Chapter 37

"Get this man a crayon," Grayson muttered, shaking his head with a smirk. The joke landed flat in the heavy air of the room. He glanced between Andreas and Sylvia, a knowing look passing over his face, his easy grin faltering when it became clear that no one was laughing. He hesitated for a moment, his hand briefly brushing Andreas's shoulder, checking that the man was still standing steady. Andreas gave a slow nod, his body upright but rigid, as if bracing for something. Grayson’s eyes flicked toward Sylvia, reading the tension on her face, the way her arms crossed tightly over her chest, a silent fortress around her anger. "You two need to talk," he said, voice quieter now, before turning on his heel. The soft click of the door as he left seemed to magnify the silence, leaving only the relentless drumming of rain against the windows. Inside, the apartment felt suddenly smaller, like the walls were pressing in, the air between them thick with everything unspoken.

The silence stretched painfully, each second amplifying the weight of everything that hung between them. Sylvia’s gaze, sharp and unwavering, finally cut through the tension. “I have questions,” she said, her voice low, measured, but unmistakably edged with the anger she’d been holding back. She didn’t move from her spot by the counter, her posture as rigid as the tone in her voice. Andreas shifted uncomfortably, his body stiff, still slick with rain and sweat. He cleared his throat, then glanced down at himself, taking in his drenched clothes and the grime from the night’s ordeal. “Is there… any way I can shower and change first?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost hesitant, knowing how foolish it sounded, but feeling the dirt and exhaustion weighing on him. For a moment, Sylvia just stared at him, her jaw clenched, as if debating whether to let him. Then, with a tight nod, she relented. “Fine. But don’t take too long.” Her words held more weight than just time—an undercurrent of impatience, of everything she was waiting to unleash, once he was cleaned up.

As the bathroom door clicked shut and the sound of the shower sputtered to life, Sylvia let out a slow breath, tension vibrating through her. She reached for her phone, flipping through her contacts with practiced ease. Her fingers hovered over the number for the Chinese place down the street—the same spot she and Andreas always ordered from after long days or late nights. Muscle memory took over as she dialed, the steady rhythm of the shower behind her a dull backdrop to the quiet storm brewing in her chest. She placed the order without much thought: lo mein, sesame chicken, egg rolls, and teriyaki beef on a stick—the usual. It felt automatic, the familiarity of it strange against the turmoil roiling inside her. “Twenty minutes, right?” she asked out of habit, though she already knew the answer. The same every time. “Yeah, thanks.” She hung up, setting the phone down on the counter. The food would arrive soon, but it would take far more than a plate of takeout to settle the mess between them.

Sylvia began to pace, her steps quick and sharp across the small living room, the tension in her body coiled tight. Jason Meowmoa watched from his perch on the windowsill, his dark eyes tracking her movements with quiet interest. “Can you believe him, Jason?” she muttered, her voice a low hiss as she ran a hand through her hair, tugging it away from her face. “Months. He’s been Zorro for months, and I had no idea. I’ve been out there on my podcast, putting myself out there for him, and what does he do? Nothing. Not a word.” She paused, turning to glare at the closed bathroom door as the sound of water continued to fall. The steam was beginning to curl beneath the crack, but she barely noticed. “And what am I even supposed to say? ‘Oh, by the way, Andreas, I’ve been defending you this whole time, even when I didn’t know it was you.’” Her pacing picked up again, her arms crossing tightly over her chest. Jason let out a soft, almost sympathetic meow, and Sylvia rolled her eyes. “Yeah, you’re right,” she muttered, nodding toward the cat, “I should be calm. I’ll be calm… until I tell him I’m furious.” She threw her hands up, pacing faster, her thoughts spinning. “God, Jason, how am I supposed to deal with this? The man told you before he told me!” The cat blinked slowly, unbothered, but Sylvia’s voice had softened, the anger still simmering but tempered by the deep hurt she didn’t quite know how to express.

