The phone kept ringing, while Johnny just stared at the screen with his hand hovering just above it. His thoughts moving slower than they should.His body was still caught in the moment he had just been in, the warmth of Sophie still lingering against his skin.Then ringing stopped, and silence followed.A quiet kind of silence. The kind that felt heavier than noise.Sophie let out a quiet breath beside him. It wasn’t loud, it was small, almost unnoticeable, but Johnny felt it.The way her body relaxed slightly beneath him, the way her fingers loosened just a little against his arm.Relief.Johnny didn’t say anything. He just stared at the phone in his hand, his mind still catching up.Then—A soft vibration. A new notification -- Voicemail.His thumb moved before he could overthink it. He picked up the phone and tapped the notification.Margaret’s voice came through.“Johnny… I—I’m sorry.”Everything inside him stilled again.Sophie didn’t move now. She stayed still beneath him, but h

Margaret kept looking around, her mind still couldn’t process how Johnny had suddenly vanished into thin air.She looked around for any where he could be hiding, and didn’t even realize how much her hands were shaking until one of the officers pointed it out.“Ma’am… are you alright?”She blinked, looking down at her fingers like they belonged to someone else.“I’m fine,” she said quickly, even though her voice came out thinner than she wanted.The officers didn’t look convinced, but they moved on anyway.“Let’s start simple,” the officer said, flipping open a small notebook. His tone was calm, but there was something sharp underneath it.Another officer leaned forward slightly. “How long have you known Johnny Steele?”“I—” she started, then stopped. “For quite a short while”That was the answer, right? That was what made sense. That was what was safe.The officers exchanged a look. “Okay, and what is your relationship with Johnny Steele?”Margret hesitated for just a second too long.

“Miss Grace,” one of them repeated politely. “We’ll need you to come with us.”Margaret blinked, then nodded slowly. “Oh… okay.”She stood up, adjusting her bag, but before she could fully settle it on her shoulder, one of the men stepped forward and took it from her.“We’ll handle that,” he said.She hesitated for just a second, then let him take it.Her mind was still catching up, still trying to make sense of things as she followed them.Still hoping. Maybe this was connected to Johnny. Maybe this was him. Maybe he sent them. Maybe—But as they turned and began walking, she noticed where they were heading.Back inside. Back into the studio.Margret slowed her steps slightly, while her eyes searching their faces quickly, but something felt off.Not wrong, just… unfamiliar.“…Wait,” she said, her voice uncertain. “Where are we going?”“The executives of Pantheon Valley Got Talent would like to have a word with you,” one of them replied without hesitation.The words settled in slowly.

For a brief second, no one moved.The air in the room had changed so suddenly it almost felt unreal, like something invisible had snapped into place.Johnny stood at the doorway, one hand still slightly lowered from pushing it open. His chest rose once, slowly, as his eyes took everything in.Margaret.She was half out of the chair, blouse pulled open at the collar, one sleeve hanging off her shoulder.Her hair was a mess, tears cutting clean lines through her makeup, and her eyes — God, her eyes — were wide open and locked onto him with the kind of desperate relief that a drowning person shows when they finally see the surface.Johnny's jaw tightened.He had seen a lot of horrible things in his life. Before the system and during it. But something about this — her specifically, like this — hit differently.I left her side.The thought came in slow and heavy, settling into his chest like a stone.I walked away, and this is what happened the moment I did.The thought hit harder than anyt

The man on the floor lifted his head slightly, his brows pulling together despite the pain on his face. “Who…?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “What are you talking about…?” "Valentine Orlov," Johnny repeated, enunciating each syllable slowly. "I want to know his connection to this competition. Is this some kind of farm for him to pick up people?” The confusion deepened. The man in the middle pushed himself up onto one elbow with visible effort, blinking through his swollen eye. "We have no idea what you're talking about," he said. His voice was thick, congested with blood at the back of his throat. "We don't know that name." Johnny watched him for a second. He had expected hesitation. Deflection. Lies. What he got instead was something else entirely. Genuine lack of understanding. He stepped closer, his gaze narrowing slightly. “Don’t waste my time,” he said. “You know exactly who I’m talking about.” “I swear…” the man coughed, wincing as he tried to sit up. “We don’t… we don’t