''In this world, all it takes is a couple thousand and the smile of a liar to make any dream come true''
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A/N: little guessing game, who's POV do you think will be in the next chapter? Without reading it of course, but I just want to see the drastic change of assumption from beginning to end in a chapter. I'll ask again by the end of it. Enjoy 🌞
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It wasn't a gunshot.
I stood still, relieved.
But a sound like that couldn't just be ignored. I've seen too many horror movies to know you're fucked eitherway. But if you were to die, let curiosity kill the cat instead of tripping over something like air.
The sound coming from the kitchen sounded an awful lot like a boiling pot hitting the linoleum. Pocketing my hands into Reese's pants, I force my shoulders to fall, and near the kitchen area.
The closer I walked, the more prominent a familiar voice had become.
It was Sebàstian.
The cook.
There's clear hesitation in my steps when I arrive just a foot away from the open area. I usually love to admit that I was right.
But if being proven right comes with the burden of a grieving man attempting to drown himself in his own work to escape the sudden reality that hit him, this time around? I'd rather pass.
''Let me try again,'' His southern Italian had been more pronounced.
He sounded pained. Almost frustrated like he couldn't concentrate no matter how hard he tried. It showed in the way many pots and pans cling together with the grunt followed. I eventually peek my head behind the quoin.
Only the top of his head was visible beneath the rather wide island in the middle of the room. He was crouching. But I didn't hear the oven open. I could only imagine he was running fingers down his face.
It pained me.
How could it not?
''Let me try again,'' he repeated before waiting a while. Eventually, he stood to his full length. Towering over the kitchen he had overworked, his neck seems to be taking most of the strain.
I take cautious steps towards the kitchen in front of me.
But I pause when I hear a little creak behind me.
Instead of running upstairs or, god forbid, outside; I narrowed down my options. I lived with D1 for four years and basically my entire life before the mission began.
His footsteps were heavy when they wanted to be. Although a massive man, his steps in anything but military grade boots would have suggested otherwise.
I thought maybe just maybe it was the different variation of polka-dotted stripes he wore that gave him that power. It was a good guess, until I remembered we weren't written in a book of that genre.
He was quick on his feet. But he usually throttled just a little, making one step on the ground sound like two. The steps sounded faint, almost like someone was wearing house-shoes or business type heels.
Once Leonidas entered a room he wouldn't leave for a couple hours. As routine, and a WEIA commander, he had a lot on his plate already. We were getting closer and closer to completing this long-term mission. The authority circle up in northern headquarters had been having him—and many others like him—overworked. It robbed his focus.
He couldn't have time to walk downstairs to his own house but he could pick me up from the other side of town?
I held that question in my head. Ready to confront him about it later on. But as for now, he was eliminated from being a suspect.
Baby Vivi could have walked. But she preferred to be carried everywhere. The kid didn't walk until it was absolutely necessary. Like running away from her father kicking and screaming when he brings her inside the house after a long day in the garden.
It couldn't have been her.
And besides, despite her small frame, Bravina had been the loudest in the entire house.
You'd hear her come. Whether in the form of a giggle, a light cough, or a cry of annoyance. It couldn't have been her.
But maybe it could have been her mother, Reese. She might have lended me her clothes, but I didn't know whether or not she was inside the house. And besides, she left Daniel on babysitting duty for a reason; she wasn't here.
I kept trying to narrow people down.
Even going as far as suspecting Ayumi had taken a flight from Singapore to the west just to take me back, kicking and screaming. My fingers dropped from my chin. It wasn't an impossible thought, it's not like he hasn't done it before.
The creaking continued behind me.
I whipped my neck back to the front. Bàs' back faces me.
Everything within me was screaming to go and investigate. Now I know I would have been the first person to die in a horror movie, but let's be real, freezing in place would have made you an easy target.
But horror wasn't written in the script.
Or was it?
I spend too much time in my head. This isn't good.
