I sat down with the rest of the jury, my mind still spinning.
Evelyn had let me go.
There was no logical reason for that.
I had seen my skills on the evaluation screen. My entire Construction Worker profile was gone, replaced by my Lawyer job. There was no way that was normal.
Evelyn had acted as if nothing was wrong.
I kept my expression neutral, my hands folded in front of me as I sat among the other jurors. But inside, my thoughts were racing.
No. That didn't make sense.
Evelyn was a professional, the kind of evaluator who followed protocol with absolute precision. If she had found a discrepancy, she would have pointed it out. She wouldn't just ignore it.
Evelyn didn't make mistakes.
That possibility was even more unsettling.
Someone with enough influence to override an evaluator's judgment had given an unspoken order to let me pass.
But there was no time to dwell on it.
The courtroom doors closed, and the judge entered.
I stood with the rest of the jury, forcing my thoughts to the present.
The case was about to begin.
I settled into my seat as the judge spoke.
"This court is now in session for the case of Mr. Dome vs. Print Binding Inc."
That name sent a jolt of confusion through me.
I slowly turned my gaze toward the defendant's seat.
A man sat there, dressed in an ill-fitted suit. His posture was slouched, but what stood out the most was his mask.
A metal sphere covered his entire head.
A perfectly smooth, reflective dome.
A cold unease settled in my chest.
There was no Mr. Dome in the Masked Syndicate.
This was an imposter.
Someone was pretending to be one of us.
My fingers curled slightly against my lap.
Was this why I had been called here?
Was someone sending me a message?
I forced myself to stay composed as the judge continued.
The prosecution stood up.
His suit was crisp, his presence commanding. He radiated confidence as he adjusted his glasses and approached the jury.
Of course. He was the prosecutor.
That meant I'd get to see exactly how he operated in the courtroom.
I focused, analyzing him carefully.
Damian had an aggressive style.
He walked toward the center of the room with purpose, his expression locked into a controlled scowl.
"The case is straightforward," he announced, his voice ringing through the courtroom.
"The defendant—Mr. Dome—is accused of illegally siphoning funds from his company, Print Binding Inc. Over the course of the last five months, nearly two million credits have been transferred into private accounts under false names, all linked back to him."
So that was what this was about.
It was an open-and-shut case.
The evidence was stacked against the defendant. Unless he had a miracle defense, he was going to lose.
I turned my gaze to Mr. Dome.
He was completely still.
That metallic sphere of a mask reflected the dim light of the courtroom, making it impossible to see his face.
But I could hear his breathing.
Slow. Even. Unbothered.
Like he wasn't even worried.
Damian took a step forward, his tone sharp.
"The prosecution will now call its first witness."
A bailiff opened the side door, and a well-dressed man stepped forward. He looked nervous, adjusting his tie as he made his way to the stand.
The court clerk instructed him to raise his right hand. "Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"
"I—I do," the man stammered, taking a seat.
Damian wasted no time. He stepped forward with the confidence of a man who already knew the outcome.
"State your name and occupation for the court."
"Uh... Richard Calloway. I'm the financial director at Print Binding Inc."
"And what is your relationship to the defendant?"
Calloway swallowed. "He was... my superior."
The words came out stiff, uncomfortable.
Damian adjusted his glasses, his eyes laser-focused. "Tell us what happened, Mr. Calloway."
The financial director let out a breath, shifting slightly in his chair. "About five months ago, I noticed discrepancies in our company's financial reports. At first, I thought it was just a clerical error, but the numbers weren't adding up. Money was being transferred out in small increments—hidden across multiple accounts. I conducted a private audit and traced it back to one source."
His hands clenched slightly against his lap.
A quiet murmur spread through the jury section.
Damian nodded as if he had expected this answer.
"And how much money was siphoned away in total?"
Calloway hesitated. "Close to two million credits."
Another murmur rippled through the courtroom.
I sat still, observing.
There was paper evidence, financial records, digital logs. Everything pointed directly at Mr. Dome.
This should have been an open-and-shut case.
I glanced toward the defense table, expecting some kind of reaction.
But Mr. Dome remained completely still.
His metallic mask reflected the dim overhead lighting, making it impossible to gauge his expression.
Damian continued. "And were there any indications that Mr. Dome had the authority to make these transfers?"
Calloway shook his head. "No. He was never authorized to move funds . There were no signed approvals, no documentation—he bypassed all security measures."
Calloway hesitated again.
I could see the slight tightening of his jaw.
Damian's eyes sharpened. "You mean to tell me that two million credits vanished without anyone realizing how?"
Calloway shifted in his seat. "All transactions were rerouted through a system that should have flagged any unauthorized activity. But whoever did this knew how to avoid detection for months. If I hadn't manually checked the reports, we might never have noticed."
Damian turned slightly, adjusting his stance before glancing toward Mr. Dome.
"Do you hear that, Mr. Dome?"
The masked man remained silent.
"You went out of your way to cover your tracks. You knew what you were doing was illegal."
I couldn't shake my unease.
Something about Mr. Dome was off.
He never reacted. Never fidgeted.
Even when overwhelming proof was presented against him, he remained silent.
Until the moment he was finally called to the stand.
Damian adjusted his tie, stepping toward him with the slow, deliberate movements of a predator who already knew he had won.
"State your full name," Damian ordered.
The masked man tilted his head slightly.
A ripple of murmurs spread through the courtroom.
Damian's expression darkened. "That's not a legal name."
"I have no other name."
Damian's fingers tightened against the table.
This was someone refusing to play by the rules of the court.
"I see," Damian said coldly. "Then let's move on."
"You've been accused of stealing two million credits from your own company. What do you have to say for yourself?"
Mr. Dome slowly leaned forward.
His voice was low. Smooth. Unshaken.
"The Masked Syndicate is watching."
The courtroom went silent.
Mr. Dome's head tilted slightly. "This is only the beginning. A new era is coming."
I felt my fingers clench.
What the hell was this guy talking about?
Was he trying to implicate the real Masked Syndicate?
I forced myself to breathe evenly.
Damian, to his credit, remained composed.
His voice didn't waver. His expression didn't change.
"If that's your defense," he said coldly, "then I look forward to seeing you fail."
That was how long the judge had granted for the first break of the trial.
I stepped into the bathroom, bracing my hands against the sink.
I had prepared for my case.
For my own identities.
Fake Syndicate members?
People using our image to make threats?
This was not going to help my trial in three weeks.
I stared at my reflection.
The weight of the situation settled in my chest like a stone.
Something bigger was happening.
Something I wasn't prepared for.
And for the first time in a long time—
I felt like I was losing control.