Something In The Way-SYLUS X MC X ZAYNE

Chapter 28 "DEADLY DEAL"

The air was thick with smoke, the scent of expensive cigars mixing with top shelf liquor. Dim red lights illuminated the space, casting long shadows over the room. Men in sharp suits leaned back in leather chairs, their polished shoes reflecting the faint glow. Half nude women flitted between tables, serving drinks with sultry smiles and quiet grace, their movements calculated and promiscuous.

Sylus sat in a secluded corner, his presence commanding attention despite his calm demeanor. The glass of whiskey in his hand caught the light as he swirled it slowly, his sharp eyes observing the scene with quiet detachment. Across from him sat an unknown man, younger, with dark hair slicked back, his suit tailored to perfection. The man's demeanor was cocky, but his gaze betrayed something more dangerous—calculated cruelty.

They spoke quietly, their conversation masked by the low hum of the room.

The younger man wore a navy suit so pristine it seemed to absorb the shadows around him. His dark hair was slicked back, and his sharp features gleamed with a sheen of sweat under the haze of smoke. He leaned back casually, a cigar perched between his fingers, its glowing tip flaring faintly as he inhaled. His voice was smooth, but there was a serpentine quality to it, each word curling with quiet menace.

"You've done well, Sylus," he said, his tone laced with satisfaction. "Distracting the girl—you've exceeded my expectations."

Sylus's expression remained unreadable as he took a measured sip of his whiskey. He set the glass down with deliberate care, his movements calm, calculated. "I always keep my end of a deal," he said, his voice low and steady.

The younger man's grin widened, though it didn't reach his eyes. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Good. Because she can't ever know what she truly is." He paused, letting the weight of his words linger. "And even less what she's capable of."

Sylus regarded him silently, his gaze sharp and unflinching. Finally, he spoke, his tone carrying the faintest edge of challenge. "She's a force to be reckoned with," he said evenly. "Are you sure keeping her clueless is effective?"

The man exhaled a plume of smoke, waving his hand dismissively. "It'll suffice. Better she stays in the dark than unleashing what's buried inside her. You've seen what happens when she gets too close to the truth."

Sylus didn't respond immediately. Instead, he reached for his glass, swirling the whiskey as he studied the man before him. "Diverting her was one thing," he said finally. "But airing that segment on TV? Dragging that old man and his family through the mud? That wasn't part of our arrangement."

The younger man chuckled, shaking his head. "Sylus, come now. You know as well as I do that the truth is a pliable thing. The world believes what we tell them to believe. Labeling them terrorists—it's just another distraction for her, another trail to keep her from looking where she shouldn't."

Sylus's fingers tightened around his glass, his knuckles turning white. Though his expression remained calm, a flicker of tension rippled through him. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet but firm. "You're playing a dangerous game."

The younger man smirked, unbothered by the warning. He leaned back in his chair, tapping ash from his cigar onto a nearby tray. "And you're playing your part beautifully. Speaking of which..." His tone shifted, becoming more pointed. "Have you dealt with the doctor?"

Sylus's gaze darkened, though his voice betrayed no emotion. "I have the papers. Snatched them straight from his office. He won't be a problem—for now."

"Good." The younger man took another drag of his cigar, his grin widening. "If everything goes according to plan, you'll finally be free. Isn't that what you've been waiting for all this time?"

For the first time, Sylus's mask slipped, if only slightly. A shadow of something—regret, sorrow, perhaps even despair—flitted across his face. His grip on the glass loosened, and he set it down carefully on the table.

The man's eyes glinted with curiosity, his smirk deepening. "What's with the look, Sylus?" he asked, his tone teasing. "Don't tell me you've started to care for her."

Sylus's expression hardened again, but he said nothing.

The man laughed, a low, mocking sound. "Oh, this is rich. You've gone soft, haven't you? She's practically a walking corpse, Sylus. A ticking time bomb. Whatever humanity she has left, it's fleeting." He gestured with his cigar, the glow casting faint shadows across his face. "If I were you, I'd—"

Before he could finish, a crimson tendril of energy flickered to life in Sylus's palm. It slithered across the table like a living thing, wrapping itself around the man's throat. His confident smirk vanished in an instant, replaced by a wide-eyed panic. The cigar fell from his fingers as he clawed at the invisible force tightening around his neck.

"Enough," Sylus said, his voice low and deadly. The tendril constricted for a moment before loosening just enough for the man to gasp for air. Sylus leaned forward, his eyes burning with restrained fury. "The only reason I made this deal was because she's better off never finding out the truth. Don't mistake that for weakness."

The man choked out a strained laugh, his voice hoarse as he managed to rasp, "Point... taken." The tendril dissolved, and he collapsed back into his chair, coughing violently as he rubbed his neck. He shot Sylus a wary glance, though the smirk was already creeping back onto his face. "Touchy, aren't we?"

Sylus stood abruptly, towering over the man. He adjusted his coat, his movements slow and deliberate. "This plan of yours better work," he said coldly. "Because if it doesn't, I'll make sure you regret ever involving me."

The man chuckled nervously, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Relax, Sylus. Everything's under control."

Sylus shot him one last, icy glare before turning and walking away. The younger man watched him leave, his grin fading the moment Sylus was out of sight. He rubbed his neck again, muttering something under his breath.

In the dim glow of the club, the tension lingered like the smoke in the air—heavy, choking, and inescapable. Sylus's steps were slow and deliberate as he made his way toward the exit, his mind a storm of conflicting emotions. Freedom might have been promised, but at what cost? For him, for her—none of it seemed worth the weight of the secrets he carried. Secrets that, if revealed, could unravel everything.

And in the shadows, the younger man sat back in his chair, his expression darkening as he reached for another cigar. "You're just as doomed as she is," he muttered to himself, a faint glimmer of unease breaking through his confident facade.