I shut my eyes. Inhaled as much air as I possibly could. I reached my hand in the cook's direction. A palm on my heart, ''I'll come back for you,'' I muttered faintly before pivoting my feet in the other direction.
I counted around 7 steps until I saw a silhouette. I rounded the corner, only to see it grow in the background behind a dying flash of light.
The 5'4 shadow casts over certain parts of the wall and expensive hardwood. Gold accents from those inanimate objects reflect a bundle of gray hair as well as the bright purple apron Georgina—WEIA'S maid—had always worn.
My body, that was once so tense, stilled for a moment.
Just now, as if my brain had ignored it all this time, I heard the sound of squeaking wheels onto the freshly waxed floors.
I backed away slowly, I heard the storage closest open. I rested my head on the wall and dropped my hands to the side.
My heart picked up in pace.
But the breathing in my head wasn't mine.
The moment I peeled my eyes open, my hands found themselves to my knees. I eventually slid down the corner after hearing the storage closet close from the inside.
I had to relax.
My body might have been in the west, but my mind and everything I had trained for up till this point was still in the east. Along with the mission we've been working at 24/7. If it wasn't for the faint reflection of Georgina on the furniture, I would have seriously injured her.
...Or worse.
I ran my fingers down my face. The breathing in my head reduces with every moment of tranquility it takes to combat the anxiety. I lick my lips. It doesn't do anything to moisturize it.
I'm not presently here.
My head might as well still be in Ayumi's estate.
But as of right now, my stomach was yearning for the kitchen.
I had my priorities somewhat straight. And my heart was crying for the feel of anything but 'air sandwiches,'' It grumbles on its own command.
***
Georgina descended the staircase, heading towards the kitchen. I wasn't too far to follow.
The smell welcomed me before the cook had. A variety of lukewarm spices filled my nose. Not to the point of scrunching my nose, about to sneeze. But a faint holiday memory of a home cooked meal.
My heart swelled. Ten was cooking everywhere but the kitchen.
Didn't help that mom, being my grandfather's daughter, was more than busy remembering me. Since our last call, It couldn't have been all the more obvious that she remembered what she had eaten for breakfast on a wednesday morning than giving birth to her only child.
Let's just say, in this world, if you aren't any type of heir, you'll always be a secondary priority.
I found comfort in knowing I wasn't alone. Hundreds of kids from thousands of WEIA personnel had found some sort of relatability. We bonded over that.
But I won't come back from the mission the same person I had left. And I was certain, those people I have bonded with, over four years, outgrew me and everything we've ever discussed in the past.
Sebàstian's food was a comfort I had craved.
Despite the three-course meals at 5 star Michelin chains, nothing could have compared to something as priceless as a meal made with love. In the east, they were paid to take care of you.
In the west, it wasn't charity work, because it was considered a free-service for those you love. It wasn't a chore, it was a duty you grew to love.
One of the many differences between the two lifestyles, I'll eventually head back to once this week is over.
Even from the scent, the food had tasted savory.
I was practically ruining Reese's shirt, slobbering all over it, like a dog sticking its tongue out of a rolled-down window. I have not eaten in a while. It was showing in the unnatural steps I took towards the marble island.
Sebastiàn had simply made it all the more harder for me not to snag a spoon and dig in. Possibly tainting the dish for everyone else once they've gotten back from wherever Titus's memorial took place.
I slipped into one of the high chairs like liquid. The sound of my lips smacking was almost compulsive. I couldn't help it.
Clearly, something was off with Bàs. Aside from the whole nephew's funeral thing, he usually left a bowl or two or freshly baked bread on the island while we waited for the main course.
This time, there was nothing but cleaning products replacing the snacks that would usually be there.
It was almost like tunnel vision, the way my eyes narrowed down Bàs' back. It was far more serious than any of us had anticipated.
His hands were working. But his mind had been racing faster.
