Updating early because I cant wait anymore!

Thank you for the wonderful comments/reviews from the last chapter! I appreciate it so much xx

Heads up, this chapter is on the slightly longer side! And it was SO difficult to write, oh my goodness. There is so much information that I needed to put in, so I'm sorry if it reads confusing at all (I really tried, believe me). Time for a reminder that I do accept constructive criticism - if you're nice about it 😂

There's a bomb in this one. It might not be what you expect.

Enjoy! xx

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Alice sipped very gently on a small glass of wine as she watched Anya run away, strangely panicked, and disappear out of sight.

Weird , she thought. She hadn't even seen the famous Donovan Desmond enter the Ballroom, but Anya seemed convinced that he was there for some reason. But it wasn't really any of her business, so she didn't say anything, choosing instead to find her way back to Emile, who had somehow managed to reconnect with both Becky and Bill.

Alice had to admit, Becky's stylist had excellent taste. The shade of peacock-blue was perfect for her, and the halterneck dress was adorned with large fabric roses on one side, starting at the crook of her neck, trailing down her side and disappearing into her waist. It almost made her regret her own chartreuse choice - but if she wanted to be friends with Becky Blackbell, she had to master the art of admiring Becky's choices, and feeling self-assured in her own style. So, she pulled her shoulders back like her mother taught her, and strode over to the group with what she hoped was an air of confidence.

As she got closer to the group, wine in hand, Becky looked up, and made worried eye contact.

"Have you seen Anya?"

Ah , though Alice. Well, there was any hope of conversation out the window.

"Not since she went looking for Desmond," answered Alice honestly, although she wasn't expecting the reaction that came next.

" She's looking for Desmond? " Becky spluttered, perplexed. "Not the other way around?"

"Uhh…" said Alice, now unsure of what was going on. "She said something about his father being here?"

Emile froze, and snapped his head round to Alice, startling both girls. "She said what? " He swallowed quickly, coughing on a canape, before exclaiming: "That's not possible!"

"I didn't see him anywhere," offered Alice, trying to be helpful. "Did he leave already?"

"Oh no, no, no, no, no ," Emile panicked, ignoring them both. "This is bad. This is really bad."

"Desmond's father?" Becky gasped. "What could he be doing here?"

"Nothing good, that's for sure," said Emile, and he started to chew the inside of his cheek in thought. "If his father is here, then Damian's in trouble."

After a moment's thought: "We have to go and find him now ."

"Am I missing something here?" Alice asked earnestly. "None of us have seen Mr. Desmond with our own eyes, I haven't even seen him, and all we got was Anya's word, and you're just - going with that?"

"He can't have gone far," Becky spoke over Alice. "Let's go now, before we could lose sight of them!"

Emile half-turned to follow Becky, when Alice grabbed him by the elbow, holding him back.

"Hold on a second!" she cried out, now more confused than ever, and feeling disappointingly out of the loop. "She didn't even see him! She could just be jumping to conclusions!"

Emile shook his head at her - a dismissal. "You don't know Anya. She's usually right about these things."

Alice gaped at Emile.

"I'm sorry," Emile looked at Alice apologetically, "But if Damian's dad is here , then he's going to need us."

"Why? It doesn't make any sense! "

It was supposed to be a night of socialising with friends, not running about the school in her heels like they were children in a playpark. It was unsightly, completely uncivilised. Her mother would certainly have words with her if she knew Alice had been running amok in the school and abandoning her Imperial Scholar duties.

But it appeared that none of that had even crossed Emile's mind, and his eyes darkened on her.

"It's not my business to talk about," he said, once again in an apologetic - but stern - tone. "You just have to trust us."

Alice loosened her grip, darted her eyes between her mother - who looked deep in an argument with the other mothers - and back at Emile, who waited for her to make a decision.

"Fine!" Alice eventually groaned. "Let's go."

Damian's body was already frozen when his father had started to walk towards him, but at the explosive noises coming from directly outside the door, the dread set in even deeper into Damian's skin, immobilising him completely.

Even if he did have control over his body, he didn't have time to react before the door blasted open, debris and woodshards flying everywhere, and a ball of pink-and-green skidded into his vision.

