"That was all she said," Julian said, completing their side of the story.
Paul stayed silent, just listening carefully, carving out the best possible map in his mind from all the details.
The Mike guy who played the ghost with them. Rachel, Hector, and Raul—side characters in a much bigger story.
Lighting was always focused on them. Everyone thought that their stories meant something, not just scratching the surface, but something deeper. When lights finally shifted, at the back of the stage, everyone who thought they were important started seeing them as a tool.
Didn't you also think?
"She didn't lie. But then again, it might be that her whole story is built on lies," Sara said softly, folding her arms.
"Yeah, it felt more like she was repeating a script than a confession," Julian scoffed.
But that was wrong. So wrong.
Paul's gaze shifted slightly.
Simon.
He knows it but still keeping his mouth shut, speaking only when necessary, never fully being a part of it, only giving them a direction.
How much does he know exactly? Does he know about the ghost? Mike? How he died? Where he died?
Every answer was hidden beneath that calm expression. Paul knows it.
Everything was clear on files, but only clear because one doesn't want to look closer. The last question still hovered in his head, spinning in circles, reminding him of the tragedy buried under everyone's heart.
How close were they, really?
A simple sheet of paper can never tell the weight behind a man's decision to walk into death with a smile.
Was Rachel and Mike's relationship only was only a manipulation?
Or was the ghost actually looking for salvation?
Or just a lost human being trying to find meaning in a wrong story?
There is more. As always.
"Alright," Simon said softly. "Rachel will be sent into custody. She confessed enough. Her mental state will be evaluated."
"Guess that's best for her," Julian leaned back in his seat.
"What of the Vinchi family?" Sara asked.
"I'll send someone to explain everything." Simon paused for a beat, then continued, "But I also think they deserve some rest before that; they've gone through so much lately."
Sara and Julian nodded faintly. Paul just watched.
Simon breathed out once. "The case will be closed here for now, and we'll move forward to the next one."
Move forward.
Paul felt that phrase dug deeper than it sounded.
They will discover it sooner or later, as they move forward on this path.
The truth behind the ghost.
The truth behind this entire stage.
The truth behind me.
"Neomar," Simon said calmly. "That's our next destination, and we'll move out tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" Julian said lazily. "Yeah, sure."
Then Simon's soft gaze shifted to Paul, his tone heavy but not threatening. "And Paul, you'll be staying here."
His voice echoed in the room. The air went still. Sara's eyes quickly flickered at Paul sitting beside him.
He was silent, listening carefully, speaking only when he needed to. No wasted breath.
Hm.
She saw Paul's lips move slightly, like a small twitch. No, it was more like a small laugh. His eyes lifted up to Simon, looking straight into Simon's eyes.
Her breath caught; she felt something pressing down on her.
She watched Paul stand up slowly, arms loosening slightly, his gaze hardened. Then he said, his voice almost mocking, "I get it."
"I get everything." His voice cracked slightly. "This is who I am, right? Just a fucking nobody who can't make choices of his own. You decide everything for me while all I do here is sit down without asking any questions when everything is about me. You look behind my past, dig up every coffin laying there, strip up all my clothes to look at all my scars. And I should stand here naked, bare-skinned. This is what you want, right? This is what all of you—everyone wants, right? Fine, I get it."
"But you know what? I don't care. I don't give a shit about you or anyone here. I'll do things on my own, and I don't need anyone's help."
He breathed out slowly. "But if you, or anyone, gets in the way..."
"Paul? Where are you going?" Simon asked softly, seeing that Paul suddenly stood up.
"I don't think staying here any longer will do me any good," Paul said casually. "And I have some plans tomorrow."
He turned towards the door.
Simon asked again. "What plans?"
Paul stopped at the door. Then quickly, Sara said in a low voice, "Leave it. It's nothing special."
Simon looked at Sara and nodded once. Paul left the room.
The door clicked closed behind him, but Paul didn't seem to care.
His steps were fast and heavy, head hung low, eyes fixed on the white floor that echoed beneath his boots. The chatter of co-workers sounded lively in his ears, distant but constant.
He gritted his teeth, palms curling into clenched fists, and lifted his eyes just slightly.
People behind glass windows.
Must be nice.
His pace quickened. With each step, the sounds around him began to fade. All he could feel was the cold air brushing against his skin.
Then suddenly—
He bumped into someone near the elevator.
A woman.
"Paul?" she called out.
He lifted his head. Sound rushed back into his ears.
Sarla.
