Chapter 8: The Sway

Est

Est heard a gunshot.

It wasn't loud, but it wasn't soft either. It was sudden— like a muffled, violent crack that split the silence.

He barely heard it.

But he heard it.

And it made his heart jump in his chest.

He turned around and looked.

There was a man on the ground. He was lying still, unmoving, eyes wide with the last flicker of fear trapped in their depths.

Est tried to scream, but no sound came.

Just silence, and the rush of smoke wafting like lazy ghosts, curling around the edges of the scene. In the blink of an eye, everything became a swirling haze of dreams and memories.

Like a reset button, the stranger was kneeling again.

But this time, it wasn't him.

It was Thame.

His Thame.

His face was chalk white with terror, his hands clasped as if in prayer, blood spreading across his forehead like ink on white paper.

The world around them twisted. The ground turned to water. The walls melted like wax.

An invisible man stood nearby, holding the gun. Est couldn't see him, only hear his breathing— slow, calm and cruel.

"Please..." Est whispered, or maybe shouted. His voice was swallowed by the muddled rush. He tried to move, but his feet were planted by an invisible force.

Thame's lips moved, begging for a chance to live. Est couldn't make out the words, but he knew.

Then the gun fired again, and everything shattered.

The image broke into pieces like a stone dropped on a mirror. In the fragments, Est saw the silver wings of a plane tearing through clouds, fire swallowing the sky, a scream without a face.

He jolted awake, sitting up, a ragged gasp tearing from his throat. Sweat slicked his skin like a second layer, and the air in the room felt too still.

He swept his gaze around, searching for the silent enemy.

Shadows stretched long and thin across the pristine white walls, bending into strange shapes that seemed to mock him. The quiet rang in his ears like malicious cackles.

He sat there, chest heaving, staring at the walls as if they might crack open and pull him back from the nightmare he was currently in.