It took Damian five full seconds to comprehend what he was seeing.

The light from the corridor penetrated through the fractured door, bathing her in a heavenly light, the brightest point in the lamplit room. Untouchable. Inescapable.

Her dress fluttered wildly on the breeze that entered with her, while curls of her hair had escaped from the style secured on her head. Her chest heaved with exertion as wild eyes scanned her surroundings, alive with fury, the greenest and most vivid and electrifying he had ever seen them. He couldn't drag his eyes away from her. She kept her stance rigid and extended, gripping her weapons in each hand, prepared like a divine warrior ready for battle.

She looked amazing .

Until Damian's eyes snagged on the bloodstained stiletto-heeled shoes in her hands, and as the remains of the doors swung closed behind her, Damian caught a glimpse of the two suits sprawled on the floor. Once again, panic and confusion reverberated through his entire body, and the blood drained from his face.

What did she do?

He jolted when he saw movement in front of him, but it was only Anya's hand reaching back.

Reaching for him.

Damian took her hand without thinking, an automatic process based on habit and trust, and he nearly jumped when her thumb brushed his and her melodic voice rang out in his mind like chimes.

Are you okay?

Damian's throat tightened. How could he possibly answer that?

He didn't get a chance to, because then Donovan took one step closer to them, and instinctively Damian backed away, pulling Anya with him. She had not turned to look at Damian since she entered, instead putting her entire body in a protective stance between him and his father, directly intercepting his father's path towards him.

It was brave of her, especially since her hand trembled in Damian's hold. Or was it him that was trembling? He couldn't tell, but gratitude rushed through him at the thought that she had come for him. Damian didn't know how he would ever thank her.

At the same time, his gratitude warred with his fear, especially with the knowledge that his father knew who she was .

More and more, Damian felt destabilised by his father's presence and his intentions, and the questions repeated themselves in his mind.

Why was he here?

What did he want?

Donovan scanned his eyes over the two of them, noting the fractured door, her dishevelled and bloody appearance, and he seemed to come to a sort of decision as he leaned closer to them.

"Hello, my dear," Donovan greeted Anya, and to Damian's complete surprise, he didn't sense any malice or kindness in his tone. As if he were completely detached from the moment, just the curiosity of a mere observer, bordering on the scientific. "We were just talking about you."

The movement of Donovan taking a step closer shifted the air, and Damian closed his eyes against the smell of antiseptic. It assaulted his senses, cloying in his throat and stinging his eyes.

What happened next was an onslaught.

White lights blinked at him from above. Too bright. Damian could barely see a thing, and he tried to close his eyes against it, but the light pierced his eyelids. He tried to raise his hand to shield himself against it, but the light even penetrated through shadow.

With his tiny hand trying to shield the light, Damian vaguely noted that his wrist had angry, red welts on them. They stung, but he couldn't remember why - but he didn't have time to think about it before a deep voice spoke from somewhere above him.

The boy is of no use to me.

A harsh, female voice.

You are interrupting the procedure. I'll return him when I am done.

No. He is just a spare. Not necessary for my plans.

Some more murmurs that he couldn't make out or understand, before a hand grabbed his elbow, tugging him upwards.

We're leaving. Get up.

It hurt, Damian realised. His wrists hurt. His body hurt. He could barely lift his head, but that was less to do with the aching pain, and more with the heavy drowsiness that coated him like honey, dragging him into unconsciousness. He couldn't understand why he was so tired, and the world spun around him. Nausea rose in him, and he thought he would be sick.

I need you to wake up.

And somehow, Damian blinked, and the white lights faded, along with the smell of antiseptic, replaced by the warm white lamp lights that cast long, low shadows over everything they touched.

Damian couldn't reconcile it. What had he just seen? What just happened? What was going on?

All his energy had drained from him, but despite what he wanted to do, which was to shut down and forget everything, he couldn't shut down yet. Not yet. Anya had come for him. He couldn't leave her alone. Not with him .

Donovan fixed Damian with an unreadable stare, but then something behind Damian caught his attention.