Late twenties. He recognized her immediately. She worked here. But then it hit him. He hadn't seen her for a month. Maybe more.
His gaze dropped to her hands.
She was holding something gently.
A newborn.
Paul blinked once, pulled back into the moment. The baby was crying nonstop.
"Is this yours?" the question slipped out before he could stop it.
Sarla smiled faintly. "What do you think?"
Paul looked at the baby again, then back at her face. She looked rushed, like she was about to miss a train. "The resemblance is there," he said.
"You think so?" she asked. "Doctors say she looks more like her father."
"Maybe." Paul stepped back slightly. "Looks like you're in a hurry."
"Yeah, yeah." Sarla nodded. "I'm looking for Simon. Have you seen him? I need to talk to him. It's urgent."
"Yeah, he's—"
Waa waa.
The baby's cry swallowed his words.
Sarla rocked her arms gently, trying to calm her down. "What happened, sweetheart? You ate fifteen minutes ago."
"Pretty hard, huh," Paul said softly, already preparing to leave.
"Yeah." Sarla exhaled. "Where's Simon again?"
"In his office."
"Okay." Her attention stayed on the baby, wrapped tight in warm clothes, still crying.
"Hey, Paul. Wait."
He half-turned. "Yeah?"
"Come here for a second."
He walked back, hesitant. "What is it?"
Sarla lifted her arms slightly. The baby's eyes found Paul, and the crying slowed just a little. Before he could react, she pressed the baby gently against his chest.
"Watch her for a moment," she said softly. "Please."
"What?" Paul flinched. "No, I can't handle her."
"Oh, come on." She studied his face. "It'll only take a few minutes."
"Just no." He raised a hand in surrender and took a step back.
"Hold her."
His hands moved on instinct, catching the baby just before Sarla let go. He froze.
"There you go," she said with a smile. "Now wait here until I'm done with Simon, alright?"
She leaned closer to the baby and whispered, "This is your uncle, okay. Don't bother him too much. He gets angry quickly."
The baby quieted, just a little.
"She understands," Sarla said. "See?"
"Yeah," Paul muttered. "Amazing."
"Wait for me," she said, already walking toward Simon's office.
Paul slid down beside the wall and sat carefully, still holding the baby. "Don't take too long."
"I won't," she called back. "Learn all you can. You don't get moments like this every day. For future reassurance."
The baby rested against his chest, warm and oddly heavy for something so small. Her cries had softened into uneven hiccups, tiny breaths puffing against his shirt.
For a second, he just let it be. The weight of something fragile. Something that could break with one slip up.
He looked down.
She stared back.
Big eyes. The marks of tears hadn't left her soft face. Paul's finger reached her cheek slowly. She watched him as he brushed those marks away. She didn't react. Just watched.
A slight smile formed on his lips. She kind of reminded him of himself. Like looking into a mirror, except he was holding her now. She wasn't just a reflection.
She is real.
She blinked once. Her eyes darted across his face, like she was trying to make something out of him. Maybe some neutral instinct, checking whether the person holding her could be trusted or not.
"Few minutes," he muttered.
Bah bah.
"What?" Paul asked, a little confused. Then he saw her iris shift. He caught his own face reflected in it.
"No. Only a few minutes. That was the deal your mama made," Paul said casually. "After that, I know nothing. We'll never see each other again."
Her eyes started filling with tears. Her mouth opened. She was about to cry again.
"You're kidding, right?" Paul saw it coming, but her crying had already started. He leaned back once, then closer again. "Alright, fine, I guess. Maybe we'll meet in the future. Who knows."
He sighed faintly, feeling stupid in a way only he could understand. How could she even grasp the words coming out of his mouth? She had just been born. Not even a week, from what he could tell.
Bwa bwa.
"What now?" Paul asked. She was opening and closing her palm, like she was calling him closer.
He brought her face nearer. "Tell me what it is."
Bwa.
"I can't understand," he said, leaning in even more. His hair fell within her reach. The smell of something soft hit him. His hands trembled slightly as he asked again, "Tell me clearly."
"Aa ha…" Paul nodded once, responding like a child himself. He felt her fingers brush through his hair.
"Alright then. When you can finally speak," Paul whispered, lifting his head slowly—
"Ouch."
He felt the pull in his hair. Not hard or painful, just enough to surprise him. His eyes shifted to her.
She was inches away from him, her gaze locked into his. Staring so deeply it felt like she could see through every illusion he carried, straight to whatever truth he kept buried beneath it all.
He felt naked under her eyes.
"What do you want?"