"They would lick the floor with pride if I commanded it, as though performing a noble deed," he said softly. "If you want me to prove it, I can command them to do so at the next meeting."
"I don't take pleasure in absurd performances. Play your games if you wish, but don't entangle me in your madness."
"You think you're safe because they're gone?" His voice dropped lower.
"No. Their judgment lingers. And now, Mr. Anderson, you stand alone before me. Tell me—what will you confess?"
The empty chairs seemed to watch me, their shadows stretching across the floor like silent jurors.
My breath grew heavy, thick and uneven, as if the atmosphere had turned to stone, pressing against my chest with merciless patience.
I couldn't understand why I was feeling anxious. Without warning, a sharp pain struck my head.
My connection with reality weakened; the edges of the room blurred, voices stretched into echoes, and I felt myself slipping into a place where nothing was solid anymore.
Suddenly, Kiril's phone rang and he turned away. My mind grew dizzy, my vision blurred. At last, I lost consciousness.
---
**After Aiden collapsed: **
When Kiril realized that Aiden had fainted, he rushed towards him. He knelt beside Aiden, shaking his shoulders gently.
"Aiden! Can you hear me?" Kiril's voice was calm, almost unnervingly steady, as if he had anticipated this moment.
He lowered himself beside Aiden, his eyes scanning the pale face with a strange mixture of concern and certainty.
The phone still buzzed faintly in his hand, but he ignored it, pressing two fingers gently to Aiden's wrist.
A faint pulse throbbed beneath his touch—weak, but present. Kiril exhaled slowly, as though confirming what he had expected all along.
"This was bound to happen," he murmured under his breath, more to himself than to anyone else. His gaze flicked toward the doorway, sharp and calculating, as if waiting for someone—or something—to arrive.
The calmness in his tone contrasted with the urgency of the moment, leaving the air heavy with unspoken questions.
Before Kiril could react further, the door burst open. A stranger stepped inside, eyes narrowing at the sight of Aiden collapsed on the floor.
"We don't have much time," the stranger muttered.
Kiril raised his head, locking eyes with the stranger. "What nonsense are you spouting?" He stood up. "It's only four o'clock."
"But we have a long way ahead to cover," the stranger replied.
He moved towards Aiden, extending his hand to help—only to be met with a sharp smack from Kiril. The sound echoed, startling in its decisiveness.
Kiril's eyes narrowed, his jaw set with grim determination. "No," he muttered, voice low but commanding.
Without hesitation, he bent down, sliding his arms beneath Aiden's limp body. The weight pressed against him, but Kiril lifted with fierce resolve, as though carrying Aiden to the exit was not just a choice, but his responsibility alone.
The others froze, stunned by the suddenness of his action. Kiril didn't look back. His stride was steady, purposeful, every step declaring that no one else would bear this burden but him.
He carried Aiden through the back door—where a shining car was already waiting, its headlights slicing through the darkness like watchful eyes.
Kiril pulled the door open with one hand, the other still gripping Aiden's limp form tightly against him. The engine purred, steady and ominous, as if the vehicle had been expecting their arrival.
Sliding Aiden into the back seat, Kiril cast a quick glance over his shoulder. The alley was silent, but the silence felt heavy, charged, as though unseen figures lingered just beyond the shadows.
With a final, resolute breath, Kiril climbed in beside him, shutting the door with a thud that echoed like a promise.
The car lurched forward, swallowing them into the night, carrying secrets no one else was meant to witness.
"How far are we from the destination?" Kiril asked, his voice low, almost swallowed by the hum of the engine.
His head tilted, supported by his right hand resting against the cool edge of the window.
"We are ten kilometers away," the driver said, his voice trembling.
"That's why I told you to hurry," the stranger said firmly from the front seat.
"Boss will be angry if we reach there late," he muttered, his lower jaw grinding against the upper with a force that made his teeth ache.
His eyebrows clenched so tightly they carved deep shadows across his forehead. The words hung heavy in the air—not just a warning, but a promise of consequences.
