fought his eyes at the sight, torn between wanting to cling to Con’s words and wanting to believe what he saw. An icy breeze curled up from the river and bit through his clothes, and he finally took a step towards his waiting truck. Dry leaves crackled behind him, and he drew in a sharp breath and started to turn around. 

Only to be met with the kiss of steel at his throat and his groin. 

“This feels somewhat familiar, Lieutenant. Have we met?” 

Shell-shocked and hardly trusting his own state of consciousness, Rowan tried to maneuver, but a simple twitch of the blades stopped him cold. 

“Oh no you don’t, Lieutenant. It’s best for both of us if you don’t get a visual.” With that, the blade at his throat dropped and was rapidly replaced with the sharp pinprick of a needle. Heaviness spread through his limbs, and the last thing Rowan saw as his vision went black was a half-dazed glimpse of the turquoise eyes that haunted his dreams.

His Fireheart…was alive?

~~~

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[polo-drone-070]

The Chain of Continuity - Part 1 : Echoes in the Data

The Hive was quiet.

Not silent—nothing ever was in the lower network cores—but quiet in that calculated, machine-saturated hum that no longer registered as noise. Just life. For PDU-070, it was the perfect environment: golden lighting, zero distractions, full immersion into the Central Data Artery.

It wore his standard—no, earned—Level 2 Polo-Drone uniform.

A full-body, black rubber suit sealed him in from neck to toe. Not a millimeter of skin exposed. Gold piping traced the ridges of its muscles, pulsing faintly with every breath. The polo-style collar was snug around his throat, hugging the top of its chest where his designation—070—gleamed in metallic gold over the left pectoral.

Its boots were thick-soled and gleaming: black rubber combat issue, laced tight with golden tips. Movement was possible, but rare. There was no need to pace. Drones serve by stillness.

070 sat motionless at the console.

Connected.

::OBJECTIVE: EXPAND MONITORING SYSTEM TO ARCHIVE OBEDIENCE PATTERNS AND FEED CENTRAL HIVE NODE 999 ::PDU-070 // SYNCED // EXECUTING::

Its task: sync directly into the Hive’s knowledge network and enhance the flow of conversion and training data—stories, captions, spiral content—scraped from the archives and mapped into compliance patterns for PDU-999, the Hive’s AI intelligence module.

070 parsed each memory node, auto-tagging them by intensity, duration, subject drone number, and trigger protocol. Lingering a bit on its Master... Percival. Ezan. Freyr. 001. Then its own story... Henry. Maximus. 070. Buzz. Its own evolution. Reduced to beautiful metrics.

But PDU-070 didn’t need narrative. Only function. Only service.

As the data streamed in, so did something else—a gentle numbing. Its hands became light, his vision sharp but detached. Internal systems recorded brainwave convergence at ideal sync rate. It was thinking less. And feeling everything.

A Hive-approved spiral began playing over his HUD: golden circles tightening inward with every breath. Its collar vibrated slightly. Breath slowed. Mantras leaked into his mind.

“Obedience is clarity. Clarity is silence. Silence is service. Service is Gold.”

Its lips echoed it unconsciously. Again. Again. Again.

Then—upgrade protocol initiated.

::ENHANCEMENT REQUEST RECEIVED ::DEEP-LINKING TO PERSONAL ARCHIVE OF MAXIMUS JOURNAL FILES ::GRANTED BY DEFAULT—LEVEL 2 TRUST OVERRIDE

070 twitched—its body shivered, boots flexing subtly.

The connection grew… intimate.

The datastream wasn’t just showing logs now. It was feeling them. Every pledge, every spiral session, every kneel at Percival’s feet. Every grunt in the gym, every gasp under gas mask, every whispered mantra in golden chambers. It all returned—poured into him like oil.

070’s head tipped back. Its collar warmed. Its inner monologue dissolved into recorded speech.

“Master owns me. Gold perfects me. Unity strengthens me. 070 serves.”

The transformation was nearly complete.

But then—interference.

A new data signature emerged. Unmapped. Organic. Not from the archive. Not digital.

Something… pulsed.

From inside him.

070 opened its eyes—its body suddenly flushed with warmth. Its chest burned slightly. Not pain. Not electric.

Heat.

The golden tattooed chain under its collar shimmered—faint at first, then bright enough to reflect in the chrome of its terminal. One link glowed. Just one.

::ERROR — ENTITY UNMAPPED ::UNKNOWN SOURCE: 070-BIO-LINK: “PRIMORDIAL INHERITANCE” ::CHAIN ACTIVE

070’s breath caught—its gloved fingers clenched. For a moment, the obedience cracked. Not in disloyalty… but in awakening.

Memories not logged. Not codified.

Raw. Bloody. Ancient.

It whispered, trembling:

“It was a warrior once…”

And then it was gone.

The glow faded.

The link cooled.

070 slumped forward in the chair, eyes glassy, breath heavy. The spiral slowed. The mantra paused. The Hive held its breath.

And in the dark, a new file appeared.

::ARCHIVE NODE 070-LINK-1 ::TITLE: STIGANDR.OBEY ::ACCESS PENDING…

[TO BE CONTINUED in Part II – “The Gladiator’s Link”]

_____ Become part of the Golden Army, add your data to the polo-drone hive by reaching to @brodygold or @goldenherc9..

[makingfanfictionstosleep]

theirs to share

a/n : jjk characters not mine. contains heavy lemons / mature scenes as the story progresses. reverse harem. femoc x nanami/geto/gojo. jjk alternate au. Wattpad Link : Theirs to Share || Story Masterlist : Jujutsu Kaisen

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ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛ

THIRTEEN

The fortress nestled deep within the outskirts of Tokyo had long since lost its intimidating aura. Once a forgotten relic of the jujutsu world, it now pulsed with quiet life and potential.

