Takumi’s movements were measured, calculated, as though the air itself had grown heavier, amplifying every sound and motion. He approached Samantha cautiously, wrapping his coat over his hand before carefully prying the knife from her trembling fingers.
The blade clattered to the floor beside Junel’s lifeless body, a stark and chilling punctuation to the surreal tableau before him.
“Don’t call the cops unless I say so,” Takumi instructed, his tone steady but low, carrying an authority that brokered no argument.
Anwar and the butler exchanged uneasy glances but nodded, their training overriding their questions.
Anwar knelt beside Junel’s body, pressing two fingers against his neck to confirm the absence of a pulse.
Meanwhile, Takumi grasped Samantha by the wrist, her skin cold to the touch, and led her down the dim hallway to the nearest bathroom. The silence between them was deafening, broken only by the soft shuffle of their footsteps and the faint hum of the overhead lights.
As they passed, a shrill scream tore through the quiet. It echoed down the corridor like a jagged wound, startling Takumi enough to momentarily tighten his grip on Samantha’s arm. His jaw clenched, but he didn’t stop.
"A maid," he thought grimly, imagining her stumbling across the gruesome scene. There would be time to address that later.
Reaching the bathroom, Takumi closed the door behind them with a decisive click, shutting out the chaos outside. The stark fluorescent light illuminated Samantha’s bloodstained gown. She stood motionless, her gaze fixed on a point beyond the tiled wall, as though retreating into a place where none of this was real.
Takumi turned the faucet, warm water spilling into the tub with a low, soothing rush. The steam rose, fogging the mirror and softening the harsh light. He glanced over his shoulder at Samantha, who hadn’t moved. Her lips trembled as she muttered under her breath, her voice quivering like the thin edge of glass.
“I-I killed him,” she stammered, her words barely audible over the running water.
Her wide, tear-filled eyes finally met Takumi’s, searching for something—absolution, understanding, or maybe just acknowledgment. “H-He's dead. I… I didn’t mean to. I-I was just defending myself.”
Takumi said nothing, his expression inscrutable as he crouched down to test the water temperature. The act was almost absurd in its mundanity, given the horrors of the night, but it anchored him. When he finally stood, he met her gaze, his voice calm but firm.
“Shane,” he began, “tell me honestly, what happened?"
Samantha's breath hitched as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. “He was… so determined to kill me,” she whispered, her words cracking under the weight of the memory. “Like he wasn’t himself. His eyes—there was something in them, something… wrong.”
Takumi’s eyes narrowed at her words, his mind racing through a dozen possibilities, but one question narrowed his theories: Junel’s sudden aggression—for what reason?
“We’ll get to the bottom of this,” Takumi promised, though the assurance felt hollow even to him.
As the water rose, he handed her a clean towel and gestured toward the tub. “For now, wash up. You need to clear your head.”
As Takumi stepped out of the bathroom, the dimly lit corridor seemed to pulse with unease. He hadn’t gone far before spotting Tomoya at the base of the stairs. His cousin’s face was pale, his breath shallow, and his knuckles white as he gripped the banister for balance.
Tomoya’s expression shifted when his eyes caught the faint smears of blood on Takumi’s hands. His body stiffened, and his steps faltered mid-stride as though an invisible barrier stopped him from approaching further.
“W-What happened?” Tomoya’s voice trembled, the words heavy with dread.
Takumi didn’t answer right away. He tilted his head slightly toward the bathroom, the gesture vague yet deliberate. His lips tightened into a thin line, his gaze giving nothing away but exhaustion. Without a word, he turned and started back down the hall, leaving Tomoya to connect the dots on his own.
Tomoya’s eyes darted between the slightly ajar bathroom door, where faint traces of steam curled into the air, and Samantha’s room, its door ominously closed. His face twisted in silent realization, a storm of emotions—shock, fear, confusion—swirling in his expression.
“W-Was it... her?” he asked aloud, but Takumi had already disappeared into the shadowed depths of the hallway.
Tomoya clenched his fists, his mind racing with questions as he trailed behind Takumi, who stood beside Junel's lifeless body. The faint hum of murmurs from the guards handling the maids in the background felt like static to Tomoya’s ears—unimportant compared to the unsettling silence of unanswered questions.