Still pacing, Sylvia’s footsteps grew softer as she made her way to the kitchen, her mind a whirlwind of frustration. Jason Meowmoa padded silently behind her, his curious gaze never leaving her. “You know what, Jason? I’m going to need a drink for this.” She yanked open the cabinet, grabbing a bottle of red wine, the one she usually saved for quiet nights in, not post-revelation rants. The cork popped with a satisfying thunk, and she didn’t even bother with her usual slow pour, letting the rich liquid fill the glass almost to the brim. “I mean, months,” she muttered, taking a long sip, the sharp tang of the wine not doing nearly enough to calm her nerves. She set the glass down a little too hard, the soft clink against the countertop sounding louder in the stillness. “He’s been out there—risking his life—and I didn’t even know. He could’ve died, and what would I have been left with? A bunch of unanswered questions and a podcast with no Zorro to defend!” Her voice cracked with disbelief as she paced back to the living room, glass in hand. Jason Meowmoa followed at a leisurely pace, tail flicking as if absorbing her frustration. Sylvia took another sip, shaking her head. “And the worst part? I didn’t even get to be part of it! I could’ve helped! I should’ve helped! But no—he thought I couldn’t handle it.” She glanced at the cat, a rueful smile tugging at her lips. “You know, Jason, he told you before me. You’ve known longer than I have. Unbelievable.”

Sylvia drained the last of her wine, the warmth spreading through her chest, though it did little to settle her frustration. With a sigh, she reached for the bottle, tipping it toward the glass again, watching the dark red liquid swirl as she poured. Just as the glass neared full, the doorbell buzzed, startling her out of her thoughts. She set the bottle down and glanced toward the intercom, where a garbled voice echoed through the speaker. “Miss… Sir-ria? Sul-via?” The old woman on the other end sounded both confused and determined, struggling valiantly with Sylvia’s name. Sylvia rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips despite everything. “That’s the Chinese food,” she muttered to Jason, who was now sprawled lazily on the couch, watching her with half-lidded eyes. Sylvia pressed the button on the intercom. “It’s Sylvia,” she said patiently. “Come on up.” The response was a jumble of words, barely coherent, but Sylvia recognized the usual phrase: “Okay, I come up!” She buzzed the woman in, setting her glass aside with a sigh. The delivery was a welcome break—if only for a moment—from the swirling thoughts that still clouded her mind.

The doorbell rang again, and Sylvia crossed the room to open it, greeted by the sight of the tiniest, sweetest old Chinese lady standing in the doorway, her hair and clothes completely soaked from the rain. The poor woman clutched the plastic bag of food tightly, shivering slightly as the cold air rushed in behind her. “Miss... Sylvia?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Sylvia’s heart softened just a little at the sight of her, but she couldn’t resist indulging in a small, petty satisfaction. “That’s me,” Sylvia said, offering a polite smile as she took the bag. “Thank you.” The old woman nodded, flashing a quick, toothy grin, clearly relieved to be inside even for a moment. As Sylvia handed her the receipt to sign, she glanced at the total, where the tip was printed: a staggering $400. She had used Andreas’s card—the one still saved in her phone from all those late-night orders they’d made together. “You take care, okay?” Sylvia said, her smile widening slightly. The woman’s eyes widened as she glanced at the receipt, shaking her head, flustered and speaking rapidly in Mandarin, clearly overwhelmed by the insane tip. “Thank you, thank you!” she kept repeating as she shuffled back toward the hallway, still looking like she couldn’t believe it. Sylvia gave a small wave as she closed the door behind her, a smug satisfaction settling over her as she set the food down. “That’s for not telling me,” she muttered under her breath, imagining Andreas’s face when he eventually checked his card statement.