The car's interior seemed to shrink under the weight of his tension, every passing second amplifying the pressure.
Even the steady hum of the engine felt fragile against the storm brewing in his voice. His gaze locked forward, unblinking, as if sheer willpower alone could drag them faster toward the destination.
Kiril's gaze was also distant, fixed not on the road ahead but on something unseen, as though the question carried more weight than mere distance.
The driver's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, catching Kiril's expression—a calm mask stretched over quiet tension.
Outside, the night seemed endless, the city melting into silence as the car sped forward.
Every mile felt heavier, every moment stretched thin, as if the destination itself was more than a place—it was a reckoning waiting in the dark.
Finally, they reached their destination. It was an ancient castle—its top and walls covered with climbing vines, its iron bones dipped in rust.
They entered the castle premises through the back door.
The gate was massive—most of it swallowed by vines, the rest corroded with rust.
"Go and open that gate," the stranger ordered the driver.
"Yes, sir!" the driver replied like a cadet reporting to his commander. He jumped out of the car and sprinted towards the gate.
Reaching it, he used all his strength to push it open, but managed only a few inches. His body grew slick with sweat, as though he were melting. At last, he gave up and shouted for help.
Hearing his voice, the stranger stepped out of the car and walked towards him.
Together, they forced the gate open, and the group entered the castle. Aiden remained slumped on Kiril's shoulder.
The heavy doors creaked shut behind them, sealing the outside world away.
Inside, the castle breathed with silence, its vast halls lit only by flickering torches that cast long, restless shadows.
Each step echoed like a warning, and the air carried a chill that whispered of secrets buried deep within these walls.
Kiril tightened his grip on Aiden, his eyes scanning the emptiness.
As the stranger opened another door, they carried Aiden inside. He was laid gently on a worn velvet sofa, his body sinking into the cushions as though the weight of the castle itself pressed down on him.
"The castle is completely different from what it seemed outside," the stranger exclaimed, gazing around the room.
Suddenly, the driver noticed movement in Aiden's eyelids. His chest rose and fell faintly, each breath shallow, fragile, yet steady enough to keep hope alive.
He informed Kiril, who stood beside Aiden, fists clenched as if holding back a storm.
The stranger lingered nearby, his gaze fixed on Aiden with unsettling calm.
"He won't wake soon," he said, voice low, almost certain.
"If you knew this already," Kiril's jaw tightened, "then why did you add so much Hypnotic Vein to his lunch?"
Aiden suddenly shouted and grabbed his collar. His eyes were bloodshot, filled with murderous intent.
His gaze sent a chill down their spines. Sweat crawled down his forehead. His breath grew heavier.
The heavier his breath became, the weaker Kiril's grip grew, his fingers slipping as though restraining their strength.
With each faltering hold, the veins along his neck bulged, straining against his skin like cords pulled too tight.
He hated the helplessness, hated that all he could do was wait. The silence of the castle pressed heavier, every creak of the old walls sounding like whispers of things yet to come.
"Quit this act! I know you don't care," Kiril shouted in rage.
Hearing this, the stranger's expression changed completely. His lips stretched wide across his face.
"I was doing what you expected," he said, taking his seat on the sofa. "Then what's with this rage, huh?"
Kiril's eyes narrowed, his voice calm but laced with disdain.
"Rage?" he scoffed, leaning back against the wall.
"Don't flatter yourself. I don't waste rage on clowns who think pretending is strategy."
The stranger's smile faltered, his jaw tightening as Kiril's words cut through the air. But Kiril didn't stop.
"You sit there grinning like you've outsmarted me, but all I see is a desperate act." He tilted his head slightly to the right.
The stranger shifted uneasily, his lips twitching as though the smirk was fighting to return, but Kiril's tone had already pierced the mask.
The silence that followed was heavier than any shout, and the irritation in the stranger's eyes burned brighter.
In the middle of all this, someone entered the room.