Sometimes, Noel hated being right.
The moments after he and Hope entered Alaric's office with Landon were as the Mikaelson girl had promised; just standard, routine questions.
Landon, though failing to leave any meaningful impression on Noel, answered the questions thoroughly and without resistance.
All normal, routine questions.
That is, until, Alaric got to the question that had been plaguing everyone's minds:
Who did Rafael kill recently?
"W-Why would you ask me that?!"
Noel sat on the window alcove to Alaric's right, picking pieces of lint off a red pillow as Landon's jaw dropped.
"The werewolf gene lies dormant until the carrier takes a human life," Alaric explained. He flipped open the manilla file on his desk, steepling his fingers. "If Rafael triggered his curse, it's...because he killed someone. And we don't accept cold-blooded killers into our program."
Alaric spoke those last few words with an added emphasis, causing Landon to squirm in his chair. But the boy quickly regained his nerve, scowling at the headmaster as his hands balled into fists.
"He's not a killer." he defended.
Noel shook his head, flicking a piece of lint away. "Well, clearly, you're wrong."
Hope glared at Noel as he met Landon's gaze, ignoring the anger burning in his olive-green eyes.
"We might be supernatural," Noel said. "But our world still has rules. And one of them is that a werewolf can't turn unless they've killed someone."
He leaned back against the window, the midday sun heating the back of his hoodie.
"Saying that you're a werewolf that hasn't killed anyone is like saying you're a pregnant virgin - very unlikely."
Landon scowled at him. "You think this is funny?"
"What Noel is trying to say," Alaric interrupted him. "Is that these sorts of things are consistent with a newly triggered wolf. There's no shame in it."
Landon held his gaze with Alaric, but his eyes softened as Hope put a hand on his arm.
Seriously, what was with her today?
"I know this is a lot to take in, right now." Hope sighed. "I've been going here since I was seven. This is a safe place for people like Rafael. I-It's a home!"
To some people. Noel thought bitterly.
"But if we take him in," Alaric added. "We need to make sure that he isn't a threat."
Landon looked down, but Noel could see the vacancy in the boy's eyes. As if he were replaying some terrible memory on a loop in his mind.
"Look," Noel reasoned. "Just because your brother killed someone, doesn't mean that he's a bad guy. Soldiers kill people. Cops kill people. Hell, doctors and pharmacists kill people."
The witch folded his arms.
"... We're just trying to make sure that whatever happened wasn't premeditated."
The glaze in Landon's eyes dissipated, the boy taking an unsteady breath as he walked to the other side of the room.
"...His girlfriend." Landon finally admitted. "Cassie. Last month he was driving, there was a storm. He took a turn too fast."
Noel curled a finger over his chin. Killing a loved one in a car accident. That was a new one.
Noel didn't interact with the werewolves as a personal rule, but thanks to the school's rumour mill and Alyssa Chang's gossip (Jed was very talkative during their booty calls), plenty of people knew about the packs' first kills.
A couple of brawls gone wrong, some drunk arguments that got heated and a few more from kids snapping at their abusive parents. But nothing like what Rafael had been involved with. Poor bastard.
"-ou for that, Landon." Noel heard Alaric say, realising that he had zoned out of the conversation. "Hope?"
Noel registered the look on Alaric's face; the tension in his jaw and the stoicism in his eyes. Throw in the concern on Hope's face, and it wasn't hard to guess what was happening next:
They were cutting Landon loose.
As if on cue, Hope took a solemn step forward, slipping her hand into Landon's.
"... Everything's gonna be okay", she reassured him. "I promise."
Noel rolled his eyes. Jesus Christ, was he being compelled or undergoing brain surgery?!
Landon looked at the three of them confusedly (something he seemed to be doing a lot of, Noel thought) until the office door opened.
Not a moment later, a boy walked in, an African-American kid with a textured afro, white sneakers and the biggest grin Landon had ever seen.
"Landon Kirby," Alaric introduced. "Milton Greasl-"
"MG." Noel corrected him. "This is MG."
The boy, MG, smiled at Noel appreciatively as Alaric cleared his throat.
"Right. I'm sorry." the headmaster apologised. "Take it from a guy named 'Alaric'. Landon, MG is my student aide and-"
"Tick-Tock, Doc." Noel cut him off. "Can we get this show on the road?"
"He's also a vampire." Hope added, glaring at Noel.
"Of course he is..." Landon swallowed. "Y'know, for a school with a secret to keep, you're kind of liberal with your information."
