Lucas voice rang out into the still night, uncaring about the weight crushing him.
"Everyone respects you! People follow you without hesitation! Even the air around you feels divine!"
As his laughter continued, tears began to streak from his eyes. Yet, his smile remained. His glasses slipped, falling from his nose, but he couldn't adjust them.
Still, he laughed.
And laughed.
And laughed.
Like a man who had completely lost his grip on reality.
Then, his voice dropped to a whisper, still smiling as he spoke.
"Your life is so envious, Atticus. I envy it so much. It's so—"
Before he could finish, Atticus's voice cut through his words.
It was not a question.
It was a demand.
A weight heavier than the world itself.
"Who are you?"
A pause.
"What are you up to?"
Lucas's laughter stopped, and his face settled into a quiet sigh.
'He knows.'
It was obvious now. Atticus already suspected him.
Lucas smiled wryly.
