Sam and Zero were walking side by side."Man, it's so hot today," Sam said, shading his eyes with his hand, trying to protect himself from the sun's burning heat."Yeah — and you only brought me out in this heat because you're bored," Zero teased, grinning. Sam, half-asleep and still waking up from dozing, let out a shameless laugh. "You're laughing," he said. Zero's face tightened with anger, ready to say something, when a baseball came flying from somewhere and struck Sam. A group of boys were playing; one of them, who looked about eighteen, came up and said, "Bro, watch where you're going."
Zero's anger snapped. "Excuse me — you should apologize, bro. You hit my friend."The boy sneered. "Tch. Your friend was walking like an idiot."Zero exploded. He grabbed the boy by the collar. "Who are you to talk to my friend like that? I'll beat you," he hissed, furious.
Sam tried to pull him back. "Zero, let go—let it go, don't get into trouble." But the boy shoved back and soon the whole team swarmed, ready to jump Zero. Sam panicked and fled, tugging Zero's hand to pull him away. The boys chased them. They ran until there was nowhere else to go — finally they stopped in a deserted spot where no one else was around.
"Zero, you've gone crazy," Sam said, voice trembling with concern. "There were so many of them.""If anyone says anything to you, I'll take their life," Zero said coldly.
Sam laughed nervously and reached up to smack Zero's head, but his hand slid right through Zero's body. He was bewildered. He tried to touch Zero again; his hand passed through like mist. Zero started laughing, and Sam backed away, terrified, taking step after step until he was stumbling backward. Zero grinned and moved toward him, still laughing. The moment Zero touched him, Sam woke with a scream.
"Zerooo!" he shouted, sitting bolt upright in bed. The blanket was thrown across his lap, and even though the night was cold, his whole body was drenched in sweat.
Sam was taking deep breaths; his chest felt tight. A cold gust of wind brushed his body and he shivered. When he lifted his head he saw the large window in the room was open and the curtain was fluttering in the breeze. Moonlight spilled through the opening, turning the dark view outside into something quietly beautiful.
Sam reached for the bedside lamp and switched it on, and a soft, dim glow filled the room. He picked up his phone: 2:00 a.m. He put the phone down again. The house was drowned in darkness. He turned the lamp off, but didn't bother to close the window. He lay back on the bed, one hand on his stomach, the other propped under his head like a pillow, and stared at the ceiling. He didn't know what to think. He tried to sleep, but sleep wouldn't come. He closed his eyes and tried for a while, but failed. After fifteen minutes he gave up, got up, pulled the comforter off, and switched the lamp back on.
Sam changed out of his night suit on the couch. While looking in the mirror he smoothed his hair with his fingers, opened the wardrobe, grabbed the first scarf he saw, and, without thinking, stepped out of the house. The streets were empty; winter was showing off its full force. No one else was around, and even the sky had been stripped of stars. Sam walked slowly along the edge of the road. The cold bit at him, but there was a fire inside him that melted the chill. Far and wide there was only darkness; under the faint streetlights he walked, a restless lonely soul.
He didn't know where he was headed. Here and there he found an open ground — odd to find one at this hour. There was no gate; perhaps it was a plot left open by someone. It was dark and cold inside, but Sam went in. The grass was high, as if no one had cut it for a long time, and when he walked it pressed under his bare feet. Moonlight painted the scene; large trees surrounded the ground, their leaves whispering in the wind. The only sound was the rustle of leaves.
He took off his shoes and felt the earth under his feet. He walked forward and sat down in the middle of the ground, hands behind him, legs spread out, and looked up at the sky. The cold wind toyed with his hair, but he liked the chill — here, he felt calm.
"I see you getting lost in the sight of sky, is someone up there you are searching for?," a voice beside him said. Sam turned and saw Zero watching him. He smiled and reached to run his hand through Zero's flying hair, but then the memory of his dream came back. "What if it keeps happening like that?" the thought made him lower his hand. He forced a smile and looked back up at the sky.
"It doesn't give me peace. There was only one person thereWhy can't i find any peace in my soul, As if you were the only soul in this world...." laugh came from somewhere — "Crazy," Zero said. Sam smiled. "Yeah… maybe," he answered.
"Zero, come back," Sam asked."I'm right here with you," Zero replied. Sam simply smiled.
"By the way," Zero asked, "when did you get into this poetry thing?" Sam laughed. "Since… I don't know." After a long pause it was Zero's turn to speak. "I know, I know," he chuckled.
"Zero?" Sam asked."Hmm?""This sky looks so peaceful, doesn't it? It feels like it could fold itself up like a blanket — as if it were the only beautiful thing in the world.""Mmm," Zero said, and that was all.
"Zero, I missed you," Sam said — but no answer came. Sam turned to look; there was nothing but darkness. He looked the other way; only emptiness met him. He had been so lost inside his own world of thoughts that he'd forgotten Zero wasn't actually there. Sadness made him smile.