"You're late, Demetrius."

Taking care of the suits was much easier than she expected. Clearly used to larger opponents, their combined underestimation of her abilities cost them the battle.

But she had miscalculated the density of the door, and Anya's entire body ached from the impact. Perhaps barreling herself through it wasn't the best idea - but it was the fastest way to get to Damian.

It didn't appear that Donovan had made any actual physical impacts, but she couldn't underestimate the power he held over Damian, or the shadow he cast over them both.

And then he had the audacity to greet her like she hadn't just destroyed the door to the Boardroom, like she hadn't just single-handedly fought and defeated his bodyguards outside.

Hello, my dear. We were just talking about you.

Anya held on to Damian, trying to convey her thoughts to him through her touch - the strongest method - but his grip on her increasingly tightened, and Anya was forced to discover that Damian was in such a catatonic state that his mind was not in the Boardroom at all .

It was somewhere else . Somewhere brighter, with harsh white light, and the heavy feeling of being dragged out of consciousness.

Anya only saw it for a second, before she withdrew completely from his mind. It looked too familiar, too unsafe for her when she needed to stay strong for the both of them.

She steadied herself, and forced out her words, ignoring how violently her hands shook.

"Why are you here?"

Donovan blinked at her, his face void of any expression.

She couldn't read him. It wasn't that Donovan's mind was blank - but there was a very prominent wall around his mind that Anya couldn't break through. It felt hard like steel, and beyond it, she was sure that his thoughts lay deep within, concealed from her.

It was a different feeling than what she had with Adrian, where she could feel nothing at all, not even his presence. Donovan's presence felt… shiny, like metal, but he was impenetrable. She had never in her life come across a person whose mind felt like that before.

Anya tried again.

"If you care about Damian at all, you should leave."

Donovan continued to train his eyes on her, and Anya's skin prickled under his hollow stare.

It was unnerving. Most of the time she would at least be able to sense a person's emotions, even if she was too tired to read their thoughts directly. Without her power, she would have to rely on her knowledge of body language, and everything she had learned from Twilight - which was patchy at best.

Donovan stood completely still, no twitching on his face or hands to give away any subconscious thoughts or feelings. His eyes didn't move from her as she spoke. And then, after a long few seconds, Donovan drew his brows together in slight bewilderment.

"You seem… concerned."

Anya didn't know whether to stare back at him, drop her mouth open, or scream. Forget the wall of steel inside his mind - this man was a completely different species than anyone she had had to deal with before in her entire life.

What was he playing at? Was he confused? Jealous? Totally unempathetic? She never guessed that Donovan would be this unreadable, but she couldn't just walk away. She had to protect Damian at all costs, and if that meant being examined under a microscope, and stalling for time, then she would do it, no matter how uncomfortable he made her feel, or how much he made her sweat.

She had seen her father in action. He knew how to think one thing and do another, he knew how to multitask a hundred different actions and plan a thousand different schemes. Anya didn't have that same mental training, she didn't have the advantage of being so practised at deceit, but there was one thing that she had that never failed to disarm her opponents.

It was knowing the truth, and using the truth to get to the heart of it all.

"I am. And I'm disappointed," Anya clarified, deciding that straightforward honesty was the best route.

"Disappointed," Donovan repeated unfeelingly. Almost curiously, like he was testing the shape of the word in his mouth.

Anya didn't know what to make of that.

Behind her, Damian remained rigid with fear, stuck in his mute stupor, and through her hold on him it was easy to detect his racing pulse, his shallow, rapid breaths.

Anya gritted her teeth. Damian couldn't even function because he was in the same room as his father, who did nothing but stare with hollow eyes, and it was both enough to make her skin crawl, and for a furious fire to spread through her, burning the edges of her limbs.

Fuming, Anya lifted her eyes to the man in front of her, hoping that he could feel the embers sparking from her eyes.

"Do you have any idea how much you're hurting him?" she seethed. "Do you have any idea how much he suffers every day - because of you? "

If anything, Donovan's lack of immediate response incited her anger even more - because how dare he? How dare he overlook Damian, his son, and leave him behind for so long, wondering what he had ever done wrong, believing that he was worthless and unlovable because the one person in the world who could give him what he craved decided to turn his back on his own son.

