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Reginald looked considerably smaller without his usual immaculate uniform — dressed instead in plain, unremarkable clothes, standing awkwardly at the edge of the Hegeville property with none of his old, slippery confidence, when Allen opened the door to find him waiting there three days after the duel.

"I’d ask what you’re doing here," Allen said warily, "but given our history, I’m inclined to assume it’s nothing good."

"Fair assumption," Reginald admitted, something tired and defeated coloring his usually smug voice. "Though I promise, this visit carries no hostile intent. I’ve come to... offer information. And, if you’re willing to hear it, an apology of sorts."

Vivian appeared silently behind Allen within seconds, enhanced senses having already registered the visitor’s approach long before he’d reached the door. "He’s telling the truth," she confirmed quietly. "Heart rate’s steady, no signs of deception."

Allen studied Reginald for a long moment before stepping aside, gesturing him toward the porch rather than fully into the house. "Talk."

Reginald settled onto the porch steps with visible discomfort, clearly unaccustomed to occupying such an unremarkable position after decades of comfortable service within the Veton estate. "Your father terminated my employment two days ago," he said finally. "Scapegoat for the financial inquiry’s fallout, given my direct involvement in coordinating the surveillance and, indirectly, the mercenary contract."

"You’re the one who actually arranged it," Allen pointed out coldly.

"On direct orders," Reginald said, though he didn’t attempt to fully deny responsibility. "For whatever that distinction is worth to you, which I suspect is very little." He sighed, some of his old, weathered composure returning briefly. "I’ve served that family for thirty-one years, Allen. Watched four generations of Veton heirs rise and fall. I convinced myself, for most of that time, that loyalty to the family name justified whatever unpleasant tasks came attached to the position." A pause. "Watching your father discard me the moment I became inconvenient, the same way he discarded you years ago, has provided a rather unwelcome clarity regarding exactly what that loyalty was actually worth."

"So you’re here for what, exactly? Sympathy?" Allen’s voice remained hard, unwilling to easily forgive months of cruelty and surveillance.

"Information," Reginald said simply. "Damien’s financial records extend considerably deeper than what’s currently under Association investigation. Offshore accounts, unreported guild income, several transactions that would interest the World Hunter Regulatory Inquisition Board far more than a single assassination attempt against a disowned son." He met Allen’s gaze steadily. "I know where all of it is documented. I’ve spent thirty-one years managing those records personally."

Allen felt something calculating settle behind his wariness. "Why would you hand that over now?"

"Because I have nothing left to lose by doing so," Reginald said honestly, "and because, against every professional instinct I’ve cultivated over three decades of careful, self-interested service, I find myself rather impressed by what you’ve built here." His gaze drifted briefly toward the house behind Allen, toward the sound of Irene’s distant laughter drifting through an open window. "You could have easily become bitter, given everything your family put you through. Instead, you built something considerably more valuable than anything they ever offered you."

Allen studied him for a long, considering moment. "This isn’t forgiveness," he said finally. "You spent months insulting us, spying on us, coordinating an attempt on my life."

"I’m not asking for forgiveness," Reginald said quietly. "Only for the opportunity to make amends in whatever limited way remains available to me."

"I’ll need to discuss this with my party before deciding anything," Allen said, still guarded but no longer outright hostile. "This isn’t solely my decision to make."

Reginald nodded, something like genuine relief crossing his tired features. "That’s more consideration than I probably deserve. Thank you."

---

The discussion that followed inside the house carried considerable tension — Irene’s immediate, fierce skepticism warring against Myria’s careful, strategic calculation, Vivian’s steady confirmation of Reginald’s sincerity providing the deciding factor amid the disagreement.

"He tried to have you killed," Irene said flatly. "Sorry, but forgive me if ’he feels bad about it now’ doesn’t exactly inspire trust."

"Nobody’s asking you to trust him," Myria said evenly. "But the information he’s offering could substantially weaken Damien Veton’s position, potentially beyond anything the current Association inquiry alone would achieve. That has genuine strategic value, regardless of Reginald’s personal redemption arc."

Everlyn’s notepad appeared thoughtfully.

’We don’t have to fully trust him to use what he’s offering. Careful verification first, decision after.’

"Practical," Vivian agreed. "And given my own read on his sincerity, I don’t believe this is a trap. Desperate, perhaps. Genuinely remorseful, perhaps. But not deceptive."

Allen considered their input carefully before returning to the porch, where Reginald waited with visible, nervous anticipation.

"We’ll review what you’re offering," Allen said finally. "Through proper Association channels, with full verification. If it’s legitimate, and if it holds up under scrutiny, it goes a long way toward proving your sincerity." He paused. "But this doesn’t erase what you’ve done. Understand that clearly."

"I understand completely," Reginald said, something genuinely grateful flickering behind his tired eyes. "It’s more than I expected, and considerably more than I likely deserve."

As Reginald departed a short while later, documentation already promised for delivery through secure Association channels, Allen found himself considering the strange, complicated shape their growing conflict with the Veton family had taken — no longer simple, straightforward hostility, but something considerably messier, populated by people capable of both genuine cruelty and genuine, if belated, regret.

’The world’s rarely as simple as heroes and villains,’ he thought, watching Reginald’s retreating figure disappear down the cracked Hegeville street. ’Even when it desperately wants to be.’