Barely, but enough.
Of course, he would've preferred to have his top subordinates still alive. Losing them—those years of careful grooming, the forged loyalty, the cultivated madness—it stung.
But beggars couldn't be choosers now.
Survival was the highest currency, and regret would buy him nothing.
He'd work with what he had.
And what he had… was still dangerous.
Because he remained hidden in plain sight.
A professor—respected, unassuming, even admired by some of his students.
And as long as he remained in that position, the last remaining threads of their cult could still slither in from the outside world.
Slowly.
Quietly.
A drop at a time.
If he played it right, he could rebuild.
That meant avoiding recklessness.
The principal was a hawk in sheep's clothing, and the last thing he needed was to draw her attention. If she started digging, he wasn't sure even he could survive it.
Caution was key now.
"I'll need to cut a few tails,"
