Against the Algorithm

Chapter 45: Quiet Claims and Soft Surrenders

The daughter began trembling, chest hitching in shallow gasps.

The aunt fell back against the wall, eyes wide, mouth open.

Chen Kaya stepped forward, tilting her head slightly. "You tried to destroy someone under my protection. You helped orchestrate an assault against her. You planned to ruin her body, her mind, and take what her mother left her. You would have had her institutionalized so you could claim her trust." She leaned forward just slightly, her voice now nothing but steel under silk. "You didn't fail because you were sloppy. You failed because someone got there first. One of ours —a man far quieter than me. A man who made sure your hired monster never walked out of that studio. And Yao never even knew."

The cousin whimpered.

Kaya turned her eyes to her and the temperature in the room dropped further. "You wanted to be someone in her place. But you were never her. And you never will be." No one spoke. No one breathed. "Do you know what the difference is," she began, her voice soft and composed, "between people like you and people like me?" None of them answered. "I remember what I owe," she said. Her fingers moved with quiet grace, reaching inside her coat, pulling free the sleek black pistol already fitted with a silencer. She didn't lift it yet. She didn't need to. The sight of it was enough to unravel them.

The aunt staggered back first, lips trembling. "W-Wait—please—we didn't mean for—"

The cousin dropped to her knees. "I didn't—I didn't know what they were doing! I was just trying to help—please—I didn't touch her—I never—!"

The uncle opened his mouth to shout something—excuse, threat, plea—but he never finished it.

Because Kaya raised the gun.

One shot.

Straight through his forehead.

He crumpled without grace, slamming into the corner of the desk before collapsing onto the carpet.

The aunt screamed.

She turned next.

One shot.

Clean. Centered.

The woman dropped like a puppet with her strings cut, landing in a silent heap beside her husband.

And then the cousin, sobbing now, crawling backwards until she hit the wall, hands raised, shaking her head, "I didn't mean it—I didn't—please, I swear—I'll disappear—no one has to know—!"

Kaya's expression never changed. There was no hate in her face. No thrill. No cruelty. Only precision. Only the finality of duty. One more shot. The girl slumped forward, cheek pressed to the carpet.

Kaya stared at them all for a long, still moment, then turned and slipped her pistol away, the motion smooth, practiced, and undisturbed. She stepped back, retrieved her gloves from the desk, and slid them on with the solemnity of ritual. Not a hair out of place. Not a tremor in her breath. Then she turned to the silent man at her side. "Burn everything," she said softly. "Nothing of value is left." And then she walked out. Not once looking back. Because the Sagos weren't ghosts anymore. They were ash.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The fire would be seen from the road in less than ten minutes. But no one would trace it. No one would question it. No one would even know where to begin.

Chen Kaya stepped through the front door without a single speck of ash on her coat, her gloves smoothed and buttoned into place, her expression composed and untouched. The soft breeze outside brushed past her like the world itself knew better than to linger in her presence. And as she reached the sleek black car waiting at the curb, the driver stepped out, opened the door in complete silence, and bowed his head with respectful precision.