He breathed out slowly, turned his face back to the sky, and lay down fully this time, one hand under his head and the other across his chest. He watched the sky, repeated the line to himself: "It doesn't give me peace. There was only one person thereWhy can't i find any peace in my soul, As if you were the only soul in this world...." He felt the shadows of the tree leaves brush across him. He closed his eyes. The cold grass, the chill breeze, the faint sound of leaves — everything blurred into a slow hush. His thoughts began to wander and then fade. In only a short while, Sam fell asleep right there on the grass — on that open ground under the night sky.
____________________________________________________________________
Outside the office, police cars stood in a neat line, their flashing red and blue lights cutting through the dull morning air. Inside, the entire staff had gathered — whispering, gasping, watching the chaos unfold like it was a scene from a drama.
Liam had collapsed at Zero's feet, trembling, his voice breaking as he stammered, "M-Mr. Zeyad… p-please… I didn't do anything… Mr. Zeyad!"
Zero looked down at him with cold disgust. His eyes were devoid of sympathy, his jaw tight. He pulled his foot back sharply as if Liam's touch itself was contamination.
"Take him officer," he ordered flatly, his voice laced with disdain.
Liam struggled, trying to resist the officers' grip, but his resistance was pathetic — powerless against the firm hands dragging him away. His pleas were drowned in the murmurs of the staff.
Beside Zero stood Parker, his posture composed and firm, both hands neatly clasped over his chest. He didn't speak — just watched in silence, his expression unreadable,
Zero made a brief gesture toward one of the officers. At Parker's silent signal, the officer grabbed Liam by the collar and yanked him to his feet, dragging him up with force. Liam's knees scraped against the floor, but suddenly, instead of pleading, he began to laugh — a strange, hollow, almost manic laugh.
"Zeyad Roberts!" he spat, his voice cracking with fury. "You think your father was a fool, huh?"
The officer tried to push him toward the door, but Liam twisted, shouting over his shoulder, "You'll pay for this, Zeyad Roberts! You'll pay for all of it!"
His last words echoed through the office as he was shoved outside.
A faint smirk appeared on Zero's face — calm, cold, and indifferent, as though nothing that had happened mattered to him in the slightest. The evidence against Liam was complete; the matter was closed.
Zero turned slightly, his sharp gaze sweeping across the room. Every employee had risen from their desks, eyes fixed on the scene that had just unfolded. Some faces carried satisfaction, some shock, and others pity. Zero read each expression with precision — he understood them all. Then he smiled faintly. The gossip-hungry girls had found a brand-new topic to feast on.
Clearing his throat, he said in a commanding tone, "Alright, the show's over."
At once, the staff scattered back to their desks, pretending to dive into their work, though the whispers had only begun to buzz louder beneath their breaths.
Zero turned to Parker. "Come on," he said calmly. "Let's sit and talk."
He walked toward his office, his steps steady, his presence imposing. Parker followed silently behind.
As soon as they entered, Zero shrugged off his coat and set it neatly over the chair. He picked up the receiver and ordered two coffees from his secretary before settling onto the couch beside Parker.
"Now talk," Zero said evenly.
Parker gave him a sideways glance. "How did you know I wanted to say something?"
Zero let out a quiet laugh. "Your face says it all. You look like you're in pain holding it in."
Parker looked down, slightly embarrassed, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Well, the thing is—"
"If it's about Sam," Zero cut him off sharply, "I don't want to talk about it."
"Oh, come on! At least hear me out!" Parker snapped in frustration.
Zero stood abruptly and walked toward the window, slipping his hands into his pockets. He stared outside, watching the flock of birds soaring freely into the pale sky.
Just then, the secretary entered with the coffee tray. "Sir, your coffee," he said politely.
"Yeah, put it there," Parker replied before Zero could speak.
The secretary set the cups on the table and quietly left without another word.
Parker reached forward and picked up both cups, handing one to Zero—
Parker walked over to Zero, handing him one of the steaming cups before taking a sip from his own. The moment the hot liquid touched his tongue, he jumped up in pain.
"Siiiii—!" he hissed, his face twisting. The coffee was scalding, and his mouth was already burning.
Zero couldn't help but laugh — that calm, teasing kind of laugh that mocked without words. He took a slow, deliberate sip from his own cup, perfectly composed.
"Man, have your senses burned out completely?" Parker groaned, glaring at him. "How can you drink it that hot?"
Zero just smiled, saying nothing — the kind of smile that said everything.
Changing the subject, Parker leaned back slightly. "Anyway… Liam's not a small fish."
"Hmm." Zero's eyes drifted to the side, his tone thoughtful. "I got the same feeling. The confidence in his voice said it all."