It would be five hours before sleep found him again.

~~~

The door softly clicked open and Est slowly came awake, the sound pulling him from his short lived slumber.

An armed guard stepped in first, boots thudding softly against the floor, his rifle hanging loosely by his side. A maid followed after, holding a silver tray, the cutlery faintly clicking against a porcelain plate.

Est didn't move.

His limbs were too heavy, too tired. Almost as if they'd been cut out of stone. His body was spent, heavy with exhaustion, hollowed out by the gnawing ache in his stomach.

His hunger had weakened him beyond words.

The maid glanced down at the tray from yesterday, still untouched, then at Est, her face falling with quiet worry.

She turned and spoke to the guard, whispering something Est couldn't hear— her expression one of concern.

Then she placed the new tray on the low table by the wall and walked out with the old one. The guard followed after, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving Est alone with the quiet and the smell of food.

Est stood slowly, dragging his heavy body toward the tray.

Steam curled upward from the plate like delicate ribbons, filling the room with a faint, warm scent.

Est looked down at the plate, his stomach twisting so violently, he thought his insides would explode.

It was chicken and rice. With vegetables. And a single glass of water.

He'd been served the same thing yesterday.

Bland.

Flavorless looking.

Calculated.

He remembered Comfort Food, remembered how food had been used as a tool, to make the protagonist subservient. The long-term psychological effects it left on her.

He wasn't stupid.

He understood what was happening. This was just another game.

Will was fucking with him.

Trying to break him down piece by piece, starting with the smallest, most basic human need.

Est refused to eat.

He clenched his jaw and shut his eyes. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

He pushed himself away from the table, every step stumbling against the marble, and he slipped past the glass doors into the balcony.

His stomach bit at him sharply, punishing him for his stubbornness, but he ignored it.

He sat by the railing, close enough to feel the breeze on his face but far from the scent of the food. The hunger gnawed at him, but he didn't give in.

His resolve was fixed, louder.

The morning dragged on endlessly. Time moved slowly, cruelly.

He spent hours on that balcony, watching cloud slip past the sun, waiting for something— anything, to happen.

His hunger made his head sway, made his body shiver, made his vision blur. It was unbearable, a strong hand pressing against his gut. He could feel himself unraveling, falling apart thread by thread, as if a single slip could make him crumble.

He sagged against the railing, letting the bite claim its host.

William

By mid-afternoon, the door clicked open again.

William stepped in with that same effortless, unbothered grace.

He was dressed casually but elegantly— loose white button up that outlined his tattoos, white cotton trousers that hung in a way that looked careless yet deliberate. In his hand, he carried another tray.

William swept his gaze across the space.

Est was nowhere in sight... but the balcony doors were open, letting in warm light and soft wind.

His eyes fell on the tray next.

The food was untouched, probably stale by now.

His jaw tightened.

Setting the new tray down with a low clink, his stare sharpened, and he walked towards the balcony.

The sun greeted him as he stepped outside— bright and golden. He might have taken in the stunning landscape if he wasn't already ticked.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted a figure slumped near the railing, almost lifeless looking.

Est was crumpled on the floor, folded in on himself, like something delicate that had been carelessly thrown aside.

William didn't speak.

And Est didn't look up... not at first.

He sat still against the railing, shoulders rounded, hair mussed by the breeze. He looked tired— both physically and mentally. His spirit looked broken, in a wau that was almost pitiful.

When their eyes finally met, Est's were blazing, sharp with raw hatred and rage. It was silent but loud enough to burn.

William held the stare with his usual unworried calm, completely unfazed.

For a long, tense heartbeat, nothing existed between them except that shared silence, a conversation without words.

Then William broke it.

"Come inside." His voice was flat, almost void of emotion. But underneath his tone was a warning. A promise of consequences if disobeyed.

He didn't wait for a reply.

He just turned and walked back into the room.

Est sat there, fingers sprawled on his knees.

His mind screamed to resist, to stay right where he was.

To not give in to this monster.

But fear still lurked underneath, and his will wavered.

At the end of day, this man killed somebody. Maybe even countless others. And after, he returned to his spotless, white house like there wasn't blood on his hands.

Est didn't want to be another name in his probable long list of bodies.

After a long internal debate, he picked himself up from the floor, slowly, stiffly. Then he dragged himself past the glass doors, and into the room that had become his gilded prison.

His movements were small, careful, almost hesitant— like someone walking into a storm they couldn't avoid.

William stood by the bed, hands casually tucked into his pockets. His posture was straight, sturdy, radiating power and quiet confidence.

They were silent at first, stood a distance away from each other in the spacious room. Then.

"You won't eat." William started. It wasn't a question, but it didn't sound like a scold either.

It just... was.

A chill crawled through Est's spine. "I'm not hungry..." He responded, voice hoarse.

William blinked, gave him an empty stare. "So you're suicidal and... anorexic?" His tone was one of mock amusement.

