Chapter 107: The Terms of Engagement

The penthouse, which had begun to feel like a shared space, reverted to a command center. The quiet breakfasts were replaced by the soft tap of keys and the low murmur of strategy. The air hummed with a different energy—not the brittle tension of before, but the focused, collaborative charge of a mission.

Sabatine’s “project” was the silent war within Anton’s servers. He had mapped the initial vectors from Leon’s data onto a sprawling holographic display now occupying Anton’s dining table, turning the space into a war room. Lines of light connected nodes across continents, a spider’s web of intrusion with Rogers Industries at its still, silent center.

Anton watched him work, a study in fierce, fluid concentration. This was Sabatine in his element, and the sight was mesmerizing. He was no longer the restless ghost; he was a hunter on a scent, his movements economical, his eyes missing nothing.

“The Calgary breach,” Sabatine said, not looking up, his fingers manipulating the hologram to zoom in on a data cluster. “The encryption key used to corrupt the IP vault had a specific algorithmic signature. It matches a test run conducted on a Rogers subsidiary server in Singapore six months ago. A ‘penetration test’ authorized by Evelyn’s office.”

Anton’s jaw tightened. “She was seeding the tools.”

“And creating a trail of breadcrumbs that, if followed naively, leads to her as a rogue actor. Neat and tidy. But the Singapore server itself…” Sabatine rotated the node, exposing layers of code. “…has a dormant listener program. It’s not just a tool repository. It’s a relay. Traffic is being bounced through it, from the Caymans, through us, to targets. We’re not just being used; we’re being used as a shield.”

Anton absorbed this, the scale of the violation settling like lead in his gut. “So we quarantined the Singapore server. Initiate a forensic audit.”

Sabatine shook his head, finally looking up. His grey eyes were sharp. “That’s the expected move. The corporate move. It tells them we’ve found one node. They’ll activate another. We need to trace the live traffic. Find the destination. The real client. To do that, I need to get inside the system from the ground. Not from your CEO-level admin privilege, which they’ll be monitoring for. I need to be a ghost in your own machine.”

Anton understood immediately. “You need to go to Singapore. Physically.”

“The listener program has physical-world tripwires. Unauthorized remote access attempts from new IPs will trigger a scrub. I need to be on that server floor, with a direct line. It’s the only way to follow the thread without breaking it.”

A cold dread, distinct from the corporate anxiety, seized Anton. Singapore was secure, yes. A Rogers-controlled facility. But it was also outside the protective bubble he’d unconsciously built around Sabatine here. The thought of him walking into a facility potentially compromised by Silas’s influence, even with his skills, sent a primal fear through Anton’s veins.

His first instinct was to say no. To forbid it. To lock the door and devise a safer, slower, more controlled plan from thirty-eight stories up in London.

But he looked at Sabatine’s face—the quiet certainty, the professional imperative. This was the work. The necessary work. To deny him was to treat him as an asset to be preserved, not a partner to be trusted. It was to break the terms of their rooftop treaty before the ink was dry.

He saw the expectation in Sabatine’s eyes, the readiness for a fight. He was braced for the CEO’s refusal.

Anton took a slow breath, mastering the fear. “What’s your operational timeline?”

A flicker of surprise crossed Sabatine’s features, quickly masked. “Seventy-two hours. In and out. I’ll need credentials that look like a routine, low-level external audit from a firm Evelyn used. I’ve already fabricated the shell. Leon is providing the legend.”

He was already three steps ahead. Of course he was. This was what he did.

“And protection?” Anton asked, his voice carefully neutral.

Sabatine’s expression hardened. “I don’t need a babysitter, Anton. A team will just increase the footprint, add variables.”

“I’m not suggesting a team.” Anton walked to his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a small, brushed steel case. He placed it on the holographic table beside the glowing image of Singapore. “I’m suggesting an edge.”

Sabatine opened the case. Inside, nestled in custom foam, were two items. A pair of sleek, dark-frame glasses, indistinguishable from high-end optician wear. And a platinum signet ring, simple and heavy.

