The courthouse loomed ahead, the air thick with tension.
Evelyn met me at the entrance, her expression unreadable as she handed me a folder. But I didn't need to open it to know something was wrong.
She crossed her arms. "Vanished. No one knows where he went. No one even saw him leave. The prosecution has no way to contact him."
I clenched my jaw. Coward.
I should have expected it. The moment I dragged his real crimes into the light, he cut his losses and ran. Mark wasn't the kind of man to fight a battle he wasn't certain he'd win.
And with his... abilities, if I could even call them that, he had nothing to worry about. The moment he disappeared, he was untouchable. No last name. No official records. He could erase himself and reappear under a new identity whenever he wanted.
He never needed to win this trial.
Because he was never planning to stick around for the consequences.
Evelyn watched me carefully. "Do we proceed with the evidence?"
The folder in my hands was filled with images—pictures of the wreckage on Mars, the aftermath of the crashes, the undeniable proof of corporate and governmental cover-ups.
But now that Mark was gone... did we even need to show it?
I met Evelyn's gaze. "You're saying we hold onto it?"
She nodded. "It's leverage. A loaded gun pointed at their heads. You don't throw away your hostage unless you have to."
I exhaled slowly. She was right.
If we burned all our cards now, we'd lose any power we had over people like Mark.
Looking over, I could tell that Damian was not doing well.
The man who had once stood in perfect confidence now looked nothing like the polished, arrogant prosecutor from the first day. His hair was messy, his suit slightly crooked—there was even a faint tremor in his hands as he clenched the edge of his table.
He had put everything into this trial.
The judge entered, calling the court to order. Damian barely acknowledged it.
"The prosecution's witness, Mark, has been dismissed from the case due to failure to appear."
I glanced toward Damian.
I had expected anger.
But what I saw was worse.
He wasn't just furious.
His entire case had hinged on the weight of Mark's words, on the illusion of credibility that the government had given him. But now that Mark was gone?
There was nothing left.
He had lost before he even realized it.
And judging from the vacant look in his eyes, he knew it.
The trial dragged on only for formalities. Damian had no more evidence. He tried, once or twice, to grasp at something, anything—his words faltering as he attempted to salvage what was already lost.
The jury went into deliberation for thirty minutes.
And when they returned—
The verdict was final.
"For the crimes of falsifying rank, skills, and possible terrorism, the Masked Syndicate is found—not guilty."
The words rang through the room.
I felt a slow exhale leave me.
The courtroom erupted.
Some cheered. Others seethed.
The media was going crazy.
Reporters who had doubted us for weeks were now suddenly shifting their stance, pretending they had supported us all along. The hypocrisy was so blatant it was almost funny.
I barely heard any of it.
A notification flickered in my vision.
Reason: Complete ideological and professional defeat
He had lost everything.
He was an A-Rank lawyer. A golden child of the prosecution. A man who had never lost a case.
He had just been crushed by a D-Rank nobody.
And not just any loss.
His career? His reputation?
I felt the weight of the decision settle over me.
I could use Destroy right now. Reduce his rank. Crush whatever was left of him.
She was watching Damian carefully, unreadable behind the mask of Mr. Dust.
For all his arrogance, for all his hatred toward the Syndicate—
He was still her brother.
I closed the notification.
We stood, ready to leave.
As we exited the courthouse, Evelyn tapped my shoulder.
"Don't forget," she said. "You owe me. Twice."
I shot her a dry look. "And what exactly am I supposed to do about that?"
She smirked. "You'll find out."
We started walking, the girls moving in silence to avoid revealing their voices to the press.
His eyes were wild, his breath uneven, his hands trembling with barely contained rage.
"You," he snarled, shoving through the crowd. "You think this is over?"
"You stole Camille's masks!"
That one almost made me laugh. Still on about that?
"You're all frauds!" His voice cracked. "You're criminals! Hiding behind those masks like cowards!"
Still, I didn't respond.
The way his body tensed. The way his fingers curled.
He was losing control.
"You think you're better than me?!" he screamed.
And he punched Mr. Dust.
Camille staggered back slightly, more out of surprise than pain.
My fist crashed into Damian's face before I even fully processed the decision.
The impact was brutal.
He stumbled back, blood already dripping from his nose.
Damian stared at me in shock—pure, unfiltered disbelief in his eyes.
"You," I said coldly, my voice low, controlled, lethal.