"You ignored him for years , and now - what? You think you can just summon him once and you're forgiven?"

She raised her voice, hoping that something in her words could land an impact on him, and her eyes stung with tears, thinking of all of the pain that Damian had felt because his father never bothered to show up for him. All the late and sleepless nights trying to perfect the next project, achieve the next Stella Star, surpass the next grade, just wanting to be good enough.

"He worked himself to the bone for you! All he needed - all he ever needed was for you to look at him! Just once! Is that really too much to ask? Is that really so hard for you?"

"He is a Desmond . He does not need such frivolities as compliments ."

Donovan's words - the few words that he had uttered to her - slapped her across the face.

Anya could have stumbled back, if it weren't for Damian holding her hand behind her.

What the fuck is wrong with this man?

"You're wrong," Anya choked out, and the sting tears finally escaped from her eyes, dripping hot tracks down her cheeks. "He needs you ."

Because as much as she didn't want to admit it, she knew it was true. Over a decade of reading his mind, and Anya knew without a doubt that Damian did love his father. Even with the complications, and the disappointment, and the never-ending heartbreak, the child inside him had never quite managed to move on - and why would he? Of course he wanted his father's love. Of course he wanted to be seen and recognised by the most important person in his world.

She wanted to cry for him. That boy who tried so hard, and who put his entire self on the line in the vain hope of receiving scraps of something, anything , because he was only a child .

Anya squeezed Damian's hand harder, willing him to wake up .

I will fight for you as long as I can but I need you to wake up.

Gathering her strength, Anya inhaled a shuddering breath, and sharpened her voice for her next attack.

"He needed you."

Once again, Donovan's sparse reaction to her words only sealed her immeasurable disappointment. Instead of replying, Donovan simply flicked his eyes upwards at the new presence in the room.

She didn't even notice him entering.

"You're late, Demetrius."

Damian turned so fast that he thought he was going to faint.

It was really him. Damian couldn't remember the last time he saw him - all he knew was that it had been so long that Damian had half-wondered if he would even be able to recognise his brother anymore - but as always, it was like looking in a mirror, if the mirror was paler, and slightly taller, and made one look slightly sicker.

"Sorry, Father," said Demetrius.

After only a quick scan, it was obvious that Demetrius was not well. He stood bowed like a reed in the wind, as if the bags under his eyes were heavy enough to drag down his entire upper body.

It would have been disconcerting, if Damian had the energy to feel more emotions than he already did. Already, his entire system had flooded with fear, and rage, and enough shock to last a lifetime, and there was no room left to feel anything else.

Donovan inclined his head towards the door.

"See it it that those men are-"

"Already taken care of," Demetrius interrupted.

Damian glanced back towards the shattered door, noting that neither of the suits remained in the view of the heavy wooden frame, and something dark settled in his stomach. He didn't didn't notice them being taken away.

"Well, it looks like my business here has finished," said Donovan in a monotonous tone. He flicked his eyes towards Damian. "For now."

As Donovan stepped closer to them, Anya's hand tightened on his, and before he knew it, Donovan had brushed past Damian's shoulder, bringing a chill with him that went through Damian's entire body - the touch of a ghost walking in the halls.

They're going to arrest him in the morning.

A terrible pain crackled through him, and Damian wanted to close his eyes, but his entire body had frozen, caught between the urge to chase after his father, and to collapse, leaning all of his weight on Anya. His silent voice scraped through his throat, a struggle to even speak.

If his father was going to be arrested…

… would this be the last time Damian would see him?

He could do nothing. He could watch his father walk away without another word - for what could be the last time. It would be easy. He would never have to speak to him again.

Anya's hand tightened on his before he even realised that he had stepped forward, reaching out with one hand like he was a child again.

"Wait - " Damian gasped involuntarily, at the same time that he pulled back his hand sharply, torn once again between his conflicting desires. The word 'Father' got stuck in his throat, choking him.