The words were a slap, the sting even harsher.

"Fuck you..." Est growled low, chest rising and falling now.

William tilted his head, eyes glinting, lips slightly twitching. "You would know about that."

His arrogance was infuriating.

Est bit back a retort, jaw clenched.

He knew he couldn't win a verbal spar. He couldn't win anything.

Not against him.

William.

William turned— hands still deep in his pockets, stepping towards the table, before settling down.

Calm. Composed as always.

Like a man who controlled everything in the room without even needing to say a word. Then he looked at Est. "Come here..." He said, voice firm.

Est didn't move.

William's stare hardened.

There was no shouting. No low threats. Just that one look— sharp enough to cut, cold enough to frighten— commanding him without words.

"You can't control me..." Est said, his voice wavering but still defiant. Then lower. "You won't break me..." He said... more to himself than William.

A small reminder. A fragile shield.

William gave him another unreadable look, eyes fixed, unblinking, as his mind worked.

Then. "I don't break people who don't want to be broken... Est." Calm and measured.

"You kept me locked in here like a rat." Est countered.

"You're my guest."

"It doesn't seem that way."

"I don't keep my prisoners in a mansion."

The words stunned Est. Made his breath catch.

For a second, a small silence hung between them. Then it grew— heavy, thick.

"Sit." William said finally, this time firmer, the single word slicing through the tension like a sharp blade.

Est's chest rose and fell, his heart thudded from his anxiety.

Finally he moved.

One step.

And another.

Then another.

Each step felt like it weighed a ton.

When he got to the table, he pulled the chair back and sat— careful, cautious, the eye contact never breaking.

Est's chest pounded in his ribs. William's face remained impassive.

Breaking away from the look, William turned to the plate, scooped a spoonful of rice, and held it out to him.

Est stared at the spoon.

His throat bobbed, tightened. His pride and insides screamed against it, the quiet command in the gesture.

His body wanted— needed the food. Everything in him begged for it.

But his mind burned with the need not to yield. Not to submit.

He hated that this man frightened him. Hated the way his heart raced, the way his hands trembled slightly.

Hated the certainty that he would do it.

He knew he would.

And from the way Will's hands stood unmoving, he knew it too.

Reluctantly, Est's dry lips parted, and he leaned forward. Time seemed to slow as he closed his mouth around the spoon, lips brushing against the cold metal, steam warming the roof of his mouth.

Est took the food in.

And for a brief second, time stopped.

Their eyes locked again. Bare against soft.

William's eyes were steady, unreadable as always.

But Est could also swear, for a millisecond, he saw a flicker in there.

A flash of hunger. But not the kind you fed with food.

Then it was gone.

William blinked, gaze slipping away. He stood abruptly, the chair scraping the floor. "Clear your plate."

The order was assertive, left no room for disobedience.

And then he was gone.

The door closed softly behind him, the sound echoing louder than a slam.

Est sat there, staring at the door, a small war raging in his chest.

Hong

Hong stood outside the large wooden door, the cool, gentle breeze from the surrounding gardens somehow feeling thick and heavy against his skin.

The entire house stood before him like a sleeping beast— quiet, elegant, but dangerous underneath the surface. He knew of the ghosts that dwelled here, secrets that would rattle bones.

His chest felt tight, as light unease pressed against his ribs.

Things were going straight to hell.

And dragging him down with it.

Yet somehow, even with everything unraveling around him, he only thought of one person.

Est.

He hated himself for it— hated the guilt, the responsibility that came with it.

He could've stopped this.

He should've stopped this.

He didn't.

So now, it was his fault.

And he had to fix it.

Taking a shaky breath— one that did nothing to ease the burn in his chest, he stepped past the armed guards into the large house.

He found William in his workshop.

The faint scent of clay hit him before he even walked in.

It was large and open, windows spilling golden streaks of sunlight from the outside. It was one of the few spaces in the house that felt... human.

Warm.

Lived in.

Free of ghosts and its haunting history.

A spinning wheel sat at the center, the shelves lined with clay vases and bowls, some finished, others bare and wet. Waiting.

He was sitting shirtless by the wheel— eyes focused, built body glistening with sweat, muscles shifting under inked skin as his hands moved with careful precision over the spinning clay.

The hum of the wheel filled the room— steady and rhythmic.

William didn't look up.

He never did.

His gaze remained trained on his task, his brows creased in concentration.

Hong leaned against the doorway for a moment, watching him shape the clay with that silent intensity he always radiated.

It was strange— how someone like him, cold and terrifying, could look less scary, almost... approachable, when he did something like this.

Hong sighed. Then stepped in.

"Will?" His voice was soft, almost vulnerable.

William didn't pause. "Hmm?"

"We need to talk... about Est."

William's eyes was still focused on what he was doing, as if nothing outside of it mattered. "What about him?"

"You have to let him go..." Hong said.

William chuckled.

It was low, small, but it carried something taunting underneath. "Why?"

"He didn't do anything..." Hong insisted. "There's no need to hold him here."

William's didn't speak for a minute. Just kept spinning.

Hong waited, patience in check.

