Damien sat alone beneath the shade of the courtyard awning, one leg crossed neatly over the other, fingers curled loosely around a porcelain coffee cup. He took a slow sip, savoring the bitterness, and allowed himself a moment of quiet satisfaction.

  Things had been unfolding well.

  His thoughts drifted first to Yoru. He’d noticed the way she no longer skirted around him in hallways. The ease in her posture, the subtle lightness in her expressions. Damien felt something small ease in his chest at the observation.

  Being Sentari suited her in the way it gave her structure. He still worried, but he’d long since accepted that discomfort was part of growth. And from everything he could tell, the truly dangerous operations would remain in the hands of veteran Sentari, not trainees like her.

  His gaze lowered briefly to the dark surface of his coffee before his thoughts slid into more interesting territory.

  The Hollow’s emergence had been fortuitous. He’d spent the past two weeks treating the situation like a long form experiment, engineering encounters with just enough precision to keep the Twin Hounds constantly in motion, running them tired like lab rats.

  His interest, in particular, lay with the Dawn Hound.

  That ability capable of reading an entire facility was extraordinary, but abilities like that always came with a cost. Damien had made certain the conditions arose that would force its use. Once, then twice. On increasingly large scales.

  He wondered where the threshold lay. How much mental strain the Dawn Hound could endure before the body began to protest, and the invisible consequences surfaced in ways that couldn’t be ignored.

  Damien set the mug down gently on the table and laced his fingers together, resting his hands comfortably in his lap. Just as he did, the cadence of nearby voices drifted into clearer focus. His attention shifted, almost lazily, as he turned his head.

  At the adjacent table sat four familiar figures, engaged in casual conversation. On the right sat Asha, her long dark braids falling neatly over brown skin, posture composed and attentive. Beside her was Kieran, glasses slightly askew against messy ash brown hair, already wearing the thoughtful frown of someone mid analysis. Then there was Gavant—tall, broad shouldered, dreadlocks tied back—his presence calm and grounded, like an anchor in the conversation.

  But it was the fourth figure who caught Damien’s attention.

  A girl with shoulder length, wavy pale pink hair and striking magenta eyes, dressed far more elaborately than the others. Her clothes were fashionable, deliberate, and her posture radiated a cultivated sense of self importance. A headband perched atop her hair, adorned with pink fox ears that matched her color palette perfectly.

  Ah, Damien thought idly. Estella Koneira.

  The name surfaced without effort. He recalled vaguely that she had a history with Alyne. Some lingering resentment, perhaps. The specifics never bothered to stick, simply because he couldn’t care less.

  Damien observed the group for a moment longer, then looked away, uninterested. There was little common ground worth cultivating, and he’d long since learned that solitude was preferable to feigned pleasantries.

  He lifted his coffee again and took a slow sip, but despite himself, fragments of their conversation drifted over.

  “Vigilantes just do what they do for the fame,” Estella said, her voice sharp and high pitched, grating against Damien’s ears.

  “I disagree,” Kieran replied calmly. “It’s pretty clear Echo is driven by ideology.”

  Asha hummed in agreement. “Yeah. There’s definitely some deep rooted history with the government there. It makes you wonder who he is. Maybe late forties or fifties?”

  A flicker of amusement stirred in Damien’s chest. His lips curved into the faintest smirk as he stared into the dark surface of his coffee.

  Completely wrong, as usual.

  People never realized how carefully the persona had been constructed to invite exactly that kind of misdirection. Years of layered narrative, planted contradictions, deliberate mythmaking. No one ever came close to the truth.

  Then Gavant spoke, his voice carrying easily, almost lazily, like a thought released into the air rather than directed at anyone in particular.

  “You know, there’s a fire to revolution. And fire tends to belong to the young.”

  Estella frowned. “What does that even mean?”

  “I think Echo is younger than most people assume,” Gavant continued. “Probably closer to our age. Early twenties, maybe.”

  Damien went completely still.

  Slowly, he tilted his head, eyes flicking back toward the group.

  Gavant sat there stroking his chin thoughtfully, blissfully unaware of the truth he had just laid bare. The other three wore expressions ranging from skeptical to outright doubtful as they turned Gavant’s comment over in their heads.