With the door closed behind her and the old delivery lady’s thanks still ringing in her ears, Sylvia carried the food over to the kitchen table. The smell of sesame and soy sauce filled the apartment, warm and familiar, cutting through the tension in the air—but only just. She pulled the containers out of the bag, her movements automatic, as though preparing for one of their usual nights in. Lo mein, sesame chicken, teriyaki beef skewers—all of Andreas’s usual favorites. Despite the lingering anger simmering inside her, she made sure to pull out the chopsticks, knowing he always preferred them over a fork when they ordered Chinese. She laid everything out, neat and precise, even placing his set of chopsticks next to the plate she had set for him. Sylvia poured herself another glass of wine, eyeing the steaming food on the table as she took a slow sip. The sound of the shower still echoed softly from the bathroom, and though she’d given him the space to clean up, it didn’t dampen the fire in her chest. The food was ready, but there was still so much left unsaid, so much that couldn’t be smoothed over by a meal.

The soft creak of the bathroom door and the low hum of the bedroom door opening signaled Andreas’s return, the sound pulling Sylvia’s attention from the steaming food laid out on the table. He stepped out dressed in worn jeans, a plain gray T-shirt, and his scuffed Timberlands, his hair still damp and tousled from the shower. The shirt clung slightly to his frame, making it clear he had quickly pulled on whatever he could find in the small stash of clothes he kept at her place. He paused in the doorway, eyes scanning the table, taking in the careful way she had set everything up—the chopsticks, the food he always ordered. For a brief moment, the ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He shifted uncomfortably, as if the weight of the air between them pressed too heavily on his shoulders. “Smells good,” he murmured, his voice quiet, unsure. There was an awkward tension in the space between them, and though his body looked cleaned and refreshed, the same couldn’t be said for the mess he knew they were about to face.

Andreas settled into his chair, reaching for the chopsticks she had thoughtfully laid out for him. He picked up a piece of teriyaki beef, chewing slowly, almost cautiously, like he was waiting for something to happen. Sylvia sat across from him, her hands wrapped around her wine glass, watching him in silence for a moment. The tension in the room, which had been simmering just beneath the surface, began to crackle with a new intensity. She could feel it rising inside her, bubbling up through her chest, and before she could stop herself, her entire demeanor shifted. Her eyes narrowed, lips tightening into a thin line. When she spoke, her voice was calm—too calm—but the sharpness beneath it was unmistakable. “You know,” she started, her fingers tapping lightly against the glass, “I’ve been thinking a lot about what I’m going to say to you, Andreas. About how I’m supposed to feel right now.” She leaned forward slightly, her eyes locking onto his, refusing to let him look away. “But the truth is, I’m not just angry. I’m hurt. You kept this from me for months. And I can’t stop wondering why you didn’t trust me.” Her words hung heavy in the air, cutting through the moment like a blade. The food, the carefully set table—it all felt like a fragile veneer, ready to shatter under the weight of everything unsaid.

Sylvia didn’t flinch, her eyes piercing through the comfortable routine of the meal, her voice calm but loaded with expectation. “Why didn’t you tell me, Andreas?” She let the question hang in the air, her fingers tapping lightly on the edge of her wine glass, her gaze unyielding. Across from her, Andreas chewed slowly, blinking as though he hadn’t quite processed that the moment he had been dreading had arrived. He swallowed hard, reaching for another bite of lo mein, as if the food might give him the clarity he needed. “I... didn’t want you to be involved,” he muttered, his voice muffled by the noodles. His eyes darted to hers, looking for a reaction, but all he saw was the tightening of her jaw as she waited for more. He hesitated, then added, “I didn’t want you to get hurt.” The explanation felt weak even as he said it, and Sylvia’s silence was enough to confirm it.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Sylvia’s fingers tightened around the stem of her glass, her knuckles pale against the deep red of the wine. She wasn’t satisfied with his answer, not by a long shot. “But I was already involved, Andreas,” she said, her voice firm, her eyes narrowing slightly. “I saved your life that night in the warehouse. I’ve been defending Zorro for months—defending you—without even knowing it was you. Why didn’t you trust me enough to tell me the truth?” Her words cut through the air between them, sharp and precise, each one laced with the hurt she had been trying to mask. Andreas stuffed another bite of sesame chicken into his mouth, chewing quickly to fill the silence as he gathered his thoughts. He swallowed, then ran a hand through his damp hair, clearly struggling for an explanation. “It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you,” he began, the words feeling heavy in his mouth. “I didn’t want you to be a target. You were safer if you didn’t know.” He reached for more food, hoping the act of eating would buy him time, but Sylvia’s eyes told him she wasn’t buying any of it.