"New kid's got a point, Doc." Noel snorted. "Sure you don't wanna give him your social security number while you're at it?"
"That won't be necessary." Alaric said, rolling his eyes at Noel's sarcasm. "Besides, we don't intend for him to remember any of this anyway."
Landon's bushy eyebrows furrowed as MG placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
"Forget everything you've seen or heard since last night..."
Noel zoned out as MG began performed the compulsion on Landon, a phantom weight lifting from the witch's chest.
Great, the sooner they compelled Landon to forget all about today, the sooner that Noel could too. Honestly, who would have thought some blank-faced hipster would be so much trouble-
"Are you out of your minds?!"
Noel snapped out of his daze as Landon swatted MG's hand away, the sight of which sent a cold wave through Noel's body.
What the fuck just happened?!
But somehow, Noel already knew the answer. And judging by the panic on Hope and Alaric's faces, so did they.
The compulsion didn't work!
"MG, did you do it wrong?!" Hope gasped.
MG shirked backwards as Landon glared at him.
"N-No, I didn't 'do it wrong'!" he defended. "This is the easiest vampire trick in the book!"
"Well, it didn't work!"
"O-Obviously it didn't work!"
The room quickly descended into panic as MG argued his case, the group dumbfounded by Landon's resistance.
Noel watched in stunned silence as Hope and MG argued, assessing the situation himself.
No. MG had done the compulsion correctly. He had looked Landon dead in the eye, without blinking, and spoke as clearly as could be.
If there were any problems with the compulsion, they were from Landon's end.
And to Noel's recollection, there was only one thing that could prevent a human from being compelled.
Vervain.
But as soon as Noel made that deduction, his gaze fell back onto Landon, the boy's eyes darting back and forth towards the open doorway.
Noel's eyes flashed. Oh, no you don't!
"Ad Sonum!" he called out.
The spell took effect immediately, Landon's olive-green eyes rolling backwards as he flopped face-first onto the floor.
The entire room went silent the second Landon collapsed.
Hope's jaw dropped. "What the hell was that?"
"Me doing damage control." Noel answered her sharply.
Without another word, the witch pounced on Landon's unconscious form, his eyes narrowed like a hawk as he rummaged around Landon's clothes. He pulled back Landon's collar, his hoodie sleeves, his trouser legs, even hair - as if looking for something.
"What are you doing?" Alaric asked, folding his arms.
"For jewellery," Noel answered him. "Anything that could hold vervain."
He frowned at the headmaster.
"Which is something that you should have done the second you picked him up!"
Alaric ignored him as Noel stood up, sighing.
"No vervain accessories. Which means the vervain's internal."
Hope sighed as she registered Noel's deduction, her auburn eyebrows creasing.
"The gas station outside of town. The Sheriff must have re-stocked the coffee with vervain."
Noel swore under his breath. That goddamned Sheriff!
"Well, it doesn't matter now." Alaric sighed. He threw open the door, glancing at MG.
"Could you grab him, please? We gotta get him to the cellars before he wakes up!"
MG nodded and scooped Landon up by the shoulders as Noel leaned down.
"Alright, I'll get his legs and-"
But Hope dove in between them, shoving a forceful hand in Noel's face.
"You've done enough." the tribrid snapped. "We'll take it from here."
Noel's jaw dropped as she stood up, unable to process the girl's words until she was already halfway out the door.
"What?!" Noel exclaimed. "But all I did was knock him out!"
But Hope ignored him, holding the door open as MG and Alaric carried Landon out. Noel cursed and stormed out after them, ignoring the students that were watching the drama unfold.
"Well, excuse me for being the only one of us who gives a shit about the school's safety! Ugh, fuck my li-"
The floorboards creaked behind Noel, a small form diving into an alcove behind a potted plant.
Noel reined in his temper and peered at the plant warily, a curly-haired child staring back at him.
"Pedro?" Noel asked. "What are you doing?"
The child, Pedro, crept out from his hiding spot, an anxious expression on his mouse-like face.
He looked down, fiddling with the hem of his sky-blue dress shirt.
"Hey," Noel soothed, kneeling down. "C'mon little man, what's up?"
"...I didn't do my homework." Pedro finally said. "It was too hard, and I couldn't finish it...so I hid during class..."
Noel fought the urge to smile. "You skipped class, huh? You little rebel."
