POV: Cyrus / LOCATION: -CONFIDENTIAL-

I keep my gaze lowered, a curse set upon my tongue, as the door opens and the chair opposite of me scrapes in greeting.

"Good evening. You must be Cyrus."

What in the world is Lucian doing here?

"My name is Lucian," he continues in a mild-mannered voice reserved for acquaintances, not apprehended criminals. "I represent the Sinnoh Elite Four. Most don't know of me because I act in the shadow of our beloved Champion."

A shadow of reproach poisons his well-rehearsed smile. An argument must have strained their relationship, most likely from difference of opinion. Otherwise they were inseparable.

I swallow the sensation of broken glass and gurgle out a sigh of relief.

"You don't look so well," he notes.

"Indigestion."

"From what?"

"Reality."

Lucian laughs. My pathetic display of ingenuity and wit seems to have convinced him to drop any airs of formality.

"Right behind you," he says wistfully.

When he tents his fingers below his chin, I catch glimpse of his silver wristwatch. The hours of its gilded face are marked by moons that wax and wane to the rhythm of time, the hands resembling rays of sun radiating out from the center of the dial. A present from his stepbrother? It is much more extravagant than the plain wristwatch he wore during his university days.

"It's not for sale," Lucian says gently, having noticed my staring.

"I can't steal it with my hands like this," I reply breezily. Even if I did find a way around these restraints, those metal prongs will sink into my shoulder with the speed of a striking krait.

"You are a very accomplished individual, especially for your age. What happened?"

The broken glass creeps back up my throat. "You didn't come to lecture me," I snap. "What can I do for you that I have not done for our Champion already?"

Lucian seems mildly surprised by my abrupt antagonism. Nonetheless, he slides his sleeve over his wristwatch and hardens his gaze.

"Why did you abduct Cynthia?"

"I did not!"

"She lost her memories and woke up in Galactic HQ."

"I had nothing to do with her whereabouts or amnesia. For all I know, she misstepped and fell on her head."

"Then why was a memory erasure device recovered on your possession?"

My mouth becomes dry. I taste blood on my palate, slowly seeping out through my teeth. When I force it down, I feel her phantom grip tightening around my throat.

The truth fills me with great shame. If it ever sees the light of day, reputations and livelihoods will be destroyed more quickly than they were built up.

"If you came for a confession," I hiss, "then you have wasted your time. I've already admitted my crimes to Detective Looker. There is nothing more to discuss."

The weight of those inquisitive eyes press upon my head, as though searching the twisted labyrinth of my brain for answers.

"I believe you."

Lucian is wearing that smile again, harboring no trace of hostility. His sudden shift of character completely disarms me, so much so that I almost fall out of my chair.

"You do?" I wheeze.

"Absolutely. Now let's move on to the real reason I came here today: I need your help, Cyrus."

"You do?"

Despite my intellectual capabilities demoting to that of a broken machine, Lucian comforts my shock with the most patient of nods.

"You are the only one who can help me, Cyrus. Before I lay out my proposal, you must give me your word that whatever is discussed in this room stays in this room. Between you and me."

Between us? But why is he working behind Cynthia's back? Nothing about this right, considering how easily he accepted my adamant denials whereas I was punished heavily for them.

"I have nothing but my word to give you," I mumble.

"I can't ask for anything more. You assist me, and I will be your eyes and ears to the outside world. Knowledge for knowledge."

Lucian holds out his hand. I stare at him until he remembers that my wrists are secured by handcuffs and hooked to the bolt on the table.

"We'll have a gentlemen's agreement instead," he says.

"What are the consequences if I break it?" I dare to ask.

"You won't… Will you?"

"N-No."

His low chuckle to my response makes me wonder if it might have been better to sign our names on a piece of paper, even in blood.