Kafka felt as though he had heard enough, more than enough. Evangeline's voice, steady and sharp, had already peeled back layer after layer of secrets, each revelation striking harder than the last.
But now he had reached his limit. He no longer wanted to hear about his mother. He wanted to face her directly, to drag the truth from her lips, not through the filter of someone else's words.
He inhaled deeply, braced himself, and began to step forward.
At once Vanitas reacted, floating up and back, her body instinctively retreating the moment he moved closer. But before she could drift farther, Kafka's voice cut through the air, calm, solemn, and edged with command.
"Stop."
The single word landed like a strike of authority. To his surprise, she froze. Her body went rigid in the air, her retreat halting instantly as though the word itself bound her. She looked tense, nervous, her every motion betraying the urge to escape, yet she obeyed.