Pedro seemed to shrink to half his size as Noel spoke, murmuring worriedly as he bowed his curly head.
"Hey, c'mon little man," Noel reassured, patting Pedro's head. "I was just teasing. I didn't mean it."
The witch reached for a half-inch thick textbook in Pedro's hand, the word 'FRACTIONS' scrawled across it in tasteless, purple block letters.
"Fractions, huh?" Noel mused. "Yay..."
The young man looked once at Pedro and then down the hallway.
Hope, Alaric and MG were nowhere to be seen, long disappeared down the stairs with Landon. The crowd from before was dispersing and the last time he checked, that handsome-ish werewolf from earlier was still with Lizzie and Josie.
Which means he had free time.
Without another word, Noel leaned in closer towards Pedro, wobbling the book with a sly smile on his face.
"How about I help you out with some of these?" the witch offered. "Maths isn't my best subject but I can probably help you get the gist of this."
He lowered his voice to a whisper.
"And maybe, we'll grab some of those cookies from the kitchens?"
Pedro's eyes lit up at the mention of 'cookies', the child nodding rapidly as Noel stood up and handed him the textbook.
"But if anyone asks why you aren't in class," Noel advised. "You tell 'em I'm taking you to the sickbay, okay?"
Pedro nodded in agreement and packing his book away, followed Noel down the hall.
MEANWHILE...
Veronica Greasley was bored.
This had been the third meeting today. In the same, icy-cold board room, discussing the same tired old marketing and military strategies.
"So you can see by Figure C, that our response teams are reporting to us much slower than normal..."
A glassed young woman at the front had been droning on for the last twelve minutes, her deadpan voice sucking out Veronica's enthusiasm and that of the other board members.
Honestly, all this monster activity in the world and they were talking about marketing?
Witch schools being established in Western Europe, vampire activity in New Orleans, monster sightings in Mexico and South Africa; to say nothing of whatever the hell was going on in Georgia state. And yet this was how they were spending their time?
Her father entrusted her with Triad Industries to safeguard humanity and the Malivore Pit - not sit around in a board room all day.
But her boredom was short-lived as a loud whirring sound filled the air, the entire room shaking as a large shape crossed the windows.
A helicopter.
The moment that realisation crossed her mind, the door opened, a security guard giving Veronica an urgent look.
"Dr Greasley?" he inquired. "He's here. The benefactor."
Veronica pursed her lips as the guard left, the other board members looking at her in confusion.
He was early.
But she ignored her suspicions, closing the manilla folder in front of her and uncrossing her legs.
"That will be all, everyone." the woman cleared her throat. "We will conclude the meeting here and reconvene next Thursday."
The board members rose to their feet, bowing their heads and leaving while Veronica finished her notes.
As the board members left the room, another figure slinked in through the doorway; a gangly man in a suit with black curly hair and a snake-like smile.
"Dr Greasley." he greeted.
"...Agent Clarke." Veronica acknowledged him, not bothering to look him in the eye. "Has our 'guest' arrived safely?"
"Yes." Clarke nodded. "And I'm pretty sure he's early. Without sounding too pedantic."
Veronica sighed as she stood up, wedging the folders under her right arm.
"So it would seem," she answered passively. "But regardless, we have important matters to discuss with him."
Clarke's vicious smirk widened, a crude expression that made Veronica's skin crawl.
Was he just that excited for the meeting? Or did he kick some puppies before work today?
"Money, money, money." he hummed. "Is that what we're going to discuss, doctor?"
The two fell into line as they left the board room; Clarke walking on Veronica's left as the woman tried to keep as much distance from him as possible.
"Triad Industries is neither inexpensive to run nor an official branch of government, Agent Clarke." the woman chided. "It's donations from people like our benefactor that keep the lights on."
The two came to a stop at a faded brown elevator, the doors parting open as Veronica waved a red keycard across a rusted scanner.
She and Clarke stepped inside, his pasty skin a milky-yellow under the bright lights above them.
"So how much is the old man paying you, anyway?" Clarke finally asked.
"That's Mr Rokubi." Veronica corrected him. "And the amount that Mr Rokubi generously donates is classified."
But Clarke wasn't discouraged. If Anything, Veronica's passive and secretive answers only piqued his curiosity further.
"Is it true what they say about him? That he owns half the tech companies in Japan? That he has some members of the Diet Government in his pocket?"
"If you have time to believe baseless rumours, Agent Clarke," Veronica sneered. "Then might I suggest you take that time and do proper research on Mr Rokubi's background?"