  Asha crossed her arms, unimpressed. “I don’t know… I find that a bit hard to imagine. Considering his influence, Echo feels like someone who’s spent years building connections or amassing power. Early twenties doesn’t seem like enough time to do all that.”

  Kieran adjusted his glasses, ever the mediator. “It’s highly unlikely, but not impossible. If Echo were that young, he’d either need insider information or he’d have to be incredibly resourceful. Maybe both. Still, it’s a stretch.”

  Estella flicked her hair, clearly unconvinced. “Come on, no one our age could pull off something like that without it being painfully obvious.”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Damien turned his gaze away from the table, expression carefully neutral as he smoothed over the brief flicker of unease that had curled in his chest.

  That was unexpected… but it’s not a big deal. Just an offhand remark. They’ll move on soon enough.

  Still, he listened.

  Kieran spoke again, curiosity overtaking skepticism. “Do you think Echo has any fears? It’s hard to imagine someone that untouchable not having his weaknesses covered.”

  Asha hummed, thoughtful. “He definitely has contingencies for everything. Maybe he’s afraid of being unmasked—but that’s kind of a universal vigilante fear. I can’t really think of anything else.”

  Estella leaned forward, more animated now. “He has to be scared of the Twin Hounds, right? They’re always trying to kill him.”

  Damien gave a faint, private scoff.

  Afraid of those mutts? Please, that’s generous.

  The Twin Hounds were dangerous, but fear implied a lack of control. What he felt toward them was closer to professional caution. The kind you applied to sharp tools.

  He lifted his mug and took a slow sip, considering the question anyway. Truthfully, there weren’t many things that scared him. At least, nothing obvious that came to mind.

  Then Gavant straightened, eyes lighting up as if struck by sudden inspiration.

  “I think,” he said brightly, “Echo’s afraid of geese.”

  Damien nearly choked.

  The coffee scalded his tongue as he swallowed too fast, heat flaring sharply before he forced himself to recover. He set the mug back down with deliberate care. Internally, disbelief and a mild, deeply offended indignation rose in his chest.

  I am NOT afraid of geese. That is absurd.

  The others seemed to share his sentiment.

  “Gavant,” Asha said, perfectly deadpan, “you can’t be serious. This is Echo we’re talking about, the most wanted vigilante in the nation. There’s no way he’s afraid of geese.”

  Estella scoffed. “Geese are loud and annoying, sure, but they’re just birds. He could literally crush them with his powers.”

  Damien agreed with both of them wholeheartedly. Geese were aggressive, unpredictable, and offered no strategic value. Avoidance, therefore, was the optimal choice. If someone insisted on calling that fear, then they fundamentally misunderstood the concept.

  Kieran leaned forward, curious. “I’m actually interested… what’s your reasoning?”

  Gavant remained completely unbothered, a serene smile settling on his face as he gestured lazily through the air, as though sketching something only he could see.

  “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “life is just like a goose. Some days it takes a pleasant stroll. Other days it goes for a swim. Maybe it honks at a fish. You’re never really sure what it’ll do next.”

  Damien processed this in silence, brow knitting almost imperceptibly.

  That doesn’t even make sense. How does this remotely support his conclusion??

  “Right…” Asha said slowly, clearly just as confused. “Whatever you say.”

  Kieran hummed thoughtfully. “I mean, I can kind of imagine it being an irrational fear.”

  Damien lifted his cup again and took a careful sip, trying to hide the rising indignation in his chest.

  Wrong. It’s not fear—it’s strategy. A very rational approach to creatures with volatile behaviors. I am in no ways inferior or showing weakness to an avian, of all things. This is absolutely ridiculous.

  Estella spoke next, her voice sharp as she shifted the focus away from speculation and back toward irritation.

  “Ugh, whatever. Enough talk about Echo already,” she said with a dismissive wave. “He’s just some evil masked guy who wants to destroy everything. Why do people even care about him?”

  Kieran adjusted his glasses and glanced at her, tone dry. “I suspect it’s because being labeled the number one threat to society is kind of a big deal.”

  Asha let out a slow, resigned sigh. “Personally, I just… don’t understand how someone like him even exists. How can you make decisions to kill people without even batting an eye? It’s really disturbing. I feel like the world would honestly just be better off without people like him.”

