Page 25 of Hallow’s Crown

They’d be right.

On another monitor, a status bar fills up: FINAL PHYSICAL CLEARANCE / IN PROGRESS. When it completes, the Ministry of Enforcement will claim him. The report is done. I could just wait here, watch him sleep, pretend it’s all out of my hands.

But I want more.

The clock on the screen ticks over to 20:31. Still time before the Crown is completed and I need to decide if I can manipulate The Silent into allowing me to train him.

No one is watching except me.

I stand, stretch the kinks out of my spine, and walk the perimeter of the control room. My shoes make no sound on the sealed floor. I check the backup relay—online. I check the cell override—offline. The next steps are obvious, and yet I linger, pacing the four-meter length of the room as if trying to walk off the desire.

It doesn’t work.

I return to the desk, sit, and watch him for another ten minutes. He shifts on the bed, robe falling away from his shoulder, the line of his back visible through the threadbare fabric. He’s awake now, eyes half-shut, staring at the wall like he can see through it to where I sit. His hand moves absently, tracing the edge of the blanket.

He is neither nervous nor calm—he just is, perfectly present.

I look down. My own hands are clenched on the desk.

I’m not used to losing control.

And yet here we are.

I type in the cell’s access code and bring up the intercom. The microphone is dead-center, matte black, polished smooth by years of use.

I press it, and for a second I can only hear my own breath, loud in my ears.

“Richards,” I say, voice softer than I intend. “Stand by for final assessment.”

On the monitor, his head comes up. His expression is blank, but the muscles in his neck cord tight. He sits up, swings his legs off the bed, stands. He faces the camera directly.

I watch him for a full sixty seconds. I’m waiting for what, I’m not sure. Maybe for him to look away, to show some sign of defeat.

He doesn’t.

I want to break him.

I key the microphone again.

“You have three minutes. Hide. If you can.”

He stares at the camera, lips twitching at the edge. For a second, I think he’ll refuse. But then I remotely unlock his door, and he turns, fast, and is gone from the frame.

I disable the recording on the cell. The log will show a technical glitch—happens all the time. The handlers and the Custodians will never see what comes next. I’m breaking protocol, and I know it.

The thrill is electric.

I watch his progress on the thermal overlay, which isn’t routed to the main surveillance logs. He takes the north corridor, doubles back, moves through the utility closet. He’s good—better than I expected. He leaves false trails, backtracks, uses every shadow and blind spot.

Unfortunately for him… infrared makes it impossible to hide.

I pull up the audio feed and listen for his breathing, but the only sound is the faintest echo of footsteps, and even that fades as he walks barefoot down the hall.

Three minutes.

I key my own access badge, step into the corridor, and close the door behind me. The lock slides home with a hush, sealing off the outside world.

At the junction, I pause. He’s gone to ground, hiding in one of the rooms, maybe behind the mobile cart or the stacked crates. I could sweep the whole place in thirty seconds, but I don’t. I want him to run again.