Following Zero's gaze, Parker looked toward the large glass window. Outside, two small birds were playing on a nearby tree branch — darting back and forth, chirping to each other in a language neither man could understand. Zero watched them quietly, his face softened by a distant melancholy.
"There was a street," Zero murmured suddenly, his voice low, "and when we left it, it was as if we left our breath behind."
Parker smiled faintly and finished the couplet, "The day the city caught fire… we were the last ones to leave."
Zero turned to him, surprised.
Parker chuckled, giving him an almost grandfatherly look. "Son, you're still just a kid."
That finally drew a laugh from Zero — genuine, brief, but real.
"Anyway," he said, shaking his head lightly, brushing off the heaviness that had crept into the moment. Parker's easy humor had lightened him up a little. "Liam mentioned my father. What could his connection be to him?"
"It's possible," Parker replied thoughtfully, "that Mr. Roberts already knew something about all this. Maybe there's a reason he chose not to act until now."
Zero's eyes unconsciously shifted toward the far wall of his office — where a strange, riddle-like painting hung. His expression darkened.
"At least," he said quietly, "Liam will be behind bars for the next twenty-five years."
Parker leaned forward, setting his cup down. "If what Liam said is true, he won't even last twenty-five hours in there."
Zero's jaw tightened. "I'll get to the bottom of this," he said firmly, taking the final sip of his coffee.
Parker stood, smoothing his shirt. "Alright, buddy. I'll take my leave now. And… thanks for the coffee."
Zero nodded slightly, acknowledging him with quiet agreement. "Yeah. Take care."
Parker gave him a short wave and walked out, leaving Zero alone in the quiet hum of the office — the faint scent of coffee lingering in the air, and the city stretching wide beyond the glass, where the two birds were still circling the same branch.
___________________________________
It was late at night. Sara walked slowly through the garden, her shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders. The cold was sharp — January had just begun, and the air carried that piercing chill only the start of winter could bring.
She moved in silence, her eyes drifting between the pale moon above and the ground beneath her feet. Both hands were folded across her chest, her mind lost somewhere far away. What could she possibly think about now? She was tired — not of the walk, but of herself.
This quiet hour of the night was always dangerous for her — the kind of hour when all her worries faded into the background, and her past crept up like a black shadow, wrapping itself around her, tearing at the fragile calm she tried to maintain.
During the day, she smiled, she laughed, she worked. She wore her strength like armor. But when the world went silent and loneliness settled in, she would begin to fall apart — piece by piece.
After wandering aimlessly for what felt like hours, her legs finally gave in. She sat down on a nearby bench, her breath forming faint clouds in the icy air. Tilting her head back, she stared up at the sky — a wide, endless stretch of silver and dark.
Beside her lay a flute. She picked it up, set her shawl aside, letting the cold wind brush against her skin. The gusts were harsh, but she didn't care. Maybe she wanted to disappear somewhere within them — to hide inside the very air that hurt her.
She raised the flute to her lips, closed her eyes, and began to play.
The melody was soft at first — hesitant — but soon it filled the quiet garden like a whisper of something long forgotten. The cold, the wind, even the thought of anyone's presence didn't matter anymore.
She was lost — completely, beautifully lost — in her music.
After a while, as always, she stopped at that one particular note — the one she could never play past. Slowly, she opened her eyes, gazing up at the sky again.
"Haaah…"
A long sigh escaped her lips, rising like mist into the frozen air — a fragile piece of her pain vanishing into the night.
"The way you played that flute… it carried a lot of pain."
The sudden voice beside her made Sara flinch — almost jump. She turned quickly and found Max and Hazel sitting right next to her. They were both staring up at the same star-filled sky, lost in their own quiet wonder.
"Sister," Hazel whispered softly, her voice trembling with innocence, "Mom's somewhere up there too, right?"
Sara smiled gently, though her heart ached at the question.
If only the truths of this world never shattered your hearts, Max and Hazel, she thought silently, her chest tightening with sorrow.
"Sis?" Max shook her sleeve lightly. "What are you thinking about?"
Sara blinked and looked at him, forcing another faint smile. "Nothing, really… I was just wondering which star belongs to Mom."
At her words, both Max and Hazel tilted their heads up toward the sky, searching eagerly.
"Obviously the one that shines the brightest," Hazel said confidently.
Sara chuckled, a sad kind of warmth touching her voice. "Hazel, somewhere else right now, another child is probably saying the same thing — pointing at that same star, calling it their grandpa or grandma."
Hazel went quiet. For a few seconds, the only sound between them was the soft rustling of the cold wind and the distant hum of the night.
Sara reached over and brushed her fingers gently through Hazel's loose hair. "My sweet Hazel," she said softly, "people who leave us… never really come back. They just go — and they don't return. That's one of life's truths, one that no one can change."