Sylvia’s lips pressed into a tight line, her frustration growing. She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping into a sharper edge. “Safer?” she repeated, incredulous. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve defended you on my podcast? How many people I’ve pissed off because I stood up for Zorro without knowing it was you?” Her words grew faster, the hurt spilling out as she continued. “You weren’t protecting me, Andreas. You were keeping me in the dark, while I put everything on the line for you.” Andreas paused mid-bite, his chopsticks hovering over the container of lo mein. He glanced up, swallowing hard before answering, his voice quieter now. “I didn’t think it would be like this... that you’d get dragged in so deep.” He shoved another bite into his mouth, chewing with a bit more force, as if that could keep up with the pace of her questions. “I didn’t want to lose you,” he added softly, but it sounded like a hollow echo in the face of her accusations.

Sylvia let out a sharp breath, the frustration in her eyes hardening as she absorbed his weak response. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms tightly, the air between them growing colder. “So who did you trust, Andreas?” she asked, her tone cutting. “Because clearly, I wasn’t worth trusting with this secret. So, who else knew?” Andreas froze for a moment, a forkful of lo mein hanging halfway to his mouth. He glanced at her, then set the chopsticks down slowly, realizing this question had no easy answer. “Xavier figured it out first,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “Tommy and Keigee were next, but they came to me together.” He could see the flash of hurt in her eyes, the slight tightening of her jaw as she processed that information. His gaze flicked away, feeling the weight of the truth hanging between them. He grabbed another piece of beef, stuffing it into his mouth, trying to avoid the inevitable fallout from his confession. But he knew it wasn’t over. Not even close.

Sylvia’s jaw tightened, but it was her eyes that betrayed the real hurt. She stared at him, her voice sharper now, cutting through the space between them. “So, let me get this straight. Xavier figured it out, and then Tommy and Keigee came to you, but you didn’t tell me? You told a sixteen-year-old girl and your two war buddies, but not your girlfriend?” Her words stung, and she knew it, but there was no holding back now. Andreas swallowed hard, not from the food but from the weight of the truth he couldn’t dodge any longer. He fumbled with the chopsticks, shoving another piece of chicken into his mouth before she could tear further into him. “Izumi... Izumi was the first person I actually told,” he said quietly, eyes avoiding hers. “The night she—well, the night with Nico.” He could feel her stare boring into him, waiting for more. “I didn’t want to tell anyone, but she... forced my hand.” He said the words quickly, as if speeding through them would lessen the blow. But the damage was already done, and the silence that followed was suffocating.

Sylvia’s eyes widened in disbelief as she processed what Andreas had just said. “Wait, what? What happened with Nico?” she asked, her tone incredulous. Andreas shifted in his chair, clearly uncomfortable. He cleared his throat, trying to figure out the best way to explain. “Nico... he, uh... he found a new girl. A fifteen-year-old. Izumi... snapped.” Sylvia’s jaw tightened as Andreas continued, his voice low. “She became Kitsune that night. Castrated him.” Sylvia blinked, her expression torn between shock and rising anger. “So, let me get this straight,” she said, her voice climbing. “Izumi loses it over her ex dating a teenager, goes full-blown Kitsune, and that’s when you decide to tell her you’re Zorro? But you couldn’t tell me?” The frustration in her words was razor-sharp now. Andreas, feeling the heat of her gaze, awkwardly stuffed another bite of lo mein into his mouth, then mumbled through a mouthful, “But... she’s a ninja.” The explanation sounded ridiculous even to him, and the second the words left his mouth, he knew it wasn’t helping. Sylvia’s eyes flared, her fingers tightening around her wine glass as she shook her head, her patience rapidly unraveling. “A ninja? Really, Andreas? That’s your excuse?” The hurt was undeniable now, fueling the fire in her voice.

