ROSES 🌹 AND GUNS

THE MAN BEHIND THE GLASS

Christian POV

Control begins with structure.

I was reviewing the quarterly projections for Voss International when Mathias stepped into my office. The glass walls reflected the city skyline behind him — calm, polished, controlled. Just the way I prefer things.

“The Milan contract has been finalized,” he began. “Security detail for the tech summit is approved. All legal documentation has been cleared. The board is satisfied.”

Good.

Voss International thrived on precision. Private security. Corporate protection. Strategic logistics. Clean. Respectable. Profitable.

“And the new recruits?” I asked without looking up.

“Background checks cleared. Two former military, one intelligence transfer. All clean records.”

I nodded once. “Keep them compartmentalized.”

“Of course.”

There was a brief pause. Subtle. Measured.

Then his tone shifted — only slightly.

“There was a minor irregularity in last night’s pickup.”

I looked up this time.

“Explain.”

“Route deviation for exactly three minutes. Signal interference on the outer grid. Nothing escalated. It corrected itself.”

Nothing escalated.

That didn’t mean nothing happened.

I leaned back slowly, fingers resting against my chin. “Trace the interference. Quietly. I don’t want movement yet.”

Mathias nodded. He understood. We never reacted blindly. We observed first.

Always observe.

“Anything else?” I asked.

“No.”

He left, and I turned toward the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city. Every empire looks peaceful from above.

That’s the illusion.

An hour later, I drove past Tristan’s new school.

My black car blended easily with traffic. I didn’t park directly in front. I never did anything directly. Subtlety keeps people alive.

I saw him standing with other children on the playground. Backpack slung neatly. Shoulders straight.

Good.

I didn’t see anything unusual. No stumble. No signs of distress.

He looked… fine.

Satisfied, I drove off without him ever knowing I had been there.

Protection doesn’t always require presence.

Sometimes it requires distance.

When I got home later that evening, the house was quiet.

I loosened my tie slightly as I stepped inside. The air carried the faint scent of disinfectant and polished wood. Routine. Order.

Then I heard footsteps.

Tristan was coming down the stairs.

That’s when I saw it.

A slight hesitation in his right step. Almost invisible. Almost.

But I don’t miss things.

“You’re limping,” I said evenly.

He paused mid-step, as if considering whether he could pretend otherwise.

“It’s minor,” he replied calmly. “Unavoidable.”

I crossed the room slowly. “Define unavoidable.”

He reached the last stair and stood straighter. “Playground. The swing was moving too fast. I calculated wrong.”

I stared at him for a second.

“You calculated wrong?”

A faint flicker of embarrassment crossed his face. “Yes.”

I crouched slightly in front of him. “Show me.”

He lifted his pant leg without protest. A scrape across his knee. Nothing severe.And it looked attended to.

“You didn’t limp earlier,” I murmured.

He's eyes widen slightly when I said "earlier"but he recovered himself immediately.

“I didn’t want to draw attention,” he said.

Of course he didn’t.

I stood and walked to the cabinet, retrieving antiseptic and gauze. He sat on the couch without being told.

As I cleaned the wound, he didn’t flinch.

“You know,” I said calmly, “strength isn’t pretending you’re unhurt.”

“I know,” he answered. “But it was small.”

I secured the bandage and looked at him properly.

“How was school?”

“It was acceptable.”

I gave him a look.

He sighed faintly. “It was fine.”

“Details.”

A pause.

Then, “I made a friend.”

That made me stop.

“You made a friend,” I repeated carefully.

“Yes.”

Tristan had always been selective. Observant. Reserved. He did not attach easily. He measured people the way I did.

“Who?” I asked.

“A girl.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“She talks a lot,” he continued thoughtfully. “But not in an inefficient way.”

I almost smiled at that.

“And you trust her?” I asked.

He considered the question seriously. “I think she is… genuine.”

Genuine.

Interesting.

“And her parents?” I asked casually.

“I met her mother. She works at the school clinic.”

That caught my attention.

“You met her mother?”

“Yes. when I injured myself. She was the one who treated it.”

So that’s how.

I studied him carefully. “And?”

“She was calm,” he said. “Not dramatic. She asked precise questions.”

Precise.

Something about that lingered in my mind.

“And this girl,” I said slowly, “what do you like about her?”

He hesitated.

“She wasn’t afraid.”

Of him?

Of the convoy?

Of the world he came from?

I didn’t ask.

Instead, I rested a hand briefly on his shoulder.

“Friends are not weaknesses,” I said. “But choose carefully.”

“I will.”

I ruffled his hair lightly — a rare gesture. His eyes softened just slightly.

“Good,” I said.

He nodded once, then leaned back against the couch.

For a moment, the world outside didn’t exist. No route deviations. No signal interference. No shadows moving in places they shouldn’t.

Just this.

Just him.

But discipline doesn’t sleep.

And neither do I.