Chapter 64: The Golden Shadow in the Room
The morning sun bled through the thin curtains of the apartment, casting long, distorted shadows across the wooden floor. It was the kind of morning that felt heavy, charged with the lingering tension of the previous day's violence. Ren stood before the bathroom mirror, the rhythmic sound of his toothbrush the only thing breaking the silence. He was already dressed in his Academy uniform—the crisp fabric felt restrictive, a physical reminder of the life he was forced to lead. His glasses were absent, leaving his sharp, piercing eyes exposed. Without the frames, he looked less like a student and more like the predator the Academy had trained him to be.
He rinsed his mouth, splashed cold water on his face to wash away the ghosts of his nightmares, and stepped out. He adjusted his coat, pulling the lapels straight with a mechanical precision. Instinctively, his right hand slid toward his coat pocket—the place where the weight of his golden revolver usually provided a cold, metallic comfort.
His fingers met nothing but empty fabric.
A jolt of pure, icy adrenaline shot through his veins. Ren froze, his heart hammering against his ribs. The revolver wasn't just a weapon; it was a piece of him, a tool of his trade that he could never afford to lose. If someone found it—especially someone in this building—it would be the end of his cover.
"Where is it?" he hissed, his voice a frantic whisper. "I could have sworn I had it."
He spun around and ducked back into his room, his movements frantic. He tore through his drawers, tossing clothes aside in a desperate search. He checked under the pillows, threw the blankets off the bed, and even got down on his knees to check the dark space beneath the bed frame. Nothing. The golden glint of the barrel was nowhere to be found.
He sat back on the edge of the bed, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He pressed his palms against his forehead, forcing his mind to quiet down. Think, Ren. Think back.
The memories of the previous night flashed before his eyes like a flickering film reel. The blood on his knuckles, the cold wind in the alley, the walk home with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Then, he remembered. He had entered Hana's room late at night to check on her while she slept. In a moment of sheer exhaustion and mental fog, he had set the weapon down inside one of her storage units while he adjusted her blanket.
He stood up so fast his chair nearly toppled over. He hurried out of his room and crept toward Hana's door. He prayed she was still asleep or in the kitchen. He pushed the door open—the room was empty.
He moved toward the dresser, his hands shaking slightly. He opened the first drawer. Nothing but neatly folded socks and ribbons. He pulled open the second drawer, reaching deep into the back. His fingers brushed against cold metal. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding as he pulled out the golden revolver.
"Finally," he whispered, wiping a smudge of dust off the barrel with his sleeve. "I can't be this careless."
Suddenly, the door creaked. Ren's blood ran cold.
Hana stepped into the room, a toothbrush still in her mouth, her hair a messy cloud of morning bedhead. She looked tired, her eyes still slightly puffy from her crying spell the night before. She didn't notice him at first; she walked straight toward the mirror on the wall next to the door, beginning to fix her hair with her free hand.
Then, she stopped. She saw his reflection. She saw the glint of gold in his hand.
She turned slowly, her eyes locking onto the weapon. The silence in the room became suffocating.
"Ren?" she asked, her voice muffled by the toothbrush. She took it out, her gaze never leaving his hand. "What are you hiding?"
Ren felt a bead of sweat roll down his neck. He tried to slide the gun behind his back, his face a mask of forced calm. "Me? Nothing, Hana. I was just... checking something."
"Then what is that gold thing?" she pressed, stepping closer. Her voice was flat, devoid of its usual warmth.
Ren's mind raced for a lie, but his body felt locked in place. "It's... it's just a tool, Hana."
"It's a golden revolver, Ren," she said, her voice turning sharp. "I've seen enough news to know that normal people—and even the police—don't carry weapons like that. And why are you in my room so early? You never come in here in the morning."
She looked at the way he was standing—his body tensed, the gun partially obscured. "The way you're standing... the way you're looking at me... it's like you're here to kill me. You're hiding it like it's a shameful secret. What am I supposed to think? Is my brother so tired of me that he's finally decided to end it?"
"No! Hana, no!" Ren shouted, his heart breaking at the accusation. "It's not like that at all! This... this was given to me by the authorities. I completed a high-level mission, and they gave me this for protection. I accidentally left it here last night when I came to check on you. I was just trying to get it back without worrying you."
Hana stared at him, her eyes searching his for any sign of a lie. "You left a loaded gun in my room by 'mistake'?"
"Yes, I was exhausted. I wasn't thinking straight."
"Then why hide it when I walked in?" she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper. "If it's legal, if it's for protection, why act like a criminal?"
Ren took a step toward her, reaching out to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Hana, you're overthinking this. I promise you, everything is under control. I'm just trying to keep us safe. You know how dangerous this Sector has become."
As his hand touched her shoulder, Hana flinched. She didn't just pull away; she grabbed his wrist and pushed his hand off her, her eyes filled with a cold, terrifying clarity.
"Don't," she said, her voice trembling with a realization that changed everything. "You aren't just a student anymore, are you? You're one of them. You're a Vaner."
The word hung in the air like a death sentence. Ren looked at his sister, the golden revolver still heavy in his hand, and realized that the wall he had built between his two lives had finally come crashing down.