Then. "He saw me." Will said, tone flat, bored.

"He can't do anything..." Hong reminded him, stepping closer. His voice was firm now. "You know that better than anyone else."

That made William pause. His hand faltered.

The clay fell apart on the spinning wheel.

Slowly, he looked up at Hong. "You seem to have this misconception..." He murmured, quiet but sharp. "That I'm Invisible."

"In this city... you are." Hong responded, just as sure.

William's mouth curved in a humorless smile. "Hmmm maybe... But that was before we had a federal agent up our asses."

"I told you... I'm handling it." Hong said but this time his voice wavered.

The air grew tense.

William's stare was pointed now. "I don't trust you, Hong..." He said, his voice lowred.

The words hit harder than they should have, but Hong didn't flinch.

He knew Will.

Knew it wasn't true.

So he didn't reassure. Didn't need to.

Tightening his jaw, he said. "Then don't... But you don't need Est for this."

Silence.

Then, with a quiet sigh, he returned back to the wheel, hands shaping clay again, fingers gentle but firm.

"You can take him..." William said finally. "Do whatever you want."

The relief nearly knocked Hong off his feet. But he didn't let it show.

He just nodded once— eyes concealing gratitude and left the workshop without another word.

The hallways felt longer with every step he took.

Hong moved fast, his boots thudding against the polished floor.

When the guard stepped aside and he pushed the door to Est's room open, the sight that greeted him hollowed something in his chest.

Est sat by the bed, knees pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped around them like he was holding himself together.

His hair was messy, eyes dull and lifeless with dark shadows underneath. The look on his face was distant, not empty particularly, but... exhausted.

The kind of exhaustion that clung to the bones.

He looked up at the sound of the door. His eyes met Hong's, and it wasn't just hatred that burned there.

Something else did.

Something quiet and broken.

"Let's go..." Hong said softly, eyes laced with guilt.

Est blinked once, then slowly stood from the floor.

He didn't ask any questions.

Didn't say a word.

He just moved, letting his feet carry him where Hong went.

The drive was quiet.

Unnaturally quiet.

Neither of them spoke.

Hong's hands were tight around the steering wheel, knuckles pale as dread. He wanted to say something— anything— to ease the weight hanging between them, but the words were lodged in his throat.

Est stared out the window the entire time, his reflection blurring out the view of his surrounding.

He didn't move. Didn't sigh.

He just sat there, worn out, a ghost in his own body.

Hong's chest ached.

Guilt coursed through him like acid, searing, painful, leaving deep scars.

When they pulled into Est's driveway, Hong had barely rolled to a stop before Est unclipped his seatbelt. He reached for the door handle without even sparing him a glance.

"Est—" Hong called softly.

Est froze, hand on the door.

Hong swallowed. His chest tightened.

He didn't even know what he wanted to say— he just knew, he couldn't let him leave.

Not yet.

Not like this.

Not without saying a word.

A long silence hung.

Then. "Sparkles is at your mom's." Hong finally said.

Est stiffened.

They had access to her.

His mom.

Somehow that made him shatter a little more.

He didn't turn around. Didn't speak.

But Hong saw him— the way his shoulders tensed, the way his aura darkened.

"I dropped her off myself..." Hong went on. "Est—" He paused, weighing his word carefully. "Just live as if that night never happened... Forget..."

Est still remained still, unmoving.

Hong whispered. "That way, you never have to see me... or him... again."

Est's shoulders dropped a bit, then he pushed the door open and stepped out.

Hong called again, louder this time. "Est."

He stopped again, before turning around, irritation flashing faintly across his tired features. "What is it?"

Hong's gaze fell, regret swarming them. He reached into the glovebox, pulled his phone, his watch and keys out.

He wordlessly held it out.

Est stared at it, then at Hong, and something unreadable passed between them.

Quiet. Heavy.

He took them, then turned and walked away.

Hong watched the the door close behind him.

For a long time, he just sat there in the car, the engine idling softly. Then he shut the passenger door, slammed his foot on the pedal and sped off.

Est

Est closed the door behind him and leaned back against it.

The silence inside his apartment was loud. It filled the room, pressed tight against him. His heart pounded fast in his chest, wild and uneven.

Even though he was free— or technically free— the air didn't feel lighter.

The world didn't feel any better.

It felt heavier. Like the weight had just shifted into another shape but never left.

His knees gave out slowly, and he sank to the floor, chest tight, breath shaky. Tears burned hot behind his eyes before spilling out.

He buried his face in his hands.

No matter what he seemed to do, no matter how hard he tried to move forward, he always ended up here.

The same miserable, dark corner.

Est spent the next three days indoors.

Sleeping. Or just existing.

His house didn't feel like a home anymore.

The air was stale, heavy with everything he wanted to forget.

Dirty clothing lay abandoned in corners. Dishes stacked in the sink. The curtains stayed drawn, keeping the light out, as if that would keep his fear out too.

His phone buzzed endlessly, vibrating next to him like an consistent reminder of a life he wasn't living.

Missed calls. Texts. Notifications.

They filled the screen until it blurred together, and he started ignoring it completely.

He lay in bed most of the day, staring at the ceiling, blank and unblinking. Sometimes he'd close his eyes, but sleep never came peacefully. His mind wouldn't let him rest.