The whirring of the helicopter's blades grew louder as they exited the elevator. The vehicle was a flawless ebony black, with a dark but shiny surface reminiscent of a starless night. The exterior was featureless, however, save for a white animal decal on the doorway and rudder.
The helicopter finally landed, a fearsome whoosh tearing through the air as Veronica approached, with Clarke a few feet behind.
As the blades came to a halt, two Triad guards approached the helicopter door, drawing it back as an elderly man hobbled out.
The man was Japanese, with wrinkled, sun-kissed skin and combed back silver-white hair. He wore a simple black tuxedo, with a grey haori shawl draped over his shoulders.
As he left the helicopter, the man produced a walking cane, a bandaged stick that supported his hunched, kyphotic frame.
But despite his poor posture and age, the man wore a bright smile, grinning from ear to ear like a daruma doll.
Mr Rokubi.
"Remember your place, Agent Clarke."
Clarke frowned, his beady eyes narrowing as a second man stood up inside the helicopter.
"Oh, I will." he acquiesced. "If Rokubi's little attack dog watches his."
Veronica watched as the other man - Rokubi's 'attack dog' - exited the helicopter.
Like Rokubi, the second man was Japanese, but the similarities ended there.
Whereas Rokubi was an older man with a shorter, kyphotic posture, the second man was the opposite. He was tall and youthful, no older than thirty, with a chiselled face one might consider striking, were it not so stark and emotionless.
As he exited the helicopter, he straightened his beige suit jacket and moved to Rokubi's right side, running a hand through his slick, ebony hair.
Exchanging some brief words, Rokubi held out his arm to the younger man, the latter leading him towards Veronica and Clarke. As they got closer, the younger of the two reached into his jacket pocket, placing a pair of vantablack sunglasses over his eyes.
"Mr Rokubi." Veronica greeted the elder of the two. "Welcome to Triad Industries. Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice."
She bowed her head lightly, a gesture returned by Rokubi.
"And to you, Mr Inkune." she feigned a smile. "Always a pleasure."
The younger man, Inkune, nodded as Rokubi did but showed no delight in the gesture.
"Dr Greasley." he acknowledged her, his voice stern and monotone. "And Mr Clarke."
Clarke narrowed his eyes. "Agent Clarke."
"Either all." Inkune dismissed, lifting his nose.
As Clarke stared the younger man down, Rokubi suddenly began to speak.
His words were, unfortunately, in Japanese, but they were spoken with a particular strength and clarity - as if he were some sort of monk.
"Mr Rokubi conveys his greetings and salutations." Inkune translated. "And also expresses his thanks for arranging this meeting with minimal fuss."
Veronica forced a smile again, indicating to the door behind them.
"Please inform Mr Rokubi that we are ready to conduct business as soon as-"
But Inkune shook his head, taking a light step forward.
"I think, Dr Greasley," the man tucked his hands behind his back. "That we should allow Mr Rokubi sufficient rest before we proceed."
He gave Rokubi a concerned look, the elder smiling at him nonchalantly.
"Not to sound ageist, but I'm sure you can understand the effects that long-distance travel can have on someone of Mr Rokubi's age."
Veronica looked at Rokubi and Inkune uneasily, trying to find some way to convince them to conclude their business as soon as possible.
But the moment that she found the words, Veronica found them being forced back down her throat as Inkune glared at her - venom seething from behind his vantablack lenses.
Her throat tightened as she held his gaze, Clarke looking on with disbelief as her body froze up.
Surely she wasn't going to let these people order her around like this?
"...Very well." the woman caved. "Please follow us to the board room. We can bring in some refreshments for you and Mr. Rokubi."
Inkune's cold gaze relented, the man bowing his head as Veronica and Clarke led them inside.
A chill rippled through the air as the group sat down in the board room.
Mr. Rokubi sat the chair nearest the door, directly opposite Veronica and Clarke. Inkune sat directly on Rokubi's left, watching a security guard.
The guard was armed, his hand hovering over a holstered handgun. He watched Inkune as if he were studying some predator, looming over Veronica's shoulder like the Grim Reaper.
A deterrent.
"Do you have it?" Veronica finally asked.
Inkune glanced at Rokubi, the elder sipping tea from a metallic mug with a grateful smile.
The latter inclined his head, smiling like a Laughing Buddha statue.
Inkune nodded in return and reached down past his chair, placing his suitcase on the table.
