SHADOWS OF DECEIT

Chapter 40

Minghao swallowed—hard. The sound of it felt loud in the suffocating corridor, like his throat was trying to choke down panic along with spit. Joshua could hear it. Hell, everything sounded too loud to him now: the distant hum of lights, the uneven drag of his own boots on the floor, his own breathing—shallow, broken, barely hanging on.

He followed behind Minghao like a ghost tethered to the man by nothing but misery. His body moved because it had to, because being dragged forward was easier than collapsing right there on the cold floor and letting whatever soul he had left leak out of him. Every breath scraped against his ribs; every step felt like it belonged to someone else.

Joshua didn't understand a single fucking thing anymore.

Where was his life heading?

What was he even living for?

A brother? A family?

He almost laughed—bitter, dry, pathetic—except he couldn't even muster the breath for that. His so-called brother had a life of his own, a family of his own, people he would die for. People who would die for him. And Joshua...? Joshua had never been that person for anyone. Not truly. Not in the ways that mattered now.

Samuel might have been the closest thing to that... but Samuel was already drowning in his own hell, fighting battles at the edge of sanity. Joshua couldn't lean on him. Not anymore. He didn't want Samuel to shatter under the weight of his mistakes too.

The thought of Samuel hit him like a punch to the throat.

His breath hitched—sharp, painful.

What would happen to Samuel?

If this—this twisted fucking game, this betrayal, this cruel fate—was the plan all along...

Joshua felt something inside him tilt, crack, collapse. He couldn't even imagine what fresh nightmare Samuel would be dragged into because of him. All Joshua could do was try—desperately—to hold together the shattered pieces of his own heart.

But the pieces were sharp, jagged, slicing into him with every inhale.

He was bleeding inside, and nobody cared enough to stop the hemorrhage. Maybe they didn't even notice.

Ahead of him, Minghao walked with unnerving stiffness, nothing like the confident, controlled, nonchalant Shadow he usually was. Joshua could see it clearly—the hesitance in the younger's steps, the way his shoulders were too tight, the way he kept trying to force himself into the cold mask he always wore... and kept failing.

Something was wrong.

Something was seriously fucking wrong.

And the buzzing phone in Minghao's pocket—constant, insistent, relentless—wasn't helping. It kept making the younger flinch, hesitate, second-guess himself. Every vibration sent a ripple through Minghao's composure, and Joshua, half-dead but painfully observant, noticed all of it.

A traitorous part of Joshua silently thanked whoever kept calling. Every second Minghao slowed down was another second Joshua remained alive, breathing, not yet delivered into the hands of whatever fate Jeonghan had carved out for him.

Finally—finally—Minghao stopped.

The phone buzzed again.

This time Minghao actually froze.

Joshua watched as the younger's jaw clenched hard enough to crack teeth. He shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out the phone. The glow of the screen illuminated his face—pale, tense, conflicted. He stared at it for a full minute, unmoving, eyes flickering with something Joshua couldn't decipher.