The city was drowning under the morning rain.
The streets gleamed like black mirrors, swallowing Elian's footsteps as he made his way to the university.
The black envelope felt like it weighed a thousand tons in his pocket.
Professor Mallory Finch.
The kindest man he had ever met.
The only one who once told him, "You're not broken, Elian. You're just... not meant to fit into their tiny world."
And now... he had to destroy him.
---
When Elian entered the aging lecture hall, the seats were half-filled with sleepy students, their faces lit by the glow of their phones.
Professor Finch stood at the podium, his wiry frame dwarfed by a battered leather jacket and a permanent slouch that made him look smaller than he was.
He smiled when he saw Elian.
A real smile.
The kind Elian hadn't seen in months.
"Elian! It's been a while. I was worried you dropped out," he said, his voice warm, genuine.
Elian felt his throat close.
He couldn't breathe.
The weight of what he had to do crushed him from the inside.
---
As the lecture began, Elian barely heard a word.
The world faded into a gray haze, all sound muffled, except for the deafening drum of his own heartbeat.
His fingers brushed the small vial in his jacket pocket — clear liquid, odorless, tasteless.
A single drop in a drink.
That was all it would take.
No pain.
No struggle.
Just... silence.
Lucian's voice echoed in his mind:
> "Compassion is a luxury, and you, little lamb, can no longer afford it."
He was supposed to spike Professor Finch's coffee.
Make it look like natural causes.
Disappear.
Easy.
Cold.
Untraceable.
He had watched people at the Order do far worse with a smile.
But this was Professor Finch.
This was the man who had once given Elian a winter coat when he showed up to class shivering and soaked.
The man who had written him a glowing letter of recommendation when no one else even remembered his name.
Tears blurred his vision.
---
After class, Professor Finch approached him.
"You alright, Elian? You look pale," he said, placing a hand on Elian's shoulder.
That simple touch — so rare, so human — broke him.
He jerked away.
"Sorry, Professor," he rasped. "I'm just... tired."
Finch nodded, understanding flashing in his tired blue eyes.
"You ever need anything, kid," he said. "My door's always open."
He handed Elian a crumpled business card — his personal number — and then turned away, whistling an old, forgotten tune.
Elian watched him leave.
The vial burned in his pocket.
He stood there long after everyone else had gone, battling the two monsters inside him: loyalty... and survival.
Finally, he took out the vial and crushed it beneath his heel, the glass shattering into tiny, useless pieces.
He couldn't do it.
He wouldn't.
Even if it cost him his life.
---
By nightfall, Elian returned to the Order's headquarters.
He was dragged before Lucian and the Lady in Red, the broken vial tossed at their feet as proof of his defiance.
Lucian's face twisted into something ugly.
"You think you're better than us?" he sneered.
The Lady in Red said nothing.
Her dead eyes stared straight through Elian's soul.
"You had one task," Lucian hissed. "One."
Elian stood his ground.
"I won't kill an innocent man," he said, voice shaking.
For a moment, silence reigned.
Then, without warning, Lucian struck him — a backhand across the face that sent him sprawling to the marble floor.
Blood filled Elian's mouth.
The Lady in Red finally spoke, her voice so soft it was almost a whisper:
"Mercy is weakness."
She nodded once.
Two guards seized Elian by the arms, dragging him away.
Lucian's voice followed him, venomous and cold:
"Time for your real training, little lamb."
And as the heavy steel door slammed shut behind him, Elian realized —
His suffering had only just begun.