Extra To Protagonist

Merlin stepped forward, the door hissing shut behind him. "You don’t seem like the kind of man who likes to be kept waiting."

Kael chuckled softly, finally lifting his gaze. "You’re right. I’m not."

He gestured to the opposite seat. "Sit."

Merlin did. The chair was plush but heavy, like everything else in this room. Built for comfort, but meant to remind whoever sat in it of the weight beneath that comfort.

Kael poured the wine, crimson, aged, probably older than either of them deserved to drink.

"Do you drink, Mr. Everhart?"

Merlin tilted his head. "Sometimes."

Kael smiled faintly, sliding one of the glasses across. "Then tonight is a ’sometimes.’"

They clinked glasses, a soft, deliberate chime.

For a moment, silence. The city’s hum filled the gaps between heartbeats.

Then Kael spoke, voice calm but edged. "You stopped the Seraph from detonating."

Merlin swirled the wine, watching the dark liquid catch the light. "You seem very sure of that."

"I saw the data myself." Kael leaned back, glass resting loosely in his hand. "The weapon was overloading beyond recovery. Every safety measure failed. And then, stability. Instant. Like it listened."

He watched Merlin closely, eyes sharp as steel. "Weapons don’t listen, Mr. Everhart. Not unless something made them."

Merlin didn’t flinch. "Maybe it was luck."

Kael’s mouth curved into something between amusement and disbelief. "Luck doesn’t rewrite operating protocols."

Merlin said nothing. He didn’t need to.

Kael took another slow sip before continuing. "Regina thinks it’s your mana signature. She says it resonated perfectly with the Seraph’s containment core. Personally, I think that’s too simple. Resonance explains reaction. Not obedience."

"Then what do you think?" Merlin asked, setting his glass down.

Kael’s eyes held his. "I think you’ve been hiding something."

Merlin met his stare evenly. "Everyone hides something."

"True." Kael smirked faintly. "But most people aren’t capable of stopping a weapon designed to erase cities."

The silence that followed was thick, almost tangible.

Merlin leaned back, gaze drifting toward the window. "If I were hiding something dangerous, Chairman, would you really have invited me to dinner? Alone?"

Kael’s smile deepened, faint but genuine. "Of course. I prefer to see danger up close."

He set his glass down, the sound echoing lightly. "Tell me something, Mr. Everhart. Why invest in Invoke?"

Merlin raised an eyebrow. "You’re the one who accepted my money."

"And you’re the one who bought a stake worth hundreds of millions without ever attending a shareholder meeting until now."

Merlin’s golden eyes reflected the city lights. "I like what Invoke builds."

Kael’s voice lowered. "Or what it can destroy?"

Merlin gave a small, humorless smile. "You don’t seem like the kind of man who cares much about the difference."

Kael laughed softly. "You’re right again."

He stood, walking toward the window, hands clasped behind his back. The city spread beneath them like a field of stars, bright, distant, untouchable.

"Do you know what Invoke really is, Mr. Everhart?"

Merlin didn’t answer.

Kael glanced over his shoulder. "It’s not a weapons company. Not truly. Weapons are the body. But the soul?" He turned fully, gray eyes glinting. "The soul is evolution. Every war, every market collapse, every shift in human fear gives birth to new invention. We simply... profit from it first."

He approached the table again, his presence heavy but not oppressive, just commanding.

"You," Kael said, gesturing faintly with his glass, "don’t strike me as a boy who stumbled into fortune. You walk like someone who’s seen death. Several times."

Merlin’s voice was low, quiet. "You’re observant."

"I’ve made a career out of it."

For a moment, the air between them stilled again. Kael studied him, really studied him, like a scientist examining a rare specimen.

"You’re different," he said finally. "And I don’t mean your age or your... composure. There’s something off about you. Like you were built somewhere else."

Merlin’s pulse flickered once, but his face stayed calm. "Is that a problem?"

Kael shook his head. "No. It’s a curiosity."

He sat again, pouring another glass. "I like curious things. They tend to change the world."

Merlin leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table. "You think I’ll change the world?"

Kael smiled thinly. "I think you already have."

The words landed heavier than they should have.

Merlin’s gaze flicked to the glass, then back to him. "You don’t seem like a man who trusts easily. Why tell me all this?"

"Because," Kael said simply, "trust is unnecessary between predators. We only need to understand each other."

Merlin exhaled slowly, his smirk faint but genuine. "So which of us are you assuming is the prey?"

Kael raised his glass again, the crimson liquid gleaming like blood. "That’s what makes this dinner interesting."

They ate as the sun finally vanished, leaving the city drowning in its own lights. The food was elegant but simple, seared meat, roasted vegetables, wine that carried stories older than either of them.

Between bites, the conversation ebbed and flowed, talk of markets, contracts, and foreign wars. But underneath it, something sharper lingered: a mutual awareness.

Every question Kael asked carried a second meaning. Every answer Merlin gave was measured, deliberate, a dance of truth and omission.

It was less a dinner and more a duel of masks.

By the end of the meal, Kael finally leaned back, satisfied. "You’re composed for your age, Mr. Everhart. I’ve seen men twice as old break under less scrutiny."

Merlin met his eyes, voice even. "Maybe you weren’t asking the right questions."

Kael’s laugh was quiet, genuine this time. "Maybe not."

He stood, walking toward the door. "You’ll make enemies here, you know. Some already think you don’t belong at this table."

"I don’t plan to belong," Merlin said softly. "I plan to stay."

Kael paused at the threshold, looking back. "Good."

The source of thɪs content is 𝕟𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕝·𝘧𝙞𝙧𝙚·𝔫𝔢𝔱

He smiled, faint and unreadable. "Let’s see how long the wolves let you."

The door closed behind him, and Merlin was left alone with the fading hum of the city below.

He sat there for a while, staring into the half-empty glass.

’Predators,’ he thought. ’He’s not wrong.’

But he wasn’t prey either. Not anymore.