The sun was rising, but Kirion couldn't feel its warmth.
He sat across from her—Amaya's mother—in the makeshift interrogation room within the resistance's safehouse bunker. The walls were lined with soundproofing, and a dim bulb buzzed overhead. She was no longer in her government combat gear, just a plain gray shirt and slacks. Unarmed. Unchained. Not a prisoner by force, but by choice.
Amaya watched from behind a one-way mirror, heart pounding. She hadn't spoken to her mother since the escape. Her father had insisted on being the first to talk.
"I want answers," Kirion said, voice low and razor-sharp. "Real ones. Not the lies you fed her. Not the cover stories the government used to control you. I want you."
She sat still for a moment, fingers folded in her lap. Then she exhaled, as if a weight had just been pulled from her spine.
"You deserve that," she said quietly. "Both of you."
Kirion didn't blink.
She continued, "After Amaya was born, I couldn't cope. I wasn't just tired—I was unraveling. The postpartum psychosis was... consuming. And the government saw it. They didn't help. They exploited it. Promised treatment. Promised purpose. Said they'd make me whole again if I joined a covert program—Section IX."
Kirion's jaw clenched.
"They broke me down further," she said. "Redefined me. Gave me pills. Rewired my thinking. They turned me into a tool with a single objective: eliminate resistance threats. My handlers said keeping me away from my daughter would protect her. I believed them. For a while."
"And when did you stop believing?" Kirion's tone was ice.
She flinched. "When they ordered me to use Amaya as bait to get to you."
He leaned forward slowly. "So why didn't you stop them then?"
"I tried," she said, eyes wet. "But my mind... it wasn't fully mine. The drugs, the conditioning—it took years to break free. I was always fighting them, even when I didn't know it."
Kirion studied her. The pain in her face was raw, but pain wasn't the same as innocence.
"And the assassination attempts? The betrayals?" he asked.
"I stalled every operation that targeted you. Do you think you survived that many brushes with Section IX by luck?" She smirked bitterly. "I made myself your enemy to stay close—to protect you from the inside."
Kirion looked away for the first time, unsure whether to believe or condemn. Part of him wanted to lash out. Part of him—frighteningly—wanted to understand.
"I never stopped loving Amaya," she whispered. "But I had no right to return. Not until I knew I could be more than a weapon."
The silence between them stretched.
Finally, Kirion stood. "She'll decide whether to forgive you. But if you try anything—anything—I will end you. Not out of hate. Out of duty."
She nodded solemnly.
When he left the room, Amaya stood waiting, expression unreadable.
"She's ready to talk to you," Kirion said.
Amaya stepped past him, heart thudding with the weight of years lost—and a truth too complex to carry alone.