She wanted to scream in shock, to call him and demand answers—What is the meaning of this?
But how could she?
Each flash of lightning gave her just enough light to see him—barely—but every glimpse carved deeper into her disbelief.
She wanted to ask who this person was. Why he was bound like that? What had happened?
But how could she?
When the only one she thought could explain everything—the only one she believed would protect her from a nightmare like this—was the one lying there, shackled like a beast, as if the world had turned him into something too dangerous to be free.
Erion.
Terror gripped her chest—but it wasn't just fear. It was deeper.
Helplessness.
Heartbreak.
Something too raw to name.
She didn't dare move. She was afraid one step, one sound, might break him even more.
Then Silas finally spoke behind her.
"Lord Erion never wanted anyone to know about this… condition," he said quietly. "His room used to be fully soundproofed. But it's under renovation."
His voice was steady—but underneath it, something cracked. Something sad and old and buried.
So that was it.
That's why the entire East wing of this mansion is empty.
Silas continued. "As you know, Lord Erion has served the Grand Covenant Order since his early youth. Before university."
Evah couldn't even turn to look at him. Her eyes were glued to the figure on the bed.
She wanted to stop Silas from speaking—because with every word, it felt like something inside her was cracking, and one more truth might be the one that breaks her completely.
"He started training in middle school. By university, he was already assisting on live cases—qualified ahead of schedule."
Her body felt cold. Numb.
She didn't want to hear this.
But she couldn't look away.
"He's seen it all," Silas said. "The worst of humanity. Massacres. Kidnappings. Drugs. Torture. Things I pray you'll never have to understand."
Her stomach twisted.
The images unfolding in her mind were already unbearable—but what truly shattered her was knowing that even her imagination, as cruel as it was, could only scratch the surface of the horrors he must have seen.
"After graduating, he was officially assigned as an investigator. That's when the nightmares began."
Lightning lit the room again. Erion's body jerked violently against the chains.
Evah covered her mouth. The cuffs rattled. His breath came in harsh, broken gasps.
'Don't look,' she remembered him whispering at the warehouse.
'Don't look.'
She recalled how he'd always moved to shield her from the worst, even at the cost of his own comfort.
Now she knew why.
He was trying to protect her.
"Sometimes," Silas murmured, "he gets lucky. Sleep peacefully. But it's rare."
A fresh scream pierced the air, followed by the clang of metal against the wall.
Erion…
She remembered the blood he hid from her, the guilt in his eyes when he thought she'd seen too much.
The killer instinct wasn't cold cruelty.
It was pain.
Years of it.
His eyes were still shut, but his body was at war—muscles tight, breath jagged, wrists straining against the restraints until they bled.
"And then," Silas said softly, "the worst moment came. When he started hurting himself in his sleep."
The words hit her like a slap.
He was hurting himself. Alone. All this time.
"He was twenty-two then. Right before he moved out. That's when we had to start restraining him at night."
Evah didn't speak. Couldn't.
The pain inside her was too vast, too sharp to shape into words.
She had always thought Erion was lucky—powerful, wealthy, untouchable. His life seemed so perfectly in control. But now... she realized how little she truly knew.
Now, she saw the truth.
And it was unbearable.