The Nightmare Investigation Bureau's rest room was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of old paper and potions.
Ethan slouched on the sofa, clutching a psychokinetic short blade, whistling absentmindedly as he studied the ceiling.
His mind had been in chaos these past few days, yet he maintained an air of nonchalance.
For him, jokes were the best armor.
The door suddenly opened, and Silas stepped in, carrying several thick case reports.
As always, his face was expressionless, cold as a statue.
"Yo, bookworm," Ethan greeted lazily. "Back to gnawing on those insomnia-inducing files again? Want me to make you a cup of coffee to stay awake? I'll give you a friendship discount—three soul shards."
Silas placed the reports on the table, ignoring the joke, his gaze fixed on Ethan.
The coldness in his eyes made Ethan instinctively withdraw his smile.
"What are you looking into?" Silas asked, his tone sharp and uncompromising.
Ethan shrugged. "Looking into? The only thing I've really checked is tonight's dinner menu. Why, did headquarters catch someone peeking at files they shouldn't?"
"Don't play dumb." Silas opened a folder, revealing a damaged report.
"That dossier related to the Veil family—it's been tampered with. But before it was altered, someone had gone through it."
Ethan's eyelids twitched slightly, but he quickly forced a smile: "You're not implying it was me, are you? Come on, if I really had the skill to tamper with files, don't you think I'd just boost my employee rating to a perfect five stars while I'm at it?"
Silas didn't smile. He kept staring at him, his gaze sharp as a scalpel, as if slicing layer by layer through Ethan's defenses.
"Ethan, there's too much irregular about you," he said, his voice low but firm. "Your reactions when entering Dreamtown; your extreme sensitivity to that symbol; and… the areas you lingered in at the archives."
Ethan's chest tightened, yet his words retained their sting: "So… you think I'm a Nightmare Cult mole? Or are you saying I'm actually a monster in human skin? If it's the latter, I must say, your judgment is off—this face is clearly too handsome for that."
Silas was silent for a moment, then his voice turned colder. "I haven't reached a conclusion yet. But I must confirm whose side you're really on."
The air froze instantly.
Ethan set aside his smile and sat up straight, staring at him. "It's understandable you're suspicious. But shouldn't partners have some basic trust? You know I've just died once, right? If I were truly the enemy, I wouldn't have bothered joining the Bureau just to suffer through it with you."
A flicker of emotion passed through Silas's eyes, but he quickly returned to his usual stern demeanor.
"Perhaps it's because your purpose lies here," he said.
Ethan felt his chest tighten sharply.
He thought of the sealed iron cabinet, the Shadow Dossier, and that whispering name from his dreams—Naiya Sol.
After a brief silence, he forced a small smile. "You're too professional in your suspicion—you almost convinced me myself. But a heads-up: excessive tension causes wrinkles."
Silas didn't reply. He packed up the files and said coldly, "I'll be watching you."
With that, he turned and left.
His footsteps echoed down the corridor, gradually fading away.
The room grew quiet again.
Ethan sank back into the sofa, his smile completely gone.
He stared at the short blade in his hand, his fingers trembling slightly.
"Suspicious of me…" he murmured, voice barely audible, as if speaking to himself.
"When you learn the truth… you may hate me even more."
Deep in his mind, the forbidden whisper returned:
"Naiya Sol… Veil…"
Ethan closed his eyes. The smile returned to his face, but the humor was tinged with an unmistakable bitterness.