Focusing on so many aspects of cuisine at the same time, I was almost perplexed at how he didn't slice his fingers at least once.
But then again, what kind of a grieving man would have the energy to sharpen kitchen knives?
''Ozzy,'' There's an elderly feminine voice that compliments my name well. I turn my head to the side, bringing the maid into focus. She was the one to notice my presence. It seems like she always is the only one that does.
Hands clad behind her back, she had ditched the mop a long time ago.
I slipped off the highchair and neared my honorary grandmother.
Her lips couldn't have pierced into a finer line than they had at the moment. I leaned her head into mine, she didn't resist.
Tenderly, I kiss the top of her forehead. But she's the first to speak when we separate.
''Afferrare qualcuno in quel modo, soprattutto in tempi come questi, potrebbe farti uccidere, tesoro'' Sneaking up on someone like that–especially in times like these could get you killed, darling.
My shoulders chuckle along with me in silence. Funny.
I retract my head back, leaning weight from one leg to the other. Extending my hand towards hers, I kissed it before pressing her soft dorsal skin flat onto my forehead, ''Perdonami,'' Forgive me.
This is the second time I've done this apology today. I should really stop hurting, offending and scaring people.
It's my turn to purse my lips. Her reaction is one I anticipate. Calmly, Georgina dismisses the act quietly before moving on. Closing the fridge then shortly after the run of sink water, she chucks me a fresh peach.
I already devoured half before setting myself back on the chair.
There's a faint chuckle, it spills out of her. She leans in shortly after,''Perché ti ho visto nelle ultime settimane?'' Why haven't I seen you within the last week?
I blinked.
Practically inhaling the fruit to buy me time to think.
Let's see.
I would have come to see her sooner if I wasn't arrested for running that man over. I would have come sooner if I hadn't sat in the jail cell for more time than necessary.
It was a busy first couple weeks, but I had to come up with something believable. What's something completely believable that I can use as an excuse to explain my absence?
I had an abortion!---No she's pro-life.
I guess you could say I was pro-newborn if the act of contraception wasn't an act of assault and only if the mother and father wanted to keep it. But I wouldn't exactly call myself pro-life.
My job required some sort of assassination skill. Saying I was 'for-living' would be a complete contradiction to my career aside from the priority. Let's be real here.
I was for the life of many trafficked victims, but in the same breath for the death of many blackstar structure issued human traffickers.
I was more or so, Anti-Adult/ Anti-criminal if you will. So it varied on the spectrum, you know?
No? Ok.
After realizing I had been sucking on the peach pit for a hot minute, I spat it out and came back with an answer.
My hands immediately found themselves in my stomach. I put on a face, and slightly leaned forward.
''I just found out I was lactose intolerant on the way here, and let's just say.'' I grimaced, shaking my head. I looked up, a forced squint in her direction. ''It was a tough few days,'' I promise my stomach grumbling was not planned.
Girl, you know damn well–
Acting as if I didn't tear up that all you can eat milk-café buffet before landing west. I still dream about that mochi ice cream burger till this day.
In an instant, a glass of water and a pain killer pill was slid towards me like I was at the bar. I was tempted to ask for 'water on the rocks' before remembering I wasn't actually in a club.
I downed the water half way, popped the pill beneath my tongue so she would see I actually 'ingested' it before kay-ing the rest. I set the glass on the table and watched as Bàs still had his back turned.
Georgina told me he had his earbuds in. He couldn't hear me past all that music.
The moment she turned her back, I spat out the pill, sliding it beneath the island. She turned back quickly, but my smile was a little delayed.
Georgina knew who we were, who we worked for and what we were doing. Not individually ofcourse, that would have been too much on a person's psychology to keep track of so many agents and soldiers at the same time.
She was my grandfather's maid before she was everyone else's.
She might as well be an honorary member of the authority. Her knowledge and age could rival even the third in command. Georgina nears me, a hand in her pocket.