The scene replayed again and again.

The gunshot.

The man hitting the ground.

The blood.

Every time Est tried to shake it off, the image bled itself back into his head, polluting his mind. His stomach twisted with guilt.

He didn't pull the trigger... but it didn't matter.

He was part of it.

He was there.

He saw it.

So he was a part of it.

This big secret.

He hated the silence his life had become.

But somehow, the noise made it worse.

Tui called.

Texted.

And called again.

The first day, Est watched the screen light up but he didn't pick up.

The second day, Tui showed up at the door.

Est saw his shadow through the crack beneath it. He knocked, soft, firm taps against the wood. Est sat on the staircase, in the dark, listening to Tui's voice outside.

"Est... Est?"

Est didn't answer.

Couldn't.

His mouth had been sown shut.

After a while, Tui left.

Est stayed there long after, shoulder resting against the railing, heartbeat hammering in his ears.

He hated himself.

Hated what he was doing to Tui.

Hated how everything had changed.

By the third day, the ache inside him became unbearable.

The walls felt like they were closing in, and even breathing hurt. He knew he couldn't keep lying in this shell forever.

He needed air.

He needed something familiar.

He needed his mother.

He dragged himself to the bathroom, stared at the stranger in the mirror— pale skin, eyes sunken with exhaustion, chapped lips.

He washed his face, changed into clean clothes, and finally forced himself out of the house.

When he arrived at his mom's, the door opened before he could even knock.

"Est!" Her warm voice wrapped around him before her arms did. She pulled him in tightly, clutching him like she was scared he'd slip away if she let go.

Est buried his face into her shoulder. She smelled like detergent and caramel, usual, comforting.

It almost made him crumble.

"Est, you had me worried for a minute..." She said, stepping back just enough to cup his face. "What is going on with you? First you have a stranger drop Sparkles off, then you disappear for days and you don't call?"

Est forced a weak smile. "Something came up, Mae."

She didn't believe him.

Her eyes softened, but worry carved lines into her face. "Are you still going to therapy, Po?" She asked quietly.

He dropped his gaze to the floor. "I'm better, Mae... I'm writing again." He lied.

She studied him carefully, searching his face answers.

For the truth.

He wasn't sure if she saw it— the exhaustion behind his eyes, the fear clawing at his chest.

"I'm just worried, Est..." She whispered. Her lips trembled, and she blinked hard to hold the tears back.

Est reached for her shoulder, squeezing it gently. "Don't worry, Mae... You don't have to worry about me."

He didn't know if he was reassuring her or himself.

She exhaled shakily, then pulled him into another hug. Her fingers threaded through his hair like she used to when he was a boy.

For a moment, Est let himself melt into that warmth— safe, familiar, forgetting.

He spent the night there.

Ate the warm food she made even though it sat heavy in his stomach. Sat quietly with her as she chattered about the suspicious neighbor next door or hummed soft songs with Sparkles in her lap.

He didn't tell her anything that happened. She didn't ask.

Maybe because she already knew he wouldn't answer.

The next day, he returned home with Sparkles.

The quiet house welcomed him like an old enemy. At this point, it was too big for comfort, Est decided.

A few days later, he stepped out to get groceries.

The street was warm, alive— unlike the suffocating silence of his home. It almost felt strange being around people again, hearing buzz of chatter and warm laughter he'd forgotten in the span of a few dreadful days.

He returned, plastic bags in his hand, his steps slow, eyes distant. His heart sank when he saw someone sitting by his front door.

Tui.

He was hunched forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped, as if he'd been there a while.

When he heard the footsteps approaching, his head lifted. His eyes were tired, but steady.

"Tui?" Est murmured, almost unsure if he was real.

Tui stood slowly, worried eyes fixed on him, brushing dust off his pants. "I figured I'd see you eventually..." He said softly.

Est stood a few feet away, lump in his throat, the air thickening between them.

"You've been avoiding my calls." He said, not angry, but calm, tinged with hurt.

It was somehow worse.

"I wasn't avoiding you..." Est lied, eyes flicking away.

"Est..." Tui's voice was firm, but still soft."Don't lie to me."

Est shut his eyes, clutched the bags even tighter.

He didn't know what to say.

He wasn't ready for this.

Tui stepped closer. "Talk to me... If it's something I did—"

"It's not." Est cut, eyes opening, though fixed on the ground.

"Then what is it?"

Est couldn't answer. His throat burned with words he couldn't form.

He hated the way Tui was still here. Drawing closer. Like he mattered, like he was something worth holding onto.

"I like you, Est.." Tui said, moving closer.

Est's gaze lifted, somber eyes meeting his.

"I like you..." Tui repeated, slower this time, as if trying to make it clearer. "And I know how we left things off. I know I couldn't be what you needed that night."

Est's breath hitched, regret flashing in his eyes. He looked away, not wanting Tui to read him.

Tui pressed on. "I— I just... I need to know if you feel something too. If this means anything to you." His voice was low, barely above a whisper.

Est didn't move. Just stood still, rooted to the spot, heart thudding against his ribs.

He also didn't pull away when Tui reached for his hands, the warmth of his palms pressing against his cold fingers. He didn't turn away when Tui leaned forward, pressing his foreheads together, their breaths mingling.