For a long, quiet moment, Sylvia just stared at him, her hands resting on the edge of the table as she tried to process what she’d just heard. Her mouth opened slightly, then closed again, the silence thickening between them. Andreas, oblivious to the storm brewing across the table, shoveled another bite of lo mein into his mouth, chewing methodically, as if he could somehow eat his way out of this mess. Finally, Sylvia’s calm cracked, and she exploded. “Ninja?” she barked, her voice rising sharply, her accent slipping through. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Andreas?” She stood up, hands thrown in the air. “I just watched you come back to life—literally—on my couch, and now you’re telling me there’s fucking shinobi—shadow warriors—running around, too? What kind of shit is this?” Andreas blinked at her, mid-chew, eyes wide with surprise, but still didn’t stop eating. Sylvia didn’t give him time to respond. “¡¿Qué carajo estás pensando?! ¡¿Ninjas?! ¡De verdad, Andrés?! ¡Me estás jodiendo!” she shouted, her Spanish expletives rolling out fast and furious, her hands gesturing wildly as she ranted. All the while, Andreas kept chewing, eyes flicking between his food and her, unsure whether to defend himself or just keep his head down as her words rained down on him.

Andreas finally swallowed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before carefully setting the chopsticks down. “Sylvia, just... hear me out,” he began, his voice cautious, eyes flicking to hers. “I didn’t want to tell Izumi, but I didn’t have a choice.” Sylvia’s brow furrowed, but she stayed silent, waiting. “That night with Nico... I watched it happen. She had her mask on, her weapons ready—she was going to kill him. I had to step in. I showed up as Zorro and knocked him out before she could... well, before she did something she couldn’t take back.” He sighed, his hands resting on the table, palms open, as if laying it all out would somehow make her understand. “I had to tell her after that. She was already wearing the mask, already in that world—there wasn’t any turning back for her. It wasn’t like I had a choice.” He paused, chewing the inside of his lip now instead of food, watching Sylvia carefully, knowing full well that his explanation wasn’t going to make this any easier.

Sylvia stood there for a moment, just staring at him, her mind trying to piece together everything he had said. But one question loomed larger than the rest, one that had been burning inside her since this whole mess started. She crossed her arms tighter, her voice quieter now but laced with raw confusion. “Why?” she asked, her tone almost pleading. “Why do any of it, Andreas? Why become... this? Something out of old movies and books? Why Zorro?” Andreas paused mid-reach, his chopsticks hovering over the carton of chicken and broccoli. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out at first. He shrugged slightly, his expression unreadable. “I don’t know,” he finally said, the words landing flat, almost as if he were hearing them for the first time himself. He picked up a piece of broccoli, took a slow bite, and chewed thoughtfully, as if hoping the food might fill the void of an answer he didn’t really have.

Sylvia began pacing again, her hands gesturing as her thoughts spilled out in rapid succession, unable to sit still with the weight of it all. “Is this about Roberto?” she asked, her voice sharp but laced with genuine confusion. “What happened? Did something push you into this? I mean, there has to be a reason, Andreas. You don’t just wake up one day and decide to become some vigilante in a mask, running around like you’re out of a book.” Her footsteps quickened, back and forth across the room, as if pacing could somehow help her make sense of the chaos. Andreas sat still, watching her with a heaviness in his eyes. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t try to cut in, because honestly, what could he say?