My eyebrows raise, but when she pulls out the rock I had found outside and possibly left on the bathroom counter after my shower, I smiled. Guilty.
She slid the cat-shaped rock near me. Her strong accent didn't dull the look after your things better. In her tone.
After offering to clean it, and a respectful decline, she began rounding the island. Taking Bàs's music without his permission. Practically forcing him to stay alone with his thoughts.
Georgina pats at my forearm, her dainty footsteps travel across the freshly waxed floors. The back of Sebastian's head finds me one last time. Reddened just above tan skin, I moved towards the man who had single handedly made most of the meals I had eaten throughout my life in this house.
Something had seemed off however... and the moment he had turned his head to me, my heart had dropped a solid ten feet.
Standing adjacent to him, he sent me a smile of acknowledgement. It was short. He refocused on the pot shining in bright orange liquid. I held the rock in my hand. Fiddling with it in question.
I understood a grieving period could change a person like no other. The cook, once so talkative, chose his words carefully. Sometimes choosing to stay silent all together.
It made me wonder just how much of an impact one kid's death caused on the rest of the personnel in the house.
Usually, before the entire mission came into view and I would spend my days between these walls, the man went out of his way to offer me something as light as a cookie or freshly cut fruit he'd grow from the garden as I waited for dinner to be ready.
Warmth would engulf me with every act he'd do knowing damn well he didn't have to. But it was out of the kindness of his heart, he made sure I was as satisfied as one could be.
But today was different, and rightfully so. Today he served silence and plain looks. The source of warmth was suddenly in the eclipse. There was nothing to be joyous about.
A job like cooking used to be so comforting to him. And now with the turn of events, he's doing it so much to the point where it would burn him out to never want to pick up a pot again.
I never knew it was possible. But with the underground, was anything really impossible?
All it took was a couple thousands and the smile of a liar to make a dream come true.
Despite leaning over the hot pot, his posture stood tall. Giving the illusion that he hadn't been as exhausted as he had physically looked. Even from the short glances he threw my way, the eyebags that had drooped below his eyes had added at least 10 to 15 years on him.
Extending my hand, I halted his compulsive whisking, '' I can do that for you,'' I pause as his grasp does not lessen at my hold, ''Please—I want to,'' With pleading eyes, I bow my head down towards the pot.
The cat shaped rock was tossed somewhere on the island.
But all I could see when staring at a face that felt so familiar but in the sense was not,was resistance.
It took a little more convincing for him to let me take over stirring the pot. And as much as his silence indicated that maybe he wanted to be left alone, I had to check up on the cook.
I turned to him.
''When was the last time you've slept, bàs?'' I switch my gaze from pot to man several times.
He leaned on the kitchen island, a butter knife in one hand with a jar of margarine in the other. '' I sleep every night, Oz,''
I paused my stirring action.
No. I wasn't satisfied with that response. It was the mere undertone in his voice, so unconvincing, it nearly had broken my heart from how weak the short snippet of a sentence was only that—a sorry excuse.
I turned the heat down. Knowing I wouldn't return to it so soon. I let the wooden spoon sink into the side of the pot, bringing my full attention to him.
''No,'' There's a slight rasp to my voice and a delay to his reaction. He raises an eyebrow, almost like he wants me to carry on.
I do just that.
''When was the last time you had slept.'' Sleeping meaning actually scraped the surface of the REM stage. Not waking up every few minutes, shifting or just closing your eyes but remaining awake the entire night.
What was making him as restless as he was? When he lost his baby brother, years back, he didn't exactly act like this. I understood it varied from person to person and I couldn't make any sort of assumption, but.... Was it so wrong to pry?
If I wanted to succeed the mission when we had gotten back on course in the east, I had to know what kind of things I was expecting.
His silence was answer enough.
I decided to hog the floor.
