The room had gone quiet again.
Too quiet.
"…I'll be back," I said.
My brother frowned. "Now?"
"Yes."
He looked like he wanted to stop me.
But didn't.
"Don't do anything stupid," he muttered.
A faint, humorless smile touched my lips.
Too late for that."
I stepped out.
The corridor was dim, washed in cold white light. The kind that made everything feel distant. Unreal.
And there—
at the far end—
he stood.
Li Zhen.
Waiting.
My steps slowed.
Then stopped.
A few feet away from him.
For a moment—
neither of us spoke.
His gaze moved over me, calm, observant… almost soft.
You came faster than I expected," he said lightly.
"Were you timing me?"
A small smile.
"Should I have been?"
Silence settled again.
Thick.
Uncomfortable.
But he didn't look uncomfortable.
Not even a little.
"How's your brother?" he asked, like this was normal. Like nothing had changed.
Alive."
"Good."
My jaw tightened.
"Li Zhen."
His eyes flicked back to mine.
Sharp.
Attentive.
"Yes?"
A pause.
Long enough to feel like a mistake.
Then—
"Do you remember that day?"
There it was again.
The question.
This time—
in person.
No distance.
No escape.
His expression didn't change.
But something in his eyes—
did.
Faint.
Almost invisible.
"…you'll have to be more specific," he said.
Same answer.
Same calm.
Like he had practiced it.
My chest tightened.
Stop pretending."
That made him pause.
Just for a second.
Then—
a quiet sigh.
"Shu Lin," he said softly, stepping a little closer, "you're not the only one who lost something that day."
The words landed—
wrong.
Carefully chosen.
Deflecting.
Again.
"Then why does it feel like you're the only one who knows what really happened?" I asked.
This time—
he didn't answer immediately.
His gaze held mine.
Steady.
Unreadable.
And then—
he smiled.
Not wide.
Not playful.
Just enough.
"Do you really want the truth?" he asked.
My heartbeat slowed.
Because something about the way he said it—
felt like a warning.
Not an answer.
And for the first time—
I hesitated.
Because deep down—
I wasn't sure if I was ready for whatever he was about to say.
Or worse—
for what he might choose not to say.
The silence stretched.
And standing there—
between what I knew
and what I didn't—
I realized something unsettling.
Li Zhen wasn't avoiding the truth.
He was controlling it.
And right now—
he was deciding
how much of it I was allowed to see.