Julian kept his gaze fixed on the one-way glass. Inside, George and Aldo sat slumped, tracing the lines of the steel walls with exhausted eyes.
He glanced at Sara.
She stood like a statue by the door, arms folded tight. She hadn't uttered a single word since Julian had briefed her on the true nature of the mission. She looked less like an agent and more like someone waiting for a verdict.
Opposite her, Simon leaned against the wall. His posture was stiff. The only sound in the hallway was the uneven tap of a boot against the floor.
They were all waiting for one person.
The door swung open. Every head snapped toward the threshold.
Paul stood there, his breathing shallow. He scanned the room with a predatory sharpness. Sara took a half-step forward, her mouth opening, then clicking shut. The air around him felt different.
"Where were you?" Simon asked.
Paul's gaze locked onto the glass. He saw the two figures inside, men he didn't recognize. He walked forward.
"I asked where you were," Simon said, stepping into his path.
Paul stopped. He held Simon's gaze for a long, silent beat.
"I already told you."
Simon didn't budge.
Paul's eyes flickered past him. "I was outside."
"With who?"
"Do you need to know?"
Simon's gaze dropped slightly at Paul's shaking fingers. Without a word, Simon held out an open palm.
Paul watched the hand for a long second. Gradually, the tension drained from his shoulders. The predatory sharpness fading. He reached behind his back, drew his gun, and placed it in Simon's hand.
He looked like Paul again.
Simon nodded towards the interrogation door.
Paul walked forward, more calmly this time. He stopped in front of Sara. She looked up, her eyes searching his, but before she could speak, he pulled her into a tight hug.
Sara stiffened. It was so uncharacteristic that she frozen there, until the shock faded. She exhaled, her tension melting as she wrapped her arms around him.
"How's everything at Neomar?" Paul whispered.
"We had some trouble," Sara murmured against his shoulder, "but everything turned out fine."
"Nothing bad happened to you, right?"
"No. I'm fine. Everyone is." Sara's gaze drifted past his shoulder to Julian. He was leaning against the glass with a faint smile.
Heat rose in her cheeks.
"You need to rest," Paul said, pulling back to look at her.
"After you."
Paul turned toward the door. His hand hovered over the knob, trembling slightly. He quickly grabbed it and twisted it.
He stepped inside.
A second later, the door swung shut with a loud thud. It echoed like a gunshot.
Sara shuddered. She turned to the one-way glass, pressing her fingers against the cold surface. She searched for Paul, but the boy she had just hugged was gone.
Inside the air was still. Paul walked towards them slowly. He pulled off his hoodie, and letting it fall to the floor like a shed skin. He pulled a chair back and sat, leaning into the harsh light.
George and Aldo stared. Their expressions flickered between confusion and unease. They were expecting an interrogator; they found a boy with eyes like vibrating pits of shadow.
"My name is Paul," he took an electronic device from the table and tossed it into the corner. "Paul Vaxlar."
"Aldo... Aldo Frankenstein."
George glanced at the glass, then back. "George Washio."
Paul leaned forward. "I have only one question. Why did you kill my family?"
"What family?" George asked quickly. "I don't even know you."
"Don't know me?" Paul's voice dropped. "June 12th, 2014. Midnight. You two came to my house. You killed everyone inside, and telling me, that you don't know me?"
"You've got the wrong person," George spat. "We don't know any Vaxlars."
"Wrong person? Do you think I forget the faces of the men who killed my family? I was there when you killed my father. I was there when you killed my mother. I was there..."
Paul's hands shot forward, grabbing George's collar and hauling him across the table. "When you put the knife on my brother's heart."
Paul's breathing went feral. "So don't you ever fucking say i got the worng person. That you don't remember me. Because I was there, the moment everything happened."
"I—I've already said everything," George choked out, nodding desperately toward the glass. "Ask them."
Paul's head snapped toward the window. "Them?"
Sara flinched. Though the mirror was opaque, Paul's eyes looked flared and wild—as if he were burning right through the barrier.
