UNMASKED

CHAPTER 18

THIRD PERSON'S POV

After Demon was sentenced to death and paraded in the plaza, she was escorted back to her cell—a small, filthy space that reeked of decay and hopelessness. Blood stained her skin, a result of the crowd's anger. Rocks, rotten food, and even glass bottles had been hurled at her. Her face remained expressionless, seemingly unaffected by the hatred of the people, but the faint trail of blood running down her temple betrayed the toll it had taken. 

The underling assigned to escort her cast a glance at her bruised and battered form. His thoughts betrayed him. 
“She’s bleeding… how can she still look so unshaken?” 

Demon stepped into her cell without a word, her movements slow and deliberate. The heavy door slammed shut behind her, leaving her alone in the suffocating darkness. She immediately reached for a small vial hidden among her meager belongings and drank it in one swift motion, her breathing heavy but controlled. 

In the surveillance room, Ice and Lux watched her every move through the monitors. 

“What the hell is that?” Ice muttered, narrowing his eyes at the screen. 

Lux crossed her arms, her voice laced with disbelief. “Is she… trying to poison herself?” 

Before Ice could respond, a faint, chilling giggle escaped Demon's lips, audible through the monitor’s speakers. 

“They really hate me,” Demon said softly, her voice carrying an unsettling mix of amusement and exhaustion. “Did you see the anger in their eyes? It’s very satisfying, isn’t it?” 

Lux frowned, leaning closer to the screen. “Who is she talking to? There’s no one else in there.” 

Then the name escaped Demon’s lips, soft and almost reverent. “Conan.” 

Ice and Lux froze. 

“Conan?” Lux whispered, her heart tightening. She turned to Ice, who was already rewinding the footage. 

“There’s no one else in her cell,” Ice confirmed. 

Lux’s throat constricted as emotions surged. “Is she losing her mind? Why is she talking to him as if… as if he’s still alive?” 

The name alone was enough to shatter Lux’s carefully guarded composure. Conan—her younger brother, the one she had loved and lost. The one who had given his life for Demon. 

Ice didn’t waste time. He stormed out of the room and headed for Demon’s cell, his mind clouded with anger and confusion. When he reached her, he found her sitting on the cold floor, her back pressed against the wall, a small, twisted smile on her lips. 

“Mister,” Demon said, her tone light, almost playful. “You’re here. Would you like to meet Conan?” 

Ice’s jaw clenched as a surge of rage overtook him. In an instant, his hand shot out, gripping her throat and slamming her against the wall. 

“Don’t mock me!” he hissed through gritted teeth. “I told you, didn’t I?" 

Demon didn’t flinch. She tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into a faint smile. “Mister, have I done something terrible to you? Is that why you’re so angry?” 

Her hand reached up, her fingers brushing against Ice’s cheek with surprising gentleness. He froze, caught off guard by the softness of her touch. 

“What are you—” 

“You have a wound on your cheek,” Demon said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Let me take care of it.” 

Ice’s grip faltered, and she stepped closer, pressing her lips against the scar on his cheek in a tender, fleeting kiss. The warmth of the gesture sent a jolt through him.