"I know what I said..." Tui whispered. "About taking things slow. But we can go at your pace... I can do that. I want to do that Est... But only if you want to be with me too."

The words cracked something open inside Est. But still, he couldn't speak.

"I'm not asking for everything right now..." Tui added, voice soft. "Just honesty. Just... something real."

Est swallowed hard, finally meeting his eyes...

And in their depths, he saw only tenderness, adoration.

For him.

Est's eyes softened, and a weight shifted off him. "I... I need time, Tui." He whispered finally. "To get myself together." He said, but his voice held a promise.

Tui's gave him an understanding smile. "Then take your time E..." He said softly. "I can wait."

Est nodded softly, eyes still on Tui's.

For a while, they just stood there, forehead to forehead, stares lingering, silent but breathing in the same air.

Finally Tui stepped back, his hands slipping away from Est's slowly, as if he was letting go of something delicate.

"I have to go..." He murmured.

Est nodded.

Tui gave him one last look— the kind that said everything his lips couldn't, then he turned and walked away.

Est eyes followed, down to where he parked his car. The sound of his engine starting was louder than it should have been, the noise almost startling Est.

When the door closed behind him, the quiet returned. But this time it wasn't heavy. It was strangely lighter.

That night, as he laid in the dark, he made a decision.

He wanted to take a step forward with Tui. He wanted to feel something other than the guilt rotting inside him.

But to do that, he needed to face it. He needed to get rid of the weight pressing down on him.

He remembered William's words— the way he'd said them like they were gospel.

It wouldn't matter if you did.

It made Est sick.

His mind drifted to Nut.

He was a cop.

If there was anyone who could help him, it would be him.

The next morning, he grabbed his phone, scrolled to number he was looking for, then hit the dial button.

Nut answered on first ring. "Hey cuz."

"Hey." Est said, his voice steadier than he thought it'd be. "Can we meet up? At Blues cafe near my place... Like right now."

"Uhm, this sounds urgent. Are you okay?" His voice was one of worry.

"Yeah— Yeah.. I just need to need to see you." His heart was already pounding.

"Okay... let me turn. See you in 30 minutes."

Then the call clicked.

Est grabbed his keys, his jacket.

But just as he was about to step out, his phone rang.

Unknown number.

A part of him wanted to ignore it. But something— an instinct, sharp and cold, made him pause.

He hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen.

He decided not to answer.

A text came through seconds later.

Unknown number: [Image attached]

He opened it.

It was a picture of Nut.

Est froze.

A message followed.

Unknown number: Pick up.

The call came again.

Est's chest tightened and the air was suddenly too thick to breathe. His fingers trembled as he tapped the green button.

"You really want to piss me off..." The voice was low, empty. But underneath it, something cold burned.

William.

Est shuddered, sweat breaking out on his forehead.

"Call to cancel..." William said slowly, every word like a blade against Est's throat. "Or he dies... Don't try anything stupid."

The line went dead.

Est stood there, frozen, the sound of William's voice echoing in his skull.

Heart racing, he shook it off, then quickly called Nut, forcing his breathing to remain calm.

Nut answered.

"Hey, Nut, something came up..." He lied. "Can we reschedule?"

Nut was silent on the other end.

Est listened carefully. "Nut?"

"Are you okay, Est?" His tone almost seemed accusatory.

Est caught it, but he brushed it off as his violent heartbeat.

"Yeah— yeah." He closed his eyes, scratching his head as he thought up another lie. "I just wanted to talk about Thame... but something came up."

Nut was still quiet.

"We'll talk when I'm back... Don't worry about me."

Another silence. Then. "Okay... Take care Est."

"Yeah... you too."

Then he hung up.

He let out the breath he'd been holding, took another deep one to steady himself.

It didn't work.

So he just waited.

And waited.

Time ticked by slow. His heart thundered so loud it filled the room.

By the third hour, the knock came.

It wasnt violent, loud or sharp.

It was low, calculated.

Final.

But it still echoed through the house like a warning.

Est's chest tightened. His breathing hitched. Slowly, with shaky hands, he opened the door.

The drive to the mansion was quiet. Too quiet.

When they arrived, William was waiting— with that same bored, blank look of his.

Est swallowed hard, heart pounding violently in his chest. Taking another breath, he took a step forward.

Nut

A fisherman found the body.

The sun hadn't even risen yet, when he docked his workboat to check his nets, just another day of gruesome, honest work.

He saw the shape by the shoreline, drifting face-down, tangled in seaweed. It didn't look like a person anymore.

Just... something.

Bloated and pale, covered in dark clothing, swaying against the current.

He called the cops.

And the area was swarming with police by dawn.

The morgue confirmed it.

Nut's worse fear.

"Male, mid-thirties. ID confirms him as Earn Niran Suphasit, CEO of EarnChop." The coroner read out, voice straight, with practiced clinical detachment. "Time of death is estimated at approximately 3 days prior. Multiple fractures present. Cause of death... gunshot wound to the head."

The words landed heavy, like punch to the gut.

Nut stood still, arms folded, face carved into a frown. He didn't speak. Didn't move. Just listened to the post-mortem report, careful not to miss a detail.

Hong was the first to look away, clearly unsettled by the sight of the bloated corpse— the mangled pieces of the body not-so-carefully stitched back together. The acrid stench of embalming fluid only heightened his discomfort.

