The flicker of a candle caught my attention, its flame steady and unyielding, much like Conrad’s gaze. Time was slipping through my fingers, warped and disjointed, but the glass of water in front of me no longer held its chill—a subtle reminder that I was losing more than just the upper hand in this exchange.

An hour? It might as well have been a lifetime.

Conrad’s voice broke through my thoughts, smooth and commanding as ever. “You’re remarkably composed for someone so young. I wonder, though, if that calmness is a defense—or a mask.”

I didn’t take the bait. “What’s the difference?”

“Intent,” he replied, smiling like a teacher pleased with a clever student. “A mask hides weakness. A defense shields strength. Both have their place, but the former is far more fragile.”

I met his gaze, forcing myself not to flinch. The dim lighting didn’t diminish the glow of his crimson eyes. If anything, it made them burn brighter, more alive. Conrad had this way of speaking that made you feel as if every word was a thread in a larger web—and I was the fly struggling not to get tangled.

“You’ve been watching me for a while, haven’t you?” I said, trying to shift the balance of power.

His smile widened. “Oh, yes. Long before you arrived in Sharman.”

The casual admission should’ve startled me, but I’d grown used to his calculated honesty. Conrad didn’t need to lie outright; he could simply veil the truth with half-revealed glimpses, enough to leave me guessing.

“Let me guess,” I said, leaning back, trying to project nonchalance. “You’ve got people on me? Spies? Cameras? Maybe you hacked into my phone, tracked my location, monitored my calls—”

“Oh, Kyon,” Conrad interrupted with a soft laugh. “How mundane you think I am.”

He reached for his glass, swirling the dark liquid inside with a grace that made the gesture seem almost ceremonial. “But yes, your communication records have proven quite enlightening. For instance, your weekly calls to Zaria. A most admirable habit. Family is important, isn’t it?”

My stomach dropped, though I kept my expression neutral. “You’ve been looking into my calls?”

He raised his glass in a mock toast. “Not just your calls. Your messages, the occasional photograph—such a delightful glimpse into your world. That woman, Auntie Amina, is it? She must mean a great deal to you.”

My hand tightened around my fork, the metal cool against my skin. I felt exposed, as though he’d ripped away some invisible shield I didn’t even know I’d been holding up. “You don’t know anything about her.”

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

“Oh, but I do,” Conrad said, his tone almost pitying. “She’s a remarkable woman, isn’t she? Hardworking. Selfless. The kind of person who would give everything to see you succeed.”

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to breathe evenly. He was fishing, throwing out guesses—but each one felt uncomfortably close to the truth.

“You’ve done well to support her,” he continued, as if oblivious to the storm raging in my head. “Your scholarship allowance, your careful budgeting... It’s quite touching, really.”

“How do you know about that?” The words slipped out before I could stop them, sharper than I’d intended.

Conrad’s smile turned razor-thin. “You underestimate the reach of those who truly wish to know. It’s not about technology, Kyon. It’s about influence. The right word, the right price—and suddenly, privacy becomes an illusion.”

I wanted to scream at him, to demand he stop speaking her name, stop turning her into another piece on his chessboard. But I couldn’t let him see how deeply he was getting to me.

“She’s none of your concern,” I said, my voice low but steady.

“Ah, but she is,” Conrad countered. “Because she is your concern. And you, Kyon, are a fascinating enigma.”

I forced myself to look away, focusing on the details of the room—the polished wood of the table, the flickering shadows cast by the chandelier. Anything to keep my thoughts from spiraling.

“You’re trying to prove a point,” I said finally, dragging my gaze back to him. “So why not just come out and say it?”

Conrad chuckled, the sound rich and indulgent. “Very well. My point is this: strength comes not from denying who you are, but from embracing it. And you, my dear boy, are far stronger than you realize. But strength, untempered, is a liability.”

“And you think you can ‘temper’ me?”

“I know I can,” he said, his confidence infuriatingly absolute. “But first, you must understand what’s at stake. You see, your reluctance to embrace your nature doesn’t just hinder you—it endangers those you care about. Like Auntie Amina.”

There it was again. Her name, falling from his lips like a weapon.

I stiffened, my mind racing. Could he actually hurt her? Or was this just another game, another way to manipulate me into submission?

“You’re bluffing,” I said, though even I wasn’t entirely convinced.

Conrad’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “Perhaps. Or perhaps I’m simply presenting you with the truth. Humans are fragile, Kyon. So easily broken, so easily lost. And you, with your half-human heart, are just as vulnerable as they are—unless you choose otherwise.”

I felt the weight of his words, the insidious temptation laced within them. He wasn’t just offering power—he was offering security. A way to protect those I loved.

But at what cost?

“You think you’re so clever,” I said, my voice tight. “So all-knowing. But you’re wrong about one thing.”

“And what is that?”

“You don’t understand me,” I said, meeting his gaze with as much defiance as I could muster. “You think you can manipulate me, but you don’t know what drives me. What I’m willing to sacrifice.”

For the first time, Conrad’s smile faltered, if only for a fraction of a second.

“Interesting,” he said softly, leaning back in his chair. “You truly are remarkable, Kyon. But I wonder... how long can that resolve hold?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and unanswerable. I wanted to believe I could resist him, that I could walk out of this room unscathed. But the truth was, cracks were already forming in my armor—and Conrad could see every one of them.

“Shall we continue?” he asked, his tone light but his eyes predatory.

I didn’t answer. The game wasn’t over, but the board was shifting—and I wasn’t sure whose move it was.