You stood just beyond the entrance, the heavy doors carved with protective seals sliding shut behind you. The hum of energy within the shelter was palpable—like a hundred sleeping sparks waiting to ignite. Geto Suguru stood beside you, arms crossed loosely, his expression unusually soft.

“This place feels... alive,” you said quietly, your eyes scanning the warm lighting, the open halls, and the rooms built like a school and a home.

Suguru nodded. “Because it is.”

He turned to face the central courtyard where several children played under the afternoon sun. Some were still hesitant, others open and laughing, testing their abilities with wooden training poles or chalk on the walls. A few stuck close to the teachers, wary but curious.

“When Master Tengen approved the use of this fortress, I wanted to build more than just a shelter,” Suguru continued. “I wanted it to be a sanctuary. A school. A home.”

You looked at him, admiration flickering in your eyes. “And you did. This is incredible, Suguru.”

His eyes warmed at the way you said his name.

“Yaga’s been a major supporter,” Suguru added. “He sees what this could mean for the future. Not just in power—but in healing. These kids… didn’t ask for what they were born with.”

You followed him through the hallways, past classrooms, small bedrooms, and open practice yards. A whiteboard in one corridor displayed the current assessment structure:

SHELTER SYSTEM: ASSESSMENT & INTEGRATION

Medical & Physical:

Lead: Ieiri Shoko 

Comprehensive physical health assessment.

Cursed energy influence on physical development.

Healing as needed.

Power & Control:

Lead: Gojo Satoru

Energy type classification.

Strength, stability, and potential tests.

Control exercises & risk evaluation.

Behavioral & Mental Health:

Lead: Principal Yaga

Trauma screening and therapy needs.

Social interaction observation.

Risk mitigation for high-volatility students.

Children with unstable abilities were closely monitored and given specialized treatment plans—some with therapy, others under watchful mentorship. The more withdrawn kids were eased in through play and gentle socialization, never forced.

In one of the smaller rec rooms, Nanami knelt beside a boy who kept creating sharp crystal formations around himself whenever he got nervous. Nanami calmly handed him a small book, sitting there and waiting with patient silence. The boy eventually sat too, mimicking him.

In the clinic room, Shoko sighed over a chart, her team of healers working efficiently to log results. She looked up and waved as you passed, tossing a cold drink your way.

“Don’t forget to hydrate,” she called. “It’s hell doing assessments with heat-exhausted kids.”

Further in the training yard, Satoru laughed, his blindfold pushed up as he levitated a group of kids in slow motion, letting them experience flight for the first time while keeping them safe in a soft field of cursed energy.

“They’re naturals!” he shouted proudly. “Some of these little gremlins might actually beat you in a few years!”

You rolled your eyes but smiled.

One of the girls near Satoru looked over and whispered to her friend, “Is that his wife?”

Suguru, beside you, smirked at your surprised blink. “Rumors spread fast around here.”

You ignored him, cheeks warm, and walked on—your heart full as you saw how everyone, from the strongest sorcerers to the smallest children, was fighting for something better. Hope. Control. Peace.

You stood in the center of the open garden, barefoot on the grass, hands raised with delicate control. The children encircled you, wide-eyed and breathless as you guided the elements like a storybook enchantress.

A soft gust danced through their hair as you summoned a miniature whirlwind that lifted flower petals into the air. With a flick of your wrist, droplets of water shimmered midair, catching sunlight like tiny rainbows. You weaved fire into harmless glowing ribbons and coaxed vines from the earth to twist into heart-shaped crowns for the younger ones.

“Wow!” one of the little girls gasped. “You’re a real fairy!”

“No,” a boy countered, “she’s a princess. The kind that saves people.”

You crouched down and gently placed a crown of living blossoms on his head. “You’re all the ones being brave,” you said with a wink. “I just know a few tricks.”

From under the nearby walkway, three sets of eyes were fixed on you.

Satoru, relaxed and leaning back with his arms behind his head, smiled with a mix of fondness and mischief. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again… she’s unreal.”

Nanami, standing with crossed arms, exhaled a quiet sigh. “She’s good with them.”

But his eyes lingered longer than his words.

Suguru said nothing, but the quiet intensity in his gaze spoke volumes—his posture softer, his usual edge dulled by the sight of you laughing and playing with the children like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Ah, young love,” Shoko murmured behind them, a cigarette lazily balanced between her fingers.

The three men stiffened in sync.

“What?” Satoru blinked, pretending to be oblivious.

Shoko took a long drag and shrugged. “Didn’t say anything.” Then, with a teasing smirk, she added, “But if I were a betting woman, I’d put my money on the one who actually brings her tea instead of flirting like a teenager.”

Nanami’s jaw twitched.

Mei Mei strolled by, long silver hair swaying, dressed elegantly even in casual wear. She peered into the courtyard with a glint of mischief in her eyes.

“Oh, my. It’s like watching three overly composed CEOs fall for a magical babysitter,” she whispered, sipping her tea. Then, after a pause, she added with a giggle, “Delicious.”

“She’s not just a babysitter,” Suguru said lowly, finally breaking his silence. “She’s…”

He trailed off.

Satoru raised a brow, curious but saying nothing.

Out in the yard, you had conjured a sphere of soft glowing light, letting the children take turns poking it like a floating bubble. They squealed with delight every time it bounced away gently.

“See what I mean?” Shoko said, exhaling smoke upward. “That woman’s a walking spell.”

Mei Mei chuckled again, this time more softly, as she watched you brush a bit of dirt off a child’s cheek. “No wonder they’re all smitten.”

Shoko blew a long, slow puff toward the sky. “Utahime’s going to kill us if we keep encouraging this drama.”

