The rest of the trial played out exactly as expected.
A few more statements. A few more witnesses. Some additional pieces of evidence.
But none of it changed the outcome.
It wasn't even up for debate.
The jury was led into a separate deliberation room, and within minutes, the conclusion was unanimous.
No one spoke in his defense.
It was clean. Efficient. Expected.
But as I sat there, my fingers tapping against the wooden surface of the table, I couldn't shake the lingering unease pressing against my skull.
The Masked Syndicate is watching.
This is only the beginning.
What the hell did that mean?
Was this a warning? A signal? A trap?
I exhaled slowly, rubbing my temple.
This was bigger than I thought.
And I needed to figure out why.
After the trial, I left the courtroom, walking toward the exit with purposeful strides.
I needed to get home. Needed to process everything.
But fate had other plans.
The elevator doors slid open just as I approached.
And standing inside—leaning casually against the railing, arms crossed, expression smug—was Damian Voss.
I stepped inside without a word.
He didn't let the silence last.
"Must be nice," he mused, adjusting his cuffs. "Sitting on the sidelines, playing the part of a lowly B-Rank worker. Watching people like me handle actual cases."
Not because I couldn't.
But because I didn't care.
I had more important things on my mind than indulging Damian's ego.
He tilted his head slightly, clearly annoyed by my lack of reaction. "What? No defense? No clever remark?"
I remained silent, my thoughts elsewhere.
"Typical," Damian scoffed. "People like you don't belong in places . Stick to your construction sites and leave the law to professionals."
The elevator chimed, signaling our arrival at the lobby.
Damian stayed behind.
As the doors began to close, his voice rang out one last time.
"Enjoy your mediocrity, Vale."
The doors sealed shut before I could even think of a response.
Not that I needed to.
Because in three weeks, it was likely he would be seeing me again.
The moment I got home, I gathered the girls in the living room.
Sienna sat cross-legged on the couch, arms crossed as she listened intently. Camille leaned against the armrest, sipping a cup of tea. Alexis sat on the floor, twirling a pen between her fingers.
"I need you all to keep an eye out," I said.
"For what?" Sienna asked.
That got their attention.
I explained everything.
The trial. Mr. Dome. The way he claimed to be part of the Masked Syndicate—how he used our name like a shield, twisting it into something else.
By the time I finished, Camille let out a low whistle.
"That's bold," she murmured.
"That's dangerous," Sienna corrected, her brows furrowing. "If more people start pretending to be us, we'll lose control of our image. Of everything."
I nodded. "That's why I need you to keep watch. If you see anything—news articles, reports, even rumors—let me know immediately."
Alexis smirked. "You really are taking this whole secret organization thing seriously, huh?"
I shot her a look. "Well it's not like we can say 'It was just a joke your honor', can we?"
Her smirk widened, but she raised her hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. I'll keep an eye out."
Camille set her cup down. "What's your next move?"
"For now? I'll study and prepare."
"And I'll try to figure out how to deal with this mess before the trial in three weeks."
I buried myself in legal texts, pouring over cases, precedents, strategies.
Each passage, each ruling, each argument strengthened my foundation.
I needed to be ready.
Because if I made one mistake—just one—everything would crumble.
Then, without warning—
Camille burst into my office.
She didn't wait. She grabbed my wrist, dragging me into her workspace.
"Shut up. Just look."
She gestured toward the table.
Resting in the dim glow of the desk lamp—
I inhaled sharply, stepping closer.
The design was unlike anything I had worn before.
Sleek. Dark. Etched with intricate, scale-like textures that shimmered subtly under the light. The structure was smooth yet jagged, like something born from the depths of the abyss.
Camille grinned. "Took me long enough, huh?"
I reached out, running my fingers along the surface. The material was firm, yet light—designed for both intimidation and practicality.
"You really went all out," I murmured.
She shrugged. "Well, you're not just some urban myth anymore, sweetie. You're a legend now. You needed something that felt like it."
I lifted the mask, staring into its empty eyes.
I placed it over my face.
The moment it settled, a familiar sensation washed over me.
It was like slipping into an identity I had always known.
Like becoming something more.
Camille leaned against the desk, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
"Well?" she mused. "How does it feel Mr.....?"
I met her gaze through the mask's darkened lenses.
And for the first time in a long time—