Chapter 73: 60 - Deception
Helena shifted, her expression morphing into one of delicate fragility. She let her fingers tremble slightly against the sheets, a masterclass in performative vulnerability.
"It... it was all so sudden, Mr. Shakespeare," she whispered, her voice breaking just enough to sound convincing. "Kairi... she just attacked me. I was trying to stabilize Mytheia, and then she lunged. I think... I think she was trying to kill me with the explosion. It just... happened. And then everything went dark. I barely remember anything after that."
Perfect. F*cking perfect.
Heck, she even managed to squeeze out a single, perfect tear. It welled in her eye, trembling for a heartbeat before tracking a path down her cheek.
The sheer audacity to pull that off was something else.
Just how breathtaking.
My internal monologue now literally screamed:
Liar. She’s a goddamn f*cking liar.
But I held my tongue, letting her play her part for a moment. Let Arthur see the act. Let him think she was just a scared girl caught in the crossfire.
Arthur listened intently, nodding occasionally, his gaze impartial. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t frown—just absorbed every word like a sponge. When Helena finished her dramatic rendition, he turned to me, his expression unreadable.
"Kairi, could you corroborate this account? What exactly happened from your point of view?"
I took a deep breath, ignoring the ache in my legs—the dull, throbbing reminder of what Helena’s recklessness had cost me.
"Helena’s version is... must I say, severely inaccurate," I stated, my voice devoid of emotion. A stark contrast to her theatrical performance.
I chose my words carefully, aiming for precision and factual accuracy rather than emotional appeal. My goal was to present the unvarnished truth, to cut through Helena’s layers of deception with cold, hard facts.
Arthur’s eyebrow twitched.
"Mytheia was indeed unstable," I continued. "But Helena wasn’t trying to stabilize it. She was attempting to manipulate its energy, believing she could control it for some misguided ideal."
I let the word hang, sharp with disdain.
"Her actions caused a massive surge in Mytheia’s core. The magical pressure became immense, triggering a severe overload. She was actively pushing Mytheia to critical mass—deliberately."
Helena’s eyes flickered with annoyance, but she quickly masked it behind another fragile blink.
Arthur, however, leaned forward, unruffled. "Go on."
"When it was clear an explosion was imminent, I jumped to pull her away," I said, choosing my words carefully. "I shielded her from the direct force of the discharge. The sheer power still inflicted significant damage—primarily on my legs, from the strain of containing the blast. Helena was knocked unconscious by the concussive force, but my intervention prevented worse injuries for both of us."
I omitted the part about Helena wanting the explosion. About her whispered words before it all went to hell—"If this is the price of my ideals, then let it consume me."
That was a detail I’d keep to myself. For now.
Arthur sat back, his fingers steepled. He looked between us for a long moment, the silence stretching like a taut wire. Then, unexpectedly, a genuine, softer smile touched his lips.
"I see. Thank you, both of you." He turned to me. "Kairi, your quick thinking and bravery undoubtedly saved Helena’s life. We’re incredibly grateful for your actions."
Then, to Helena: "And Helena, I’m glad you’re recovering."
He stood, pushing his chair back with a soft scrape.
The sound, small as it was, signaled the end of the interview, the transition back to the quiet solitude of the room.
"We’ll be in touch if we need further information. For now, please focus on your recovery. The healers will be by shortly to check on you both."
With a polite nod, Arthur Shakespeare turned and exited, the faint creak of the door sealing his departure.
The moment he was gone, Helena’s sweet facade shattered. The transformation was instantaneous, like a mask dropping away to reveal the true face beneath.
Her eyes—wide and innocent just seconds before—narrowed into sharp slits, gleaming with an undeniable malice. The tear on her cheek might as well have been a hallucination, a phantom of her meticulously crafted performance.
I met her gaze, a silent challenge passing between us.
My own eyes held no warmth. No forgiveness.
Instead, I let my true feelings show—a cold, hard glare that promised reckoning. It was sharp enough to cut, a silent accusation that conveyed every unspoken word of contempt.
Helena flinched. A subtle tremor ran through her, and for the first time, I saw it: fear.
The chilling realization of what her deception had truly cost, the potential ramifications of her actions, was finally sinking in.
The mask had dropped, and beneath it, I saw the raw, unadulterated terror of a cornered animal.
Good. She should be scared.
The silence in the room was thick, suffocating, broken only by the steady hum of the healing enchantments woven into the walls. Helena quickly turned away, feigning sleep, but I knew she wasn’t. The air between us crackled with tension, a silent battle of wills.
I closed my eyes, Arthur’s calm face lingering in my mind. He’d bought it—or at least enough of it to let us off the hook. For now.
But this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
Because while Arthur might have left, the truth hadn’t.
And Helena? She knew I hadn’t told him everything. That meant she had something to lose. And I had leverage.
The unspoken threat, the concealed truth, was a weapon I now possessed, one that could be deployed at the opportune moment.
That meant she had nothing to lose.
And I had leverage.
The question gnawed at me, a persistent echo in the quiet room:
Was this really the end of it?
Or just the beginning after the end?
The sense of an unfinished narrative, of a lingering conflict, hung heavy in the air. This was merely a pause, a temporary ceasefire, in a larger, more complex war.
And I knew, with an absolute certainty, that the next Chapter would be far more brutal.
