The silence that ca after Mark's voice faded was a different kind of quiet. Not the kind that settled softly like snowfall. No. This was the kind that dug into your skin, seeped into your bones. A silence carved by betrayal, frustration, and a thousand unanswered questions.
I held the phone so tightly I thought the glass might crack in my hand.
His voice still echoed in my ears, polished and calculated, like a dagger wrapped in silk.
"I heard about what happened to Sienna. My condolences."
A pause.
"And my apologies, Reynard, because I was the reason your identity was revealed."
The words hadn't faded. Not even a little.
"Mark," I growled. "You'd better explain."
On the other end, his breath caught just slightly. Then ca that damnable laugh. Light, disarming, almost affectionate. It curdled my blood.
"You always are so direct. That's one of the things I like about you, Reynard."
"I swear to God—"
"Alright, alright. No need to turn our little reunion into a shouting match." He exhaled, his tone laced with mock sympathy. "They figured it out. The World President. Sohow, he knew that I was aware of the identity of the Masked Syndicate mbers. Maybe a slip-up on my part, maybe surveillance seeing us together that night—who knows anymore. But once they suspected, they brought in."
I didn't respond. I didn't care about his dramatics. I wanted the at, the reason.
"I lied, of course," Mark continued. "Said I didn't know who the Masked Syndicate really was. Said that you were just a potential suspect that we were still investigating. But they didn't believe . And, well... governnts do what governnts do best when they're desperate."
"You're telling they tortured you."
"Oh yes," he said it as though he were comnting on a mild inconvenience. "Unimaginative thods, if I'm being honest. Fingers, electricity, a little drowning—but nothing original."
I didn't say a word. I didn't ask him if he was okay. Frankly, I didn't care. He was nothing more than a cracked cog in a corrupted machine. My mind was already three steps ahead.
"The World President," I muttered. "He figured it out."
Mark humd. "Sharp as always."
"You know who he is." My tone wasn't a question.
A pause. A long, unsettling pause that thickened the air around like tar.
"...Yes," Mark said softly.
The muscles in my jaw tightened. My knuckles turned white as my grip on the phone intensified.
"Then tell ."
Another pause. Longer. Colder.
Sothing in shifted. The air in the room grew still, the walls closing in tighter.
Mark sighed—a sound so quiet it barely touched the edge of the receiver.
"No."
The word stabbed into my spine like a needle of ice.
"No?" I echoed, stunned.
"I won't tell you."
Rage erupted in my chest like a volcano. My voice ca out in a snarl. "If you actually an it when you say you want to rule the world with —if you ant any of the nonsense you've spouted that night on the bridge—then help take him down. Just tell his na, and I will burn—"
"Don't you dare," he snarled, interrupting with a venom I hadn't heard from him in years. His playfulness vanished, replaced by a brittle edge that cracked through the call like thunder. "Don't pretend we're anything alike. I have no intentions of helping a bastard like you."
His words struck like a whip. My anger boiled over. "Mark—"
"Don't call that!" he scread, his voice raw and furious. "That is not my na!"
I blinked. His voice had never sounded so unhinged.
"I'm hanging up," he said sharply, the cold professionalism returning beneath the fury. "We both need to cool off."
"Don't—"
The call ended before I could finish.
I stared at the screen, still lit with his na, my own reflection ghosting in the dark glass. The na stared back at , cold and indifferent.
A step away.
I was one step away from the truth.
And I'd failed.
The phone slipped from my hand, landing on the floor with a dull clack.
My breath grew shallow. My pulse raced, erratic. It felt like I was suffocating from inside.
I turned and drove my fist into the wall without thinking. The impact sent a shock of pain racing up my arm, but I didn't care. Cracks spiderwebbed out from the point of impact, dust crumbling onto the floor.
I stood there, chest heaving, knuckles bruised and bloody again. The skin split, reopened from earlier. I stared at the damage.
Another crack in the foundation.
Another reminder that I was losing control.
My thoughts were chaos—mories and failures, screams and dust. I leaned my forehead against the wall, breathing heavily.
One na.
That's all I needed. One na. And he wouldn't give it to .
I waited there for a minute, maybe more. Let the anger thrum through my blood until it dulled. Until the rage couldn't carry anymore.
Then I turned, wiping my bloodied knuckles on my pants.
I stepped out of the room.
The mont I did, I saw them.
Sienna and Camille were still on the couch, curled together beneath a shared blanket. Alexis was beside them, legs crossed, her glasses reflecting the soft blue light from her laptop. They all turned to look at .
Their eyes scanned my face. My hands. My posture. Silent, worried.
Camille sat up slightly. "Rey... is everything alright?"
Sienna's gaze flickered to my bruised knuckles, her lips parting as if to speak. But she didn't.
Alexis looked ready to stand, but didn't.
I paused for a second too long.
Then, I smiled.
Not a real smile. Not sothing warm or genuine. No.
It was the kind of smile that didn't reach the eyes. The kind that you practiced in mirrors and wore like a mask when everything inside you was unraveling. It felt stiff, alien on my face. A parody of joy. A warning sign in disguise.
"Everything's fine," I said, voice light, almost cheerful.
They didn't believe . I could see it in the way their expressions twitched, the tension in their bodies. But none of them challenged .
"I simply dropped sothing."
And with that, I walked past them.
Their eyes stayed on the whole way. I could feel them like a weight on my back.
But none of them saw what had really shattered.
Because it wasn't the mug. Or the punching bag. Or the wall.
It was .
And this smile?
This smile was all I had left to offer.
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