Damian's heart hammered in his chest, a cacophonous beat that vibrated through his very bones. It roared in his ears, waves crashing through an ocean storm, submerging him, and all he had left were mere bubbles of air before he would drown completely.

"Don't - don't fight them," he wheezed. "Please. It'll only - make things worse."

He wasn't quite sure if it was really what he meant to say but then he looked up, meeting his father's haunting stare.

Donovan stared at Damian.

Donovan stared at Damian.

With hollow eyes.

Damian's skin prickled with unease under his father's stare, and he swallowed. The bubbles of air had all but run out and he knew that he was close to collapse.

"You will not forgive me… and yet you tell me not to fight?" said Donovan in genuine confusion, his brows drawn together to create deep lines in his forehead.

"You're - you're still - my -"

Damian's entire body clenched and unclenched, and he looked away, staring at the floor.

"Just. Promise me."

Donovan didn't move his eyes from Damian, didn't release him from the weight of his stare until Demetrius cleared his throat.

"The car is waiting."

It seemed that was enough to regain Donovan's attention, and he walked away without another word, leaving Damian behind.

He didn't look back.

Damian felt his entire body being pulled in several directions at once: invisible ropes attached to his friends in the Ballroom, because he was supposed to be there , and more than anything Damian wanted to go back, where things were simpler. Another rope pulled him towards Anya, because she was his safe place, and a part of him knew that if he just stayed by her side, then he wouldn't feel so awful, and there was a chance that he could actually feel okay again.

Finally, as much as he hated to admit it, a heavy rope attached him to his father, pulling him forward with every step further away from him that Donovan took.

The air stilled around him, and suddenly Damian struggled to move even a single muscle, even when Anya tried to drag him out of the room to follow his father, although he couldn't fathom why . Everything around him moved too slowly and he couldn't grasp what on earth was happening around him. It didn't matter that Anya's mouth kept opening and closing at him, because he couldn't hear a single sound.

The warmth of Anya's hand left him, and the pink-and-green in his vision grew smaller and smaller, accompanied by the delayed sounds of fading footsteps.

It's over . Damian realised, and the relief hit him so hard that he swayed dangerously on his feet. He needed to sit down - or lean against something - or -

Damian's vision spun around him and on instinct he reached out for the nearest surface, leaning all of his weight on it, trying to steady himself. If only the corridor would stop spinning…

He barely noticed that Demetrius had appeared, until he felt a warm hand on his back, hesitant, but steady, and Damian dragged his gaze up to the concerned eyes of his estranged older brother.

Even in his hazy state, Damian would forever remember that he didn't see Demetrius open his mouth, didn't see him move anything at all, and yet the sound rang clear in his mind, the only thing that Damian could hear above his thunderous heartbeat -

Be careful, little brother.

He blinked, and time must have sped up because suddenly Demetrius had moved to the other side of the spinning corridor, and Demetrius disappeared from his vision.

Did he -

Did he just -

There was no way that Demetrius could -

Damian's breath stuck in his throat, asphyxiating him from the inside.

At that moment, Damian knew.

Oh my god I'm having a heart attack.

Somehow, the realisation made it worse, because then he started to panic, and hyperventilate. A balloon had inflated inside his chest, pressing up against the inner walls of his ribcage, pushing the air out of his lungs, and his heart thundered against everything in his chest.

A hand landed on his shoulder.

"Damian, breathe," said the voice.

Damian could barely see through the black spots clouding his vision.

"You're okay. Everything's okay. Just. Breathe."

"I-" Damian tried to speak but he choked on the air, tears streaming down his face, tasting salt on his tongue. "I can't -"

I'm dying , he wanted to say, and the words were right here in his mind. I'm going to die.

"That's it, keep trying," the calm voice said, and Damian sucked in a breath like it was his first, like it was his last, like it was a miracle that there was any air at all.

"You're doing great. Keep going."

"I can't - breathe -"

"You're breathing now. You're doing great."

All he could do was listen to the calm voice, and try to follow the instructions he was given, desperately trying to stifle the horrible feeling that had torn through him. Arms reached around him, and Damian held on to Dr Forger as though his life depended on it.

"That's it. That's it."

