Gonda did not like the number on his phone.

He was sitting in his private room with Kundra near the wall when the call came. The screen did not show a name, but Gonda knew who it was. Only one side called through that line now, and that side had started feeling heavier than it had during the first meeting.

He let it ring twice before answering.

"Yes," Gonda said.

The old man’s voice came through calmly. "You sound careful today."

Gonda forced a small laugh. "These days, careful men live longer."

"That is true."

The old man did not speak for a moment. Gonda hated that pause. Men like him did not pause because they had nothing to say. They paused to make the other person feel the weight of the silence.

"War has started," the old man said. "I thought we would have more time, but your nameless friends moved faster than expected."

Gonda’s fingers tightened around the phone.

"They are not my friends."

"Then this is your final offer. Stand with World Zone properly, or stand with them. If you remain in the middle, you will be crushed by both sides. I am not forcing you. I am telling you the shape of the road."

Gonda looked at Kundra.

Kundra did not move, but his eyes sharpened.

Gonda had expected pressure. He had not expected the choice to come so soon. If he chose World Zone openly, Wil’s side could kill him the way Maren had been killed. If he refused World Zone, the old man might stop speaking politely.

Until now, Gonda had treated both sides like storms that might pass if he kept his head low. Maren’s death had ended that comfort. A storm that could choose one car in a convoy and leave another alive was not blind weather. It was a hand.

Still, Gonda had not reached his position by kneeling the moment someone raised their voice.

He also understood one more thing. The old man was not calling only to recruit him. He was testing whether Gonda would lie, delay, or try to play both sides again. Every answer had to sound useful without giving away the fear sitting behind it.

"If I come to your side," Gonda said slowly, "I need things."

"Say them."

"The old man from their side. The one who first touched Bruno. I want him."

Gonda did not know whether that old man was truly the center or only another mask, but asking for him served two purposes. It showed anger, and it showed World Zone that he could still be valuable if pointed in the right direction.

The old man stayed quiet.

Gonda continued before the silence could turn against him. "And Bruno. I will kill Bruno myself."

"You hate your bridge that much?"

"A bridge that can carry another army into my house is not a bridge. It is a crack in the wall."

For a few seconds, only the line’s faint noise remained.

"Fine," the old man said. "If we find that old man, you may have your revenge after we finish with him. As for Bruno, not yet."

Gonda’s face darkened.

"You said fine."

"I said not yet," the old man corrected. "Tell me everything you know first. Have you seen the person behind Bruno, Wil’s true face, or anyone besides Bruno?"

Gonda’s anger cooled because the answer made him look weaker.

"No," he said.

"Only calls?"

"Calls, messages through Bruno, goods through Bruno, and money through Bruno. Sometimes he speaks as if he knows more, but I have not seen the actual people behind him."

"Then Bruno cannot die first."

Gonda closed his eyes.

He had walked himself into that answer. If Bruno was the only visible line, then killing him would cut the trail before they could follow it.

"We need him alive," the old man said. "Alive enough to talk, at least. After that, if he is still useful to you dead, you can discuss it."

Gonda swallowed his anger.

"And Tobin?"

"Tobin will be handled. Rust Gate will not remain in his hands."

The old man sounded so certain that Gonda felt another layer of danger settle over him. World Zone did not speak like men hoping for a result. They spoke like men assigning work.

"If you want to stand with us," the old man continued, "you will not warn Tobin, and you will not warn Bruno. You will let my people work."

Gonda’s face did not change, but his stomach tightened.

"If Bruno dies too early, I lose my bridge," Gonda said.

"If Bruno lives too freely, you lose more than a bridge."

That answer had no comfort inside it.

"Think carefully," the old man said. "The next time I call, I will not ask whether you are ready. I will ask what you have done."

The line cut.

Gonda lowered the phone.

Kundra waited until he was sure the call had ended.

"Boss," he said, "have you decided? Are we going to World Zone?"

Gonda stared at the phone for a long moment.

"No."

Kundra frowned. "No?"

"I told him what he needed to hear. That is not the same as choosing." Gonda leaned back and rubbed his thumb over the edge of the phone. "I need to speak to the other side once more. I need to know which side gives me more room to live."

"And if neither side gives room?"

Gonda looked toward the closed door.

"Then we make room before one of them buries us inside theirs."

Kundra lowered his voice. "Bruno will notice if we move strangely."

"Then we do not move strangely," Gonda said. "We keep him close. We let him believe he is valuable. Men who feel protected show where their protection comes from."

"And if Wil’s side asks about World Zone?"

Gonda’s eyes became colder.

"Then we lie better than we did yesterday."

He said it with confidence, but Kundra had worked beside him too long to miss the strain under the words. Gonda was no longer moving pieces from above the board. He was standing on the board himself, and both sides had started reaching for him.