The mansion had never been this quiet.
Vinny sat at the long dining table, eyes locked on the untouched food in front of him. The chandelier above flickered faintly, casting reflections across the silverware. The smell of roasted herbs and wine hung in the air — luxury that felt wasted on silence.
At the other end of the table, Matthew sat straight-backed, composed as always. He didn't speak. Didn't eat. He just stared down at his glass of wine as though it could give him answers.
The distance between them wasn't just physical. It was deliberate.
Vinny's throat was still tight from earlier, the conversation through the locked door echoing in his mind — Matthew's quiet voice, the apology, the confession.
"I'm not trying to hurt you… I'm just terrified you'll disappear too."
And yet here they were. Two ghosts pretending to dine together.
Vinny's fingers clenched under the table. He wanted to say something — anything — but the words tangled before they reached his mouth. So he just stood, chair scraping softly against the marble floor.
Matthew looked up instantly. "Leaving already?"
Vinny forced a faint, polite smile. "I've lost my appetite."
Their eyes met. For a split second, Matthew looked like he wanted to say something — maybe to stop him, maybe to beg him to stay. But whatever it was, he swallowed it down, returning to his cold composure.
"Sleep well, then," he said quietly.
Vinny didn't answer. He turned and walked out, each step echoing through the hall until the silence swallowed him whole.
He didn't go to his room.
His feet moved on their own, carrying him through the long corridors lined with portraits and ancient tapestries. The house felt like it was breathing — walls whispering secrets, floorboards creaking like sighs.
He'd lived here long enough to know the rhythm of its silence.
But tonight… it felt different.
He passed the staircase that led down to the lab — the one place he wouldn't go. The sight of those glass tubes still haunted him, the memory of Matthew's shaking hands trying to reconnect wires that no longer mattered.
Vinny stopped, pressing a hand against the wall, breathing through the ache in his chest.
He shouldn't care. He shouldn't.
But the image of Matthew on his knees, holding his mother's still hand, refused to leave him.
Vinny closed his eyes. "You're not supposed to pity him," he muttered to himself. "You're supposed to hate him."
The words tasted like lies.
He straightened up, glancing toward the west hallway — the part of the mansion Matthew had always avoided. The "ghost wing," the guards whispered. Sealed after his mother fell ill. Vinny had noticed it once in passing — doors locked, dust thick on the handles, no servants allowed beyond that side.
Maybe it was grief. Maybe it was paranoia. Or maybe… it was the key to everything.
Curiosity burned hotter than fear.
The hallway was dim, lit only by slivers of moonlight cutting through tall windows. The air smelled of dust and time. Vinny's footsteps echoed softly as he walked, fingers trailing along the walls until he reached a heavy oak door.
Locked, of course.
But Matthew wasn't the only one who could be prepared. Vinny pulled a thin piece of wire from his pocket — a trick he'd picked up years ago, before Matthew, before the mansion, before this mess.
The lock clicked open with a soft sound.
The room beyond was colder than the rest of the house. It was lined with glass cases and medical cabinets — not pristine like the lab below, but old, forgotten.
A few framed photographs sat on a covered table, the fabric yellowed with age.
Vinny stepped closer, brushing off the dust.
The first photo was of Matthew as a child — maybe five or six — sitting on a marble step beside a smiling woman. Her hair was pulled back, eyes the same shade of silver as Matthew's.
Vinny's breath caught. She looked so alive there.
Nothing like the pale, motionless figure he'd seen floating in that glass tank.
He reached for another photo. This one wasn't of Matthew — it was a man, sharp-faced, in a dark suit with a scar across his chin. The name etched on the corner read:
Dr. A. Rosenthal.
Vinny frowned. The same name appeared in one of the files he'd seen in the lab — under Project Elysium.
He rifled through the stack of papers beside the frame. Old reports. Research contracts. Testimonies.
Then one caught his eye — a shipping log stamped with the insignia of Mercato Del Muerte.
His pulse spiked. The black market.
He scanned the document quickly. It listed the "supplies" used for early Elysium trials — human subjects. Age ranges. Origin codes.
One code he recognized immediately: #D-17 — Eastern Zone, V. Ashbourne.
Vinny's stomach twisted.
That code… that was his brother's.
Hands trembling, he flipped the page. The entry beside it:
"Acquired for genetic testing. Deceased after 72 hours. Transferred to Rosenthal facility."
He couldn't breathe. The letters blurred.
His brother… was one of them.
And Matthew's mother — her treatment, her survival — had been built on the same experiment that killed him.
Vinny backed away from the table, eyes wide. The air felt too thin, too cold.
It couldn't be.
Matthew couldn't have known. Could he?
He gripped the edge of the desk, trying to steady himself. His reflection in the dusty glass stared back — pale, furious, broken.
He wanted to scream.
Instead, he heard footsteps.
Vinny froze.
They were distant but getting closer — firm, steady, unmistakable.
Matthew.
He scanned the room in panic. The door was too far. There was nowhere to hide — except behind a tall curtain near the back window. He ducked behind it just as the handle turned.
The door creaked open.
Matthew stepped inside, holding a small lantern, his expression shadowed. He didn't look surprised — just tired.
He glanced around the room slowly, his eyes passing over the table, the disturbed papers, the open cabinet.
Vinny held his breath, heart pounding so loud it felt like thunder.
Matthew sighed, setting the lantern down. "I told you this part of the house was off-limits," he murmured into the darkness. His tone wasn't angry — it was resigned, almost sad. "You can't help yourself, can you?"
He turned toward the curtain.
Vinny tensed, every muscle screaming to stay still.
Then Matthew said softly, "Come out."
For a moment, silence. Then, slowly, Vinny stepped out from behind the curtain — caught.
Matthew's expression barely shifted, but his eyes… his eyes said everything.
"You really don't know when to stop," he whispered.
Vinny's voice cracked. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Matthew frowned faintly. "Tell you what?"
Vinny grabbed one of the documents from the table and threw it toward him. "That your mother's treatment was built on human experiments. On people like my brother!"
The words hit the room like a gunshot.
Matthew froze. His jaw tightened, but his eyes betrayed something — shock, then guilt. "You shouldn't have seen that."
"Answer me!" Vinny's voice broke. "You knew, didn't you? That she was alive because others weren't!"
Matthew's silence said enough.
Vinny's breath came fast and uneven. "You talk about saving lives, about protecting me, but you're no better than the monsters who sold my brother!"
Matthew took a step forward, voice low, shaking. "Don't say that."
"Then what should I say?" Vinny shot back. "That you're the same man who keeps me chained like a pet while pretending it's love?"
Matthew's hands clenched. "You think this is easy for me? You think I wanted any of this? I lost everything, Vinny!"
"And so did I," Vinny said quietly, eyes glistening. "The difference is — you had the power to stop it."
Matthew's chest rose and fell sharply, his breath unsteady. For once, his mask cracked — grief and fury bleeding through.
"Get out," he said hoarsely.
Vinny blinked. "What?"
Matthew turned away, voice cold. "Get out of this room before I say something I can't take back."
For a long, fragile moment, neither moved.
Then Vinny stepped backward, clutching the papers in his hand, and left — the door shutting between them like a final wall.
He didn't stop walking until he reached his room. His hands shook as he set the papers down, the truth pounding in his skull.
Matthew's mother.
The black market.
His brother.
Everything was connected.
And now, Matthew's control wasn't just about love — it was about guilt. About burying the cost of his salvation.
Vinny sank to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest, the whisper of his brother's name echoing in the dark.
For the first time, he didn't know who the real enemy was — Matthew… or the past they both shared.