Back on the ship where Ethan and Flux had smuggled out from, they stood in line for their evening meal.
Flux groaned, rubbing his temples. "Man, I'm sick of this—this endless wait, the stale food, the crowds, and worst of all, staring at the damn sea for two days straight."
Ethan shot him a glare. "Lower your voice… You don't wanna get tossed overboard." His stomach growled loudly, making him wince in pain. "Well? You wanna end up swimming with the fish?"
Flux rolled his eyes. "Still got that sea sickness? Why didn't you just stay behind? I could've brought you some canned food."
Ethan sighed. "You know they don't hand out extra rations. They'd just call you greedy—" Another gut-wrenching rumble cut him off. "Damn it… I can't hold it anymore… I gotta puke." He bolted from the line.
Flux shouted after him, "Hey, if you bail now, you're at the back of the line!"
But Ethan was already gone. Shrugging, Flux muttered, "That's his problem."
He scanned the crowd, eyes settling on everyone clutching a plate. "Wait… why's everyone holding a plate?"
It was finally Flux's turn. The man ahead, spoon in hand, turned with impatience. "Kot asyèt ou?" he demanded.
Flux blinked. "Huh?"
The man repeated sharply, "Asyèt! Asyèt!"
Flux started, "I'm sorry, but I—"
From behind, a gruff voice cut in, "He means plate, dumbass."
Heat rising, Flux scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Well… uh… I don't have a plate."
The man guarding the dish didn't hesitate. "Alò, sòti an liy-la, al chèche an asyèt sinon ou pa kay jwenn anyen, mwen ni lòt moun pou mwen ba manjé."
Flux shot back, "What? You want me to leave? I've been standing in this damn line forever. No way I'm starting over. Who knows if this dumb seafood will even last by the time I come back!"
From behind, voices erupted: "Hey, what's the hold up?" "Get lost." "What's going on?" "The guy doesn't have a plate."
Flux swallowed hard, about to back down when he spat, "Fine. I wouldn't eat your trash food anyway."
The man's face twisted in rage. "Ki sa anlan mové ki ou jis di?" He lunged forward.
Before chaos could explode, Ethan appeared, clutching his stomach, groaning, "Eskizé mwen… Eskizé mwen… We're leaving."
He grabbed Flux, pulling him away, eyes still burning into the crowd.
Flux smirked, "Yo, since when do you speak their language?"
Ethan winced, "Only the basics—enough to survive till we hit our destination—and, dude, why insult the food in front of the chef? Yeah, it sucks no different from a baby's throw up but you didn't have to throw shade like that."
Suddenly, silence fell. Everyone was staring. People stood up, cracking their knuckles. "Let's teach these punks how to talk about our food."
Flux rolled his eyes. "Way to go , Ethan."
Ethan chuckled nervously.
Meanwhile, back in Saint Lucia, Jason had just finished his encounter with Malia. As he stepped into the dim corridor, he spotted Brandon standing ahead, arms crossed, staring at him with a cold, unreadable gaze. Their exchange was short—no words wasted. Jason said nothing, simply brushed past him with the same emotionless expression.
Two days later, the long-awaited Jounen Kwéyòl had arrived. The town came alive—lights, colors, traditional patterns, and floral decorations lit up every corner. The air buzzed with music and distant laughter.
At the motel, Malia was inside helping Liam into his disguise for the festivities. Outside on the balcony, Jason leaned against the railing, quietly watching the sky, the wind tousling his hair.
Daphne passed by below, pausing as she caught sight of the stars above. A soft smile crept on her lips before she turned toward the balcony entrance.
That's when Brandon appeared.
"There you are," he said. "Festival's kicking off soon. You should see Liam's costume—Malia made sure no one's gonna recognize him," he added with a faint chuckle.
Daphne smiled. "I'll come take a look."
Brandon hesitated before asking, "You seen Jason? Haven't noticed him around lately."
"I'm sure he's close by," she replied. Then after a pause, "You really keep an eye on him, huh?"
Brandon didn't answer right away.
"I mean," she went on, "You're always watching out for him… even when he acts like he doesn't need anyone. It's like… you respect him."
Brandon's eyes darkened slightly as he looked away. "Yeah… I do."
"Why?"
"Because he's real," Brandon said plainly. "He doesn't fake anything. No masks. No smiles hiding knives. Just straight truth—even if it's cold. I've worked with enough S-Ranks to know most of them are rotten. Polished on the outside, but inside… they're all ready to stab you the moment your back turns."
He paused. "And you know exactly what I'm talking about."
Daphne's smile faded. She lowered her gaze, her hand resting against her chest as a memory passed like a shadow.
"So… what makes Jason different?" she asked softly.