Nut face soured in barely restrained rage.

For weeks now, he'd been chasing shadows, chasing ghosts. Now his only solid lead had joined them.

He turned away abruptly, cursing under his breath before he left the building. Hong followed after, uneasy.

Back at the station, everything felt darker. Heavier. The hum of the ceiling fan was too loud, the light too bright.

Earn's death wasn't just another case.

It was a message.

Nut still smelled a rat.

Hours later, when most of the team had gone home and the sky outside darkened, Nut still sat at his desk.

Papers were spread everywhere, his mind worked non-stop.

He knew who did this.

The Yakuza.

They were known for their secret, brutal ways.

The witness... The confession.

Someone had leaked it.

And the only person he'd shown it to was the chief and...

Hong.

He shook the thought away.

There was no point jumping into conclusions. Anybody couldn't have gotten their hands on it. Whoever leaked it had gotten Earn killed.

All he knew now was he couldn't trust anyone.

Including Hong.

Not anymore.

The Witness... Gun Attapan.

That would be his next lead.

The next morning, he spoke to Hong, his tone straight to business. "Now that Earn is dead, the case has gone cold. We still have the witness, Gun. If he spills a little more, we might have something."

Hong nodded slowly. "Ok then, let's go get him."

The interrogation room was cold. The kind of cold that didn't come from air-conditioning, but from the gloom that came with bad news.

Gun sat in the metal chair with his hands cuffed to the table, a tremor in his thigh, sweat beading his forehead.

He was a small man, in his late-thirties, with a small face and dark eyes that had seen too much.

Hong was leaned against the a wall, arms crossed, watching. Nut sat in front him— his shoulders loosed, his eyes empty in a way that seemed unbothered.

Gun's voice was rattled. "You promised me a secure prison, and some good lawyers..." His eyes flicked wildly at the table, a sign of growing panic. "I don't see any lawyers."

Nut leaned forward, arms clasped, eyes cold. "You gave us a lead... But the man's dead."

Gun's wild eyes looked at Nut then, darker now. "I— I don't know—"

"Doesn't matter." Nut voice cracked like a whip. He slammed his hand on the table, hard enough to make Gun flinch. "The deal's off, you understand? The man you sold out was floating in a lake because you opened your mouth."

Hong straightened from the wall. "Nut—"

But Nut didn't stop.

His face had gone hard, jaw set. "Whoever leaked that info, they're here. And they're watching. You ready think the Yakuza are gonna let you live now? After you ratted them out? They're coming for you. And me? I'm gonna watch them rip you to pieces..."

Gun's breathing hitched, eyes wide with panic. "No, no— please— I told you everything I know—"

"Then start remembering more..." Nut hissed. "Because right now, the only thing keeping you alive is the fact that I haven't walked out of this room."

For a moment, Hong didn't recognize him.

Nut had always been sharp, determined— but never... this.

Cruel and ruthless.

And honestly, it startled him.

Seeing the ethical, respectable officer giving way to something darker. He couldn't tell if it was pretense... or real.

The irony of the situation baffled him though, almost made him laugh.

Because right now, in that moment, Nut looked like the bad cop, all threats and excessive fury. Meanwhile Hong looked like what he wasn't, an upstanding citizen, gentle, calm demeanor and reason.

Hong knew the lie too well. Knew how appearances was deceit.

He stepped forward, patted Nut's shoulder. "Nut, that's enough." His tone was calm but firm, cutting through the tension. "You're scaring him."

Nut turned on him, eyes flickering. "Good... Maybe fear will make him talk."

"That's not how this works... This is a deal, not an investigation..." Hong said evenly. "And he's still our only witness."

Nut exhaled sharply before backing away. He stood, cursing under his breath, and paced the room.

Hong took the seat. Then with a calm voice and even kinder eyes, he said. "Gun, listen to me. I know you're scared... But you're not safe out here— not right now. We can protect you. We just need more names. Names that hold weight. Tell us..." He turned briefly, stared at the now unmoving, intimidating Nut and then back at Gun. "Tell me... and I'll do everything in my power to keep you safe." He promised, voice calm, reassuring.

Gun swallowed hard, eyes darting between the two men. "Y-you can't protect me... Not after this..." His voice shook.

Hong offered a faint smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Let us try."

He reached over and slid a cup of water toward him. Gun's fingers trembled as he took it.

When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper. "There are others... Powerful people. But I'll only talk once I'm behind a secure prison. Not here. Not now."

Nut started to speak. "Not—"

"Okay." Hong cut, nodding slowly. "We'll make that happen."

Outside Nut grabbed him by the hand. "Don't tell me you actually believe that bullshit?"

"I believe he's terrified..." Hong said calmly. "All I know is he'll die if he stays here. I'd rather not have to deal with two bodies in a week."

"He's scum—"

"He's our only witness." Hong cut, calm, logical.

Nut's eyes flashed, surprised at his curt tone. And suddenly, his mistrust began to waver.

Hong let out a shaky breath. "Let's just... get him out of here first, and if he fools us, we'll figure the rest out."

Nut's defense went up again.

Maybe Hong just wanted to help.

Or maybe he had some other hidden motive.

Either way he couldn't trust him.

The two men stared at each other— one all sharp edges, the other calm control.

And in that small, suffocating hallway, the difference between them had never been more clear.