It was getting easier, Damian realised. Maybe he wasn't dying after all. The black in his vision slowly receded, and the image in front of him gained definition, and with each heartbeat and breath, Damian was slowly able to come back to himself, and find his voice after everything.

Twilight had lost sight of Demetrius, but he managed to follow him through the twisted corridors of Eden College, until he heard a burst coming from the direction of the Boardroom, just on the other side of the Imperial Scholar's corridor.

He immediately knew where to go. He had had the blueprint of Eden College memorised for over a decade.

Twilight rushed around the corner that led to the Boardroom, and then immediately swivelled back around, pressing his back flat against the wall.

What was Anya doing here?

Not only that, but she had also dragged Damian into the corridor, and he clearly was not in a good mental state. Twilight only had mere seconds before Donovan Desmond would turn the corner and he would lose visual.

But…

Twilight ground his teeth. It would be beneficial to Operation Strix if he could hold Donovan back for just a little bit longer, keep him distracted - but the success of the Operation no longer hinged on Twilight's actions.

He needed to check in with Adrian, Yuri and Franky, and the other teams dotted around Ostania. If Donovan and Demetrius Desmond had come to the Imperial Ball, Twilight needed to know why - did they get wind of the Operation somehow? Did they know what was happening at that very moment in time?

If Twilight did make contact, would they suspect something?

The same risk applied to Anya, because she knew about the plan, and if she said anything to Donovan -

- or to Damian -

- then the entire Operation could be at risk regardless of anything Twilight himself did.

Twilight gritted his teeth. This was exactly why he never wanted to involve anyone else in the mission. If it failed, it should be because of him , and no-one else. It was his to complete. It was his responsibility.

Until everything had spun so out of control, that he was forced to work with others for the success of the mission.

Twilight waited until the sounds of footsteps grew quieter before he pushed against the wall, spurring himself to turn around the corner -

And he froze.

Because Damian Desmond was somehow leaning against the wall, clutching at his heart, and struggling to breathe.

Twilight's gaze darted between the distressed Damian, and the empty corner that Donovan Desmond would have disappeared behind.

He should follow Donovan. The mission had not finished yet, but Twilight still needed to witness its end, to make sure that he had done as much as he possibly could do to finish the mission with as high a success rate as possible. He didn't even have to say anything important. He wouldn't have to hold him for long.

Damian. Hyperventilating, slumped against the wall, eyes blind with panic.

Donovan. The man who started it all. The man whose downfall would prevent an all-out war.

Damian. Close to collapse.

Donovan. The target of a twelve-year Operation.

Loid made his decision before he had even taken his next step.

"Damian, breathe," he said calmly, reaching out a hand in an attempt to stabilise him. "You're okay. Everything's okay. Just. Breathe."

Loid stayed as still as he could, knowing that the boy in front of him needed a calm touch and a stable person to hold on to, but he was surprised with the strength with which Damian held on to his jacket. If Damian had more sessions with Yor, he could easily pull him down.

In the meantime, Loid kept talking, knowing that was the most important thing he could do to remind Damian that he was safe , that he was okay , that he was in fact not dying .

After what felt like an eternity, Damian was left with the adrenaline-filled aftershocks, and after a particularly long, shuddering breath, Loid heard Damian's voice, rough with exhaustion and heavy with relief.

"Thanks, Pops."

Anya didn't plan to rush after Donovan. Demetrius had somehow slipped away without her noticing, evading her senses completely, but she had to catch Donovan while she could. She would never get another chance.

She tried to pull Damian along with her, not wanting to leave him alone for even a second, but he was in such a catatonic state that she couldn't move him, and his eyes glazed over like she wasn't even there.

Anya bit the inside of her own cheek, and tugged her hand out of Damian's. She tried to apologise, to tell him that he would be right back, but he stared through her like she was no more than glass, and something told her that no matter what she said, he wouldn't be able to hear anything at all.

Anya's heels screeched to a halt on the ground, sending pieces of gravel flying. Donovan was only ten paces away from entering into his inconspicuous black car with his bodyguards.