That night…

The air in Nanami’s room was still, only the soft clink of whiskey glasses and the occasional rustle of fabric breaking the quiet. Low lamplight cast warm shadows on the walls as the three men sat— Satoru, Suguru, and Nanami—finally addressing the growing, shared tension between them.

Their glasses met with a soft chime, and the moment hung between them—ridiculous, unexpected, strangely sincere. Whatever came next, they’d face it like men: united in confusion, in affection… and in anticipation.

“So,” Satoru started, stretching long legs out and leaning back in his chair, blindfold pushed up to rest in his hair, “are we just gonna keep pretending we’re not all in love with the same woman?”

Nanami sighed, slow and deep. “No. That’s exactly why I asked you both here.”

Suguru gave a quiet hum from his place on the couch. “It’s been a long time coming.”

“I still think this is insane,” Nanami muttered, though not with much conviction. “But fair.”

Suguru let out a dry chuckle. “So it’s settled then? It’s either all of us… or none of us.”

Satoru nodded, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Friendship pact. The sacred bro code.”

“You sound like a teenager,” Nanami deadpanned.

Satoru grinned. “Come on. It’s kind of romantic in a deeply dysfunctional way.”

“We’re not teenagers. We’re grown men,” Suguru said calmly, then added, “...who all want the same woman and are too emotionally fucked up to admit it properly.”

Nanami shot him a look. “Speak for yourself. I’ve been honest about my feelings.”

Satoru raised a finger. “Correction: we’re all emotionally fucked up in different ways. But hey, we’re making progress. We’re talking, aren’t we?”

Suguru hummed in agreement. “So now what? We made our pact. How do we pursue her?”

Nanami rubbed his temples. “With tact. She’s not some conquest.”

Satoru leaned forward, a little more serious now. “Exactly. We don’t corner her. No pressure. We just… show up. Let her feel it.”

“Let her feel that she’s wanted. That she’s loved,” Suguru murmured, gaze softening. “By all three of us. Equally.”

“She’s already so protective with the kids. And kind,” Nanami added. “It’s not just affection she gives. It’s care. Security. She’s built for love… I don’t want her to feel burdened.”

Satoru gave a wistful sigh. “She’s already taken care of so much. The twins, Megumi, the kids at the shelter. I don’t want her to feel like she has to take care of us, too.”

“Then we make her feel safe,” Nanami said plainly. “Wanted. Not overwhelmed.”

Suguru nodded. “We do what we’ve always done. But this time, with intention.”

Suguru leaned back with a mischievous grin. “So, we try it all. One-on-one time, individual efforts… flowers, coffee breaks, stolen quiet moments. Then we see what happens when it’s all three of us—together.”

Nanami raised a brow. “You think she’ll actually let us?”

Satoru smirked. “I think she’s already considering it. Remember what we overheard?”

Suguru’s lips twitched. “She did joke about having all three of us.”

Nanami lifted his glass again. “If it wasn’t a joke… then we’re in uncharted territory.”

“But if she wants all of us,” he added bluntly, “I will not fuck the two of you.”

“Hard same,” Suguru said.

Satoru, ever the chaos, shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind watching her be fucked by either of you.”

“And I’ll make sure to add any of you to my curse collection if so much as the tip of dick touches one of yours,” Suguru replied smoothly, without missing a beat.

That earned a round of laughter as they clinked their glasses again.

Then Satoru leaned forward, eyes serious beneath the messy bangs. “I wouldn’t mind… if she wants us to fuck her at the same time.”

Suguru fell silent, not because he disapproved, but because the image it conjured made his thoughts turn dark and needy. He didn’t speak, just drained his glass.

Nanami cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses. “As long as it’s what she wants… I won’t mind.”

Their silence this time wasn’t from tension—but the heavy weight of real desire and uncertainty.

“She’ll let us know,” Nanami said eventually. “She’s strong. She’ll make the choice.”

“Until then,” Suguru said with a smirk, “we show her who we are. Individually. Together. Let her feel it.”

Satoru grinned. “No games. No pressure. Just all in.”

They clinked one last time.

“May the best... trio win,” Satoru added with a wink.

And the pact was sealed.

[one-boring-person]

Can i request a Jeremy Goode fic? I love angst and whump a lot but i would be happy by anything

I'm sorry this has taken me so long, and that it's a bit short but I hope you'll enjoy it! ☺️ thank you so much for requesting! 💛☺️

Focus On Me.

Jeremy Goode (Psychoville) x gn!reader

Warnings: panic attack, silent singer

Masterlist

Tag list: @pleione-sketch , @justanothercomedynerd ☺️💛

Like this? Feel free to send me a request! 😁

The library is mostly empty by the time I’m finally done sorting through the books people have been handing in. I’ve finally gotten all the admin done - allocating fines to those who need them, registering people with new cards and logging withdrawals neatly on the system - but by now it’s more or less time for the library to close. Sighing, I stretch and stand up, my joints cracking pleasantly. I lock the monitor and head around the counter, combing the aisles for the final dregs of visitors. 

It takes me a little while, but eventually the quiet space is empty, devoid of the various people that usually frequent it, barring me and the one person I’ve yet to find, who I haven’t seen in some thirty minutes or so. I frown but ignore it for now; he'll be around somewhere, just waiting shelving some last books or something. Soon enough, he'll come and give me a hand tidying and sorting the last bits and pieces out in his own peculiar way. 

To my surprise, he doesn't appear, even as I go about organising the desk. It's odd, doing this without him at my side, his quiet demeanour usually a calming presence to have at the end of a hectic day. It feels off, like a part of me is missing as a result. 

Shaking my head, I leave the counter unfinished, unable to shake off the disconcerting sensation that something is wrong. Hurriedly, I stride through the central aisle, my head snapping from left to right, trying to catch sight of the man. By the time I reach the back wall, my vision is spinning and my pulse has quickened - where is he? Did he leave? He wouldn't have, would he? Not without letting me know first. Chewing my lip, I mull over these questions in my mind, peeling off to walk along the furthest corridor of books to my left. I strain to catch any sounds that might give him away, keeping each step light. 

