Scene 7

He returned quickly. Gilben was already waiting.
But the moment Benjamin saw what he was holding, his chest sank.

A cupcake.

What was… that?

A reward?

“Why don’t you take the helmet off? It’s hot.”

“Oh—yeah. Sure.”

Benjamin removed the helmet—and just like that, he felt… Andrew again.
He stared at it, lips slightly twisted.

“What’s with that face? I heard you saved someone.”

“That fast?”

“Radios exist,” Gilben said with a faint smile. “Come on—talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Andrew swallowed.
What could he possibly say? That he was a serial killer, wanted in over sixty countries?

That his head was worth more than the entire city?

His mouth refused to form the words.

“I get it. Personal stuff—that’s normal,” Gilben said. “I trust Lev. He told me you’re well trained. So I’m guessing… it hasn’t been pretty.”

Shit.
Not that again.
Did he know too?

“If you were in the army, the navy, Forge Complex… hell, that last one’s the worst.” He looked at Andrew—his expression had tightened completely. “Sorry… I shouldn’t have—”

“Nah. It’s fine. It happens…”

Something in Gilben’s chest ached.
He held out the cupcake. “You want?”

Andrew reached for it—then stopped.
He looked at his hand again. He thought he wouldn’t do that anymore and still didn’t know whose hand it was.

The one that had done all those things.
Or him.

But whether it belonged to him or not—

he controlled it.

He wasn’t Andrew.
Maybe not Benjamin either.
But at least he could try.

He took the cupcake.

Gilben smiled. “All yours. Enjoy.”

Benjamin brought it to his mouth and took a bite.
A taste long forgotten.
He hadn’t had one since he was ten.

A tear slid down his cheek. “This tastes… amazing,” he said softly. “Enough to make me cry, I guess.”

Gilben stepped back, resting lightly against the desk.
He knew there was more behind that moment than a simple cupcake.

Everyone fought their own battles.

To him, the kid was a good one. A hard life—those visible scars said as much.
And he was going to make him feel welcome.

Benjamin devoured the cupcake, licking the crumbs from his fingers.
Nothing but wrappers remained.
“That was… good,” he said, crumpling the paper into a ball and tossing it into a nearby bin.

Gilben stepped forward again, this time extending his hand—ready to seal it.

Benjamin fixed his gaze on it.
Then he took it, gripping firmly.

“Welcome to the team,” Gilben said. “The others will like you.”

Benjamin smiled.

His second chance had begun.

“So… you gonna get a suit?”

Benjamin rested a hand on his hip. “I don’t know,” he admitted.
His gaze drifted to the helmet in his other hand.

“I wouldn’t mind if you kept it. Had to sell the bike anyway.”

Benjamin didn’t want to take advantage.
“Are you sure?” he asked, his pale eyes lifting. “It’s yours.”

“It’s just a memory. Go on—keep it.”

Should he…?
Benjamin inhaled, then let it out.
“Alright.”

“Glad to hear it,” Gilben said with a smile.
He walked back behind his desk and sat down. “Sorry to ruin the moment, but I’ve got things to take care of. See you tomorrow.”

Benjamin nodded. Tomorrow.
Yeah.

He left the office, the helmet in his hand.