“The glasses have a built-up polymer frame,” Anton explained, his tone shifting to that of a product designer. “Near-indestructible. They house a micro-laser capable of cutting through polycarbonate or severing a zip tie. The right temple piece is a localized EMP burst, one-time use, enough to fry non-shielded electronics within a three-foot radius. The ring…” He picked it up. “Pressure-activated. Twice for a distress ping with your exact GPS coordinates, routed to a server only I control. Held for five seconds, and it releases a fast-acting neuro-inhibitor aerosol. Enough to drop anyone in immediate contact.”

He met Sabatine’s gaze. “Not a babysitter. Tools. For your toolkit.”

Sabatine picked up the glasses, examining them with a professional’s appreciation. They were beautiful, deadly, and utterly Anton. A fusion of silk and steel. A shield, not a chain. He looked at the ring, then back at Anton. “You’ve had these made.”

“Since Geneva,” Anton admitted quietly. “I couldn’t give you a title. I couldn’t give you a cage. But I could… engineer a solution for the fear I couldn’t control.” He gave a helpless shrug. “It’s what I do.”

Sabatine felt a lump in his throat. This wasn’t a corporate security directive. This was a love letter from a man who spoke in code and composites. It was Anton’s way of saying I trust your skill, but I cannot bear the thought of your vulnerability.

He slipped the ring onto his finger. It fit perfectly. He put the glasses on. The world sharpened slightly; they were prescription, tuned to his eyesight. Another detail, painstakingly attended to.

“Alright,” Sabatine said, his voice slightly rough. “They’re good. I’ll use them.”

Anton nodded, a visible tension leaving his shoulders. “There’s one more thing. Discreet, remote oversight. A single asset, external to Rogers, stationed in Singapore. They don’t engage, they don’t approach. They’re a ghost of a ghost. Their only job is to be a failsafe if your ping goes out and goes dark. I’ve already contacted them. Rico Nadir.”

Sabatine froze. “Rico? After what he did?”

“He saved your life. And then he negotiated his own survival. I understand his calculus. He’s good, he’s available, and he owes us. More importantly, he knows the players on the other side. He’ll see threats we might miss.”

It was a brutal, logical choice. And it was another concession—Anton trusting someone from Sabatine’s shadow-world to do what he could not.

Sabatine held Anton’s gaze for a long moment, seeing the struggle there—the need to control warring with the determination to respect his autonomy. He saw the compromise, the ingenious, worrying protection woven into the fabric of the mission.

He slowly took off the glasses, folding them carefully. “I’ll pretend not to notice Rico,” he said finally, a faint, wry smile touching his lips. “And I won’t activate the ring unless the building is on fire.”

A real smile broke through Anton’s anxiety. “See that you don’t.”

The deal was struck. The terms of engagement were set. Sabatine would return to his project, on his terms, with his skills. Anton would provide the infrastructure, the tools, and a silent, distant net. It was a partnership born of mutual fear and mutual respect.

Two days later, Sabatine stood in the private lift, a single duffel bag at his feet. He wore glasses and a ring. Anton stood facing him, the doors holding open.

“Follow the thread,” Anton said, his voice low. “Find the source. And come back.”

It wasn’t an order. It was a plea.

Sabatine reached out, not for a handshake, but cupped the back of Anton’s neck, pulling him in for a brief, fierce kiss. It was a promise, a transfer of certainty.

“I’ll be listening,” Anton murmured against his lips, a final, quiet confession.

Sabatine knew he meant it literally. Somewhere, in the penthouse or in a secure server, Anton would have a feed, a heartbeat monitor on the mission. He wouldn’t interfere. But he would be watching. It was who he was.

“I know,” Sabatine said, releasing him. He stepped into the lift, the doors sliding shut between them, cutting off Anton’s anxious, loving face.

As the car descended, Sabatine adjusted the glasses on his nose, felt the cool weight of the ring. He was returning to work, to the shadows. But he was not alone. He was armed with the most dangerous weapon of all: someone to come back to, who trusted him enough to let him go. The mission was clear. The protection was in place, invisible but tangible. The terms of their new, complicated alliance were being tested. The return to work had begun.

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