''Is it Titus's death that's causing to act so distant like this?'' The food, with its big portions, just solidified the fact that he had been preparing a meal for when the men came back from the funeral.
Has he eaten himself?
This was how Titus's turmoil had begun according to Leonidas.
Bàs was falling into that same rabbit hole. I understood that mental health wasn't just a straight line. It needed collaboration from both sides to ultimately overcome it.
But as someone who doesn't even know the definition of sane where it was appropriate, I just wanted to help where I could.
His pale lips curl upwards into a smile, '' I couldn't go,'' To the funeral he meant. Sighing, he placed the container of margin to the side as he tweaked with the dull side of the butterknife with bare-hands.
''I couldn't enter a space, a sermon—a ceremony lacking in color.'' There were so many pauses he took. But he got back on his feet.
'' Lacking in life, the purpose was infuriating to me.'' He continued, keeping his eyes away from mine.
'' Non avrei mai dovuto testimoniare.'' I should have never been one to witness. The faint tremble in his voice was evident. I didn't touch on it, clearly, the scars were still fresh.
Covering the pot with its respective lid, my full attention lied on the cook in front of me. I had neared him, settling myself on the corner of the island with him.
His stare remains an expression propped ahead. It's unmoving. Not even the faintest sign of his silver irises scouring around the ghost-town of a kitchen, it was simply stiffened at the window leading to the backyard.
''I—I had my doubts when it came to Titus.''
His eyes fall to the butterknife in his hold. He twirls it around a total of three times before he continues, '' When it came to my nephew, being one of the younger ranges of new WEIA recruits,'' He hesitates unwillingly.
''No one would have guessed, not even the kid himself 5 months prior that he would be the one to force the smile from off his face.'' I understood that.
I didn't know the kid very well. So I had imagined him from the perspective of someone who had. From the chef's point of view.
Titus-Iman Soprano. A simple boy, fresh out of highschool, excited to begin his high paying gig as a WEIA soldier. It was an inside job, a referral from a blood-relative made his late entrance acceptable. Even if it was just in training for the majority of the time leading up to his death, the title had still held the weight equivalent to his weekly paycheck. Heavy.
''But—'' the cook shook his head. Almost like he had read my mind, he continued the conversation for me.
'' From the threat to the spiral, it all happened too quickly. One minute he had hugged me goodnight and the next the singular gunshot had alarmed the whole house as a collective,'' I couldn't stop my lips from parting.
It disturbed me. The fact that I wasn't present. The fact that I couldn't have comforted the man who had experienced the heaviest of losses between all the men who attended that funeral.
The one who truly knew the deceased at that ceremony today, didn't have the strength to leave the threshold of his own house.
I hated the fact that I wasn't there for him.
A sudden death was chilling.
Even from somewhat of an outsider's perspective, my imagination of the events that had gone down this week was good enough for me. ''I would be lying if I had said the same kid who had served the cook breakfast whenever dawn had broken out, before getting behind the wheel, had been reduced into a decorative casket ready to be laid to rest wouldn't have destroyed me right then and there,'' His features had broken down into the unrecognizable.
He sulked in position, in posture.
As if the job he loved—was being paid to do -- had been more of a chore than anything else at this moment. I glanced down at my feet, letting the words marinate in my mind before coming up with a coherent answer.
''You know,'' I stepped up to the cook who was a solid foot taller than I was, ''Just because you didn't attend the funeral doesn't mean you can't do some mourning of your own.'' The pause is a lengthy one. It divides in two the way he sees it as a moment to catch up with his thoughts. I see it as someone spiraling further into a life-threatening consequence.
I nudged at his rib with my elbow, ''It also doesn't mean you are obligated to work,'' He out of everyone else shouldn't have even lifted a finger. Which is the reason as to why I had offered to make dinner.
Most of the jumble of food had been set aside, prepared.They had just needed to be plated; easy enough. I would have carried the pot towards the heat-resistance fabric displayed on the counter. But that was before a throbbing thought had attacked the forefront of my mind.
