The week before the trial was spent in constant practice.
The girls had already nailed down the physicality of their roles, but that wasn't enough. They didn't need to talk, but if they could understand how to speak like the identities, then they would move more naturally in character.
"Again," I instructed, leaning against the couch with my arms crossed.
Sienna stood in the center of the room, wearing Mr. Fox's firefighter gear—minus the mask. She took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders.
"Justice waits for no one," she declared, her voice filled with the kind of bold heroism you'd expect from a protagonist in a cheesy action film.
I sighed. "Still too theatrical."
She frowned. "But Mr. Fox is a hero!"
I shook my head. "Sure....but Fox isn't a cartoon hero. He doesn't make grand speeches, he acts. His presence alone should say everything. Act more natural."
Sienna groaned, muttering under her breath before trying again—this time, with more restrained confidence.
Meanwhile, Camille sat off to the side, playing with the fabric of Mr. Dust's trench coat, looking bored.
"Do I really need to talk like him?" she mused. "He barely speaks."
"Exactly," I said. "But if you do have to say something, it needs to be right."
She hummed, adjusting her posture before murmuring in a low, reserved voice, "People lie, facts don't."
I gave a nod of approval. That was more like it.
Alexis, on the other hand—
She let out an amused snort, still balancing Mr. Angel's mask between her fingers. "What? I thought it sounded cool."
"You just said 'Bow before my divine will.'"
"Angel is supposed to be mysterious, not a comic book supervillain."
She grinned. "Details."
I rubbed my temple, about to correct her when—
I stiffened immediately, my hand instinctively moving toward the hidden pocket where my mask was stored.
The others froze as well.
"Take off the outfits," I ordered in a low voice. "Now."
The girls scrambled, shedding their gear within seconds. Sienna stuffed Mr. Fox's jacket behind the couch, Camille tossed the trench coat into a pile of fabric, and Alexis set down Mr. Angel's mask before flopping onto the couch like she had been there the whole time.
I exhaled, schooling my expression into something neutral before making my way to the door.
She stood there, perfectly composed, her clipboard absent for once. Her thin-framed glasses caught the faint glow of the hallway light, her sharp gaze locking onto me with an unreadable expression.
"...Can I come in?" she asked, voice level.
Had I been compromised?
No. If she was here to arrest me, she wouldn't be alone.
I glanced over my shoulder, confirming that the girls had completely blended into their usual selves. Then, with slow hesitation—
She entered without another word, walking further into the apartment.
The air in the room tensed immediately.
Sienna stood by the kitchen, her usual warmth dampened by unease. Camille remained perched on the couch, her fingers lightly drumming against her leg. Alexis, surprisingly, stayed quiet for once.
They all knew who Evelyn was.
A-Rank. The city's top evaluator. The person who had the authority to scrutinize and verify high-profile individuals.
And now she was here.
I gestured toward the chairs. "Sit?"
I sat across from her.
The girls didn't sit. They lingered. Watching.
Sienna broke the silence first, stepping into the kitchen. "Would you like coffee?"
Evelyn turned her gaze toward her, unreadable as ever.
"And for the rest of us?"
Camille hummed in agreement.
Sienna busied herself, the soft clinking of cups filling the quiet space.
I leaned forward slightly, resting my arms on the table.
"Alright," I said evenly. "How can I help you?"
The air turned heavy.
She tilted her head slightly, her tone as sharp as ever.
"I know," she continued. "I know you're the Masked Syndicate. Reynard Vale, you play the identities of Mr. Fox, Dust and Angel and I also know that these three are in on it."
The words settled over the room like lead.
Camille's fingers stilled.
Sienna's hand momentarily paused as she poured the coffee, her hand gripping tighter on the pitcher.
Alexis let out a slow, quiet exhale.
Every alarm in my head was ringing.
"...That's a bold claim," I finally said, keeping my voice calm.
She didn't waver. "It's not a claim. It's a fact."
I leaned back. "Then prove it."
Evelyn didn't hesitate.
"Psychological Insight," she said. "It lets me analyze behavioral patterns. Even with your shifting attitudes, the similarities between you and your masked identities are too strong to ignore."
"Every single one of them has the Strategist skill—just like you."
"Nathan Crowley lost his A-Rank Construction Worker job—after you asked me to give you a Union Paper to use on him."
"The masks are clearly made by Camille Voss—who is sitting right here."
Camille smirked slightly at that but remained silent.
"And finally," Evelyn said, her voice steady, "there's the fact that a supposed B-Rank construction worker is associating with three A-Rank women."
I scoffed. "Alexis isn't my woman."
The girls all turned to me at once.
"Not yet," Camille murmured.
"Give it time," Alexis teased.
Sienna just sighed. "That's a conversation for another time."
Her gaze remained locked onto mine, razor-sharp.
"But the biggest proof," she continued, "was during the jury trial."
"We both clearly saw that the evaluation orb detected discrepancies between your ID card and your actual skills." She leaned forward slightly. "Did you really think you were that lucky that I simply didn't notice?"
I exhaled slowly. "Alright," I said. "You know. So what now?"
"The girls will need to be scanned—just like you were."
"You already know they won't match their identities," I said.
"Exactly," she said. "Which is why I'm going to lie about it."
The room went silent.
The tension shifted—from caution to something far more dangerous.
Evelyn's expression remained unreadable.
Reynard Vale, Mr. Angel, Mr. Fox, Mr. Dust.
All my carefully built identities—
And she was just handing us a way through?
I narrowed my eyes. "Why?"
A small, sharp smile.
"Oh, Reynard," she murmured. "It's best not to dig for more than you need to know."
That was exactly what I had told her as Mr. Angel.
The realization sent another wave of unease through me.
I wasn't as hidden as I thought.
Evelyn was just too observant.
She stood up, adjusting her sleeves.
"You owe me," she said simply.
"Twice," she added. "Once for the jury trial. And now for this. No matter what they are, you won't be in a position to refuse, understood?"
I hated being in someone's debt.
"...Understood," I muttered.
But just before stepping out, she took a slow sip of the coffee Sienna had made.
"Good coffee," she murmured.