The cell door slid open with a soft, hydraulic hiss. The sudden mechanical sound was jarring after the profound silence that had followed the chaotic temporal journey. Ethan, still weak but rapidly recovering from the temporal sickness, looked up from his cot. He had spent the last few hours meticulously organizing the data the System had downloaded, trying to rationalize the existence of the King of Darkness and anti-matter cannons.

Special Agent Mark Wilkerson—the same agent who had just interrogated Director Brown—stood framed in the doorway. He was alone, which was unusual for an official visit.

"Mr. Blake," Wilkerson said, his voice flat. "Get up. We're releasing you."

Ethan slowly stood, his movements deliberately casual. He already knew, thanks to the System's quick processing of the surrounding political turmoil, that his time as a prisoner was over. He was no longer a terrorist, but a liability.

"Releasing me?" Ethan asked, feigning surprise. "Based on what? I'm sure my file still claims I'm a terrorist who assaulted a federal officer and planted a bomb."

Wilkerson stepped into the cell, holding a thin manila folder.

"That narrative is, shall we say, being actively recalibrated," Wilkerson said. "The formal charges linking you to the bombing have been dropped, pending further investigation into the real culprits—the people who orchestrated the transfer attack."

Wilkerson fixed Ethan with a cold, hard stare. "You will be exonerated, effective immediately. However, this entire process needs to be handled with absolute, permanent discretion. You are not to speak to the media, file lawsuits, or discuss the circumstances of your arrest with anyone. Do you understand?"

Ethan crossed his arms, leaning back against the cold, concrete wall. He decided to play the role of the aggrieved civilian who was now demanding justice.

"I understand the word discretion," Ethan said. "But what I don't understand is why. Why the sudden change of heart? And if I was illegally imprisoned and nearly framed as a terrorist by federal agents, why should I remain silent? I demand to know who framed me and I demand adequate compensation for my unlawful detention."

Wilkerson let out a short, humorless chuckle.

"The 'why' is simple, Mr. Blake," Wilkerson said. "The man who framed you, Congressman Vance, is the same man who orchestrated the attack on the convoy. He will be in prison shortly, and the entire situation will be resolved internally. We are cleaning up his mess."

Wilkerson then laid out the quid pro quo—the bribe disguised as compensation.

"As for compensation," Wilkerson said, sliding the folder onto the cot. "The government has authorized a confidential, non-admitted settlement for damages, discomfort, and the protection of your future privacy. It includes a lump sum payment of $750,000 (Seven Hundred Fifty Thousand U.S. Dollars)."

He pointed to the documents inside the folder. "In exchange, you will sign three non-disclosure agreements and a waiver of future litigation against the Federal Government and the Lexington Correctional Facility. Your signature makes this all go away. Your silence secures your freedom and your money."

Ethan looked at the documents, then back at Wilkerson. He felt an intense surge of amusement—and annoyance—at the paltry sum.

[$750,000 is crumbs!] Ethan thought internally, comparing the offer to the 'Dark Matter Cannon' and the King's limitless, universal wealth. If they want me to shut up, I could give them this amount just to screw with them.

But Ethan knew better than to wage a war he didn't need right now. The Amethyst King had taught him to be a pragmatist when necessary. Starting a legal fight against the entire state—a conflict he could easily win, but which would consume weeks of his time, reveal his newfound wealth, and draw unwelcome attention—was a foolish distraction. His true focus needed to be on the System, his powers, and the cosmic war.

This is a political maneuver to keep their hands clean. They don't want the stain of framing an innocent civilian to affect their internal war, Ethan realized. Fine. I'll take the money and the quiet exit.

"I accept," Ethan said. He picked up the pen and signed the contracts with a firm, decisive hand, his gaze never leaving Wilkerson's eyes. "Where do I sign?"

Wilkerson seemed surprised by the sudden, immediate compliance but quickly regained his professional demeanor.

"Wise decision," Wilkerson said, retrieving the signed documents. "A clean exit is the best exit. You will be released in ten minutes, Mr. Blake. You are free."

As Wilkerson turned to leave, Ethan watched him, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face.

He felt an immense, internal pride. His maneuver had been successful. The entire federal investigation's attention had been completely and irrevocably diverted, leaving him not as a target, but as a simple, discarded scapegoat caught between the war of two bureaucratic monsters fighting for control of the state's governorship.

Vance is finished, Ethan thought. My only focus is Celestial and Olympus. You better prepare yourselves, you sons of bitches. You will pay dearly for messing with me.

Ethan sat down on the cot, waiting. Minutes later, an officer arrived.

"Follow me, Mr. Blake," the officer said.

Ethan stood up and extended his hands, ready for the handcuffs. The officer chuckled.

"You're our honorable guest, Mr. Blake," the officer said. "And now that you're a free man and a person of integrity, maybe we can get together for drinks sometime?"

He smiled at Officer Jones.

"Of course, Jones," Ethan said. "We can definitely arrange that. Who knows, maybe Hayes will join us too."

Both men shared a conspiratorial laugh. Jones escorted him out, where he was given his few personal belongings and a set of civilian clothes.

At the entrance, Warden Hayes was waiting. She looked at him with a strange mix of regret and respect.

"I will miss you, Blake," Hayes said.

"Don't worry," Ethan said, a wickedly charming grin on his face. "I just arranged for drinks with Jones. You should join us. We could stuff you like a Christmas turkey, filling every orifice all at once."

She laughed, a genuine, deep sound that surprised the guards nearby. "I accept," Hayes said. "Just give things a little time to calm down around here first."

Ethan winked, collected his folder with the $750,000 settlement, and walked out into the cold, free air.

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