The hideout was quiet.
No one spoke.
Diana lay on the couch, still breathing — weak, but alive. Aria was tending to her, Mostang watching with his arms crossed, jaw clenched.
Selene sat on the floor, hands tied, her hair covering half her face. Emma stood in front of her, arms crossed, no expression.
Emma:
"…Why?"
Selene lifted her head slowly.
Her eyes were red — not crying, just… strained. Like something inside her had been fighting for years.
Selene:
"Can I… say my story?"
For a moment, Emma didn't answer.
Then she nodded once, wordless.
Selene took a breath.
---
Selene:
"When I was a kid… I liked the pink toys. The cute ones. The dresses.
My mother was the most beautiful person I knew. I looked at her and thought… I want to be like that. I want… that beauty."
Her voice sounded small. Not weak. Just honest.
Selene:
"When my friends talked about boys they liked… I couldn't join. I'd try to think really hard — which boy looks handsome? Which one should I like?"
"…but nothing came."
She looked at her own hands.
Selene:
"So I laughed along. Pretended. But inside I knew. I was different."
She swallowed.
Selene:
"And the more I grew, the more I realized… I was only drawn to girls. Beautiful girls. Graceful ones. Dangerous ones. Strong ones."
Her eyes lifted — straight into Emma's.
Selene:
"People like you."
The room felt colder.
Selene:
"You don't understand how it feels.
To look at someone…
and think they are the meaning of your breathing."
Her fingers curled.
"And I thought if Diana stayed… you'd never look at me."
---
Emma didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Didn't react.
There was no anger.
Just silence.
Everyone waited for Emma's response.
Something emotional.
Something angry.
Something cold.
But Emma simply turned around.
No words.
No acknowledgement.
No judgement.
Just her footsteps leaving the room.
Selene's eyes widened — not in pain —
but in realization:
She wasn't even worth a response.
-----
Vencor's Base – Night.
The room was dim.
Only the lantern hanging above gave a faint yellow glow across the floor.
Roland's corpse was gone.
The drugs were nearly gone.
The empire he built was cracking.
Vencor stood alone.
He finally rose from his seat.
For the first time in a long time… he stood with purpose.
His coat shifted behind him as he exhaled—a slow, heavy breath.
His eyes were calm.
Not angry.
Not panicked.
Just… accepting.
Vencor:
"…Emma Elarat."
He didn't call her "the girl".
He didn't call her "child".
He didn't call her "Ethan's daughter".
He called her by her name.
Because she had earned that.
He walked to the door.
The guards stepped aside, silent.
Some were afraid.
Some were confused.
Vencor didn't explain.
He didn't need to.
He stepped outside into the cold.
The sky was dark, cloudy.
No moon.
He cracked his neck once, in a slow motion.
Then… he took one step forward.
And then another.
And another.
Not fast.
Not aggressive.
Calm.
Steady.
Like a man going to his final appointment.
He could have taken a car.
He could have taken men.
He could have flown, driven, or commanded an assault.
But no.
He chose to walk.
Because for him…
This wasn't war.
This was inevitable.
Three to five days on foot.
Across dry fields, roads, abandoned lots, empty fences, silent stations.
He liked walking.
The world was quiet when you walked.
He wanted to think.
He wanted to remember.
Every step echoed with memories of Ethan.
With the sound of old laughter.
With the shadow of past sins.
He knew what this was.
A debt.
One long overdue.
He whispered to the silent night:
Vencor:
"I will face your daughter myself… Ethan."
His footsteps faded into the dark.
No guards.
No escort.
No fear.
Just Vencor.
Walking to meet the monster he helped create.
Chapter end