"What the hell are you doing?"

It's not Gavin that greets Bael but an assistant set up just outside the underbosses office. He'd been on his phone when the other had entered, just oblivious enough not to notice him until he'd cursed at the door.

Said door is locked, of course, shimmering with a faint pink energy.

"You can't just walk in there. Who are you?"

Poor Ellis. He's not from Kanto, doesn't recognize the man who turns toward him. He seems to recognize the knife, however brief the flash of its blade, but doesn't shy away from its implied threat.

"Merlino's in his office, which is locked for a reason."

But in spite of his exasperation, the youth shakes his head and returns his attention back to the phone. A few moments later, and the offending door swings open.

Gavin looks tired, but the ire in his expression fades to surprise, then recognition.

"Bael! Beckett told me you were here — fuck, it's been a minute."

He's not a hugger, never has been. But there's no mistaking the warmth of his tone, the soothing cadence of his voice. He has changed, since Kanto — carries himself differently, with confidence and head held high.

"You nearly gave my assistant a heart attack. Come in."

Had Bael ever seen the office of Silas Blackwell, perhaps he'd find an eerie familiarity in Gavin's own. Large but devoid of personal touch, cold metal tones offset by the wood of the desk. A Sylveon slumbers beneath the desk, lifts its head when they enter and flashes tiny fangs with a yawn. When Gavin sits, it jumps up to curl in his lap.

Gavin offers a dismissive flick of his wrist.

"No harm done."

It doesn't seem to bother him that the other remains standing, nor does he seem unsettled by the idle fidgeting of the knife. He leans back in his chair, relaxed, scratching his Sylveon behind its ears.

From a window to the ocean, red eyes gleam.

Gavin blinks as a picture of Alexei Ivanov is deposited on his desk.

"I know of the man," he confirms. He listens with interest as Bael continues, lifts a brow at the casual admission of violence. It's not until @archon is mentioned that Gavin's expression turns grim.

"I knew," he confirms. "I tried to kill him."

There's a tension in the air that Gavin's not ignorant to.

Bael wears his mask well but the tell is in his gaze, the intensity of it. Gavin's learned to read the members of his old team better than most, because it had been necessary on the field — because once it might've meant the difference between life and death.

He shakes his head.

"If I knew that, he would be dead."

Archon's betrayal felt more personal than most; they'd fought together, bled together. He could only imagine how it felt for Bael.

How furious would he be, if it were Lulu Flint? Rowan Wrynn?

"If we catch wind of him again, I'll let you know."

He shrugs his shoulders.

"Hoenn is its own operation; we get news out of Kanto on occasion, but I'm not at all involved in what goes on over there."

There's a pang in his stomach for Marcel, Hoenn's former head of intel who'd been sent back to Kanto along with Dominic Sinclair. He wonders how he's doing, now, if he's holding up all right. He still had the text on his phone: I'm alive.

"Here, though... we're preparing to move on Sootopolis." It's a sensitive operation, the details of which shouldn't be disclosed to any random grunt who walked into his office... but Bael Caldwell wasn't some random grunt, Bael had fought by his side more times than he could count. "We can use your skill. Either in the field or helping our... mm, greener recruits."

Your Rocket is soft.

"What do you want to be doing?"

Archon comes first.

Gavin nods, something hard in his gaze.

"I'll send you the reports from Mt. Pyre; everything we remembered about his team, their movesets. Possible we can get Lulu Flint to look into flight and ferry records, see if he used his name when he came over."

His fingers are already tapping away at the laptop on his desk.

"We'll find him."

Little did they know that @archon would spring his own trap.