Hazel's little face fell, her eyes clouding with sadness. Sara's heart squeezed. She knew Hazel was still young — too young — but emotionally, she was even more fragile than her age suggested. Sara wanted her to grow stronger, to learn, but gently… slowly. She wanted only what was best for her.
Max didn't say anything either. He just sat there quietly beside them.
The three of them sat huddled together on the narrow wooden bench. It wasn't large enough for all three, yet somehow they fit — like they belonged there, bound by something invisible, some silent thread that tied their hearts together. The thread didn't erase their pain, but it softened it — turning the ache into something bearable, something shared.
Hazel rested her head against Sara's right arm; Max leaned against her left. The garden air was freezing, their breaths visible in the pale glow of the moon. Sara clasped their small hands in hers to warm them.
Max took off his shawl and wrapped it around Sara. But Sara, with a faint smile, placed it over Hazel instead. Hazel, noticing that both Sara and Max sat uncovered, immediately pulled the shawl off and set it aside too.
And so they sat — without shawls, without warmth — yet somehow, utterly at peace.
They didn't know when sleep found them. Somewhere between silence and stars, the three of them drifted off — together — the cold night holding them gently, as if even winter itself couldn't bear to disturb their quiet.
When morning came, the soft light of dawn slipped through the misty air of the garden. Sara stirred awake, the world still hushed in that fragile stillness between night and day. Her shawl was draped over her like a blanket — though she didn't remember covering herself with it.
Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she looked around. Max and Hazel were gone.
Sara sat up slowly, the cold air biting at her skin. "Max? Hazel?" she called softly, her voice carrying into the empty garden. No answer. Only the quiet rustling of the trees replied.
Pulling the shawl tighter around her shoulders, she stood and brushed the frost from her skirt. She glanced toward the mansion — the grand hall's doors stood open, and outside, a few guards lingered with their heads bowed. Their posture told her immediately that something was off.
As she approached, the guards exchanged uneasy glances.
"What happened? Why are you all standing here like that?" she asked, adjusting her shawl.
No one answered. Finally, one guard cleared his throat and muttered, "Ma'am… it's better if you don't go inside right now."
Sara raised an eyebrow and chuckled softly. "Why? What could possibly have happened?"
And before they could stop her, she walked past them and stepped into the hall.
The sight that greeted her froze her mid-step.
One of the guards behind her lowered his head — as if silently apologizing for what was about to happen.
"G–Grandma…" Sara whispered.
Grandma — or rather, Matriarch as everyone was supposed to call her — turned sharply, fixing Sara with a glare so sharp it could cut stone.
"I mean… Matriarch," Sara corrected quickly, her lips curling into an awkward smile.
The grand hall was nearly empty, except for Li Cheng, a couple of maids, and two guards standing stiffly at attention. In the center of it all stood Max and Hazel — looking like two tiny culprits awaiting judgment.
Realizing what was going on, Sara sighed and quietly joined their side, standing beside the "accused."
"Well," the Matriarch's voice cracked through the silence, "is this how you spend your nights now? Sleeping in the garden like beggars?"
"Grandma — I mean, Matriarch — we were just sitting there, honestly!" Max tried to explain, his voice small, pleading.
"Were all the bedrooms in this mansion occupied, that you three decided to sleep outside like homeless children on a park bench?" she snapped, tapping her cane sharply against the marble floor.
Her anger was justified — the way the three of them had been curled up outside could easily have been mistaken for vagrants.
"Now tell me," she continued, "what punishment should you receive for this little act?"
The room went silent, except for the echo of her cane. The three of them stood frozen, like guilty soldiers awaiting a verdict.
Then, Hazel — ever the innocent one — looked up with her big eyes and said in the sweetest voice, "Grandma, I promise we won't do it again. But… can we please eat something first? I'm really hungry."
She hadn't meant it as defiance — just a child trying to change the mood — but the timing couldn't have been worse.
"Oh, of course," the Matriarch replied dryly, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm here to personally serve you breakfast, am I?"
A stifled laugh broke through the tense silence — a sharp "pfffttt."
Everyone turned. It was Li Cheng, shoulders shaking, trying hard to suppress his grin.
"I'm sorry, Matriarch," he managed, bowing quickly. "Please continue."
"Hmph."
The Matriarch straightened up, her stern gaze sweeping over the three of them. But then — just faintly — her expression softened. Perhaps it was their faces, their youth, or the way they looked like scolded puppies. The faintest smile tugged at her lips.
"Fine," she said at last. "Max, your punishment — you'll accompany me on my hunting trip today."
Max's face fell. All the color drained from him.
"G–Grandma — I mean Matriarch — please, not that. Please! Don't do this to me!" he groaned dramatically, clutching his chest as if sentenced to death. Even the servants couldn't help but snicker.
He turned desperately toward Sara. "Sara, come on — help me out here!"
Sara tried not to laugh but failed, hiding a smile behind her hand.