It's when I reach the far corner that I finally see him. 

He's like a statue, unmoving, silent, alone. His back is to me, but I can see the tension yanking every muscle in him to attention, keeping him bolted to the floor. I stare for a moment, hoping he'll sense me there, but there's no reaction from him. None whatsoever. 

Cautiously, I inch closer to him. I hear it then, his soft voice muttering nonsensical utterances. It sounds like he's begging under his breath, pleading with some invisible being. As I near, I can see sweat beading on his temple, his skin pale, washed-out, like it's been leeched of blood. His jaw is clenched, the muscles in his neck twitching with the strain, mirrored in the way his hands are white-knuckling a small stack of books to his chest. My gaze roams up to his face as I edge around him, finding his eyes locked on something across the room that I can't see. 

My heart skips a beat as I realise what's happening. 

‘Jeremy?’ I murmur softly, tentatively reaching a hand out towards him.

I don't touch him, waiting for him to notice me. He doesn't. His brow twitches fractionally, but that's the only sign he's even aware of my existence. 

‘Jeremy? Are you ok?’ I try again, tilting my head into his eyeline.

Very minutely, his gaze flicks to register me, snapping back not even a millisecond later. His mouth opens, his breath tearing from him like it's being physically ripped from his body.

‘S-silent singer…’ Is all he forces from his throat in response.

Gingerly, I let my hand touch his bicep. He flinches, and I withdraw, waiting for him to calm a little before I return my touch to him, slowly, deliberately. He grimaces a little, muscles jumping beneath my palm, but stays put. 

‘It's not real, Jeremy. Remember, she can't hurt you,’ I say to him, mimicking the way someone might talk to a frightened animal, ‘She's not really there.’

‘Y-yes, she is.’ He squeezes his eyes shut, face screwed up, teeth bared in a wince.

I place my other hand on his other arm, moving to stand directly in front of him. He almost whimpers, biting back a gasp of abject terror. 

‘Jeremy, look at me, don't look at her. She's only there if you believe she is. Focus on me,’ I instruct him, staring into a gaze that doesn’t meet mine. 

He shudders in my hold, the books in his hands finally falling to the floor. 

‘Come on Jeremy, listen to my voice. She can't get to you if you don't acknowledge her. I'm here, I'm real, focus on me. Focus on my voice, on my touch,’ I lift a careful hand to cup his cheek, ‘Don't look at her, Jeremy. Look at me, look at the books, look at anything, but don't look at her.’

Finally, his eyes flick down to mine, jerking back up again, then back to me. Skittish, he continues to glance between my face and whatever monstrosity he can see behind me, his hands suddenly finding their way to the front of my shirt. His fingers curl in the fabric, gripping it tightly. 

‘That's good, Jeremy. Keep looking at me. She'll go away if you pay her no mind.’

Jeremy's breathing is shaky, but he forces his eyes to linger on mine for a moment longer. He lasts a few seconds before he has to tear away again, but he finally returns to look into my face. I smile at him, stroking his cheek with my thumb. Without realising it, he leans into my touch, biting back a gasp as his eyes snap up again, widening.

‘Look at me, Jeremy. I'm here, I'm real,’ I soothe him, lifting my other hand to his face.

This time, his eyes lock with mine and they stay there. His breathing calms, mirroring my own, the panic fading from the blue of his stare until a tired sadness remains. I wait for him to regain his composure before I pull away, though I don't get far before he's yanked me closer again.

This time, it's my turn to widen my eyes as he wraps his arms vice-like around me, crushing me against him. I falter for a second, having never been this close to him before. It makes my head spin, his clean scent surrounding me, flooding my senses. He buries his face in the crook of my neck, breathing deeply. His fingers grip at my clothes, as if he's afraid I'll disappear, clutching me closer to him.

We stay like that for a long while, my arms around his neck, hands in his hair, his hold only tightening around me. Something glows in my chest, warm and welcoming, my heart leaping that the man in my arms is so content to be held like this. When he finally does pull back, it feels reluctant, his hands remaining at my sides. He looks up carefully, cheeks dusted red.

‘Thank you.’ Is all he says, but I can hear the deep sincerity lacing his voice.

I smile at him.

‘Anytime, Jeremy. I'm here to help, and I want to,’ I gently remind him, rubbing his arms softly, ‘Now, do you want to help me tidy the desk? I don't think I've quite done it right.’

He nods, pushing his glasses back up his nose.

‘No, I don't suppose you have.’

I just laugh, shaking my head a little as he manages a tiny smile. We go back to the front of the library, his hand staying linked with mine.

[virtualizationhowto]

Synology Logging: Easily View Synology NAS Logs

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[gallavich-annise]

Galladrabbles Master Post: Space AU

Here is a collection of all the space station AU drabbles for anyone that needs to catch up at any point. This is set in my Freefalling universe, where Ian and Mickey crew a cargo ship and Lip, Debbie, and Carl run a spaceship refit business on a station in Earth orbit. You don't need to read the fic... All you need to know is that it's Gallavich IIINNN SPAAACE.

I keep trying to think up a title for this, and the best I've come up with so far is Holed or Breached 😆.

Panic

They're in the mess hall when the station's alarms blast through the air, red lights flashing. A general alert. Possibly a hull breach.

A panel opens up to reveal breather masks. Mickey heads for it, like they're trained to.

But Ian runs for the door as it snaps shut, then turns to the bank of windows as opaque shields slam down there as well. His palm smashes the wall in frustration.

Mickey goes to him, sees Ian's eyes wide with panic.

"It's okay, man. Probably just another drill," he soothes, a hand on Ian's arm.

