It proved that he was wrong about him. That his thoughts were unfounded, apart from his resentment.

Isabella put a hand on the headmaster's shoulder, squeezed.

The silence lengthened.

"Well, this is as good a time as any to talk about a subject I've been putting off. It doesn't make sense that the Empire managed to infiltrate the academy grounds, along with so much equipment, even a robot. Not on their own. No doubt they had help. No doubt.

But a person without magic could not have infiltrated an academy in any way. Which means we have been betrayed. That one of those present... of those present, has sold out to the Empire."

"Mr. Headmaster," another man whose name he should know, but did not. He did not know most of those present, in fact. "No offense intended, but I don't think any of us...."

He was one of the teachers. One of the few men on staff, other than the headmaster.

Desmond would remember his name and everyone else's when he got into the swing of daily life. Right now he simply had too much on his mind.

"Boy. Desmond, the assassin you fought, used magic, didn't she?

"Yes, sir. I cut her with a knife dipped in the blood of... of the deceased, her wound not only regenerated instantly, but it gave off steam. She shot me with my own gun. As you already know, but the important thing is that the sound of the shot wasn't audible, so she eliminated it. Also, even though I can see in the dark perfectly, her face remained shadowed to me somehow. Although I'm not sure if the latter is about magic, but...."

But nothing. He was going off the rails.

He went silent, waited.

"As you see," the director continued, "there is no doubt that we have been betrayed by one of our own. The only thing left to do is to identify the culprit. Desmond. All the women of the academy are present here. You didn't see the attacker's face. But, if you have no problem seeing in the dark, you must have seen enough. Who is the traitor?"

The attention of everyone present turned to him.

Desmond swallowed saliva, glanced carefully from left to right.

After those minutes, the only thing that became clear to him was that the woman who had attacked him had had enough time to return to bed and change her clothes, acting surprised when they received the warning.

"I'm not sure, sir," he admitted with great difficulty. "Not one hundred percent, not even ninety. It all happened so fast and I was about to die again...."

He was offering so many excuses, like a child trying to justify himself in front of his parents, knowing there was no justification possible.

But what was Jacob?

Nothing. Less than nothing.

"I should have guessed," Jacob answered, slowly and after a while. "Things couldn't be that easy. But, I don't know why, I was hoping for a break. At least a little respite."

He raised his hand, bringing it to his head, to massage his temples.

Isabella's hand was still on his shoulder.

"Sir, with all due respect," a teacher said, "you were right in saying that the student should have seen more than enough. So doesn't his answer prove that there is no traitor among us? It would at least be worth considering that maybe we're wasting... wasting our fucking time here, chasing shadows, while Matthew's killer is on the loose. If she's not already out of our reach. Maybe we still have time to..."

No, that only showed that he wasn't willing to jump to conclusions.

Desmond had seen a certain resemblance in more than one of the women, but not a complete resemblance, there was always at least one detail, often several, that made him doubt.

Had that woman been so tall? So short? Had she had had blonde hair, red hair, what color? What color?

And, well, it was rude to mention it, but things like for example...breast size was also a factor. Everything was a factor that could allow him to identify the killer.

But he wasn't seeing enough to feel confident.

Not confident enough, by a long shot, to point a finger at someone and risk ruining their life by mistake.

That's why he couldn't say anything. Not for anything else.

"No," Jacob said, acting as if he was used to people disrespecting him as she had done, when his reputation was so great that there were few people who dared even raise their voices in his presence.

"Sir..."

"No means no," the director replied forcefully. "I understand what you feel. I want to believe it as little as you do, but the traitor must be among us. Just as there is no doubt that she exists, that this woman was not at the academy before the attack is out of the question. And we need to resolve this as soon as possible. Before someone else dies."

They had to. But whether they could do it was not another question.

That bitch had escaped from them and he would most likely never see her again.

If she was captured or died, he wouldn't be responsible, in any case, which was what mattered to him.

What was the point of this?

None, of course. Instead of wasting his time wandering around in the dark and feeling sorry for himself, he should muster the courage to take a step and end it all, and go forever to a world without pain or fear.

To be reunited with his family, who were waiting for him.

He didn't believe in life after death, but it would be a reunion nonetheless, if only in a metaphorical sense.

No pain, no fear... how sweet, how tempting those words sounded!

They almost made you forget there wasn't anything else either.

Almost, but not quite.

Desmond put his hands to his head. He had been holding back tears all this time with success. At precisely this moment, however, the tears came to his eyes. In front of everyone he couldn't take it anymore, his control failed him.

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He should care. He should be furious with himself.

The truth was that he didn't give a shit.

"I don't know. But there's an explanation for it. I'm not wrong." Jacob said it so confidently, even though at the same time he had admitted the weakness of not knowing, that Desmond even believed him.

Desmond rubbed his eyes with his hands. There was something like a weight on his chest.

He couldn't breathe properly and he was crying. Though only a few tears at the moment, this was just the beginning, he could still sink lower. He could cry like a child, without holding back, a loud and shrill cry.

But he didn't care. It was true.

Since he had made a mistake before. He couldn't sink any lower. He had already fallen to the bottom, even before he lost control and burst into tears.

"You may be right," a teacher supported him. "That it was an isolated case, an impulsive crime."

She wasn't the killer. Surely none of the women who had spoken so far was the killer.

She wouldn't consciously attract attention, though neither would she go out of her way to dodge the attention of others to the point of appearing suspicious.

She would probably speak only if someone addressed her, keeping to the sidelines, safe as part of the silent majority.

