Livia's gaze swept calmly across the room, finally landing silently on Marcellus.
He sat with his head bowed, knuckles pale from the force of his clenched fists. His back trembled—so subtly that anyone else might've missed it. To most, he probably just looked grief-stricken and exhausted. But Livia could see more.
There was something else beneath the surface.
A deep, visceral struggle.
He wasn't crying. He hadn't spoken a single extra word. But his silence at this moment—was louder than any outburst, more fragile than any sob. It was the kind of silence one reached only when everything inside had shattered and there was nothing left to say.
A faint tightening gripped Livia's chest.
She hadn't failed to notice the shift in him. Hadn't missed the suppressed turmoil flickering in the depths of his eyes. And she couldn't shake the feeling that his pain wasn't just from the revelation of his parents' deaths—it was something else. Something more personal. More tangled.
But she didn't want to dig deeper.
Because the truth was, she wasn't any freer than he was.
She still remembered fragments of that dream—a dream that had felt all too real. The grand wedding. The brief but radiant happiness of married life. The silhouette standing outside the study that night… She still didn't know exactly what had happened back then, but the memory gripped her like a hook in her soul, pulling her back again and again.
Every time she got close to Marcellus, those memories would return—unbidden, unrelenting.
Like a ghost in the dark, waiting to strangle her heart the moment she let her guard down. Just when she was about to step forward, it would stop her cold—filling her with doubt, suspicion, fear.
It wasn't that she didn't want to forgive him.
It was that… she didn't know what had happened. She didn't know what really transpired between the original Livia and Marcellus. Whether it had something to do with that night. Whether it was that night that led to the murder.
And with that thought came another—of how it had all begun.
That night. The night she had crossed into this world.
The past was like a wound she'd never dared to uncover. She didn't know if it had healed, or if it had festered in silence all along.
She tore her gaze away from Marcellus—not out of anger, not out of coldness, but as an instinctive act of self-preservation.
Now was not the time.
They had just uncovered the truth about the Holy Grail's origin, the true cause of Celesta's death, Edgar's descent into madness, and the way the Grail had corrupted the hearts of men.
There were far more pressing matters at hand.
She turned slightly, nodding to Adrian and Elise beside her, then glanced toward the silent Elias.
The air in the hospital room slowly began to ease. One by one, the others shifted their gazes toward Marcellus, who still sat in thought.
And finally, as if clawing his way out of a self-imposed abyss, Marcellus took a long breath. The agony on his face faded, replaced by a steadier, colder calm.
He spoke at last—his voice hoarse but steady, controlled:
"We'll do as Livia suggested."
His eyes met each of theirs in turn, lingering at last on Livia. His gaze was layered—complicated. But he said nothing more.
"I feel much better now," he continued. "But just in case, this hospital should remain our base for now. It's secure enough, well-monitored, and easy to lock down if needed."
"As for the hidden chamber, I'll have the perimeter reinforced immediately. We'll seal off the building and reassign all staff elsewhere. No blind spots."
His tone was calm, decisive—like the man from earlier had vanished completely, buried beneath armor of resolve.
But Livia knew better.
She knew that pain hadn't vanished. It had just been locked away, buried deep inside a corner of his soul.
Just like her own.
She exhaled quietly. Didn't press him.
—There was no need for more words between them.
There was nothing left that words could solve.
Only one thing remained.
One cause they could still cling to, together:
To bring an end to the darkness that had engulfed them all.