Bàs had mumbled something about his nephew receiving a few threats a couple months before he took his own life. I couldn't pay attention immediately, I was more focused on not burning my fingers off.
But when I set the boiling pot aside, he garnered my attention.
''Threats?'' Was there anything else I should know before returning to the east for good this time?
I walked closer to him. Hands wrapped around a towel.
'Threat? I hadn't been aware of the fact that Titus was being threatened.'' I answered truthfully. Was there more the family was holding out on me? If I didn't know about this?
''Who was threatening him?'' Suddenly, my mind shifts to Ayumi, possibly trying to link one connection to another.
Was it possibly the same people who were pressuring Ayumi to run for prime minister again? Had his life hung like a sword over his head ordering him to do their bidding in the office?
The silver empire was more than capable to do so in the east.
But in the name of war, and a matter of distance; had their power and influence really transcended deep into WEIA? The west as a whole?
The expression on his face stated nothing more than an 'it's obvious' expression. I tore my gaze away from him and back to the grinning rock on the counter.
''Oz,'' He began slowly. Pushing himself on the counter, approaching me.
His lips opened and closed like he had something to say, but soon enough, he gave up and came up with something else to tell me.
''Who.''
His 'question' was more of a statement than anything else. I couldn't even hear the question mark at the end of his sentence.
''Who...?'' I continued for him.
Eventually, after a while, he had willingly taken the floor.
''Who else had the power to spark that concept? An anxious reality into the mind of a once happy 19 year-old?'' The faint southern italian accent had finally made its appearance after being so silent within the entire interaction.
It was the blackstar structure. But from all the way to the east? Weren't They a little too old to be playing mind-games, targeting the opposition's side?
Who am I kidding, this family was capable of anything.
I shook my head, clearing my throat.
''I get that—but what were the specifics, what did the threat say?''
He didn't spare me another glance. The way he had shut his eyes, almost as if the question had pained him– caught my attention.
''Nevermind,'' I took back what I had said. But the thought had still remained, Titus was still considered a mere outsider. His probation period had not finished, he wasn't fully initiated just yet.
Why was the silver empire targeting those who were considered of lesser value than real frontliners to up their tally? I kept the thought and found myself staring at the grandfather clock.
The funeral had ended a while back,'' Sebastian pockets his phone before leaning into himself. His chin raised towards the ceiling, ''They should be back shortly,'' I reached for the rock on the counter and began to fumble with it.
My chortle is a dry one.
''And what are you going to do while we wait for them to come back?'' My question was supposed to be of light-hearted nature. The atmosphere of the already quiet home was depressing enough with everyone gone, Daniel and his daughter elsewhere and Leonidas locked in a room on the third floor. Eerie quietness of an ethnic household was something I was not a fan of.
But my attempt at brightening up the space was futile the moment I heard, '' Think. That's all I could have done for my remaining days at least,'' his smile—so wide, mimicked mine when I had tried to take my own life after learning Tenzin had passed.
It was easier to let everyone assume the worst with a smile on my face than it actually taking place with nothing but a permanent sort of 'neutrance'to a dead corpse.
But I knew I didn't mean it back then. And for that reason, and that reason alone, do I know he— Bàs— doesn't mean it now.
There was a slight glimpse of myself I had seen in that moment. My chest wavered upwards as I began breathing from the diaphragm. My mind throwing in snippets of the expression most saw that day;
I had made sure to smile in the brightest, highest quality and caliber because I was certain that would have been the last of what the people I had cared for would see; it's what I would have wanted them to see.
His smile caused me to mirror his action just slightly out of reminiscent and worry.
''Elaborate,'' Ever so delicately had the corners of his lips lowered. It made my stomach churn just at the movement. Just out of caution do I want to shoot out the question of whether or not he would have ended his life by his own hand.
