I woke up before sunrise.
Not because I wanted to.
But because my body wouldn't let me sleep.
Mark's voice still rang in my ears.
"I hope you're excited for tomorrow."
I sat up, rubbing the exhaustion from my face. The safehouse was silent, the others still resting. But outside these walls, the world was anything but quiet.
I reached for my phone. The news cycle hadn't stopped overnight. Headlines flooded every platform, picking apart every angle of the trial.
"Masked Syndicate Dodges Criminal Ties—But for How Long?"
"New Footage Sparks Debate: Was Mr. Fox Ever a Hero?"
"Courtroom Chaos: Is the Defense Too Confident?"
Some were in our favor. Some were vicious. The public was divided, but the most dangerous thing I saw wasn't the accusations.
Even supporters were starting to hesitate. The Masked Syndicate had always been shrouded in mystery, but now that secrecy was working against us.
A knock at the door pulled me out of my thoughts.
Evelyn stepped inside, holding a tablet.
"You saw the headlines?" she asked.
I nodded. "It's what I expected."
Evelyn sighed, tapping on the screen. "Today is going to be worse. Damian knows you backed him into a corner, so he'll be throwing everything he has at you."
I frowned. "You think he has a checkmate move?"
"Not him," she said, expression unreadable. "But the people backing him? Absolutely."
My grip on the blanket tightened. "Mark."
Evelyn nodded. "I don't know why he's here, but I do know one thing—when men like him enter a courtroom, it's never about the law. It's about power."
Sienna, Camille, and Alexis entered the room one by one, already dressed in their respective outfits. They didn't say much, but I could feel the tension in the air.
We all knew today would be the hardest day yet.
And none of us knew what was coming next.
The courtroom was packed.
The moment we stepped inside, I felt the shift in the atmosphere. The media presence had doubled. The energy in the room was different—heavier.
Damian stood at the prosecution's table, a smug look carved into his face as the judge called for order.
"The prosecution would like to call a surprise witness," he said smoothly. "A man with firsthand knowledge of the dangers posed by the Masked Syndicate."
The doors at the back of the courtroom opened.
The reaction was instant. Murmurs spread like wildfire. Even the judge looked mildly surprised.
Everyone knew who he was.
The director of one of the most ambitious space programs in human history. The man responsible for sending humanity to Mars.
But something was wrong.
His skills... they weren't the same.
The old ones—his high-level directorial skills, his leadership-based titles—were gone. In their place was an entirely different set.
There was no last name listed.
Mark wasn't just a different man in status. He was a different man entirely.
He stepped towards the witness stand with the same composed presence I had seen on the day he made his speech.
But then, he met my gaze.
His face remained calm. But his words...
"You're not going to fool me, Mr. Leviathan."
The words were quiet. Precise. Meant only for me.
The courtroom continued on, but I felt the world around me narrow.
And worse—he didn't even seem to care that I knew he knew.
I stiffened as he continued, still keeping his voice low enough that no one else could hear.
"Mr. Fox. Mr. Dust. Mr. Angel. You think changing their names changes who they are?" He let a small smirk slip. "I won't tell anyone. But I hope you're ready to lose."
The bailiff swore him in, and Damian wasted no time.
"Mr. Mark, you've spent years overseeing large-scale operations," Damian began. "Would you say that experience has given you a strong understanding of power, control, and the dangers that come with it?"
Mark inclined his head. "I would."
"And in your professional opinion," Damian continued, "what are your thoughts on the Masked Syndicate?"
Mark folded his hands, his posture perfectly neutral. "I have always believed that any system that operates outside the law is inherently dangerous. The Masked Syndicate does not answer to a government. They do not answer to oversight. They answer only to themselves."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.
"They claim to help. But what happens when their definition of 'help' no longer aligns with what is right?"
A shift ran through the jury.
The murmurs in the gallery grew louder.
Damian let the moment stretch before delivering the killing blow.
"So, in your expert opinion, the Masked Syndicate is not a force for justice."
Mark didn't hesitate. "They are a liability."
The words struck hard.
After that, Damian stated that he had no further questions and it was now my turn to cross-examine him.