~~~

Three days.

That's how long it took for the permit to arrive.

Three long, sleepless days filled with endless paperwork, unanswered calls, and a growing sense of danger looming.

The longer they waited, the more everything began to feel off— the way officers would go silent when he walked in, the way conversations cut short, and how nothing ever seemed to move forward.

The permit came on the morning of the third day.

They both jumped into action.

Nut moved like a man on a mission. "We move now. No delay. Quiet transfer. I've already arranged for external security."

"Who?" Hong asked.

"People I trust." Nut said simply, voice firm.

They moved swiftly after that.

The station buzzed with urgency— phones ringing, boots echoing past corridors, orders exchanged under breath.

Gun was pulled from his cell, wrists bound, eyes wide, body trembling as though walking to his execution.

Hong walked beside him, his steps firm but unhurried.

Nut led the team, his voice steady as he gave instructions— formations, which routes to take, which roads to avoid, how to proceed if there was an attack.

His face was set as he spoke, but underneath, Hong could see the exhaustion behind his eye.

When they finally secured Gun in the van, Nut did one last check. His hand brushed over the side of the vehicle, testing the metal, tapping against it.

Then he climbed into the drivers seat of his car, Hong next to him. They pulled out of the station, the other police vehicles and the van following swiftly behind.

And soon the city faded into nothing but wide stretch of road, tall trees that almost blocked out the sun and rusty road signs.

An hour into the drive, the roads grew silent.

It was too quiet.

They'd taken the side route out of the city— safer, less used, less obvious. But somehow the air seemed to hold its breath.

Rain started to fall, soft at first, tracing lines down the windows. The wipers moved in steady rhythm, a slow, tired drone.

But it did nothing to ease the tremor in Nut's leg.

He looked like a man waiting— hands tight across the wheel, eyes darting across the roads. He didn't say a word, just kept observing.

Hong kept glancing at him, watching every twitch, every shallow breath. He kept his hand next holster, waiting, anticipatory.

The rain patted against glass. The wipers moved faster. The trees blurred into one long smear of green and fog.

The first shot came sharp, swift. From behind. A rain of gunfire followed, and their windshield shattered.

The van behind swerved violently, then halted.

Nut did the same, bowing his head low and grabbing his gun as bullets tore through the sides. He pushed the door open, took cover and fired at the direction the shots came from.

"Down!" Nut shouted. "Everyone down!"

The world turned into noise— deafening, blinding chaos.

Flashes of muzzle fire lit the rain. Bullets sparked off the van's armor, clanging against the reinforced steel. Officers fired blindly into the rush of the rain.

Hong smelled gunpowder, blood, wet asphalt. "Return fire!" Nut barked.

The guard from the van pushed open the door and went down in a haze of bullets.

Someone screamed— from pain and terror. Hong pressed lower, bowing his head as a bullet punched into the door he used as his shield.

Nut stood fully now, firing off rounds with no regards for his safety. Rain streaked across his face, mixing with his sweat. He looked wild— like something feral unleashed.

"Come on, you bastards—!"

An explosion— a police vehicle.

The van skidded from the impact, spun once, twice — metal screeching, the sound of steel hitting the wet road.

They both slammed into the ground from the force, the breaths knocked clean out of them.

And for a second, the world tilted. Gravity itself seemed to flicker.

Then— static.

Muffled gunfire, pained grunts and orders, pats of raindrops against bitumen.

Hong pulled himself up, shielding himself by the car door, weapon drawn.

Nut stood again on shaky feet, gun raised, firing blindly at the attackers. His ears rang from the explosion and his vision blurred.

Hong could see he stood in open line of fire. "Nut—"

That's when the man came, glock aimed, fixed on Nut's head.

Hong moved quickly, emptying his clip in the man's chest.

But he was too late.

Nut let out a pained grunt, clutching his shoulder, stumbling on his feet. He didn't drop though.

Hong crouched to him pulling him to the van to shield them from the battle. "Nut, we need to get out of here. We're sitting ducks here."

Nut shook his vision clear, still clutching his shoulder. "We have to get, Gun."

"Nut—"

Nut was already moving. "Cover me."

Hong hissed under his breath, stood in formation and fired.

Nut crouched, peeking through the small glass window at the back. "Gun—"

The man wasn't moving.

For a heartbeat, Nut thought maybe he'd just been knocked out from the explosion.

But then he saw it... The small red dot on his forehead, the way his body had slumped sideways, head bent at an unnatural angle.

Gritting his teeth, he turned and ran towards Hong. "Let's get out of here!"

"What about Gun?" Hong asked in exertion.

"He's dead. Let's move officer."

They both crouched back to their car, heads bowed low, turning occasionally to fire shots.

Nut climbed back into the driver's seat, turning the key in the ignition. The engine sputtered, then caught. Hong slid into the passenger seat, clicking his belt in place. Nut slammed his door shut and hit the gas.

The car tore down the road, its tires kicking against the muddy water. The roads blurred by in streaks of green and gray. Behind them, the rain swallowed every trace of what had happened.

Hong looked up slowly, meeting his eyes. "How did he die? Inside?"

Nut's jaw tightened. "Yes..." He paused before speaking again. "That van's reinforced steel. Nothing gets through it. If he's dead, someone killed him from inside."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The rain fell harder, drowning out everything else.

"You think someone planted—"

"I don't think..." Nut said, voice steel. "I know."

He glanced at the rearview, scanning the road, as if expecting another wave of gunfire. "Whoever did this works closely with us. We have to lay low for now."

Hong hesitated, breaths shaky. "Where?"

"Anywhere that isn't here."

__________________________________

Hello my lovelies♥️, I'm sorry for the late update. Last week was pretty uneventful for me, and well.. That's it.

I absolutely despise writing action scenes. Even more than I hate setting details. Would it make a difference if I just wrote. "Gunmen attacked, a car exploded, Gun was shot dead and Nut Hong fled?" Would that take away from the appeal?!? 😆 because honestly, that would make the whole writing process so much easier for me... shjdfsfsfsfsgf.

Anyhoo, I hope you enjoyed this one♥️. Next update should be Friday or Saturday tops.

Share my stories if you like them. See you when I see you♥️