A smile crossed Veronica's lips.
Inkune tapped the case twice before sliding it down the table, the black leather rustling against the steel table.
Veronica caught it with her right hand, passing it over to the guard on her left.
"Count it." she told him.
The guard opened up the case, his eyes glistening greedily as he beheld the contents:
Money. Lots of it. All in neat stacks of twenty, fifty and one-hundred dollar bills.
He wasted no time pushing the bills onto the table, counting the money as Inkune looked on with distaste.
"Call me old-fashioned," Inkune cleared his throat. "But isn't the exchange of money built upon mutual trust?"
"Trust isn't a luxury that I can indulge." Veronica answered him curtly. "It's a luxury that no amount of money can afford me."
A mischievous smirk grew on Clarke's lips as he watched the exchange.
Turning on the charm before she got the money and then completely dismissing them when she finally got it. What a contemptible woman…
But Clarke's musings on Veronica's non-existent morality were suddenly silence as the guard slammed the final stack down, his bushy eyebrows furrowing.
"It came up short."
Veronica's eyes narrowed into slits, her gaze wandering over to the smiling Rokubi.
"...By how much?"
"A couple of thousand." the guard spat.
Clarke unfolded his arms as the guard tallied the difference, watching as Veronica's brow crinkled, baring her teeth like a lioness.
"What is this?" she seethed.
Inkune was unfazed by her response, the man leaning back in his chair as he folded his hands over his knee.
"Apologies for the deception." he said curtly. "But I'm afraid that your payment coincided with some rather important business. The rest of your payment has been put on hold."
"Why?" Clarke asked.
"Because Mr. Rokubi has deemed it so." Inkune told him, his eyes narrowing behind his sunglasses. "You must understand, Dr Greasley, that withdrawing such an amount of money can attract the wrong kind of attention. That's not including the fact that we're donating it to a company that - officially speaking - doesn't exist."
Veronica drew a deep breath, sinking into her chair as Inkune stood up.
"I'm sure you're well aware of Mr Rokubi's status?" the man asked. "Chairman of the Rokubi Group, CEO of White Fox Technologies, Executive Board Member of more than a dozen other Japan-based groups and one of the most influential businessmen in all of Asia."
"I am aware of that," Veronica said, tapping her fingers on the table. "Your point?"
"Besides this, Mr. Rokubi also has numerous friends and acquaintances within the Japanese National Diet. And when one uses the term 'businessman' in conjunction with 'politician', all sorts of nasty little rumours start flitting around - like corruption.
And because of this current socio-political climate, in which people point fingers first and ask questions later - it is imperative that Mr. Rokubi's reputation is unsullied. Do you understand what I am trying to say?"
Veronica was silent but Clarke was starting to put the pieces together. Was this why he wanted to hold this meeting in secret, so suddenly?
Rokubi suddenly spoke, speaking directly to Veronica as if he could understand his Japanese.
"Mr. Rokubi understands the inconvenience that this has caused." Inkune translated. "He apologises and promises that once our personal business is concluded, you will receive your owed amount in its entirety, plus interest."
Veronica pursed her lips. "And this 'business' is to be completed when?"
"When it is completed." Inkune told her, his voice stern.
"But our deal states that-"
"Exactly," Inkune cut her off, his tone noticeably sharper. "Your deal. And a deal implies that any and all parties walk away with something of equal value. You receive your money and Mr. Rokubi maintains his privacy."
He shrugged.
"But, if you feel as though you are being mistreated, then perhaps we should rescind our deal and leave you to another benefactor-"
Clarke stepped forward, placing a hand over his chest.
"Now, now," he said, his smile making Inkune's skin crawl. "Let's not be hasty here. It's just that we're doing very secret work here, which means we need to be careful with who we...ally ourselves with. Your problems become our problems, if you know what I mean?"
Inkune wrinkled his nose. "Quite."
The aide folded his gloved hands over his lap again, his deadpan expression earning another chuckle from Rokubi.
A shrill chirping sound rang out across the room, all eyes falling on Inkune's wristwatch.
Inkune looked at his watch for a moment, acknowledging the time with an emotionless face.
"...That concludes our business here." the pale man announced. "Mr Rokubi has another engagement he must attend."
Veronica pursed her lips.
"Very well then." the woman acquiesced. "Please escort Mr Rokubi and his...assistant back to their helicopter."
Inkune rose with a small bow and murmured something to Rokubi in Japanese.
