Rojas calls her

The buzzing of the red disposable phone was a stinging reminder of a world Magi no longer felt she belonged to. Atop the marble nightstand of Penthouse 52B, the titanium keys glinted with a frigid light, reminding her of her new and oppressive reality. Adrián had installed her there only hours ago with the satisfaction of one who has won not just a battle, but the war for her will. "Rest, Magda. Tomorrow our journey to Cerberus begins."

The phone did not stop. Costa. The last crack through which her former life filtered—a past that now felt as foreign to her as someone else's uniform.

With a knot in her stomach that wasn't born of fear, but of a bitter acceptance, Magi picked up the device. She remained silent, letting the vacuum of the line speak for her.

"Rojas." Costa’s voice was a whip-crack of frozen fury. "A disaster. An absolute failure. Someone with total access to the details tipped him off." The pause was as sharp as a knife. "It was you."

Magi gripped the phone. It wasn't an accusation; it was the statement of a fact. And for the first time, she felt no need to justify herself under the academy’s code of honor.

"The location was changed at the last minute," she managed to say, with a voice that no longer trembled but sounded flat, hollow. "I was a pawn in that, too."

"Do not insult me with lies!" Costa erupted, and Magi could imagine her with white knuckles from rage. "Lorenzo was seconds away from being neutralized. Your infiltration is compromised. Why, Rojas? Was it Soler? Did he threaten you? Or did you just get scared?"

You got scared. Those three words hit her hard, but not because they were a lie—because they were insufficient. What Costa called cowardice, Magi called survival.

"You aren't here," Magi whispered, defending herself from the darkness of her new golden cage. "You don't face him every night. You don't know what it’s like to feel that he sees everything, even the things you haven't decided to do yet."

"My job is to protect you so that you CAN do yours!" Costa roared. "You’ve compromised months of work. You’ve endangered an international agent. But you haven't fallen so low that you can't make it right. Give me something, Rojas! Was it ****? Can we get you out of there?"

Magi looked at the titanium keys and then down at the lash mark on her thigh, still pulsing beneath the silk of her robe. She thought of Adrián’s homicidal fury if she trusted Costa again. But she also thought of the island, of the **** intimacy awaiting her at Cerberus, and of the strange, horrific security she felt being under the wing of the strongest predator.

On the other end of the line, there was only the cold contempt of an institution that had used her as bait. On this side, there was the visceral and corrupt power of Soler, who, in his twisted way, had "rewarded" her for her betrayal.

"I... I can't talk," she murmured, and the sentence sounded like a final surrender. "Don't call again. This line is dead."

"Rojas, listen to me, if you cut this line you are—"

Magi didn't hear the rest. She disconnected the call with a mechanical motion. She didn't turn off the phone; she stowed it at the bottom of a drawer, burying it beneath the lace and silk of the lingerie Adrián had bought for her. It was a symbolic burial.

She stood there, hugging herself in the middle of the luxurious void of 52B. She hadn't cut the cable completely, but she had let go, allowing her old identity to dangle over the abyss. Costa hadn't given up on her yet, but Magi knew the truth: Cadet Rojas had bled out in that private club. The woman remaining in the room, the one who would fly to a private island with a criminal tomorrow, was no longer seeking salvation. She was only looking for a way to ensure the golden chains didn't squeeze her neck quite so tight. Her loyalty was no longer a matter of principle; it was a bet on the only side that seemed capable of keeping her alive.