She had followed Donovan outside out of some instinct, born from the righteous rage that ignited in the Boardroom, when she saw Damian in so much distress than she had ever believed possible - because of that man. The man that should have been his father.

Anya didn't know who her real father was - and she may never know - but she didn't give it much thought because she considered herself lucky enough to have Twilight as her adoptive father.

She had Twilight - but what did Damian have?

Donovan didn't care about his children, only what they could do for him, or what service they could provide, or how they upheld the Desmond name.

Rage coursed through her as she took him in. The man who could paralyse his youngest son with fear from just a single look, who could turn his mind to coarse static from just a single mention. She remembered the way his eyes completely deadened. If a man like Donovan could bring Damian to his knees just by his mere presence, then he wasn't a father at all.

Donovan didn't deserve a single pent of recognition from her. Not after everything that he put her family through.

Not after everything that he put Damian through.

Her heart raced with anger, but she tried to concentrate on the man in front of her.

The man who had haunted her life since the moment it truly began. The man whose shadow stretched over her and Damian's life, dark and neverending.

"Are you just gonna leave like that?" she called out to him, and to her absolute disbelief, Donovan slowed to a halt.

And with a wave of his hand, send his shadows ahead.

Donovan still kept his back to her as he spoke. "My business is finished."

As if to punctuate his statement, Donovan inclined his head just slightly, turning his body only enough so that he could look at her.

Donovan sharpened his eyes at her, piercing her with their severity.

"Whatever compensation you're hoping to extract from my son, you won't get it."

She did not expect that .

"Excuse me?" Anya reeled back from shock. "I'm not trying to get - anything -"

"But of course you are." Though his voice was quiet it carried to her in the clear night. "Everyone wants something from us. No. Exceptions ."

He turned to Anya with an exacting gaze.

"Am I wrong?"

Anya froze under his searing glare, seeing right through her.

"You are just like the other parasites of society. Using my son as a pawn in your game, pretending that you haven't thought about using him to get to me."

"I-" Anya stopped short, speechless, because Donovan wasn't just close. He was right .

Her realisation must have shown on her face, because a flash of victory crossed his, only perceptible for a quick second, before he smoothed his features over once again.

"I'm not-" Anya tried to fight back, but the words stuck in her throat.

She was no better than the simpering girls who had cornered her earlier, and accused her of using Damian for her personal gain - though the truth was much worse than anyone could know.

Somehow, it wasn't enough that his comment had destabilised her, but Donovan's next words pulled the ground from under her feet.

"Do you really think you are protecting him?"

Once again, his direction of speech threw her for a loop.

"What do you mean?"

Donovan considered her thoughtfully, and Anya's skin prickled under his examination.

"Hm," said Donovan, before turning away for the final time. "I thought not."

She was so focused on his fading footsteps, that she didn't realise the ones coming up behind her. Footsteps… with no thoughts.

But not in the way that she couldn't hear Donovan's thoughts. While Donovan had a steel wall, and the presence of something beneath the surface, the mind behind her was completely blank.

Like Adrian's.

Anya turned to face Demetrius, noting how he had already been staring at her long before she turned to face him, and all the while, Anya worried: what if it was her? What if she couldn't hear him because her powers were still recovering? What if she was wrong?

But… no… she had been able to see Emile's memories, track down Damian, and even project her thoughts to him. Her powers must have come back.

So if her powers were working -

And she couldn't feel Demetrius -

Then that meant -

Then that meant -

That meant Demetrius was just like her .

"Two minutes and thirty three seconds," said Demetrius, and she startled.

"What-"

"That's how long it took you to notice," Demetrius said it like it was obvious, as he bored his eyes into her. "You'll have to do better than that."

Anya didn't get a chance to reply before he brushed past her, and joined his father in the black car, leaving Anya with the distinct feeling that whatever battle she thought she was fighting neither existed nor mattered - and the real battle was beyond her grasp.

"You're late," Donovan observed as Demetrius lowered himself into the car.

Demetrius bowed his head. "Sorry, Father."

A glare, and Demetrius flinched.

"Sorry… sir," he corrected himself.

As usual, Donovan ignored Demetrius' apology, and held his hand out to him.