The elder nodded, sipping the rest of his tea as Inkune helped him to his feet. As Rokubi took hold of his cane, Inkune glanced at Veronica and Clarke, his eyes peering over his vantablack sunglasses.
"Until next time."
Neither Veronica or Clarke said anything, the two of them watching in silence as Rokubi and Inkune were led out by a uniformed guard.
"...Hopefully, not too soon." Clarke sneered under his breath.
And for once, Veronica agreed with him.
(Author Note: All dialogue in Italics is spoken in Japanese)
"Have a safe flight back, Mr Rokubi!"
Rokubi beamed warmly at the Triad guard as he entered the helicopter, followed closely by Inkune.
"That will be all, thank you." Inkune dismissed. The aide produced a pair of night-black aviator headsets, handing one to Rokubi as the guard stepped back.
"You're clear for take-off!" he yelled over the whirring helicopter blades. "When you're ready!"
Rokubi's pilot gave the guard a thumbs-up and pressed several buttons on his console, the helicopter lifting into the air as Inkune closed the door.
Within moments, the helicopter was airborne. And within minutes after that, Triad Industries was practically gone from sight; a mass of concrete buildings fading into a sun-kissed horizon.
Inkune sighed apathetically as he toggled his aviator headset, glancing at the smiling Rokubi.
"...We are out of their airspace, Master." he said in Japanese.
And the moment Inkune spoke those words, Rokubi stopped smiling.
The old man narrowed his eyes and rolled back his shoulders, straightening his 'kyphotic' posture.
Cracking his neck, Rokubi sneered, his wrinkled fingers choking his cane in a sharp death-grip.
"How much longer must I endure the company of these ingrates, Ichiro?" he asked. The Zen-like softness of Rokubi's voice had vanished, replaced with a guttural and spiteful tone. Every word he spat out sounded as though he were fighting back bile.
"I'm afraid that Triad remains a necessary evil, sir." Inkune said, his employer's disgust bringing a smile to his face. "Their operations directly interfere with the supernatural world, which allows us some respite from 'those' troubling us."
"So long as they don't interfere with our operations." Rokubi scoffed.
The old man looked out the window of the helicopter, staring into the green expanse of forest below them.
America. Rokubi had barely been here three days and he was already tired of it. The loud and cluttered cities, the fugacious, consumerist culture; to say nothing of the disgusting, moronic sheep that the country called 'people' - it made him sick to his stomach.
But that barely scratched the surface of his apathy, for unbeknownst to everyone but a select few, America had spawned other things.
The supernatural.
Yes. The werewolves had been cursed here. The vampires had been spawned. And the witches had flourished, their twisted craft responsible for the creation of the former two.
Mongrels, parasites and pompous showboats. What Rokubi wouldn't give to crush them all under his foot.
But not now. Right now, Rokubi had only one concern.
"What of the search?" the elder asked, his tone noticeably less hostile. "Have you found anything?"
"Good news and bad news, Master." Inkune answered him. The aide produced a manila folder from his briefcase, showing Rokubi three documents.
"Our sources confirmed what we already knew," Inkune continued. "The witch fled the mainland for Okinawa, where she found passage into the United States."
Rokubi pursed his lips. "And the bad news?"
"The trail runs cold after that, sir. She began covering her tracks the moment she entered California and completely vanished the second she entered into North Dakota."
A snarl rumbled in Rokubi's throat as snatched the paper from Inkune's hand. The paper was a printed photo of a young woman, no older than her mid-twenties, with fair, ivory skin and dirty blonde hair that hung from her head in short, wavy curls.
"Retrace her steps in California." Rokubi ordered him. "And make doubly sure of the clues gathered by our sources. Bribe them, coerce them, threaten and torture them if you must - so long as you're certain they aren't trying to fool us."
Inkune bowed his head. "As you command, Rokubi-sama."
"This woman cannot elude us, Inkune. Find her, make an example of those who helped hide her..."
He squeezed the sides of the paper, crinkling the sides to the point of tearing.
"...And take back what she stole from us!"
"And what of Triad Industries?" Inkune asked.
Rokubi leaned back in his chair, his hands returning to his cane.
"As you said, Ichiro, - they are a necessary evil. They're loyal, for now, but we will be ready for when they betray us."
Rokubi's gaze returned to the forests , his eyes narrowing into slits.
"After all, the wise fox only strikes when the rabbit bears its throat..."