"As for Sara and Hazel," the Matriarch continued, "you two will spend the day helping Granny Amanda in the kitchen."
Sara's smile vanished instantly. "M–Matriarch…?" she stammered, as if she hadn't heard correctly.
Cooking? She had never cooked a full meal in her life. Instant noodles and takeout were her survival staples. Beyond washing dishes, her kitchen skills were practically nonexistent.
The three of them — Max, Hazel, and Sara — now wore expressions that could only be described as tragic, as though they had just been handed death sentences.
The Matriarch smirked, clearly satisfied, and began making her way upstairs, her cane tapping rhythmically against the floor.
As soon as she disappeared, the three "victims" sank onto the sofa, leaning their heads against one another's shoulders, sighing in synchronized despair.
"What are we going to do now…" Sara muttered.
"Die," Max replied miserably.
"After breakfast," Hazel added, rubbing her stomach.
And for a brief moment, despite the doom hanging over them, all three burst into quiet laughter — the kind that comes when you've already accepted your fate.
___________________
After breakfast, Grandma gently tapped Max's shoulder."Come on, dear, get ready," she said warmly.
That was all it took for poor Max to nearly collapse in defeat."Grandma, please…" he tried one last time, though his effort failed miserably.
Sara and Hazel exchanged a look. They instantly understood that Grandma had some work planned for them too. Without a word, and with no attempt to resist, both stood up quietly and began helping her clear the dishes.
Grandma tried—unsuccessfully—to hide the little smile tugging at her lips. Sara, however, was visibly struggling with the chores. Her clumsy hands fumbled with the plates, but she kept trying. Hazel watched her for a moment before asking,"Sister, what's wrong?"
"Nothing, Hazel… it's just—I've never really done housework before," Sara replied, scratching her head awkwardly.
"Don't tell me," Hazel said, rolling her big expressive eyes, "that you didn't even do your chores back at home?"
Sara made a guilty face, like a child caught stealing cookies."Oh, come on, sister," Hazel laughed, giving her a playful nudge with her elbow.
Sara couldn't help laughing too.
Meanwhile, Max was helping Grandma prepare for the hunt—though with obvious reluctance. He had gone once before with her, and the memory alone was enough to make him shiver. The way Grandma hunted—her calm yet fearless precision, and the kind of dangerous creatures she faced without blinking—was terrifying.
And honestly, Max was scared.
A few minutes later, Grandma came to him."Max."
He didn't look at her. It was his quiet way of showing protest—his only little rebellion against being dragged along.
Without a word, Max stood up, went outside, and began loading the supplies with the guards.
Grandma couldn't help but smile at his behavior. She was the Matriarch, powerful and commanding—but to Max, Sara, and Hazel, she was simply Grandma.
She moved toward the car and sat beside Li Cheng. He started the engine, and the car rolled out onto the wet road. The weather was cold, a fine drizzle misting the windows, and Max sat silently in the other vehicle with the guards, gazing out at the gray, blurred landscape.
Of course, according to Grandma, he was still a trainee—someone who had to observe, learn, and behave like one. They'd already argued over it before; in short, they argued often. But Grandma always won.
The car was wrapped in silence when Li Cheng finally spoke."Matriarch…"
"Yes?" she turned her head slightly.
"Irlyn has regained consciousness. She's coming back."
The Matriarch's expression changed instantly; her calm face hardened, her voice turning cold."Who told her to come back? Has she completely lost her mind?"
Her irritation was genuine. "That girl always finds new ways to act foolish," she muttered.
"What are your orders, Matriarch?" Li Cheng asked politely.
"For now, don't make any move," she said after a brief pause. "They're already alert. We won't act in haste. Let her reach the Citadel safely first—only then will we decide our next step. She could be in danger."
"As you wish," Li Cheng replied quietly, and the car fell silent again.
Sara and Hazel were working with Nanny Amanda that morning. Hazel had taken charge of the kitchen, while Sara handled the vacuum cleaner with a cautious sort of determination. The house buzzed with quiet activity — the soft hum of the vacuum, the faint clatter of dishes, and the smell of soap and lemon polish drifting through the air. Sunlight filtered in through the tall windows, painting golden streaks on the marble floor as Sara moved from one corner to another, trying not to miss a spot.
From the kitchen came Hazel's cheerful voice, "If we keep this up, Grandma might actually start liking us."
Sara smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "Or she'll find us new chores tomorrow," she replied dryly.
Hazel laughed. "You talk too much, sister."
Sara rolled her eyes but kept working. For someone who had never done housework before, the repetitive rhythm felt strangely soothing. Every sweep, every sound of the vacuum, was like clearing a little bit of the noise inside her own mind.