“One stab,” Takumi muttered, his voice almost a whisper as he rubbed his temples. “Just one stab... and he’s dead. It didn’t even hit his heart.”
The words hit Tomoya like a punch to the chest. His brow furrowed, and his breath hitched. That detail didn’t make sense—why was the wound fatal so quickly? Something wasn’t adding up.
“Anthony,” Takumi called out, his voice sharp and commanding.
“Y-Yes, master?” Anthony replied, his voice quivering as he struggled to process the scene before him.
“Check the surveillance team,” Takumi ordered, his tone leaving no room for hesitation. “Based on the blood patterns, this didn’t just happen—it’s been some time. Someone should have seen and reported it by now.”
Tomoya’s eyes widened. He wasn’t the only one who thought about the CCTV footage—or the glaring absence of an early alert. His gaze darted to the cameras lining the hallway. The red recording lights blinked steadily, mocking them with their apparent functionality.
“And Gerald,” Takumi added, turning his sharp gaze toward Anthony. “Where is he?”
Anthony’s eyes grew round with realization and snapped to Anwar, his voice trembling. “Anwar, follow me.”
Tomoya’s breath hitched as he watched Takumi’s calm, calculated demeanor. Every word from his cousin carried an undertone of authority and an unsettling resolve.
“Nii-san... w-what are you planning?” Tomoya’s voice wavered, his mind racing with possibilities.
Takumi glanced briefly toward the bathroom door, where Samantha was still inside. Outside, Haneul and Kotomi stood with solemn expressions, holding fresh clothes for her. The sight was surreal—everything moved with mechanical precision, orchestrated by Takumi.
“She said it was self-defense,” Takumi murmured, his tone devoid of emotion as his gaze shifted to the guards meticulously securing the crime scene. Every movement was deliberate, every action a reflection of their training and their loyalty to the Takahashi family.
“Yes, but how do we handle this?!” Tomoya’s voice rose in desperation. “We can’t involve the authorities, not without exposing Shane!”
Takumi’s eyes darkened as they settled on Tomoya, the weight of his unspoken plans palpable in the air. “She won’t need to be exposed,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “First, wait for Anwar and Anthony to return. I need you to review the CCTV footage.”
Tomoya’s brows knitted in confusion and unease. “You don’t mean... you don’t expect me to—”
“We’ll discuss it later,” Takumi interrupted, raising a hand to silence him. His words left no room for argument. “Whatever happens, Shane cannot be implicated in this. Not now. Not yet.”
Tomoya felt the weight of Takumi’s words settle on his shoulders. He stared after his cousin as he left with his butler, leaving him in the charged silence of the corridor. Tomoya’s heart pounded, his thoughts racing.
Takumi was planning something. And whatever it was, Tomoya had a sinking feeling it would drag them all deeper into the web of secrets and lies they're slowly trying to shed a light.
Tomoya’s stomach churned as he turned away from the crime scene, the acrid scent of blood still clinging to the air. Every breath seemed to make his gut twist tighter, a suffocating weight pressing down on him. He knew he should check on Samantha—she must be distraught, overwhelmed, and in need of reassurance. But he couldn’t bring himself to face her. Not yet.
The images from the hacked files at Zach’s station flashed in his mind like a damning slideshow. Samantha’s name had been connected, however tangentially, to the horrific murdered children case. At the time, he had dismissed it as circumstantial, a smear of guilt by association. But now? With Junel’s lifeless body lying mere feet away, doubt gnawed at the edges of his resolve.
What if this wasn’t self-defense? What if this was something darker, something carefully veiled behind her fragile demeanor?
Tomoya’s gaze drifted to the security monitors. The blinking red lights of the cameras stared back at him, unyielding and silent witnesses to everything that had transpired. He clenched his fists, his palms clammy with sweat. He knew what he had to do. Reviewing the footage was the logical next step. Yet, the thought of pressing “play” filled him wit
h a dread he couldn’t explain.
“What if this isn’t just a homicide?” he whispered to himself, the words catching in his throat. His mind raced with possibilities he wasn’t ready to confront, each scenario more chilling than the last.