Chapter 107: Tell Me Where She Is.

For a few seconds after the soldier stepped away, Jagger did not move.

The training court was wide, bright, and quiet in all the wrong ways. The smell of sweat, rubber, steel, and old violence still lingered, but in this section of the room, everything had gone still.

Jagger stood at the edge of the court in the issued navy sweatsuit, stripped of his weapons and dressed in the insignia of a place that had not earned the right to claim him. After everything he had been through, the clean fabric felt wrong on his skin.

Across from him, the people waited.

Jagger let his gaze move over them one by one, the same way he had learned to study every new threat before it moved.

Lieutenant-General Adriana Tan stood at the center, straight-backed and unreadable. She did not need to say anything to make it clear who held authority here. It was already there in her posture, her scars, and the cold steadiness in her eyes.

To her right stood Chase, hands in his pockets, wearing that same irritating half-smile. He looked casual, but Jagger already knew better.

Jace was the opposite. Arms crossed, expression flat, giving nothing away. Quiet, controlled, and impossible to read.

Then there were the other two.

The red-haired woman stood firm and balanced, broad-shouldered and scarred, with the kind of presence that suggested she could take a hit and give one back just as easily. Jagger marked her down immediately. Shield.

The last one looked out of place. Pale, thin, hollow-eyed, with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He looked tense, but not like someone preparing to fight. More like someone already fighting something inside himself. Jagger’s gaze stayed on him a second longer.

Ghost.

Inside him, something stirred.

Zumthor let out a low, ugly chuckle. ’That one smells weak. The kind that breaks before the bones do.’

Ophilia’s voice came smoother and colder. ’And yet he is still standing here among Herald Slayers. Do not dismiss him too quickly.’

Jagger kept his face blank.

Now that he was no longer fighting or bleeding out, their presence was harder to ignore. Ophilia watched in silence, cold and patient. Zumthor pushed at the edges of his thoughts, restless and waiting for an excuse.

Jagger exhaled slowly and stepped forward, just enough to show he was not intimidated.

“I’m flattered,” he said, his voice light but edged. “Didn’t know I was getting a welcome party.”

No one smiled.

Adriana took one measured step toward him.

The sound of her tactical boots striking the mat was small, but it cut through the space with surgical precision. When she spoke, her tone was neither warm nor hostile. It was worse than either. It was administrative.

“Jagger Ashton. Eighteen years old. Final-year secondary student. Top ten percent in the national academic cohort. Promising track-and-field athlete. No criminal history. No notable disciplinary concerns.”

She paused for half a breath, eyes never leaving him.

“Orphan.”

The word landed more cleanly than the others.

Jagger did not react. Not outwardly.

But he felt Zumthor shift with interest. He felt Ophilia sharpen.

Adriana continued as if reading a weather report.

“Only known living relative, Hannah Ashton.”

Everything inside him tightened.

It was not gradual. It happened all at once, like a wire pulled too hard.

His posture changed before he meant it to. His shoulders went rigid. His jaw locked. The controlled distance he had held between them vanished in an instant.

He took a step forward.

“What did you say?”

Adriana did not answer.

Not immediately.

That was deliberate. He knew it. She knew he knew it. It was a pressure tactic, simple and effective, and he hated that it worked.

The court around them seemed to narrow.

Jagger took another step, slower this time, but far more dangerous. “What about Hannah?”

A pulse of heat moved through his chest.

Zumthor’s voice rumbled with savage delight. ’There it is. Tear the answer out of her.’

Ophilia came at once, low and firm. ’Control yourself.’

’Why?’ Zumthor snarled. ’She dangles blood in front of us and expects manners?’

’Because if he loses himself now, he gains nothing,’ Ophilia said, and there was something in her tone that could have cut glass. ’Keep quiet, mutt.’

Jagger’s hands curled into fists at his sides. He could feel them, both of them, pressing from different directions. Zumthor wanted violence. Ophilia wanted control. Both wanted the same thing in the end. Neither cared how much it cost him.