Two hours later, everything was spotless. Hazel leaned against the counter, wiping the last traces of soap from her hands, while Sara dropped onto the couch with a tired sigh. For a brief, delicate moment, the house felt peaceful — like a real home. But somewhere in the stillness, the air carried a quiet tension, as if the calm was only pretending to stay.
Sara sank onto the couch and stretched her arms wide, letting out a soft yawn. She looked almost like a lazy cat basking in the afternoon calm. Hazel, who had just sat down beside her, couldn't help but laugh.
"What's so funny?" Sara asked, tilting her head slightly.
"Nothing," Hazel replied quickly, still smiling. Then, after a moment, she added, "Come on, let's watch a movie."
Sara groaned. After all the housework they had done, even the thought of watching something felt like another task. "Hazel, I'm honestly so tired," she said, rubbing her temples. "I just want to sleep."
Hazel's face fell a little at that, her smile fading into a small sigh. "Alright then," she murmured softly, "let's go to your room."
"Why not?" Sara asked, raising a brow.
"Sister, please," Hazel whined, tugging at her arm, "I like being in your room. Please, please?" She sounded like a child begging for candy.
Sara couldn't help but smile. "Hazel, I know exactly what you want — that flute, right?"
"Why not?" Sara asked, raising a brow.
"Sister, please," Hazel whined, tugging at her arm, "I like being in your room. Please, please?" She sounded like a child begging for candy.
Sara couldn't help but smile. "Hazel, I know exactly what you want — that flute of yours, right?"
Hazel's eyes widened in feigned innocence, glimmering with mischief. "Nooo, I didn't say that!" she replied, quickly looking away.
Sara chuckled. "Alright then, come on. Let's go to my room."
Hazel's face instantly lit up with delight. Sara got up and started walking upstairs, and Hazel followed right behind her, almost bouncing on her feet.
Once inside the room, Sara collapsed onto the bed with a sigh of exhaustion."Hazel, please close the curtains and turn on the AC," she murmured, half-buried in the sheets.
Hazel spun around in disbelief, her eyes almost popping out. "For heaven's sake, sister! You want the AC on in this cold? Are you trying to freeze to death?" She shivered dramatically just at the thought.
Sara's voice softened, her tone carrying a quiet heaviness. "The more you let yourself feel something, Hazel, the stronger it becomes. It's been a long time since I've felt anything at all."
Hazel's expression shifted — the playfulness in her eyes dimmed into sadness. Without another word, she turned off the lights, drew the curtains shut, and switched on the air conditioner.
Sara closed her eyes, listening to the soft hum of the machine as the air around her slowly turned colder.
Hazel picked up her flute, ready to play a tune — but just as she lifted it to her lips, Sara's drowsy voice drifted across the room."Hazel… please, go play outside. I'm falling asleep."
Hazel sighed, lowering the flute from her mouth. She knew she'd be bored now, but still, she quietly turned and walked toward the door.
The last sound Sara heard before sleep claimed her was the soft click of the door closing — and then, her senses faded gently into darkness.
The Matriarch had reached the hunting ground.Only she and Max were positioned there now, hidden carefully beneath the dense foliage, waiting for their prey. Li Cheng stood a short distance away — silent, steady, and unflinching, the perfect bodyguard. He was the Matriarch's most trusted man, and his presence alone was enough to command the space.
"Granny, when are you going to shoot it?" Max whispered impatiently.
Grandma shot him a glare sharp enough to cut through steel.
"What?" Max muttered defensively. "Mr. Li's here too, right? He didn't hear a thing, did you, Mr. Li?" he turned toward Li Cheng.
Li Cheng gave no reply, his expression calm and unreadable as ever.
Max looked faintly embarrassed. "Honestly, Granny, where did you find this man of steel? He doesn't respond to anything," he whispered again.
The Matriarch didn't look away from her scope. "Considering how much you talk, Max, even I wouldn't answer you — and I'm your grandmother. Imagine him."
Her voice was low but laced with amusement.
Max's mouth fell open. "Granny, that's not fair!" he complained, puffing his cheeks and looking away in mock anger.
And just then—
THAACK!
The gunfire exploded beside him, loud and sharp. Max jumped nearly a foot off the ground.
"Holy—!" he yelped, turning toward Grandma, who had already taken down the wolf with perfect precision. A triumphant smile spread across her face, one that could only belong to a seasoned hunter.
Max's face drained of color when she turned her gaze toward him.
"Your turn," she said smoothly, extending the gun to him.
"Uh—no, Granny, I'm fine like this," Max stammered, backing away. He tried to make a run for it — but stopped dead the moment he saw Li Cheng standing in his path, arms crossed, watching him silently.
Max froze, realizing he was trapped. Resigned, he turned back, sighed heavily, and took the gun from Grandma's hands.
"You're the worst, Granny," he muttered bitterly.
"You're the worst grandson," she replied in the exact same tone, without missing a beat.
Nearby, Li Cheng lowered his head, struggling — and failing — to suppress a laugh.
