The coffee maker was making more noise than it should have. Every drop of liquid in the brewing process sounded like the ticking of an unavoidable clock as its buzz reverberated throughout the otherwise silent apartment. As I clutched the mug, my fingers trembled as I tried to relax my breathing and my mind. But it was insufficient.
I poured the coffee, slowly and with intent. Steam ascended, twisting like smoke, and for an instant, I gazed at it, bewildered. The silence was overwhelming. Excessively silent. Camille's laughter was absent, Alexis offered no scientifical comments, and Sienna's gentle voice was silent. The outside world appeared to pause in silence.
My grip slipped just as I reached for the drink. I couldn't stop thinking about Connor's smile, his cold tone with me, and the way his voice echoed in my mind. Sienna's screams. I could feel the stress building inside of me, my fingers getting stiff, my chest tightening, until—
The porcelain's sharp edges sliced into my flesh as the mug broke in my hands. My bare feet were splashed with hot, boiling coffee that spilled across the counter. I remained motionless. I didn't flinch as the dark liquid flowed from my palm, mingling with blood. Didn't even blink.
The sharp smell of coffee burned my nose, but I didn't react.
I heard her before I saw her—Sienna, standing silently in the doorway, her eyes on me. No words. Just that soft, searching gaze that knew something was wrong. She didn't say a thing. Just walked over and, with that quiet grace of hers, grabbed a dish towel and began cleaning up the mess.
I watched her, numb. She didn't ask. Didn't demand. Just... helped. But even in this, there was a distance. Something between us that wasn't there before. And I couldn't tell if it was me or her who had changed.
She finished cleaning, and when she stood up, she looked at me for a long moment. Her hand rested on the counter, eyes still locked on mine. And then, without another word, she turned and left the room.
The silence stretched between us, thick as fog.
I didn't thank her. Didn't say a word.
But I wanted to. So badly.
The gloves were heavier than usual. I could feel the weight with every punch, each strike against the shadow of the bag feeling less like exercise and more like an attempt to outrun my own thoughts. The rhythm was mechanical. Boring. The gloves met the bag in steady, controlled thuds. Jab. Cross. Hook. I couldn't focus. Couldn't stay still.
I tore the gloves off and tossed them aside, moving to the punching bag. My knuckles cracked against the rough surface with each hit, the fabric groaning under the force. Sweat stung my eyes, but I didn't stop. Each strike was a memory. Each thud was a reminder.
"Reynard, you will be a tool for us." Connor's voice cut through the noise in my head.
Punch.
"Think about it, Reynard. Everyone beneath us." Mark's voice, smooth, coaxing.
Punch.
Sienna's eyes begged for anything to end the misery, and her sobbing were muffled. As my fists struck the bag more forcefully and quickly, her screams echoed in my head. Her screams and the sound of her heart shattering were still audible to me, and it caused my chest to constrict and my eyesight to go blurry.
Punch.
Sand poured out of the bag in a gritty waterfall as it ripped at the seams. I continued even though my hands were slippery from perspiration and blood. With every blow, the flesh on my knuckles ripped open and cracked. I didn't care when the bag tore apart and the pieces stuck to the stand. The anger brewing within of me scarcely recognized the agony in my hands.
One more hit.
And then—
The bag burst. Sand exploded from the sides, dust filling the air like a choking cloud. I stood there, panting, blood dripping from my hands, staring at the shredded remnants of the bag. My chest heaved, but the fury hadn't subsided.
I collapsed to the floor, my back against the wall. Sweat poured down my face. My fists still clenched, the broken bag in front of me like some kind of defiled corpse. The room was silent, save for my uneven breathing.
The camera in the corner of the room clicked quietly. It lingered on the wreckage, a silent witness to the destruction.
I changed into clean clothes, the fabric of the shirt too tight around my chest. I couldn't sit still. My body itched for motion, for action, but there was nothing left to act on—not yet.
I went from room to room without going where I was supposed to. The girls were still resting on the couch, and their presence served as a reminder of the life I was doing all in my power to save. The lines and patterns of Camille's unfinished works, which were left on the tabletop, were a mute tribute to her constant inventiveness. Even though it seemed like the world had fallen apart around us, Alexis's laptop continued to hum silently in her office, her work still in progress.
The city lights were twinkling under the fog as I gazed out at the skyline. If anyone else sensed it, I wondered. The world's fracture. The feeling that something profound and permanent had changed. It was only a matter of time until everything fell apart because the cracks had gotten wider.
I paced again, feeling the walls close in on me. I couldn't breathe in here. I couldn't—
The balcony door creaked as I pushed it open. I stepped out into the cold, taking in the night air. It was still, eerily so, and the city stretched before me like a painting I no longer recognized.
The silence outside wasn't any better than the one inside.
I went back in. Walked past mirrors I didn't dare look into. Kept moving, walking in endless circles, my feet carrying me without direction.
By dusk, Sienna was once more snuggled up with her eyes open beneath her blanket. Watching me. She remained silent. However, I could sense the weight of her stare and the questions that lingered between us.
This time, as I approached her, her hand extended and grasped my wrist.
I paused and gazed down at her tiny, fragile fingers encircling my arm. Her hold grew firmer, persistent rather than demanding. As if she was worried that if she let go, I might disappear.
I didn't know what to say. What could I say? Words felt useless, hollow. So instead, I sank to the floor beside her, sitting carefully between her and Camille, not looking at either of them. Just... sitting.
Camille was quiet. She always was in moments like this. But I could see it in her eyes—the worry, the concern, the knowledge that I was unraveling. She'd always known me better than anyone. Always seen through the layers.
Alexis hovered by the kitchen, a soft offer of tea that I declined without thinking. The silence was too thick now, suffocating, and my heart was heavy in my chest. But I didn't move. Didn't speak.
Sienna's fingers were still wrapped around my wrist, holding on tight, as if she could keep me tethered. Keep me here.
Camille's voice broke the stillness, quiet but firm. "Rey, you can talk to us. We are in this together, remember?"
I didn't answer. Instead, I held Sienna's hand tighter. And for a moment, in the quiet, in the stillness, I felt it. That fragile thread of connection.
It wasn't much. But it was all I had left.
I eventually succumbed to fatigue late that evening. My thoughts wouldn't let me sleep, even though my body felt like lead. My mind was racing with a thousand useless thoughts while my eyes looked at the ceiling. I was unable to calm my inner turmoil.
Then, my phone buzzed. A notification. I reached over, half-expecting it to be Anthony. But no. The screen lit up with a name I didn't expect. Mark.
I hesitated. Just a second. And then I answered.
His voice modulated, smooth as always, but now it sounded... softer, almost apologetic.
"I heard about what happened to Sienna. My condolences." The words dripped with pitiful sympathy.
My stomach twisted around.
He went on, his voice level and cold, "And my apologies, Reynard, because I was the reason your identity was revealed."
My blood froze. My fingers clenched around the phone as I gazed at the screen.
As if the remarks weren't enough to make me furious, he said again.
"You must understand it truly was not my intention."
My jaw clenched. My fist curled slowly.
"If the next sentence out of your mouth isn't an explanation, Mark, I'll kill you."