Adriana lifted a single finger.

It was a small gesture. Almost lazy.

It still felt like a command.

“Information,” she said, “is a valuable commodity these days, Mr. Ashton. You are not yet in a position to be making demands.”

The words were calm. That made them worse.

Jagger stared at her, and for a second, the entire room felt balanced on something thin enough to snap. The muscles in his neck tightened. His breathing remained steady only because he forced it to.

“Tell me where she is.”

There was no sarcasm in his voice now. No edge of humor. Just the raw, dangerous weight of a person holding himself together by choice and not by ease.

Chase let out a low whistle.

“Ooh,” he said, sounding almost impressed. “He’s either brave or suicidal. Hard to tell which one I like more.”

Jace didn’t look at him. “Shut up, Chase.”

Adriana ignored them both.

Instead, she turned her head just slightly and gestured toward the hunters behind her.

“Allow me to introduce your evaluation committee.”

Jagger did not look away from her at first.

He wanted to. He knew he should. But Hannah’s name was still echoing in his skull, and Ophilia and Zumthor had gone unnaturally quiet now, both listening, both waiting for what came next.

Finally, he shifted his gaze.

Adriana pointed first to Chase and Jace.

“You’ve met them already, Chase and Jace Ryder. They’re both Level Forty Warbreakers.”

Chase gave a small, mocking bow from the waist, one hand spreading out as though he were on stage instead of standing in a military training court. “Always nice to be introduced properly.”

Jace gave a single short nod. Nothing more.

Then Adriana indicated the red-haired woman.

“Grace Lee. Class, Dreadwall. Level thirty-seven.”

Grace did not move, but her eyes locked onto Jagger with open assessment. There was no hostility in it. No friendliness either. She looked at him the way a veteran might inspect the foundations of a building before deciding whether it was worth standing inside.

Finally, Adriana’s gaze shifted to the pale young man.

There was the slightest pause before she spoke, and Jagger caught it.

“And Leo Vance. Class, Night Reaper. Level thirty-two.”

The moment the introduction hit him, Leo folded.

It was not dramatic. That was what made it worse.

He dropped into a squat as if his knees had simply stopped agreeing to hold him. His arms came in tight around himself, chest pressing down toward his thighs as he began rocking faintly in place. The motion was small but frantic, controlled only in the sense that it had happened many times before. His voice came out in a thin, strained whisper that kept tripping over itself.

“Why did I have to be part of this?” he muttered, staring at the floor. “I’d rather be in my room. I really, really want to be in my room. Please just let this be over.”

Jagger frowned.

So did Grace, though hers looked more like restrained annoyance than concern.

Chase rubbed the back of his neck. “And there he goes.”

Jace closed her eyes for half a second, as if counting.

Adriana did not even look at Leo.

Instead, she kept her attention fixed on Jagger and said, “All four of them hold the title of Herald Slayer.”

That landed differently.

Not because of the title itself. He already knew what it meant to carry it.

It was the way she said it.

Not like an honor.

Like a classification.

Jagger’s gaze flicked once more over the group. Chase. Jace. Grace. Leo. Herald Slayers. Whatever that title was supposed to mean in this place, it clearly came with weight. With expectation. With damage.

And Hannah’s name was still sitting between his ribs like a blade.

“You think I care for your introductions and games?” Jagger asked, the strain clear in the tight control of his voice. “You bring my family into this, then start pointing at your pet monsters like it’s supposed to impress me?”

Grace stiffened, her broad shoulders shifting as her expression hardened.

Chase’s grin finally faltered. “Pet monster? Now, that’s just rude.”

“You’d better stop talking, because the more you talk, the more pissed off I get. So shut the fuck up,” Jagger said. The last of his forced patience frayed, the anger he had been holding back rising like a tide. He stared at Adriana, ignoring the others. “I’m not your soldier. I’m not your experiment. And I’m damn sure not your dog. Tell me where she is. Or I’m going to find out my own way.”

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