Page 66 of Helsing: Demon Slayer
Miles Baxter had demanded a full after-action report, but Ryan already knew the outcome: he was done being sidelined, done with IVs, done with physical therapy in hospital scrubs at the side of an overly concerned female therapist, and done with harmonic healing at the hands of hisElioudteammates. He was upright, mobile, and mad as hell. And he wasn’t waiting for someone to clear him.
Still, protocol mattered. If Miles wouldn’t stand in his way, someone else might. He didn’t want to have that fight, but if it came to it, he’d win.
Which is why he found himself standing outside Olivia Kastrioti’s office, knocking once before stepping inside without waiting for acknowledgement.
The soft hum of harmonic energy reverberated through the space, subtle, like an unseen pulse, reminding Ryan that everything in Fushë-Arrëz bent to forces deeper than blood, bullets, or steel.
Olivia was already standing, palms pressed against her desktop, gaze focused on nothing and everything at once. The weariness in her posture was unmistakable, but when she looked at him, her spine straightened as if the burden had momentarily lifted.
“Ryan,” she said, choosing his first name over his last. That in itself was telling. And no pleasantries, just the weight of unspoken truths between them.
“Miles said I needed your sign-off to return to duty,” he said. He didn’t add that he was going back into the field whether or not his superior agreed.
Olivia exhaled, rubbing her temple. She looked tired, pale and drawn. She sat down and held his gaze with her steady one. “You’re not fully recovered.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He leaned against the chair across from her, arms crossed. “Unless you plan to remove me from command and throw me in the guardhouse, I’m going back to work.”
She stared at him for a long moment. Then she asked in a mild voice, “Would you sit down?”
Ryan hesitated, then did. Not because he wanted to, but because something in her tone told him this conversation wasn’t just procedural.
“You knew the risks,” said Olivia quietly. “But that’s not what this is about, is it?”
Ryan let out a slow breath. She was right. He had known the risks of the mission to bring Dianne to Fushë-Arrëz even without knowing the fine details of tactical gear. The risks were the same that they’d always been: protect the principal with your life.
And then Olivia addressed the elephant in the room: the revelation from Willem just this morning that Ryan’s chainmail and Dianne’s tunic were tethered with the unique harmonic signature of thezonjë. That after what they’d experienced in the field, it went beyond the tactical gear to their individual harmonic signatures. They were indelibly—and perhaps permanently—linked on a spiritual level.
That was the real reason he was angry. This particular mission risk had been life altering in a way he couldn’t possibly begin to comprehend, not life ending. That outcome he understood well enough. He’d accepted it when he entered the Rangers and doubled down on it when he witnessed his first friend and comrade-in-arms die in Afghanistan.
“I didn’t tell you about the harmonic tether between your gear and hers.” Olivia’s voice was even, but something flickered in her expression. Guilt, maybe. A recognition too late to fix anything. “Just like you didn’t tell Dianne about the nanotracker. It wasn’t necessary.”
He felt his jaw tighten and his fingers clench on his thighs. “You didn’t think I needed to know?”
“No. I thought I was just being overly paranoid about my little sister. I wanted a failsafe in case the nanotracker died. I was the one who didn’t know the risks, not fully.” Her hands curled slightly on the gleaming black walnut of her desk, knuckles pale. “You have every right to be angry.” She inhaled deeply, and then, holding his gaze with her open, luminous one, said, “Iamsorry. Sorrier than you will ever know.”
Suddenly Ryan understood the guilt shadowing thezonjë’s features. Keeping this tactical decision from her chief of security paled against keeping the whole mission from her husband, now unconscious in their barely functional ICU.
Olivia hadn’t said it, but Ryan knew that they’d both accepted the unknown unknowns in this unpredictable and dangerousElioudworld in which they operated. Laying the blame on his commanding officer for using the harmonic tether was stupid and arrogant.
Ryan slumped against his chair. He wasn’t angry anymore. He was exhausted. And maybe somewhere deep inside, he was grateful, because if he hadn’t gone, Dianne wouldn’t be alive. He wasn’t sure he had the strength to name the feeling, let alone face what it meant.
But this wasn’t just about surviving.
“I need to know how deep this goes,” he said at last. “How much that tether affected her. And me. If it’s permanent and what that means.”
Olivia nodded. “Miró can help you find the answers.” She hesitated. “Ryan … just be careful. There’s something we still don’t understand about your tether with Dianne. Abaddon has touched it. And what the Angel of the Abyss touches doesn’t just fade away.”
He pushed to his feet. “I never expected it to.” He left it unsaid that he’d seen the black threads in his harmonic signature. And in Dianne’s.
But he had no intention of sitting still while it coiled deeper into his skin—and hers.
As he turned to leave, Olivia halted him. “Ryan, something else is at play.” She sighed. “We don’t understand the timing or magnitude of the solar flare. Or if it was a coincidence or caused by Abaddon’s appearance. He’s not prophesied to appear above ground before the Apocalypse.” She stopped before stating what everyone in Fushë-Arrëz already whispered: that Creation had indeed been thrust into the End Times, and the forces of Hell now ruled.
Ryan squared his shoulders and met her gaze. He couldn’t carry her burden, but he could damn well do the job.
“You can count on me, ma’am.”
The confrontation with Olivia left Ryan feeling as weak as he had in Shkodër before Beta had stabilized and recharged his harmonics. Once outside the operations center, he stopped and breathed deeply, feeling the soreness deep in his side. He noticed some trainees on the quad outside the building looking at him and realized that he’d placed his hand against his abdomen. He dropped it. He’d have to be more disciplined from now on. He couldn’t let anyone else see how his wound still troubled him. Not if he was going to resume his leadership role as head of security for the Kastriotis.