Finally, as she paused, staring at him for answers, he sighed deeply and leaned back in his chair. “It wasn’t one thing, Sylvia,” he started, his voice quiet, as if the memory itself was fragile. “The idea first came to me one night... after I’d blacked out.” He glanced down at his hands, suddenly more interested in them than the food in front of him. “I was drunk. I’d finished an entire handle, and I just... snapped. Punched the mirror.” He lifted his hand, bringing it closer to the light. Underneath the kitchen lamp, the faint scar from that night caught his attention. He stared at it, squinting, noticing for the first time the same faint silver tint that shimmered on the scar, barely visible, but there—just like the one on his chest. “I passed out, bleeding all over the place,” he murmured, more to himself than to her. “And when I woke up, something... had changed.”

On the other side of the room, Sylvia hadn’t noticed the shift in Andreas’s expression or the way he was staring at his hand under the light. She was still pacing, her frustration bubbling over into sarcasm. “So now I have to find my boyfriend a tailor that can do fucking superhero suits?” she muttered, throwing her hands in the air. “I mean, where does one even go for something like that? ‘Hey, excuse me, do you specialize in leather capes and bulletproof vests?’” Her voice carried an edge of disbelief as she spun back around to face him, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose as she tried to make sense of what her life had become. “God, Andreas, this is insane. My boyfriend is Zorro. And now, on top of everything, I’m supposed to... what? Help you suit up before you go out and get shot at again?” She stopped pacing long enough to stare at him, her hands on her hips, still processing the sheer absurdity of the situation. But beneath the sarcasm, her worry was clear—she didn’t know how to protect him from a life she never imagined.

Sylvia paused in her pacing, rubbing her temples as if trying to ward off an incoming headache. She exhaled sharply and let out a dry laugh, though there was no real humor in it. “And the bonus? The cherry on top of all this insanity?” She gestured toward the hallway, her voice dripping with a mix of sarcasm and disbelief. “Apparently, my boyfriend doesn’t stay dead. He can just bleed out in my hallway and then magically come back to life. So, you know, that’s... something.” She shook her head, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “I guess that’s not normal, but hey, it’s better than the alternative, right?” Her voice softened slightly, the sarcastic edge giving way to the deeper, quieter concern underneath. The image of him lying there, lifeless, was still fresh in her mind, and despite everything, the relief of seeing him alive—no matter how strange—was something she couldn’t shake. She glanced at him again, her eyes searching for answers that made sense, even though nothing about this situation did.

The room fell into silence, the sharp edges of their conversation dulling as the weight of everything settled in. Sylvia stood still for a moment, her eyes fixed on the floor, as if she were trying to figure out what to say next. But instead of speaking, she moved slowly toward Andreas. Her footsteps were soft, deliberate, as she crossed the room. Without a word, she slipped her arms around him, holding him tightly, her cheek resting against his shoulder. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the tension between them replaced by the quiet hum of the apartment and the distant sound of rain outside. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she whispered finally, her voice barely above a breath, but heavy with emotion. She squeezed him a little tighter, the relief of having him here, alive and breathing, finally cutting through the confusion and anger. It was a simple truth, but right now, it was the only one that mattered.

Andreas felt her arms tighten around him, and for the first time since the conversation started, he let out a long, slow breath, as if finally allowing himself to let go of the weight he’d been carrying. He set the chopsticks down carefully, the food forgotten, and stood up, wrapping his arms around Sylvia in return. For a moment, they just stood there, holding each other, the storm outside continuing its steady rhythm against the window. “We’ll figure it out,” he whispered, his voice low and steady. He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her, his hands resting gently on her shoulders. “I don’t have all the answers, but we’ve got this. Together.” Sylvia didn’t say anything, just nodded against his chest, her eyes closing as she let herself lean into him.

Andreas glanced at the clock on the wall, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “It’s almost 3 a.m.,” he murmured. “We should probably lay down.” He gently pulled her toward the bedroom, his hand still resting on the small of her back. “We’ve got this,” he repeated, his voice full of quiet certainty. And as they disappeared into the shadows of the hallway, the room fell silent, leaving only the sound of the rain to carry the rest of the night away.