Zeraphine had written over 200 field reports in her life, but none of them read like this.
She scrolled through the internal Concordium template, trying to describe a man who bartered with grief and profitless hope, who rewrote value not with systems but with silence and eye contact. No protocol covered this. No authorized term for "emotional equity" existed in the System's framework.
She closed the draft.
Deleted it.
Her orders were clear: Monitor Sykaion Kairo. Report instability. Authorize strike if he threatened systemic flow.
But nothing in her handler's brief had prepared her for a man who built order out of mercy.
She stood on a third-floor fire escape opposite the risk-shop. Her tracefield shimmered faintly, distorting her outline. She wore civilian clothes now, not uniform. It made her feel closer to the city—and further from herself.
Inside, Sykaion laughed.
It was short. Dry. But real.
The woman across from him had offered a sketchbook.
"It's what my son drew in before the enforcers marked him as too expensive to educate."
Sykaion took the book, turned a page.
A child's drawing. A hero with a halo of feathers.
He didn't speak.
But his eyes shimmered.
The woman cried and walked out lighter.
Zeraphine tightened her fist.
Her lens implants pinged.
Handler: STATUS REQUESTED Zeraphine: OBSERVING AN ANOMALY. UNSTABLE BUT NON-HOSTILE.
She hovered her finger over the transmission key.
Then didn't send it.
She descended the fire escape and crossed the street.
The moment she stepped through the threshold of Sykaion's shop, the feather over the doorframe flickered.
He looked up.
Didn't recognize her.
Of course he didn't.
Her disguise was complete. Different eyes. Different face. Her name, Rhessa, a ghost from another report.
But something in him still paused.
"Welcome," he said, and gestured to the chair.
She sat.
"Are you here to offer or ask?" he said.
She hesitated.
And said the first true thing that came to mind.
"I've spent my life judging people like you."
He tilted his head. Said nothing.
"You're doing something the System doesn't understand."
"That makes two of us," he said.
She almost smiled.
She offered her badge.
Not as identity.
As collateral.
"I want to know what I've forgotten."
The System flared behind Sykaion's eyes.
> ITEM: Concordium Observer Badge (Trace-Linked) EMOTIONAL COST: Unresolvable TRADEABLE: Not without risk
He looked at her for a long time.
Then said:
"I can't tell you what you've forgotten. But I can hold it for you—so you can remember who you were without it."
She slid the badge across the table.
And for the first time in her life, no part of her reported it.
No ping.
No handler interference.
Just silence.
She stood.
The feather over the door didn't flicker when she left.
It glowed.
And for the first time, she didn't know if she was a spy—or a believer.