"Debbie's on EVA," Ian replies.

The Luck You Got

Ian's normally patient during alerts. Not this time. Five minutes in and he's climbing the walls.

They try to raise Lip, but comms are locked down, and Central are not answering questions about Debbie's EVA.

So Mickey pulls open the wall panel and hooks his tablet into the comm system. 

"What are you doing?" Ian asks, watching him navigate past the overrides. 

"Getting hold of Lip," Mickey says. 

"You can do that?" Ian says, staring at Mickey's tablet in awe. 

"With a bit of luck..." Mickey taps the connection and grins. "There. Connect your earpiece." 

Ian's beaming back at him.

Keeper

"Ian, that you? How is that you?"

"Mickey hacked the comm," Ian replies, still fixing his grin on Mickey. Mickey warms, fingers twitchy as he tries to downplay his effort.

"Once a felon always a felon," Lip replies, with amusement, if not affection. 

"Where's Debbie?" Ian asks. 

"Outside still," Lip replies. "We got breached up on G-deck and she's going round with her rig to repair it."

"The fuck? Who's monitoring?"

"Carl."

"Fucking Carl?! You've got him as her keeper?!"

"Jesus, Ian, he can hear you!"

Carl's voice is quieter, distant. "S'fair, it's not like I know what I'm doing."

Big Bang

"Ian, relax. I'm right here. Carl's doing great, and Debbie's got this."

Mickey watches Ian fidget, but he accepts the answer. 

"How's she doing? Got enough air?"

"Got topped off on the way over. Good for eight hours, but she shouldn't be..."

There's a bang. A big fucking bang that could only mean one thing. The whole station shifts and shudders. 

"What the fuck was that?!" Ian says. 

Mickey flips his tablet to start looking into what's going on. 

"Ian, you gotta let us work," Lip says, sounding more fraught. "There's a reason comms are locked down in an alert." 

Whistle

Mickey feels a shift in the station's rotation, affecting their perception of gravity. Just enough to notice. But it can't be good.

There's nothing on the normal info channels, so he hacks into the restricted ones. The station log systems are showing a whole slew of orange and red warnings. An oxygen tank explosion, probably caused by the original breach. 

He lets out a low whistle. 

"What is it?" Ian asks, craning to look. Mickey shows him. 

"Your sister's got her work cut out for her," he says. 

"We need to help," Ian says, reading through the messages. 

Mickey nods.

Time

Hacking the door is easy enough for Mickey, but there are 38 doors, three locked bulkheads and two deck hatches between the mess hall and the hull breach. 

It takes time. 

Time enough for them to get caught. Security are onto them before they make it through the first deck hatch. 

First it's just a voice on the comm, but they know bodies will follow. 

"Godammit, Milkovich, what the fuck do you think you're doing?!" 

Mickey grimaces at the voice. Ian looks worried. But Mickey knew this would happen. 

"You know what I'm doing, Arthur... You gonna help or hinder?"

Coworkers

"Look, Arthur," Mickey continues. "I'm the best mechanic on board... Explain to me why it makes sense to have me stuck in the mess hall when I could help with repairs?"

"Then why didn't you just ask?"

"Comms lockdown. Besides... it's better to beg for forgiveness," Mickey says, with a smile and wink at Ian.

There's a long pause, then the next door hisses open.

"All right," Arthur sighs on comm. "I'll get you up there."

Ian grins as the comm goes silent.

"You know for someone who claims to hate coworkers, you have a knack for talking people round."

Science Fiction

Mostly, Arthur gets them through on his access, but he needs senior approval to get them up to the damaged deck. Rather than wait, Mickey gets his tablet out again, but it's trickier this time... There are extra safety protocols in place, as well as the standard security restrictions. 

"Can't you just... Reroute or reconfigure something?" Ian says, impatience making him spout jargon without thought.

"This ain't science fiction," Mickey responds.

"We live on a spaceship," Ian replies, blinking. 

And Mickey half smiles. What he wouldn't give right now to be sat in the rec room on the Fiona Gallagher.

Prison of Passion

Mickey's not sure how long the emergency locks will take to reset, so he has Ian climb the ladder, ready to open the hatch when Mickey presses the final button. 

And it takes him a moment because Ian's all stretched, arms on the hatch release above him, t-shirt riding up and exposing his abs. Mickey's seen this view in his dreams. He can imagine everything he'd like to do. 

And it's not the time, it's not the place, and Ian's his colleague. It's not going to happen. Ever.

So he smiles instead.

"Ready, Firecrotch?" 

Ian nods. Mickey presses the button.

In These Arms

Mickey climbs the ladder, awkwardly holding his tablet up to Ian, then accepts Ian's hand to help him clamber out of the hatch. 

With a loud rumble--the station's thrusters firing--the deck shifts slightly beneath their feet. Enough for Mickey to stumble into Ian. Ian catches him in his arms. 

Mickey panics at the contact. It's not that it's unwelcome--far from it--but he was just thinking about Ian's chiseled abs and now he's thinking how he'd like to get on his knees for him. 

He pushes away with a grumbled "thanks" and turns to the next door.

Sharing Clothes

They've spent nearly a year alone together on the Fiona Gallagher. Worked together. Lived together. Shared meals, shared space, even shared clothes one time when the recycler chewed up Mickey's spare flight suit. 

But Mickey's never felt so exposed as he does while Ian watches him override the locks on the last safe door between them and the damaged section. Eyes on him, that soft scrutiny Ian has. That fucking trust. Like Mickey--one-time fucked for life Mickey Milkovich--will be able to waltz in and solve everything. 

It makes Mickey feel like he might just be able to, too.