Brandon smirked, but there was no humor in his eyes. "Because he doesn't pretend. He doesn't hide what he thinks or how he feels. He'll tell you to your face whether you like it or not. And maybe that's cold—but it's real. And that kind of honesty? It's rare."
"Compared to you?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.
Brandon's smirk faded. "Let's head back inside. It's getting cold." His tone shifted, lighter again. "You've gotta see Liam's outfit. Trust me, DD, you'll love it."
"Wait—DD?" she blinked. "Where'd that come from—Brandon?"
But he was already walking off, his tone playful again.
Jason, still on the balcony, let out a quiet breath, eyes unmoving from the darkening sky.
Soon enough, it was time to head out. Liam stepped into the room, fully dressed—so disguised, he looked like someone else entirely.
Jason gave him a once-over, then glanced at Malia. "You're pretty good at hiding identities."
Malia smirked. "I'll take that as a compliment, Mr. Icebox. What about you? Not dressing up?"
Jason's cold gaze met hers. "Why would I?"
"Jeez, chillax," she muttered. "Was just messing. And… why do you look like you just ran a marathon? You okay?"
"I'm fine," he muttered, wiping the sweat off his brow. "Let's go, champ."
"Right! That reminds me…" Liam piped up, grinning. "Big bro, did you really spend the night with Ma—?"
Before he could finish, Malia rushed in and clamped her hand over his mouth. "Nope! You don't need the details, Liam."
Jason chuckled under his breath. "If you're that curious, I'll tell you all about it later."
Malia spun around. "What the hell?! He's a kid!"
Jason was already walking away. "Relax. We didn't do anything, so there's nothing to talk about."
His words cut through her like a blade. Malia froze, her face flushed. Brandon snorted behind her, while Daphne gave a quiet sigh of relief.
"You cold-hearted bastard!" Malia snapped.
Jason didn't even look back. "Let's move. We've wasted enough time already."
The group followed, leaving Malia behind, fists clenched and cheeks burning. "That bastard..."
Night had fallen. The town was alive with color—firecrackers lit up the sky, music echoed through the streets, and laughter danced through the air. The festival was in full swing.
To blend in, Jason and the group joined the crowd—painted faces, sampled food, joined in games. Liam looked like he was having the time of his life.
But Jason? Jason kept his distance. His eyes never stopped moving. Always scanning.
Two hours in, he was walking behind the group, silent. Focused. While Brandon, Malia, Liam, and Daphne admired the lively chaos ahead, Jason's mind was elsewhere.
"Too quiet. Something's off. Staying at Malia's place is a risk. That woman at the restaurant—how long until they squeeze her for information? The enemy's stalling… that's never good. We need to move. Fast."
Daphne slowed her steps, matching his pace. "You're somewhere else again," she said, softly. "Maybe take a break? Enjoy the night?"
Jason didn't answer. His eyes were locked on nothing. His jaw tightened.
"We've wasted time… too much time. And if Liam starts asking about going back to his family…" He clenched his fist. "No. We leave soon. No more delays."
Daphne glanced at him, then forward at the others. The night might've been festive—but beside Jason, the air felt like the calm before a storm.
"Jason?"
That pulled him back. His eyes flicked toward her. "Daphne… when did you get here?"
She blinked at him, then gave a half-smile. "A few seconds ago. So I guess you didn't hear a single word I just said, huh?"
"Hm? What'd you say?"
She gave another faint smile—tighter this time. "Forget it."
They walked in silence for a beat, Daphne falling in step beside him.
"Brandon cares about you a lot, you know."
Jason glanced her way but said nothing.
"He told me today… he respects you."
"I couldn't care less." The words came sharp, cold.
Daphne flinched slightly. "That's… harsh."
He didn't stop. "Don't be surprised. I'm just being the honest guy he claims I am."
Her eyes narrowed. "Wait—you were listening? Were you spying on our conversation?"
"Not spying," Jason replied coolly. "You just didn't notice me. I was there first. Maybe next time look around before you start talking. Don't blame me for your lack of awareness."
Daphne puffed, frustrated. "That's not an excuse, Jason!"
He didn't even look at her. "Take it however you want."
She huffed, turning her face away. "Whatever. Back to what I was saying… if you know all that, then why say you don't care? Brandon really respects you."
Jason stopped walking. His expression didn't change, but the shift in his posture said everything.
Daphne slowed, noticing. "What? Did I say something wrong?"
He stared forward for a long moment, then finally spoke. Quiet. Low.
"You trust Brandon that much?"
The question hit her like a gut punch—sharper than she expected.
"...What do you mean?" she asked, but Jason was already walking again, his face unreadable.
