The Recall Trials Chapter 120: Your Move, Dad

I didn’t say another word.

I just walked.

I didn’t care what Theo thought. I didn’t care that his eyes were still on , full of questions and bla and doubt.

He could think whatever the hell he wanted.

He didn’t see what I saw.

Didn’t hear the gag in her throat.

Didn’t feel her blood soak through his shirt.

Didn’t watch her press that button with shaking hands just to save .

My boots echoed softly against the cold steel floor as I walked across the room. No destination. Just movent. Just sothing to keep my body from collapsing under the weight.

Nomi’s face kept flashing behind my eyes—

The way her mouth opened to speak, but no sound ca.

The way her hands reached for sothing—maybe , maybe air—before going limp.

She was carrying my child.

My baby.

Gone.

A laugh slipped out of my mouth, sharp and hollow.

It didn’t even sound human.

I pressed my back against the nearest wall and slid down, knees bent, arms hanging limply by my sides. My vision blurred—not from tears exactly. Just... haze. Fog. Like my body didn’t know how to exist in this mont anymore.

Zaara hovered a few feet away, hesitant.

She looked like she wanted to co closer, like she wanted to hold again.

But this ti, I didn’t move.

I didn’t push her away...

I just didn’t move.

"I’m sorry," she whispered finally.

I didn’t respond.

Her voice was so soft I barely registered it.

I was still hearing Nomi.

"I’m sorry, Vincent."

I squeezed my eyes shut. My jaw clenched.

I could still feel her blood. Sticky. Warm. Unnatural.

It was too quiet in here.

Even Theo wasn’t talking anymore. Maybe he finally realized the weight of what happened. Or maybe he just gave up trying to make sense of .

I rested my head against the wall, staring at the flickering lights above us.

How poetic.

Even the damn bulbs were dying.

Like everything else in this cursed place.

I pushed the heavy tal door open and stepped inside the restroom.

The fluorescent lights above buzzed like flies over a corpse, flickering just enough to be annoying.

I didn’t co here to wash my face.

Or take a piss.

I ca here to breathe.

I stared at myself in the mirror—blood still sared at the edge of my shirt, dried at my collar, caked under my fingernails.

Nomi’s blood.

Our child’s.

My eyes looked... wrong.

Like they didn’t belong in my face anymore.

Too hollow. Too dark. Too tired of being.

I gripped the edge of the sink, fingers white-knuckling the rusted tal.

"You win," I whispered to no one. Or maybe to them. "You wanted to break . Congratulations."

My reflection didn’t blink.

"You made watch her die."

I looked down, breathing hard through my nose. My throat burned like I’d swallowed acid. I could still feel the sound of that shot—silent but so loud inside my chest. I hadn’t stopped shaking since.

I turned slowly, eyes scanning the corners of the ceiling until I found it.

The black orb in the top right corner.

A surveillance cara.

Of course.

They were always watching.

I stepped toward it, slow and calm, like I wasn’t crumbling from the inside.

"You like this, don’t you?" I said, voice sharper now. "Watching us bleed? Watching us beg?"

I laughed bitterly. "You got what you wanted, didn’t you? I begged. I told you I’d do anything. I offered you everything. And you still pulled the trigger."

My voice cracked.

I swallowed it.

"Is this what my father wanted?" I asked the cara. "For to end up like this? Crawling to your feet, covered in the blood of my unborn child?"

I stepped closer.

I wasn’t done.

Until the cara couldn’t see all of —just my face.

Not even close.

I turned back to the cara and dragged the nearest chair across the floor, the tal legs screeching like the scream I wasn’t allowed to release. I set it right in the center of the room and sat down — dead center, face up to the lens.

"You killed her," I whispered, voice shaking with sothing colder than hate. "You really did it."

I leaned forward, elbows on knees.

"You killed your own grandchild, Reynolds."

The na tasted bitter in my mouth. I’d never called him that — not out loud. Not until now.

"I always knew you were sick. But I didn’t think you were this wicked."

I let the silence stretch — thick and sharp.

Then I smirked.

"To the people watching, maybe rooting for ... or waiting for to fall..." I raised a hand and pointed at the cara. "I want you to rember this na. Reynolds Aston. That’s the man behind this madness."

I let the words soak in, venom laced in every syllable.

"My father. My murderer. The man pulling the strings from behind a mask — the sa man who’s been destroying since I was old enough to stand."

I scoffed bitterly, voice rising.

"Let’s talk about this perfect, polished family image, shall we?" I laughed, sharp and humorless. "Reynolds Aston — the beloved innovator, the Sector A genius with a hero complex and a trophy wife half his age."

I leaned in again, smirking darkly.

"Did they tell you she tried to f**k ?"

I tilted my head.

"Yeah. Your golden wife. Your lovely little puppet. She kissed , Reynolds. More than once. She groped when I was drunk — told you’d never know."

I laughed — but there was no joy in it. Just a sick kind of victory.

"You sat on your throne and judged . You turned into your pawn. And now you kill the one innocent thing I had left. My baby. My baby."

I looked away, trying to breathe.

My voice cracked again.

"You win, okay? You broke . I don’t care about the prize money. I don’t care about Sector A, or reputation, or revenge."

I looked straight into the cara now.

"But when I get out of here — if I get out of here — I’m not coming for your company. I’m not coming for your fortune."

My voice dropped to a whisper — lethal.

"I’m coming for you."

Silence.

I let it linger.

Then I stood slowly, dragging the chair back like I was resetting the stage.

I faced the mirror one more ti and whispered:

"Your move, Dad."