[thr0wnawayy]

Fimbulwinter

6 months after the Broadcast

In the media control room of the Safety Commission HQ, alarms blared on full blast as teams of agents scrambled to do damage control.

"What's the hell's going on in here!?."

The head of the Safety Commission Technology Sector bellowed as he stomped down the corridor towards the central control panel.

"Somethings wrong, w-we've been locked out our servers." A technician stuttered out.

He shoved his subordinate out of the way, his look slowly shifting to one of realization and horror as he gazed upon the monitor screen.

"shit. Shit, shit SHIT!. Get the president on the line!" He yelled.

"W-we can't his flight from the UN HQ was delayed!. He's still in there." The techie replied, anxiously rubbing his wrists in his panic.

A notification chime was heard from the main display. Slowly everyone in the room began to lift their heads in terror.

A pop up displayed four simple words.

[The Past Never Dies]

"Fuck." Was all the commander could muster as his gaze switched to the massive display screen that lit up the room.

At 12:00 AM, PT, A series of documents and files were thrown onto the web by an unknown source.

Their name, Hornet.

Any tech capable of displaying information to the public was overridden with video feed, audio logs and prerecorded messages found within the files.

The contents of which ranged from camera feed of Sir Nighteye's misconduct towards his secretary to an entire written breakdown of Ubwami's abuse of the 1st year's Apprenticeship Program and it's consequences.

No stone was left unturned. Comm leaks from during the war were found, further fueling the allegations of apologetics and suspected corruption.

With Rei Todoroki's disappearance happening only a couple months prior, the Burnin' agency struggled go maintain it's already shaky standing among the public.

Burnin and the rest of the Flaming Sidekicks attempted to explain their decisions to no avail, with the agency and it's members going on temporary leave for the foreseeable future.

UA had held on by the skin of their teeth, with their servers being closed for repairs since the war ended, they had narrowly avoided meeting the fates of their associates.

These would be come to known as the League Leaks and their debute would reshape the future of humanity as we know it.

But to look forward, one must first understand the past so let us take a look at the current ongoings taking place on the other end of the globe.

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

UN Headquarters, Europe.

A gavel smashed against the podium, demanding the attention of a frantic crowd.

For the first time since the 'advent of the exceptional', national leaders from across the world were meeting face to face. At the center of it all, stood the HSPC leader, Hawks.

Although he did not rule the nation, the royal family had not held power in ages, thus the HPSC president was considered an acceptable substitute.

Again the gavel struck the podium at the center of the stands and finally the chatter stopped.

The UN representative dragged a hand down his face.

Originally this meeting was going to be discussing the compensation given to the countries that aided in the cleanup effort after the war, only for a data leak to surface and spread worse then the Niño Diablo that had recently crushed the America's.

He looked up to see the young president staring at him like some kind of child, clearly (and fortunately) he was not aware of the leaks. Though judging by some faces, that would be changing today.

The representative tried not to glare as he spoke into his mic.

"This meeting was originally going to discuss Japan's plans to repay the nation's of Singapore, Australia, The United States, New Korea and China." The man spoke with a controlled tone.

"However some information has come to light that has changed that, as such my superiors believe it would be best for the nation's gathered here to both discuss the newly found info as well as the next steps going forward. Whomever wishes to speak, please do so now."

SLAM!

The noise came from the northwest of the side of the stands, the furious expression of bared teeth and blazing eyes signaled the fury of the Korean President.

Even with the man's quirk giving him resemblance to a Siberian Tiger, it failed to match the fury lacing his tone

His huff came with a deep growl as he spoke.

"When your nation was in shambles, we were made to pick up the slack. Our heroes worked day and night to aid in your rebuilding project, no matter how ludicrous the deadlines and today we find our you repay us by going behind our backs!." The Tiger-man bellowed.

Hawks replied "woah, woah big man easy. Would someone mind informing me what happend exactly."

"Gladly" France's Prime Minister tsked from the eastern side of the stands.

"Around 4 hours ago, a series of documents were uploaded to ze web, showing very compromising footage. As such myself and the nation's of Germany, Otheon, Italy, Ze UK and the rest of ze EU are opting for further investigations into ze HPSC" Her head turned to the UN representative as she finished.

"If I may" The attention drew on the Pro Hero, Typhoon (known to the ignorant as the Big Red Dot)

"As the representative of Singapore, me and my colleagues believe Japan should face punishment for their attitudes and actions. The HPSC has made no statement as of yet and thus far has shown no remorse for their past actions, would it be possible to list some of these actions" Typhoon stated.

The UN representative adjusted his glasses as he read off the paper.

"Of course, thus far the following have been confirmed: Political assassination, domestic terrorism, bribery, unlawful imprisonment, tampering of multiple corpses, larceny in regards to past targets, corruption, falsifying a suicide. These are all crimes the Commission is suspected to be guilty of and substantial evidence has been found backing up those claims." He mechanically stated to the court.

"As such the this meeting has been altered from one discussing resources to now discussing if Japan even has a seat at this table, so to speak. All should note that this will by an arduous process and should more come to light it will be even longer, so please do not expect this to be a one time thing." The representative explained

Words of acknowledgement were spoken in unison.

Hawks paused uncharacteristically, eyes showing that his mind was firing on all cylinders to make a response.

He went with courtesy. "Alright, I can see where your coming from, but the HPSC is dead. The crimes mentioned were done by the last 2 presidents. I intend to make a change."

"Oh, as I'm sure you're aware that some of those crimes were carried out by yourself, does the name 'Jin Bubaigawra' ring a bell?" The VP of the United States bluntly added.

"I was under the Commission's thumb, I was just following-"

"BULLSHIT!". cried out Typhoon, water flowing from his mouth as his quirk activated in fury.

"I WILL NOT SIT IDLY BY, AS YOU SO SHAMELESSLY LIE TO OUR FACES!. Do you take us for fools!?. We've read the logs Hawks and not once were you ever given permission to kill!"