As they walked through the lively atmosphere, Jason's mind kept drifting back to his conversation with Brandon—an exchange he couldn't shake.
Ahead, leaning against the wall, stood Brandon—arms crossed and eyes unreadable, like a blade tucked beneath still waters.
"You've grown soft, Jason," Brandon said before Jason even passed him.
Jason halted, gaze steady but silent.
"Three wishes," Brandon continued, voice low and cutting. "Pathetic. The Jason I knew—he wouldn't agree to some nonsense like that. No need to entertain her whims. I could end her right now. Say the word. Who does she think she is, ordering you around?"
Jason exhaled slowly. "You're chatty today."
Finally, his voice—cool, controlled, like ice forming over steel.
"I couldn't care less what you do to her," he said, eyes cold, "but know this—kill her, and you blow everything. Mission over. We get exposed. She's still useful to us—whether you like it or not."
"No, she's not," Brandon countered. "I'll end her right now to prove my point!"
He stepped forward, tension radiating—but Jason didn't flinch.
"If you do that," Jason said quietly, "you show them who you really are. And that's not what you want. They already see one side. They don't need to see the monster beneath."
"Two‑faced monster?" Brandon turned back slowly, a smile curling at the edge of his expression. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"You know exactly what I mean," Jason continued without rising to the bait. "I'm the only one at the agency who sees you clearly. That's why you hover at my side—worried I might expose you. Isn't that right, Vortex?"
Brandon's face tightened. "Don't call me that. Don't call me that two‑faced monster."
Jason slowed his pace, letting the words land like blows. "That's ironic… because you are him. So how could I not call you that? Either way, stay in line, Brandon. I'm telling you once—don't jeopardize this mission. If you do… I won't hesitate to intervene."
Jason moved to leave—but Brandon's voice stopped him.
"Two‑faced monster, huh? You call me that… but aren't you one too? What you're doing with Liam—he doesn't know who you really are. A killing machine hidden behind a calm face."
Jason paused. For a beat, he didn't reply. Then he turned, eyes locked on Brandon's.
"You're wrong," he said, voice flat, but unwavering. "Everything I've done with Liam—none of it is a performance. That is who I am. Every moment I've spent with him, every word and action—that's my honest truth."
Brandon's expression softened—not a smile, but something like understanding.
"I know," he said quietly. "And I don't know why I even said what I said. But I don't hang around you because I'm scared you'll expose me—I stay because I choose to. You're the only person I respect. Truly."
Jason didn't respond. He simply turned and walked on… steps measured and silent.
Behind him, the corridor seemed even darker.
Back in the present, Daphne wouldn't let it go. She kept pressing Jason for answers.
"Brandon…" Jason finally said, his voice low and steady. "He wouldn't hesitate for a second to kill you. Or Liam. If the order came down right now… he'd do it."
Daphne froze. It was as if the world stopped spinning. Her voice came out as a whisper. "What are you saying… kill Liam? That doesn't make any sense…"
"You heard me," Jason said without flinching. "The man walking right in front of you? He's the worst kind of monster. A weapon in disguise. No conscience, no empathy. A pure-blooded killer. He's not S-Rank because of skill… he's S-Rank because of what he's capable of. Things even I wouldn't touch things that made him earn the name 'vortex'."
Daphne looked ahead—Brandon laughing and messing around with Liam. Her heart dropped. Her first instinct was to run, to pull Liam away—but Jason grabbed her wrist.
"Don't. If you act on what you know now, he'll notice. And if he does, I can't protect you."
She was shaking now. "You mean… he's Vortex? The Vortex from that mission? No… not Brandon. It can't be…"
Jason watched her struggle to hold herself together. "I shouldn't have told you. You weren't ready to hear it. But I had to… because if you keep believing he respects me, if you think he's someone safe to trust… you'll end up dead."
He glanced at the group ahead. "Come on. We need to catch up."
But Daphne didn't move. Jason exhaled and walked back, took her hand, and started leading her forward.
She finally spoke, her voice hollow. "I wish you hadn't told me. I'd rather live in the lie… than know the truth."
Jason didn't answer. He just kept walking, still holding her hand firmly .
After a long silence, she muttered, "There's no way he's Vortex… not that Vortex. The one who did that to that poor girl…No… It doesn't make sense… There were rumors—rumors that you were Vortex."
Jason's gaze stayed ahead, cold and unreadable.
"Let's just say… things got messy after that mission. Real messy. The kind of mess they bury behind smiles and rewritten reports."
Daphne looked down, her voice a whisper.
"And the truth?"
Jason's jaw tightened.
"Is better off forgotten."
Daphne went silent again. But this time, it was a different kind of silence—the kind that stays with you.