Cynthia’s hand, trapped against her thigh, strained for the Poké Balls on her belt. Her fingers brushed cold metal. Garchomp. Just one. Please. She pressed the button. Nothing. She pressed again, frantic. A faint, staticky buzz was the only reply.

“A simple frequency jammer, darling,” Aldith said, stepping into view. She was a woman of average height, her Team Plasma grunt uniform modified, her white hair cut sharply. Her smile was a knife. “All that power, and it’s rendered useless by a device smaller than a Berry. Pathetic. Do you regret it now? Leaving your precious dragon in its ball while you took your contemplative stroll? You thought your title was armor. It’s just a target.”

Gods, no. Cynthia’s mind screamed. My mistake. My arrogance. She had wanted solitude, and it had been her undoing. She struggled anew, a raw, guttural sound tearing from her throat. “Let me go! You have no idea what you’re doing! The International Police—!”

“Are incompetent fools,” Aldith finished, her voice dripping with contempt. “Looker and his little squad? They’ve been chasing ghosts in Unova for months. I slipped into Sinnoh right under their noses. I’ve been watching you, Cynthia. For months. Learning your routines, your favorite lonely places. You made it so… easy.”

The Seviper’s grip tightened, and Cynthia cried out, the pressure making black spots dance in her vision. Aldith moved closer, her hands deftly working at the champion’s boots. The sensation of cool air on her stockinged feet was profoundly violating. “A champion should be humble,” Aldith mused, tossing the first boot aside. “Barefoot in the dirt. That’s a start.”

“Please,” Cynthia begged, her voice trembling. It was a weak, pathetic sound. “You don’t have to do this. I can— I can offer you anything. Wealth, influence… just let me go!”