''Are you gonna—''I didn't need to finish my sentence. He cuts me off, already knowing what he means.
''No, I couldn't do that to Georgina,'' he states, the faint imagery of the grandmother kneeling down the cook's grave to drop his daily pink roses had my chest heaving.
There's newfound bravery in his tone. ''But it looks like I wouldn't need to worry about that,'' I look at him. He looks at me. My lips don't move, but his do.
L'Oriente mi ha già fatto capire tutto'' The far east already has me all figured out, already,''
My eyebrows frown.
I feel the singular blonde braid unraveling as my locks air dried. My heart picked up in pace. And from the way I had suddenly began mouth-breathing; anyone could have mistaken my hyperventilation for panic.
The topic of Titus' funeral had returned.
''You know, it's funny,'' He begins, artificial laughter ringing through one ear and out the other, ''I hadn't want to attend the funeral service not just because of the kid, but simply because of the entire dynamic as a whole.'' His eyes—for the first time in this entire interaction—had finally pinned mine and stayed.
Sterling dimmed the color of foil the way his shoulders dropped further. If that was even possible. His tone might have been one of amusement, but his gaze had told a completely different story. There was a storm brewing on top of this rising war.
''I would have rather not attend someone else's funeral, knowing good and well I was bound to end up in the exact same measure,'' He paused, his long sleeved kitchen uniform grazing Reese's baggy t-shirt. His smile is still as charming as it usually is. But it's one he fakes for my sake. ''Sooner rather than later it had seemed,''Moving himself away from me, the butter knife had long been tossed to the side.
Once again, why was blackstar willingly coming after unofficial members of WEIA, cooks, cleaners and crew? The strategy they were playing at had confused me. But maybe that was their plan.
''Bàs, you're in good hands I'm sure you know there is nothing you have to worry about. Titus's action had raised awareness within the security—'' there's finality in his tone when he cuts me off.
''But was that all it took?'' The base in his voice suggested just how broken he had felt inside.
'' For the life of a teenage boy who had entered the occupation happily to be stolen–whether or not self-inflicted—for it to cause awareness within this house? '' As much as I wanted to interrupt his rant, I knew he was spitting nothing but facts.
I held the rock closer to my chest and watched him pace.
''Couldn't this have happened beforehand knowing there is bigger prey gaining on a small predator? Knowing we were at war with the far east?'' His voice had now risen in octaves. Panicked and pacing had his mouth kept moving. But my mind had refused to register anything after the snippets of italian.
I act before my brain can register the situation accordingly.
''Hey–hey calm down, it's going to be okay—''
'' Was titus 'going to be okay?''' The frantic pacing had suggested one thing and one thing only from the older man.
He was scared, and rightfully so. With what was happening around the organization ; it wasn't a new theme around WEIA.
And it certainly wasn't going to perish at the drop of a prayer or a night's rest.
Was it a mind manipulation type of tactic that had most in a choke-hold?
Most bargaining to take their lives at the mere mention of the far east?
What was truly happening?
Wrapping my arms around the man thrice my age, I laid my head flat against his back. Silently had his elbows bounced up and down; he cried. But that didn't make him any less of a man than he actually was. ''There's not enough time for me—'' I shook my head. I wasn't going to accept that reality.
''Don't say that,''
''I have to, Nine,'' his sniffle had nearly sounded painful. And almost like a physical effect, I felt his arms blanket in goosebumps.
''I have to act this way because I'm next,''
Immediately as if on cue, the front and back door simultaneously opened with a bang.
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There are some quotes I had put in this chapter that were pretty golden but I forgot about them😭. So if you find them, you could comment in the section so I save it for future usage. 😉
A/N : Who's POV do you think will be in the next few chapters? It's gonna be great I have so many ideas (not so obvious hint : it's one of the male main characters, and its not a father)🌚
Any questions, and or predictions on the next couple chapters?
Hope you enjoyed this chapter. 💕