_________________________________________________________________________
Sam was out with Jacob that evening, running errands and picking up a few supplies. Jacob was busy choosing things from a nearby stall when Sam called out to him.
"Hey, bro—Jacob! Wait, listen for a second."
Jacob didn't even turn around. "Yeah? What is it?" he replied, still checking the items in his hand.
Sam hesitated for a moment, his tone dropping slightly. "There's… something that's been bothering me for the past few days."
That caught Jacob's attention immediately. He turned around at once, concern flickering across his face. "What happened?" he asked.
"It's actually about Sato," Sam said quietly.
Jacob's hands froze mid-motion. He looked up at Sam with a sharp glance, the light humor in his eyes fading.
"Let's sit somewhere and talk," Sam suggested.
Jacob nodded, and a few minutes later, they were seated on a park bench. The evening was calm, the soft hum of traffic blending with the rustle of trees.
Sam pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. Jacob stared at him in surprise.
"Bro, since when do you smoke?"
Sam met his eyes but didn't respond. He just gave a faint, tired smile. How could he even explain that this habit too had started because of Zero—back when he had almost lost him for good?
You're everywhere, Zero. In every memory, in every breath.
He exhaled a long stream of smoke, pushing the thought away. "Lately, Sato's been acting strange," he said at last.
"Strange how? What—she started eating noodles through her nose or something?" Jacob joked.
Sam gave him a deadpan look. The humor instantly died from Jacob's face. He lifted his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, fine, I'm sorry. Go on."
"She seems distracted during work hours," Sam continued. "Like she's lost in her thoughts. Not focused at all."
Jacob chuckled. "And that's what's bothering you? Relax, man. She's young, maybe going through one of those teenage mood swings or something."
"No, it's not that," Sam said firmly. "A few days ago, I heard her talking to someone on the phone. Her tone was serious—completely different. She was speaking in English, fluently. But the moment she saw me, she hung up. And when I asked, her voice changed completely. Like nothing had happened."
Jacob frowned, his expression turning thoughtful. "Maybe she's seeing someone? Dating, maybe?"
Sam shook his head. "No. That's not it."
"And how can you be so sure?" Jacob pressed.
"Because she told me once her English wasn't good. But when I heard her, she sounded like a native speaker. Her accent was… different. Not her usual one."
Jacob leaned back, studying him. "So what do you think?"
Sam's gaze darkened. "I think she's hiding something. She's not who she appears to be."
Jacob gave a small, knowing nod. "Then we keep an eye on her."
Sam looked at him, and for a moment, their eyes met — an unspoken understanding passing between them.
Without another word, both men sat back, the cool evening air swirling around them — two friends, quietly forming a plan.
___________________________________________________________
Liam had been locked inside the cell, but, surprisingly, he neither screamed nor resisted. Instead, a faint grin spread across his face as he sat quietly, almost content, as if he had been waiting for this moment. He settled comfortably on the metal bed, one leg crossed over the other, his hands folded across his chest. All he was waiting for now… was the next order.
A few minutes later, an officer appeared and slid a metal plate of food through the narrow opening beneath the bars. The screech of the tray against the floor made Liam sit up at once. He climbed down from the bed, snatched the bun from the plate, and split it in half. Hidden inside was a tiny earpiece.
He brushed it clean, pressed it into his ear, and switched it on."Y—yes, boss," Liam whispered.
"Good, my dear Liam," came the voice of the Master, smooth and calm. "You've done your job brilliantly. I'm pleased."
Liam's eyes brightened. His grin widened into something close to madness."M–Master… I could die for you, Master! Just give the order—please—anything for you, Master!" he stammered eagerly. His voice shook with devotion — the kind of wild loyalty that made him look less like a man and more like an obedient, rabid dog.
"Well done, Liam," the Master's voice purred through the earpiece. "But for now… you do nothing. Your task is complete."Then, after a deliberate pause, the Master added with a low, taunting calm,"Tell me, Liam… you can do anything for me, can't you?"
"Yes, Master, I—"
"Then it's time for a little test," the Master interrupted, his tone shifting. Somewhere far away, in a quiet, dimly lit room, the Master moved a queen across a chessboard, striking down one of Griselda's pawns.
Griselda lifted her gaze toward him, smiling faintly — a smile that said more than words ever could.
Back in the cell, Liam's trembling hand clutched the earpiece. "M–Master, I… I'm ready—" But before he could finish, the voice vanished. The line went dead.
"Hello? Hello, Master?" he said desperately, tapping the device, shaking it, even pulling it out to check. Nothing. Silence.
Just then, the electric door to his cell clicked and began to slide open. The buzz of the mechanism filled the air. A police officer stepped inside.
And the moment Liam saw him—everything changed.