Wordlessly, Demetrius handed over a packed envelope, and watched carefully as Donovan's face remained impassive as he looked through the documents contained within.

Demetrius did not take his eyes off his father as he read through the papers, no doubt checking that all the signatures had been collected and allocated to the correct sections. His eyes roamed his father's face, looking for clues as to the inner workings of his mind.

"Submit it tonight," Donovan said as he added a final signature, re-sealed the envelope, and handed it back to Demetrius.

"Tonight?" he blinked. "But -"

"Tonight," Donovan repeated firmly, before fixing his gaze out of the window. "After all, tomorrow will be my first day as a free man."

"Yes… sir," Demetrius agreed reluctantly. He decided not to challenge his father's strange wording.

Thanks to the intracranial implants, Demetrius could not read his father's mind anymore. His father was a very careful man, who never liked to reveal anything about himself - even to Demetrius - but after years of practice, Demetrius liked to think that he had a better idea of what his father was thinking than anyone else.

A slight drop of the shoulders. Relief .

A long glance out of the window. Despondence, or wistfulness.

Donovan held his hand out again, and Donovan carefully replaced the sealed envelope with a worn notebook in his palm, once again watching Donovan as he flicked through it.

"Hm," he said eventually, and Demetrius flinched.

He probably made it to the page with his observations. Everything Demetrius saw or heard, he wrote it down for his father's assessment and review, but the observations from the Ball were interesting , to say the least.

Demetrius put all of his focus into sitting still, into not drawing Donovan's attention to the way he would fidget or chew his nails when he felt nervous. Even without being able to read his mind, Demetrius just knew what his father would have been thinking.

Her time is better than yours.

I know, he wanted to say. I'm sorry. I'll be better, I promise. But it was already too late for him. It killed him on the inside, because that meant that there was someone out there who showed more promise than he did.

Anya Forger. Test Subject 007. An enigma, by all standards except theirs.

Demetrius tried not to show any emotion on his face, learning from his father's example. Knowing what the documents contained, his stomach twisted with unease. To him, they were proof that his father only saw him as a means to an end, and now that the political landscape was about to shift dramatically, Demetrius was about to lose his place in it all. He had served his usefulness, and now it was Damian's turn to shoulder the duty.

He tried to comfort himself with the knowledge that it was the only way, but it still didn't hurt any less.

"What are your orders for tomorrow?"

Donovan was silent for a while. Eventually, he spoke, and though he had his head turned away from Demetrius, the window's reflection showed lips curved slightly upwards in an unfeeling smile. "Don't tell your mother."

Demetrius fought the strange urge to laugh. His father sounded far too serious to repeat phrases that belonged to a normal family.

He filed away the information in his mind, but then he turned his attention to the more pressing matter.

"And the girl?"

He thought back to the chaos that he had walked in on. Two guards inexplicably defeated, an ornate (and very expensive) door in pieces, and Anya Forger holding a pair of not-at-all suspiciously bloodstained shoes. Obviously, she was far too dangerous to be allowed near a Desm-

"She may have some use, after all."

If Demetrius had taken a drink, he would have spluttered it all over the car.

"Sir, you - you can't be serious!" He gaped at his father. "Her? But she's a child! She's untrained! She's practically feral -"

"They're linked, Demetrius," Donovan sighed wearily, as if bored. "Or did you not see it?"

Demetrius halted, his brows creasing as he tried to remember the events of the evening, but Donovan did not wait to continue.

"However untrained she is, it is still to our advantage that the ability stays under a Desmond's control. Do you understand?"

Demetrius forced himself to nod.

By the heaviness in his tone, Demetrius knew that the conversation was over, so he laid the envelope neatly on his lap, and clasped his hands tightly together - a technique he had developed to stop himself from chewing his nails into oblivion.

Demetrius sighed. He was not looking forward to the next day.

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For the ATLA fans:
Damian: Did those suits... die?
Me: Y'know, it was really unclear...

God, writing this was a challenge. Thank you for reading!
Next chapter Wednesday... We have 1 more chapter before the end of the Imperial Ball arc, and then onto greater things!