Han’s heart sank, the weight of unspoken implications heavy in the air.


    Concealing was no longer an option for Mavis, her gaze falling to the floor in acknowledgment.


    Han understood that her silence held the truth.


    “Regarding Derek’s injury, you sought out Bruce in an attempt to exonerate yourself. The n was to


    bring him to us and prove your loyalty. But things took a different turn. Bruce ended up shooting you


    instead. Is that what transpired, Mavis?”


    Han’s deduction pinpointed the origin of the gunshot wound.


    His words struck a chord within Mavis, a poignant pang in her chest.


    Guns had been an alien concept in her world until her first encounter with Han. Never had she


    fathomed she’d bear a gunshot wound.


    Her skin had always been a canvas of pride, pampered with an array of skincare products. Even a


    mere hint of redness would stir discontent.


    Yet this unsightly wound now marked her flesh, a permanent testament.


    Ang’s Library


    Unbidden, a solitary tearnded on her pristine trousers, a small rebellion against her own perceived


    weakness.


    Swiftly, she masked it with her hand. Crying seemed like a Luxury she couldn’t afford.


    Witnessing this, Han experienced a twinge deep within, a sensation akin to a de’s thrust. The


    unfamiliar pain seemed to stir within him, a sign that he was no longer the emotionless figure he once


    was.


    In a tentative motion, Han extended his hand, a gesture to offer sce to Mavis’ shoulder. But


    hesitation held him captive-partly due to the wound before him, a reminder of his own implication in her


    ordeal.


    “Han, let’s sit down and eat. I’m still hungry,” Mavis announced, her head raised as if to erase the


    gravity of the moment.


    “Alright,” Han responded, his voice stiff, the weight of his thoughts left unspoken.


    Amid the course of their meal, Han excused himself, citing an impending matter. Taking the initiative,


    he settled the bill in advance and departed.


    While sitting there, he sensed that Mavis was consistently lost in thought. She harbored concerns that


    right after shepleted her meal, he might take her life.


    Upon exiting the establishment, from the confines of his car, Han observed the restaurant. In his


    absence, Mavis noticeably unwound, engaging in a rxed conversation with the waiter for a period of


    time.


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    Martin, behind the wheel, rolled down his window and ignited a cigarette. After a contemtive


    moment, he eased the car into motion, leaving the scene behind.


    Within the bar’s dim confines, Bruce prepared to return to his private room. Yet the trill of his phone cut


    through the air-it was a call from the family house.


    For a fleeting moment, he scrutinized the iing call, capturing its essence before promptly


    answering, averting its imminent conclusion.


    “Mr. Thomas, this is Freyja,” she began, her voice carrying an air of formality.


    On the other end, udia’s voice chimed in, “Freyja, have you managed to reach Bruce?”


    “Freyja, what’s the situation?”