She stumbled back, gasping. "I can't... I can't watch this."
She turned to flee, but Simon's hand shot out, his fingers locking around her wrist.
"You have to stay," Simon said calmly.
Sara bit her lip until she tasted copper. She closed her eyes for a heartbeat, trembling, before she forced herself to look back.
Paul's hand dropped to his ankle. He drew a blade from its sheath in one fluid motion. His gaze remained fixed on the glass as he reached under the table.
He pulled out a small, blinking surveillance chip.
With a brittle crack, he drove the knife tip into its circuitry.
"Now there is no 'them,'" Paul whispered. "Only us."
He turned back to the front. "So I'll ask again. Why did you do it?"
"I don't—"
"I don't want to hear that," Paul cut in. "Tell me what I want to know."
Paul's gaze darted to Aldo, who sat paralyzed. He reached out and caught George's hand, dragging it across the cold metal of the table.
"You're in your mid-forties, right?" Paul asked. George watched his own hand shake. No words came.
"I'm not even twenty. Barely out of shell," Paul said, his thumb traced George's knuckles "No one around to look after me. No one I can trust. All the money I earn is just a waste... I have no one to spend it on."
"Those who are watching me, treat me like a puppet. They don't actually care if I break, they'll just find a new replacement." His voice thinned, "but that's how it works isn't it?"
He leaned closer. "You have lots of people around you, don't you? People you trust blindly. People you spend your money on. But what happens if I kill everyone who circles around you?"
He glanced at Aldo. "In forty years, you surely have someone you can't afford to lose."
Paul slammed George's hand flat. "And don't think I won't find them. You know who I work for. It won't take a week before I do things to them much worse than what you did to mine."
He held the knife over the center of George's palm. It hovered for a heartbeat. "Do you want that?"
Before George could breathe, the knife plunged. It tore through muscle with a wet, heavy sound, stopping only when the tip bit into the steel table.
"Tell me!" Paul shouted. "Do you want that?"
He gripped the handle and dragged the blade out, the edge shearing through everything in its path. George's jaw clenched, a muffled groan trapped behind his teeth as he doubled over.
Paul waited for ten seconds. Geroge didn't speak.
He gripped the knife and thrust it back into George's left palm. "Or do you think you're alone?"
He watched the blood spread across the steel, dark liquid pooling around the legs of the chairs.
"That's fine. We can do this all night. I have nothing else to do with my life."
He dragged the blade out with a slow, sickening rasp. George's body seized, his muscles locking in a rhythmic tremor of pure agony. His eyes fluttered and clamped shut, his skin turning a waxy gray.
Paul shifted his focus. He reached for George's right hand, pressing it flat against the table. He tilted his head like a curious predator. "The last misunderstanding you have... you think someone is coming to save you. You think there's a limit to what they'll let me do."
The knife entered the right palm.
"But do you really think you will be you after this night?"
Paul dragged the knife out, the edge catching on the table.
Beside the carnage, Aldo was falling apart. He was trembling so hard his teeth clicked in the silent room. He knew he was next. After George's hands were nothing but ribbons of meat, it would be his turn.
Aldo looked at George. The left hand was split into three jagged sections. The right was halfway there.
The knife hovered over George's hand once more. Paul's arm tensed, coiling for the next strike—
"Yes! It was us!" Aldo screamed, the sound tearing through the room.
The knife stopped. Paul's gaze snapped toward Aldo.
"Yes... we killed them," Aldo gasped, his breath coming in ragged bursts. "Midnight. June 12th. I remember... I remember everything."
"And what is 'everything'?"
"Don't—"
Paul moved faster than the eye could follow. He pressed the flat of the blood-stained blade against George's mouth.
"Your time is over," Paul said softly. He gave a nod toward Aldo.
"From ringing the bell to... to the end. It was the first time I'd ever killed someone. I know every second of it," Aldo stammered, his eyes wide and vacant. "I remember you, too. You were just a kid back then. But didn't you also—"
"Tell me everything," Paul cut in. " And don't spare a single detail."