Zero had just left his father's hospital room. After a short conversation with the nurse about his father's condition, he finally stepped out into the hallway, the weight of exhaustion visible on his face. The sterile hospital lights flickered faintly above him as he walked toward the exit — and then his phone rang.
He answered it without checking the caller ID."Congratulations," came Parker's voice from the other side.
Zero let out a humorless chuckle. "What is it, my wedding or yours?" he replied dryly.
"As expected from someone like you," Parker said — his tone carrying that familiar blend of seriousness and teasing.
Zero walked toward the parking lot, phone pressed to his ear. "Just get to the point," he said, his patience already thin.
"Our suspicion was right," Parker began. "Liam wasn't an ordinary man."
Zero's steps slowed. "He's been released?"
"No."
"Then what?" Zero demanded.
"He's dead," Parker said flatly. "Killed inside his own cell."
The words hit Zero like a bolt of lightning."What the hell do you mean?" His voice cracked, disbelief cutting through the calm façade he'd tried to maintain.
"Yeah, Zero," Parker replied quietly. "There's a whole network behind him — powerful enough to have the police in its pocket."
Zero clenched his jaw. "And how do you know all this?"
"I have my own connections," Parker said smoothly, his tone laced with a kind of smugness that made Zero roll his eyes.
"Don't tell me then," Zero muttered carelessly, "like I care."
Parker's smile on the other end froze for a moment — his amusement fading.Zero's car engine roared to life; he pulled out of the parking lot, headlights cutting through the dusk.
"Damn it, Zero," Parker snapped, his irritation slipping through, "what's your problem, man?"
"My problem?" Zero said quietly, his voice calm but tired. "My problem is that I'm exhausted… and right now, I'm driving."
There was silence on the other end. Parker exhaled slowly, unable to argue.
"Fine," he said at last. "Drive. I'll hang up. If I find a lead, I'll let you know."
With that, the line went dead.
Zero lowered the phone, tossed it onto the dashboard, and focused on the road ahead. His car sliced through the quiet night streets, heading toward the same familiar bar — the one he could never seem to stay away from.
Sara felt the faint sensation of someone's touch against her cheek — warm, deliberate, almost tender.Fingers traced softly along her skin, brushing against her lips with a care that made her heartbeat quicken. She could sense someone near her bed… a familiar perfume lingered in the air — one she hadn't smelled in a long time.
Her drowsy mind began to stir. The fog in her thoughts started to clear.And then, a single word flashed through her mind— Alexa.
Sara's eyes flew open.She pushed herself up, blinking rapidly, unsure if she was still dreaming. But there she was — Alexa — standing right in front of her.
For a moment, Sara couldn't breathe. She had known Alexa had regained consciousness… but she hadn't expected to see her standing there, alive, so soon.Sara got up instantly.
"Alexa…" she whispered.
Alexa smiled softly at her — that same, gentle smile Sara had missed so much.Without another thought, Sara stepped forward and pulled her into a tight embrace. So tight it almost hurt. She buried her face into Alexa's shoulder, eyes shut, voice trembling.
"I thought… I'd never see you again."
Alexa's voice came in a whisper, full of wonder. "You missed me, Sara?"
"I missed you so much," Sara murmured.
The moment those words left her lips, Alexa felt life surge back into her body — warmth, relief, the sheer joy of being needed. Her arms tightened around Sara's waist, holding her as if she never wanted to let go.
For a while, neither of them moved. They just stood there, silent, breathing each other in.
Then Alexa finally spoke, her tone playful."Girl… why on earth is the AC so cold? Do you see the weather outside?"
Without waiting for a reply, she grabbed the remote, turned the air conditioner off, and went to draw the curtains. Soft daylight flooded the room as she returned and sat beside Sara.
"Sit down," Sara said gently. "We have so much to talk about."
"I have a lot to tell you too," Alexa replied eagerly.
"Yes, but first you lie down and rest. You must be exhausted." Sara started helping her toward the bed.
"I'm not tired—" Alexa began to protest, but before she could finish, Sara had already eased her onto the bed.
Alexa blinked, caught off guard, then instinctively grabbed Sara's hand and pulled her down beside her. In that brief, clumsy movement, Sara ended up on top of her.
For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke.Sara froze; Alexa's eyes widened. Then came a knock at the door.
"Sister, your flut—" Hazel stopped mid-sentence as she stepped inside, eyes widening in shock at the scene before her.
Alexa lying on the bed, Sara on top of her — both frozen like deer caught in headlights.
Hazel's mouth opened, then shut. "Oh… sorry! Please continue," she blurted, spinning around in a full 360 and slamming the door shut behind her.
Sara jumped up immediately. "No, Hazel! It's not what you—"
But the door had already closed.
Sara stood there, flustered and red-faced. Alexa, on the other hand, didn't quite know what expression to wear — but deep down, she couldn't help it.The misunderstanding… made her oddly happy.