  Damien looked away then, gaze drifting toward the distant courtyard as sunlight glinted off stone and glass. He considered her words in silence.

  Reasonable, he thought absently. That’s the acceptable consensus, the expected moral conclusion. Anything else would be concerning.

  He had always known how his methods appeared from the outside. He knew lives were endangered. That his approach was radical, unforgiving. Years of wearing the name Echo had long since dulled his reaction to sentiments like these.

  Still… the words lingered longer than he would have preferred.

  Then Gavant spoke. His voice drifted through the space with an almost contemplative ease, as though he were sharing a passing thought rather than entering the debate.

  “You know, there’s something lonely about echoes.”

  Damien stilled.

  Gavant continued, unaware.

  “An echo fills a space with noise. It bounces around, overlaps with itself, grows distorted the longer it travels. People hear the repetition and think that’s all there is. But they forget that every echo starts as a single, clear sound. By the time it reaches you, you can’t tell where it came from anymore—only that it’s loud.”

  The courtyard seemed to go quiet. Damien stared straight ahead, mind grinding to a halt.

  …Did he just call me lonely?

  The thought hit with sharp disbelief, followed immediately by indignation. That was absurd. You couldn’t psychoanalyze a vigilante based on an alias. That wasn’t how anything worked.

  And yet, the more he turned it over, the worse it became. Distortion. Misrepresentation. A single origin buried beneath layers of repetition and perception. A truth no one ever actually heard because no one bothered to look for the source.

  His stomach tightened.

  No. No no no. Absolutely not.

  Damien finally turned his head and looked directly at Gavant, eyes narrowed in silent accusation. Internally, his thoughts spiraled—indignant, defensive, faintly horrified.

  Who is this man?? There is no way he knows who I am. No conceivable way AT ALL. This is a coincidence, random philosophical nonsense that happens to brush too close to... something.

  At the other table, Asha blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Oh…” she said slowly. “When you phrase it like that… I actually feel kind of bad now.”

  Kieran nodded, thoughtful. “It does make Echo sound more like a misunderstood antihero, honestly.”

  Estella frowned. “I still don’t really get it.”

  Gavant smiled gently and patted her shoulder. “Understanding doesn’t excuse actions, but where the heart is matters, too—even when the outcome is wrong.”

  Damien was still staring at Gavant like a complex mathematical problem when he realized the group had noticed him. Asha straightened in her seat, Estella reached up to adjust her fox-ear headband, Kieran inclined his head in a small, respectful nod.

  And Gavant, utterly oblivious to the existential crisis he had just inflicted, brightened and lifted a hand in a cheerful little wave.

  Damien did not react. He sat with his arms crossed, expression smooth and unreadable, quietly recalibrating. He had no intention of engaging. Certainly no intention of acknowledging that he had just spent the better part of ten minutes unwillingly auditing a group discussion about his own vigilante persona.

  “Oh! Hi, Damien,” Asha said, her voice warm and carefully neutral. “We’re not bothering you, are we?”

  Damien regarded them for a beat longer than necessary, eyes flicking over the group in a quick, efficient assessment.

  “…You’re very loud,” he said finally.

  Kieran blinked, then nodded immediately. “Ah. Sorry about that,” he said, already pushing his chair back. “We’ll move somewhere else.”

  Chairs scraped softly as they stood, bags were gathered, polite goodbyes exchanged. Damien watched them go. Or more specifically, he watched Gavant—walking near the center of the group, already launching into some entirely unrelated tangent while the others listened, completely unaware of the metaphysical damage he had caused.

  Damien’s expression didn’t change. In all his years spent constructing airtight narratives, layered contingencies, and identities so thoroughly misdirected they bordered on art—no one had ever come close. Not investigators. Not analysts. Not even the Twin Hounds.

  And yet Gavant had managed to wander alarmingly near the truth without logic, without evidence, and—most offensively—without even trying.

  Forget the Twin Hounds, Damien thought with reluctant seriousness. This is a bigger threat.

  Gavant Leontara… is the most dangerous man alive.

  ─ ? NEXT CHAPTER POV ? ─

  Lillianne