Ollie Mylor was thinking, which was dangerous.
He wasn’t particularly known for strategic brilliance under pressure, but right now, Ollie was desperate.
Because he had a plan.
A crazy yet currently inexplicable plan.
He wasn’t planning to abandon the man next to him—far from it. But he did need to leave, just for a little while. He just couldn’t explain how or why. Not without sounding completely insane.
Or blowing the lid off a very, very big secret.
And the guy already looked like he had enough problems.
Ollie glanced up at him—the tall, ridiculously well-dressed man whose features were now obscured by a flickering distortion field, the kind used by people who definitely weren’t average citizens. Before the tech kicked in, Ollie had caught a brief glimpse of his face.
Not everything, with his limited point of view. But that alone was enough to tell.
The man was chiseled. Expensive.
This was the kind of man who probably had a full wardrobe sorted by color and day of the week. Soone who looked like people could pay taxes on his facial symtry.
Definitely out of Ollie’s league for compensation—especially after promising his father all his future allowance in exchange for just one favor. Therefore, he couldn’t afford third-party liability paynts on top of that.
This ant no accidents, no unexpected risks, and absolutely no heroic strangers ruining the plan with their quiet brooding and mysterious tech.
And while the guy didn’t seem like the type to charge headfirst into danger—more like the type to coldly assess a situation, co up with five contingency plans, and then charge in—Ollie still didn’t want to take chances.
So summoning every ounce of chaotic sincerity he had, Ollie looked the man in the eyes and said—
"I’m going to leave now."
Killian didn’t move. "Oh?"
"But you have to stay here. You have to promise. Please. Don’t get caught. Whatever happens after I leave—don’t interfere."
"And whatever you see when I do get back, you can’t tell anyone. Just...wait here. I’ll be back. I’m going to try not to take too long."
Killian stared at him with flat disbelief. "You’re the one running away."
So, why was he the one being given such instructions?
"Yes," Ollie nodded solemnly, "but with purpose."
The expensive mister raised a brow.
Ollie inhaled deeply and then played his final card—the most sacred of all solemn vows.
"The Pinky Promise," he whispered.
Killian blinked. "The what?"
Ollie held out his hand, pinky finger extended solemnly. "It’s sacred. Binding. I learned it from my good brother Luca. You hook pinkies, and that ans you’ll keep the secret and stay safe."
The chief of staff’s eyes narrowed at all this. "...Is this real?"
"Very real. Sothing really bad would happen if you break it," warned the cadet.
Killian opened his mouth to object, then closed it. Then opened it again.
Sowhere in his soul, the overworked official was screaming. But against his better judgnt, he slowly extended his pinky and curled it around Ollie’s.
The cadet bead.
And vanished.
Killian was left standing by the ventilation shaft, looking down at his still-raised pinky.
"...Did I just get strong-ard into a pinky promise by a student?" he muttered. Then sighed. "I must be tired."
__
Landing back in the Dungeon space, Ollie had only one thing on his mind.
Well, two things.
One: he wanted to cry.
Two: he needed to tell soone.
And so he went for the most important one.
"D-29!" Ollie barked as he stood inside his cabin in the Space, arms flailing like an alarm siren given human form.
The little system blinked into view, its tone sharp and ready. "Lord Ollie?"
"Ergency! Hijacking! Pirates on the commuter craft I was on!" Ollie said in one breath, practically skipping past the explanation. "They’re using a kid as hostage to smoke out—they think I’m still onboard!"
D-29, without a mont’s pause, activated all the alarms.
"Ergency alert issued. High-priority broadcast in progress."
Giant prompts started appearing around everybody who was given the permission to hear from D-29.
The commotion set off a ripple through the entire Dungeon Space.
Jax, soil still on his gloves, jerked up from planting. Luca, mid-cow massage, took off his gloves. Duke Leander and Butler Gary, fresh from the river, looked up sharply.
And the Prince?
Xavier calmly stood from his work, eyes glinting.
Ollie didn’t flinch. More like he couldn’t with how this was nothing compared to earlier’s sights.
Ollie wiped his forehead, adrenaline still slamming through him. He wasn’t exactly sure how long he had, but he knew better than to waste it.
He bolted. Straight toward the most predictable person he knew.
Kyle.
___
The busy adjutant saw the prompt and, by instincts, knew that the mop would land in the next door cabin, likely terrified just like that night. So he ran out.
He rounded the corner—just in ti to collide with a blur of blonde hair and wide eyes.
BAM!
"Oof—!" Kyle grunted, staggering as Ollie latched onto him like a koala with anxiety issues.
Arms looped tightly around his torso, Ollie practically lted into him.
Kyle, normally aloof and sarcastic, just sighed. He knew this pattern.
This was scared Ollie, Terrified Ollie, the one who clung and clutched and vibrated with the need to offload seventeen entire novels’ worth of thoughts in under five minutes.
Kyle braced himself. And he was right.
They were on the floor now, tangled up like human yarn balls. Ollie was squirming but still very much attached—like glue or static.
Then—
"Kyle!" Ollie gasped, already mid-rant. "Those people from the Ravagers, they said they were gonna ransom ! Like, actually put up for ransom! But we don’t even do ransom in my family! My father might not even negotiate! Or worse, he might even offer them a coupon!"
Kyle opened his mouth.
"AND THEN," Ollie continued without breathing, "Then what if they discover they won’t get paid? They’ll cut into pieces! Which parts?! I don’t know! I don’t even think my arms are that valuable, AND what if they sell like they planned to do with that pirate Veeka?! Do you know how traumatizing it is to be considered a clearance bin hostage?!"
Kyle blinked. Then chuckled.
It was small. Breathless. But full of relief.
Ollie was still talking. Still complaining. Still catastrophizing.
Still alive.
"You’re not clearance bin," Kyle murmured, cupping the mop’s flushed cheeks with both hands.
"Really?" Ollie sniffled.
"If they ransod you," he said calmly. "Sobody would pay."
"Wait... does that an I’m affordable?!" Ollie gasped in horror.
Kyle closed his eyes. Then, he mushed the boy’s cheeks flat with his palms.
"You’re thinking weird thoughts again."
"I’m panicking, it’s different!"
Kyle ruffled his hair. "You’re fine. We’re here."
Thank goodness.
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