The room was held captive by the explosive silence following Sammy's challenge. Cobra's face was a study in dangerous suppression, his entire body rigid with fury. It was Carla, the only one who held the privilege to use his true name, who finally broke the standoff.
She pushed her chair back, the harsh scrape of wood on the floor a jarring sound that sliced through the tension. Without a glance at Cobra, she walked deliberately past the table, her eyes fixed on her son, Andrew. Her expression was a heartbreaking mix of maternal love, stern disappointment, and fear.
She stopped directly in front of him, the injured man who was meant to be her welcoming champion. She looked up at him, her gaze unwavering, her hands settling firmly on his bandaged arm.
"Andrew," she began, her voice low and steady, laced with an authority that rivaled Cobra's own. "What did you do while I was gone? What happened here?"
Andrew, already shaken by Sammy's stare, became completely mute under his mother's scrutiny. He couldn't meet her eyes; his gaze was fixed somewhere over her shoulder, his jaw clenched, the earlier sinister gleam completely extinguished by panic.
Carla waited. When he offered only silence, she dropped her hands from his arm and looked back at the dining table. She took in Sammy's icy, confident stare, Maarg's group's unwavering support for their friend, and Cobra's tightening fury.
Turning back to Andrew, she reached up and placed a hand on his cheek, a gesture that was both tender and demanding. "Did you drink? Or consume any drugs?" she asked, looking deep into his eyes.
Andrew finally made a movement, trying desperately to break the eye contact. Before he could turn his head, Carla's voice cracked like a whip.
"Look into my damn eyes, son! I know you can't lie when you look me in the eyes."
Her voice softened immediately, the transition brutal in its honesty. "Please, tell the truth, dear. It's alright, nobody will hate you for telling the truth." Carla searched the silent young man's eyes, desperately pleading for an admission that might defuse the powder keg that had become their reunion.
Andrew unclenched his teeth and finally broke his rigid posture, collapsing into his mother's embrace. He hugged Carla, burying his forehead into her left shoulder. His large, muscular body seemed to suddenly lose all its tension and bravado.
"I... I messed up, Mom," he finally spoke, his voice low and small, on the very verge of crying.
Maarg noted the stark shift. From what he had observed, Cobra didn't look like Andrew's real father. It was a high chance that Andrew had grown up mostly in the care of Carla, his mother. This context explained so much of the young man's behavior. Psychologically, children without fathers, the world said, often wore their wounds in plain sight. Some turned their loneliness inward, hiding it behind silence and self-doubt. Others, like Andrew, let it bleed outward—through fists, through liquor, through reckless choices that burned without thought for tomorrow. Bullying, chasing transient pleasures, acting like every night was his last—it was less confidence and more a cry Maarg could almost hear: Notice me, even if it's for the wrong reasons.
Maarg felt a sharp, brief pang of pity for Andrew. He understood the pain of that void.
But the pity ended there. Andrew had done harm to Sammy. Maarg couldn't let that go; Andrew needed to learn the consequences of his actions. For now, Maarg just sat quietly, on guard, his eyes locked on the figures, looking and hearing the conversation between Andrew and Carla, waiting for the truth to be fully revealed.
Andrew let go of Carla, his embrace broken, but his face, now tear-streaked and vulnerable, looked significantly more human. The bravado and simmering rage were gone, replaced by the exhaustion of a frightened son. Nobody in the room could have expected such a rapid, profound change in Andrew merely due to the presence of his mother.
Maarg watched the transformation, a realization dawning on him. When Cobra had stated that Carla was the only one who could truly control Andrew, Maarg had dismissed it as a humble or protective boast. Now, seeing the raw, instant effect of her presence, he understood just how important Carla was, not just as Cobra's wife and Andrew's mother, but as the co-leader of the Vipers. She wasn't just a figurehead; she was the indispensable human element—the anchor that could calm the worst storms, even those within her own family. Her influence was a soft power, but clearly one of the strongest in the compound.
Andrew pulled back slightly, his face still etched with sorrow, but his voice was clearer now, carrying a heavy weight of confession.
"I'm sorry, Mother," Andrew said, the words catching in his throat. "But when I heard about your capture, I was filled with anger. I wanted to kill those inhuman man-eaters." He paused, glancing nervously at the silent assembly and then quickly away. "When my friends saw that I looked stressed, they tried to help me the only way they knew. Their ways were unorthodox: tomfoolery, joints, alcohol, and other ways."
He then looked directly at his father, Cobra, before meeting Carla's eyes again, his voice cracking with earnestness. "Please, don't punish them for it, since it was me who lost my will and gave into the temptation." Andrew let his heart out, taking responsibility for the reckless consumption, but still carefully skirting the exact details of what happened with Sammy.
Carla held his gaze, her expression complex—relief that he was speaking the truth, yet apprehension about the parts he still clearly wasn't revealing. The most crucial piece of the puzzle, the piece involving Sammy, still hung heavy in the air.
Andrew flinched, the relief from his partial confession instantly draining away. His eyes darted toward Sammy, who was still seated at the table, her gaze now simply holding his without the terrifying intensity it had before, but still completely devoid of warmth.
Carla didn't let up. She gently guided his chin so that his eyes were forced to meet hers. "What happened with that girl?" she asked again, her voice low but firm, as she turned her head to look back at Sammy. "Did you try anything while intoxicated?"
Carla's question was clear, sharp, and direct. This was the moment that might solve all the mysteries. The room held its breath. Everyone's ears—Maarg, Jack, Gabby, and even Cobra—perked up. The only sound was the faint hum of the compound as they all waited for Andrew's response, which now seemed to be the key to the entire tense situation.
Andrew's lips parted, but for a moment, only a ragged breath escaped. The weight of the truth was crushing him.