Cyrus sank into the plush embrace of the sofa, his fingers curling around a small, enigmatic cube. As he manipulated it, the device seemed to defy the laws of physics, shifting and displacing through unseen dimensions. A soft blue radiance emanated from its core, coalescing into a shimmering image that hung in the air before him.

"Hi!" Mariline's familiar face materialized, her hand raised in a cheerful wave.

Despite the warmth of her greeting, Cyrus felt a pang of guilt twist in his chest. The weight of unspoken truths pressed down upon him, a burden he could no longer ignore. In the wake of their passionate encounter and the flood of emotions that had poured forth, he knew he owed her honesty. The realization that he had used her as nothing more than a salve for his wounded heart was a bitter pill to swallow.

She'll probably hate me for this, he thought, steeling himself for the inevitable fallout.

Drawing a deep breath to fortify his resolve, Cyrus met her gaze. "I'm sorry," he began, the words feeling wholly inadequate.

Mariline's response caught him off guard. "You promised you'd always be there for me," she said, a sad smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "For a second, I even believed it, even though deep down I knew you were just using me to forget about her."

Her perceptiveness struck him like a physical blow. "I meant it," Cyrus insisted, his voice thick with emotion. "If you want, I can still help you." He paused, searching for the right words. "I'm not angry. I knew what to expect. It isn't surprising you chose her. We had fun together, and I don't regret anything. I'd just like you to grant me one last wish."

Finally mustering the courage to look directly into her eyes, Cyrus nodded. "Anything you want," he promised without hesitation.

"Can I paint you one last time?" Mariline asked, her gaze filled with a mixture of hope and resignation. As she spoke, the tears she had been valiantly holding back began to spill down her cheeks.

Cyrus felt utterly defeated, a sense of failure washing over him. He was acutely aware of the hardships Mariline had endured in the bureau, her life a constant struggle against adversity. "Make it the most beautiful portrait of me you can," he said softly, hoping to offer her this small comfort.

With practiced efficiency, Mariline produced a sheet of pristine white paper and an array of painting pencils. Cyrus held himself perfectly still, scarcely daring to breathe as she began to sketch. It was the least he could do, he reasoned. While it couldn't erase the pain he had caused, perhaps it could provide her with a moment of artistic solace.

Time seemed to stretch as Mariline worked, her hand moving with fluid grace across the paper. When at last she declared it finished, she turned the portrait for Cyrus to see. The result was nothing short of breathtaking—a vivid, lifelike rendering of himself and his surroundings. It evoked the same familiar feeling as her previous work, yet the difference in skill was staggering. Cyrus found himself recalling the portrait she had created on the bridge that day, and in comparison, this new piece was truly on another level. A genuine masterpiece.

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"Thank you," Mariline murmured, clutching the portrait to her chest. "I'll keep it close."

"Don't forget, you can always call if anything goes wrong," Cyrus offered. Though their romantic relationship had reached its end, he still felt a deep connection to her. The desire to help her escape the bureau's clutches, should she ever wish it, burned strong within him.

"I'll be leaving the bites soon," he continued, a hint of hesitation in his voice. "You could leave the bureau, and we could disappear to a place where they'd never find us." Even as he made the suggestion, Cyrus knew it was a long shot. The punishment he had received for his unauthorized departure to save Lork still loomed over him. He had to face the consequences of his actions; there was no other way around it. All that remained was for the queen to free his father.

Mariline bit her lip, a shadow of doubt crossing her features. "I don't think she'd be okay with that," she said softly. "Leora would never accept such a deal."

Cyrus shook his head, a mix of admiration and resignation in his eyes. Of all those involved in the quest to find the primordial canine, none had shown more dedication than Leora. She had spent countless hours explaining complex subjects to him, preparing him for the pivotal moment that lay ahead. Her commitment spoke volumes about her views on family. It was a painful realization, but Cyrus knew there was little he could do to change it. He had no desire to force her into an impossible choice between her family and himself.

"Goodbye, Cyrus," Mariline said, raising her hand in a final farewell.

As the image faded and the cube reassembled itself, Cyrus let out a weary sigh. In that exact moment, a pillow collided forcefully with the back of his neck. "Huh?" he exclaimed, shaking off the momentary dizziness. His eyes locked onto the figure who had just entered the room, her chest heaving with barely contained fury.

"You couldn't control yourself, could you?" Leora spat, her words sharp as daggers. "You just had to rush into her arms!"

A cold sweat broke out across Cyrus's brow as the full weight of his oversight hit him. How could he have been so careless? He had nearly forgotten that this was no longer his private sanctuary. "What was I supposed to do?" he stammered, trying to explain as he cautiously approached her. "She was my crush, and you made it clear you wanted nothing to do with me before."

Leora deftly sidestepped his advance, crossing her arms defensively. "Yes, but you could have understood I wasn't ready and waited," she retorted, her voice thick with hurt. "It was pretty clear."

Confusion etched itself across Cyrus's features. "How could I have known? I can't read your mind!" He ducked swiftly, genuinely concerned for his safety. The pillows were imbued with magic—did she actually intend to harm him?

"You said you loved me," Leora pressed on. "You should have understood."

"What kind of twisted logic is that?" Cyrus muttered, eyeing her warily as she brandished another pillow. Realizing discretion was the better part of valor, he raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, darling. I'm sorry. You know I love only you, and I always have." With these words, he carefully encircled her waist with his arms.

Their lips met in a passionate kiss, Cyrus's hands beginning to trace the contours of her body. Just as the tension between them began to dissipate, a sharp knock at the door shattered the moment. Reluctantly, Cyrus disentangled himself from Leora's embrace and made his way to the door, a twinge of frustration at the ill-timed interruption.

As he pulled the door open, he found himself face to face with the villa's elderly caretaker. The grim expression etched into her weathered features immediately set Cyrus on edge, his instincts screaming that something was terribly wrong.

"Something has happened," the old woman said, her words punctuated by labored breaths. It was clear she had rushed to deliver her message with all haste.

Cyrus felt his chest tighten, his breath catching in his throat. Behind him, Leora's warm palm slid into his, a silent gesture of support and comfort. But nothing could have prepared him for the devastating news that followed.

"Your father has been taken by the bureau," the caretaker announced, her words falling like a hammer blow.

In that moment, as the full implications of her statement washed over him, Cyrus found himself wishing he had never opened the door, never invited this cruel twist of fate into his world. The relative peace he had found shattered in an instant, leaving him to face a future fraught with uncertainty and danger.