"Or maybe the Empire sent an assassin to finish the job," the teacher who had referred to Jacob by name, not as sir or headmaster, continued. "And Mathew and that student simply had the bad luck to run into her.Seeing herself discovered, she decided to disappear rather than risk continuing with the mission. There are many ways to explain this, other than...."

"It's impossible for this to be a coincidence. Completely impossible."

Amy put a hand on his back, caressed it in surprise, it was obvious from her expression that she didn't know what to do or what to say.

She had acted the same way before. In the bedroom.

Staying back, she had let Christina take the lead and then had gone along with her.

Christina…

"There's no need to hold back," Christina whispered in his ear. Regardless of the time and place, or how many people are watching. "If that's what you need, cry your heart out. Sometimes you need to let it all go. And there's no shame in that."

He lost it.

He thought he had lost control of himself before, but now he lost every last scrap he didn't want to leave because of her words. So simple, so sweet.

So powerful that they broke down all his barriers, shattering them to pieces.

His chest trembled as it rose and fell following an erratic rhythm. His entire vision was blurred by tears. It was as if he had just realized the weight of what had happened tonight, or rather, what had not happened.

As if that weight had fallen on him all at once, leaving only pain.

His legs were trembling.

That added to the wounds that had not yet fully healed, which would bring him to his knees, sooner or later.

He wasn't struggling to stand.

He was letting it go, as Christina had said, and he would let himself go all the way. It's not like he had a choice at this point. He felt like a passenger inside his own body.

But, in the midst of all that pain and despair, he saw the light of hope.

Desmond Stopped breathing for long seconds, his eyes widening like saucers, as he gazed at her.

As he contemplated his savior.

He rubbed his eyes with his hands and struggled to hold back the tears, as well as the tremors, to be halfway presentable in front of the most important person in his life.

Although there was nothing he could do about the fact that she had seen him in this state.

She was right in front of him, making no attempt to hide, magic or no magic, but no one else was looking at her.

No stares, no surprise.

Only he could see her. But that doesn't mean I've lost my mind, he thought. That I'd been imagining it all along.

"Listen, we don't have much time," she said. Hearing her voice again sent a sweet tingle down his spine. His lips loosened into a smile. "The traitor is that woman over there. See her? Black hair, white shirt, tall."

Her voice was not audible to anyone but him.

It made him feel special. Blessed.

"It's because we're connected," she replied as if she had read his thoughts. Had she? "Listen, you have to finish her. For your sake and mine...."

He went instantly from feeling special to crushing disappointment and shame in himself.

He had to kill her and he should have killed her.

He had made the wrong decision. But he hadn't paid for it. She was still here, by his side.

They were connected.

What can I say to make them believe me?, he thought.

Receiving no response, proving that they were not so deeply connected that she could read his thoughts after all, Desmond repeated the question by moving his lips noiselessly. This time trusting that she could read his lips.

"Tell them you think it was her. They'll investigate her, sooner or later the secret will come out. And if they don't believe you, if they don't want to take that step... then kill her. Right here, right now. Don't hesitate. There is too much at stake."

Right here, right now.

If they didn't believe him, it would be like killing an innocent woman. It would be throwing away everything he had been striving for all these years, everything he had earned.....

What was he talking about?

He was not a soldier of Albion, but a soldier of hers. He belonged to her in every sense of the word.

If she wanted him to kill, he would kill.

If she wanted it that way, he wouldn't be throwing anything away.

The teachers and medical staff had continued to talk while he was falling apart.

Desmond interrupted that discussion with an accusing finger.

"It was her."

Attention returned to him again.

"Avery?" the director asked. "Earlier you said you weren't sure. If you're doing this because you feel the need to prove your worth..."

"No." Only after interrupting him so abruptly did he realize what he had done. "Sir, I... I'd bet everything, my possessions, my life, because it's her. I'm sure of it."

"It's all right. It's worth at least starting an investigation."

So he wouldn't have to kill her...

At that thought, he felt relief.

"Let..." Christina began, swallowing. "Let me use my magic on her. This has been kept hidden for a long time, but shadow magic.... When I use it on someone, even their shadow, their emotions flow to me. It's not as reliable as a serious lie detector, or something like that. But, if it's her, I could feel her rage, her thirst for revenge. Or whatever it was that made her betray her kingdom."

"She's his teammate," a teacher protested. "Whatever she says could be to save her teammate's ass."

"First resurrection, now this? You expect us to believe that? On one of the two things she has to be lying. Otherwise..."

"Quiet," Jacob said, and that was all. "All right, we'll try it."

There was a sound.

Something like glass exploding. Or several?

Within seconds, they were surrounded by black smoke that reached above his knees. Breathing that gas, he felt his body weaken, his consciousness begin to slip away from him.

The teachers and medical staff began to fall down. Even those who immediately covered their mouths, who tried to stagger out of the gas cloud.

The physical reinforcement allowed him to outlast all the others. And maybe it would allow him to finish the fight.

Desmond was used to fighting with his body being a ticking time bomb.

Even if he didn't have a full minute, now with his goal being to kill and not capture it was possible he would get it over with before his body succumbed to the gas. After all, besides, the assassin wasn't armed with the bloody knife that could pierce his defenses.

He could snap her neck like a twig.

He ran toward her.

And she remained motionless, looking at him with a smile.

He expected a trap as he approached. But there was no trap, only the inevitable. His legs gave way for a second before his hands could close over the assassin's neck, squeezing.

Desmond fell on his side, panting, his eyes filled with tears, choking.