I rose from my seat, keeping my movements slow, controlled.
"Mr. Mark," I started, my voice even, "you say the Masked Syndicate operates outside the law."
"And yet, you are aware, are you not, that many government agencies also operate in secret?"
Mark nodded. "There is a difference between sanctioned secrecy and uncontrolled secrecy."
I tilted my head. "And who gets to decide which secrecy is justified? The government? The same people who have lied, covered up, and manipulated the truth for decades?"
A flicker of amusement crossed Mark's face. "I never said the system was perfect. But a flawed system is still better than no system at all."
A subtle murmur ran through the audience.
"You say the Masked Syndicate is a danger. Tell me, how many lives have they saved?"
Mark exhaled slightly, his expression unreadable. "That is irrelevant. Even criminals can do good. That does not absolve them of the crimes they commit in the process."
I frowned. "And what crimes would those be?"
"Vigilantism. Operating under false identities. Deception. The public cannot determine whether they are heroes or frauds because they control their own narrative. A world where people decide for themselves when the law applies to them is a world of chaos."
I scoffed. "And yet, the world we live in is already full of people who decide when the law applies to them. Corrupt politicians, corporate elites, secret organizations—"
"Ah," Mark interrupted, his gaze sharp. "So your argument is that because the world is broken, the solution is to break it further?"
This bastard was good.
I took a breath, forcing my thoughts to remain clear. "No. My argument is that justice does not always come from those in power. Sometimes, it comes from those who refuse to bow to it."
Mark tilted his head slightly, his expression still unreadable. "That sounds poetic, Mr. Leviathan. But poetry does not hold up in a courtroom."
The audience chuckled lightly.
"Let's talk about the crimes you accuse the Masked Syndicate of," I said, shifting gears. "You say they operate in secrecy. That they wear masks. That they hide their ranks."
"And yet, Mr. Mark, I find it interesting that you speak with such certainty about them when you yourself have been known to operate behind closed doors."
For the first time—Mark's expression flickered.
"Careful, Mr. Leviathan."
I stepped closer. "No. You be careful. Because I've been listening to you talk this entire time, and I see right through you."
The courtroom was silent.
Mark exhaled slightly. "Elaborate."
"You keep saying the Masked Syndicate operates outside of the system. That they are dangerous because they are unknown. But isn't it interesting that for all your accusations, you have yet to provide any actual proof of wrongdoing?"
Mark's lips pressed together slightly.
"The proof is in their actions," he said smoothly.
"Is it?" I shot back. "Or is it just a matter of perception?"
Mark leaned forward slightly. "Perception is reality, Mr. Leviathan. And the world is beginning to perceive the Masked Syndicate as criminals."
I had been fighting this battle on logic. On reasoning.
But Mark wasn't here to debate legality.
He was here to win over the public.
And I had had enough.
I exhaled sharply, my voice dropping lower.
"You claim to be an objective observer, Mr. Mark."
"Are you?" I took another step forward. "Because from where I'm standing, you're nothing but a biased witness."
Damian straightened. "Objection—"
"You are not some objective observer," I snarled. "You are a man who personally tried to kill Mr. Angel."
The courtroom erupted.
Gasps. Outrage. Chaos.
The judge slammed the gavel. "Order! Order in the court!"
Damian turned to me, furious. "This is absurd—"
The judge turned sharply. "Mr. Leviathan, do you have proof of this claim?"
I steadied my breath.
"I do, Your Honor. And I will present it."
The judge exhaled, considering. Then—
"This trial will adjourn for the day. The evidence will be reviewed before proceeding further. And Mr. Leviathan, the next time you pull a move , you will be held in contempt of court. Am I clear?"
"...Yes, your honor." I said, my voice still exasperated from the rising argument.
The tension in the air was thick.
Mark slowly stood from the witness stand, rubbing his hands as if nothing had happened.
But as the room cleared out—
He leaned in slightly, his voice quiet.
"You really are an interesting one."
Mark smiled slightly. "Be careful what you prove, Mr. Leviathan. Some truths are more dangerous than lies."
Then, without another word—
I watched him go, my heart still racing.