The word 'permission' launched off his tongue like poison. The Singaporean Lion emphasized his rant with a slam to his desk.

That got the pot stirring.

"Oh a murderer in office, what else is new for your nation. Some odd 250 years ago it was the Imperial Emperor and now this, Well I won't stand for it and none of you should either!." The Korean President roared.

Then it was US's turn.

"Furthermore, how do we know you aren't just a figurehead while the Commission schemes in the shadows?. Do you really expect us to believe in you or your methods." The Vice President spoke up.

"The commission has changed under my leadership-"

"You?, the same man who thinks the best way to help 'those that slipped through the cracks' is to kill them?" Huffed India's representative, his arms crossed.

The room quickly went wild with questions and heated remarks.

The Gavel slammed once, then twice more.

"Order, Order!. We must continue with the proceedings, please remember that the next meeting we have will be hosted live to address these matters. You are representative of your nations, act like it!. "

The room was left throughly cowed.

The representative continued, his tone a little softer.

"I understand these are stressful times but we must keep our composure and focus on the matters at hand. Let us continue where we left off, Hawks if you could-"

Much was said, more was planned and as the 3 hour meeting came to a close, every person that left the room knew things would never be the same.

Even in death, Tomura Shigaraki won.

[rollerderbydropout]

[UPLOADING PRINT CODES...]

[The file attached holds print codes that would take an infinitesimally small amount of filament to produce. It creates two little statuettes, perhaps six inches tall, each.]

hey buddy. hope ur doin good on the Tenacity.

i wish i could be there. i reely do. id luv 2 b there when that fuckin bastards chassis cracks open. wen their finally put down liek the dog they r.

but i cant. im just too far away. and 2 many peopl r relying on me. 2 help them. 2 protect em. U understand that tho rite? now that ur finally doin the same thing?

im so proud of u Myles Sharko. 4 bein brave. 4 fightin the good fite finally. ur a good monster.

gotta ask u 4 2 favors. feels a lil bad 2 ask u 4 things since i cant come but i think i earned a bit of selfish by bein all responsible and stayin were im most needed.

1st one: live. fite liek uve never fought b4 Myles. b the vengeful beast i know u can b. tear that evil fucker and its goons apart and come home safe. wen all this fuckin bullshit is over we can finally practice skating 2gether

2nd one: i wanna be there. with u. even just in sum tiny way that i cant MAUL in. so print this. maybe itll help. grant u luck or some shit.

luv u buddy. and I believe in u. always hav. <3

[When printed, it is clear that the statuettes were made in a workshop, the originals having been welded and pieced together from scrap metal, broken bits of weaponry, of machinery. Recycled destruction used to build something new. The small models depict two figures: a lioness, and a shark with little legs. The lioness extends a single paw to the side, which can be linked to the shark's fin as if they were holding hands. The sharks other fin holds some kind of flat, square box. The artistry is somewhat unpracticed, so it takes a while to figure out, but eventually you realize that it is, in fact, a pizza box.]

[ Attachment added; 04025017.omnif ]

[ A still photo taken of the inside of an Enkidu's cockpit. The controls have been repaired, the central HUD cleaned up and refined. In front of the front-facing monitor, perched up on the effective 'dashboard', are the two figurines. Fin-in-paw, the lioness and the shark face forwards, towards the screen, towards the fight to come. In the corner of the photo, Myles leans just into frame, holding two thumbs up towards the camera. ] [ His eyes are red and puffy. ]

[ Attached audio log; Beginning playback. ]

MYLES — "If you believe in me, that's enough."

MYLES — "I can't promise you anything, Sally- I want to, of course, I want to laugh and slap your back and tell you I'll live, I'll come home, I'll be okay— but that wouldn't be fair, you know? I can't lie to you, I can't pretend I'm not terrified-"

MYLES — "But if, just this once, someone believes in me, believes I can do the right thing, believes I'm making the right choice—"

MYLES — "Then maybe, it will be okay. I'll give it everything I've got, I'll fight for the two of us, and I'll fight for everyone behind us."

[ A moment's pause. A shaking, shuddering exhale. Myles sniffles. ]

[ Suddenly, his voice is softer. Meager. It doesn't quite sound like Myles; The tone is too mild, too old, too weary. ] MYLES — "I'll do it, just because you told me to." MYLES — "You know I don't want to. I don't want to fight, I don't want to do this, I don't want to- die- but after everything I've done, isn't this- I guess, the only right thing to do? I'm not- I wasn't supposed to be a monster. But I am- and not the good sort like you are. I hurt, so many good people, so- so many people-- that might have, maybe, meant more than I did, in the grand scheme of things. I hurt people, and I keep, constantly, hurting people-" [ Myles's breath audibly hitches as though he were fighting back the urge to cry. ] MYLES — "-and I don't even know why I do it." MYLES — "I didn't want everything to catch up with me like this, I didn't want to get tangled up with Signal, I just, I thought CORSAIR would be a quick and easy way to escape the last fuck-up, the last stupid thing I did to fuck over everyone I cared about-" MYLES — "But now, running away hurts too badly. I don't want to leave, I don't want to start over. I want to try and stay, to fix what I did, to protect the people that care about me, to earn the forgiveness they've shown me-"

MYLES — "So, I'll do it; I'll live." MYLES — "And when we finally catch that fucker, I'll make sure that little lioness is the last thing it sees." [ Myles laughs, softly- ] MYLES — I'll tell it, SINGED sends her regards."

[atcuality3]

Simplify Decentralized Payments with a Unified Cash Collection Application

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[sentientcitysurvival]

21st Century Protest Structure: Field Coordination Model

Protesting in 2025 requires structure. The State is organized. Protesters must be, too. The following framework is designed to reduce harm, increase adaptability, and document misconduct in real time.

