Hope watched her pen scrape against the file, adding yet another line to what was probably already a mess of a report.
She wrote quickly, pausing only to glance up at him every now and then, like she was trying to decipher him.
Hope didn't like it.
There was something about being studied that made his skin itch.
He was used to being ignored. Used to people overlooking him, dismissing him as just another nobody from the outskirts.
But Cara was watching him too closely.
Then, suddenly—
"What's your flaw?"
The question came so fast that Hope almost flinched.
He recovered quickly, keeping his face blank.
But inside—
He felt a flicker of annoyance.
That was a trick question.
A deliberate trap.
He knew how the world worked. Even in the slums, people whispered about flaws—the hidden weaknesses of the Ascended. Some flaws were minor, some were crippling, and some could be exploited in battle.
Hope wasn't stupid.
If someone knew your flaw, they owned a piece of you.
Could use it against you. Twist it. Turn it into a weapon.
And yet…
His flaw wasn't exactly combat-related.
He thought back to The Veil's voice, still echoing in his soul—
"You shall forever be hunted by inner voices and guilt…"
"Your flaw is: Mental Deprivation…"
A slow chill spread through his spine.
Would it really matter if people knew?
It wasn't like he could turn off the whispers in his head. The shadowed thoughts that curled around his mind like a noose, whispering doubts, regrets, half-remembered screams.
He had already lived with them for years. Although the veil and spoken to him before he was marked.
In the end, after what felt like a long moment of silence—
He smirked.
"My flaw is…" he let the words drag, watching her lean in slightly, waiting—
Then he finished, voice utterly flat:
"I'm mad."
For the first time in the conversation—
Cara stopped writing.
She blinked.
And for just a second, she looked like she was actually thrown off guard.
Hope was amused.
It was true, wasn't it?
If someone was mentally unstable, that meant they were mad, right? That's what people said in the outskirts. If you heard voices, if you talked to things that weren't there, if your mind was a storm you couldn't escape—
Then you were just mad.
So what he said wasn't wrong.
Cara, though, was frowning now, rubbing her temple like he had just given her a headache.
"What kind of flaw is that?" she muttered, more to herself than him.
Hope just grinned, leaning back against the chair.
"Exactly what I said."
Cara exhaled sharply, looking back down at the file.
And just like that—
Her pen started moving again.