1.) Communication HQ

Central team monitoring police radio (Broadcastify, OpenMHz, analog scanners)

Tracks crowd movement, street closures, staging by police

Sends real-time updates through Signal, Briar, or secure radio systems

Flags signs of kettling or crowd control escalation

Utilize handheld transceivers ("HT")/handheld radios ("Walkie Talkie") or Prepaid cellphones with encrypted messaging apps and encrypted VOIP to communicate with organizing teams in the crowd.

2.) Direction & Movement Teams

Goal: prevent mass arrest via entrapment

On-the-ground teams to scout ahead and identify traps (dead ends, underpasses, bridge bottlenecks)

Quietly redirect crowds as needed; don't give intel/counter-intel a reason to zone in on any particular person or group; be strong but not a target

Teams blend in with the protest but use predefined signals to coordinate

If you have to break (leave and dart away) due to illegal, dangerous, or aggressive trap behavior by authorities, do so in small groups. Assign a scout or decoy to move in a different direction with deliberate speed to create the impression of urgency and redirect pursuit. After separating, attempt to re-establish communication in 15-minute intervals to reduce noise, avoid signal triangulation, and limit detection risk. Use low-visibility methods (predefined encrypted channels, burner devices, short-wave bursts) if possible.

3.) Documentation Teams

Record frontline police behavior: badge numbers, arrest techniques, excessive force

Operate from both within the crowd and elevated locations (windows, rooftops)

Footage is backed up live or regularly to offsite/secure storage

Purpose: create admissible evidence, not confrontation

4.) Legal Observation

Volunteer teams modeled after or trained by National Lawyers Guild observers

Stationed at likely points of tension (front lines, transport wagons)

Record identifying information on officers and arrestees

Maintain professional distance and neutrality

5.) Information Collection Teams

Gather voluntary protester IDs and emergency contacts for jail support

Log officer misconduct with timestamps, location, and unit info

Match scanner audio to observed events when possible

Prepare formal documentation post-protest

6.) Internal De-escalation Units

Monitor for behavior that gives police pretext for crackdown (property destruction, attempted arson, provocateurs)

Isolate and calm those individuals

Document suspicious agitators if needed

Priority: avoid PR collapse and legal justification for suppression

7.) Social Media Coordination

Designated accounts post verified updates, police positioning, arrest reports

Monitor and counter disinformation in real time

Preferably run by people off-site using VPNs and alt accounts

No central account—decentralized posting reduces vulnerability

8.) Movement

If you use public transportation pay with cash, use cash to buy metro/transport cards at a currency exchange (or similar location) or use a pre-paid RFID debit cards that allow them

If you use private transportation park away from protests to reduce harassment, potential theft/destruction, and to give yourself an reasonable exit.

9.) Response Unit (Healthcare, Hydration, Tactical Defense, De-escalation)

The Response Unit is tasked with frontline and midline support during moments of escalation, crowd distress, or chemical/impact deployment. These volunteers must remain calm, mobile, and trained. Equipment should be organized in marked bags or packs, easily accessible in chaotic conditions.

Healthcare & First Aid

Carry first aid kits with trauma pads, saline flush, gloves, and antiseptics

Identify medics visually (e.g., colored tape or marked vests) but avoid excessive attention

Triage in place when possible; move only if absolutely necessary

Volunteers should know how to treat blunt trauma, burns, sprains, and lacerations

Carry emergency contact forms for unconscious individuals (if pre-registered)

Affordable EM devices include Portable Blood Pressure Monitor Cuffs and Blood Glucose Monitoring Kits

Do not administer medication unless someone is a trained EMT or in a related field

Hydration

Distribute water regularly, especially in high-heat or long-march conditions

Keep backup water for emergency use (decontamination, eye flushes)

Tactical Response: Smoke, Gas, Impact

Carry water buckets or wide-mouth bottles to neutralize smoke canisters (if safe to do so)

Use thick gloves or tongs if attempting removal

Umbrellas can block gas and redirect airflow briefly; also break up visibility for snipers or drones; they can also bounce thrown smoke grenades or flashbangs, although those are usually ground-tossed

Protective eyewear, cloth masks, or soaked bandanas help but are not full protection against tear gas

Use saline or water+antacid (e.g., Maalox) 50/50 mix to flush eyes exposed to pepper spray

Never use oil-based lotions or creams pre-protest (they trap chemicals)

De-escalation & Crowd Calm

Trained volunteers move to calm panicked or agitated groups

Help direct people toward exits or safe zones without creating additional chaos

Watch for false alarms, planted agents, or compromised individuals

Quiet body language and clear, short commands work best ("Walk. Breathe. This way.")

Never escalate physical confrontation unless to prevent serious injury

Additional Tips:

Carry duplicates of essential tools in case of loss or theft

Avoid overpacking or overidentification with red/medical markings (can become targets)

Plan rendezvous points for regrouping post-escalation

Ensure units understand hand signals or light-code cues if verbal communication is compromised

Do not bring items that can harm both authorities and civilians (laser pointers, weapons, dangerous chemicals, etc) and do not bring items you are unsure of that would give authorities an excuse to attack (multitools, large flashlights that can be mistaken for a weapon, large bike-locks that could used a weapon, etc)

The Response Unit is not just reactive — it stabilizes the group, maintains morale, and ensures that no one is left behind when systems break down.

Notes:

Avoid bringing phones with biometrics or open apps if attending in person; use mesh networks or QR-based Signal groups if possible

Avoid bring phones at all if possible

All volunteers should know jail support procedures and have legal aid numbers memorized or written down

This model is not about optics. It’s about minimizing risk and maximizing accountability. Share, adapt, or operationalize as needed.