The room was quiet in the way only underground places could be.
No windows.
No clocks.
Just the low hum of machines and the steady breathing of two men who knew too much.
James Crowe sat on the edge of a metal table, monkey mask resting beside him now, abandoned like a shed skin. Without it, his face looked older than it should — not aged, just worn in places where memories pressed too hard.
Dr. Calloway stood nearby, reviewing data on a floating screen, though his eyes kept drifting back to James.
"She still does that thing?" Calloway asked casually.
James smiled faintly. "Which one?"
Calloway tilted his head. "The silence. When she's angry but refuses to show it."
James let out a soft breath — almost a laugh. "Yeah. She goes quiet first. That's how you know you're in trouble."
Calloway chuckled. "Most people shout."
"She hates shouting," James said. "She thinks it makes her look small."
He picked up the mask, turning it slowly in his hands.
"When she's angry," he continued, "she straightens her back. Slows her movements. Starts choosing every word like it's being recorded."
Calloway nodded. "Control."
"She wants to look untouchable," James said. "But inside?"
He shook his head. "Inside she's asking herself a hundred questions."
Calloway leaned against the counter. "Like?"
James's voice dropped.
'Are they taking me seriously?'
'Do they see me as weak?'
'Am I being looked at like a woman… or a leader?'
"She never says it out loud," James added. "But I see it. Every time she walks into a room full of men."
Calloway adjusted his glasses. "She overcorrects."
"She overcompensates," James replied. "Tries to be colder than she feels. Sharper than necessary."
A pause.
"And when she's really angry?" Calloway asked.
James smiled — softer this time. Sadder.
"She gets polite."
Calloway laughed quietly. "That bad?"
"She says 'thank you' too much. Smiles without warmth. That's when you should run."
The doctor shook his head. "Power wrapped in insecurity is dangerous."
James looked up at the ceiling. "She doesn't think she's enough on her own. That's the tragedy. She thinks she has to prove it every single day."
Calloway studied him. "You still love her."
James didn't answer immediately.
"She's funny when she's relaxed," he said instead. "Makes dry jokes. Pretends she doesn't care if people laugh… but watches their reactions anyway."
Calloway sighed. "You know, for someone who staged his own death, you're terrible at letting go."
James's jaw tightened.
"I didn't leave because I stopped loving her," he said quietly. "I left because I knew what I was becoming in her world."
Calloway turned off the screen. "And what was that?"
James looked at the mask in his hands.
"A mirror she didn't want to face."
Silence settled between them — not awkward, just heavy with history.
Calloway finally spoke again. "She thinks she's a boss first. A woman second."
James shook his head. "No. She's a woman first. She just doesn't know how to be one without armor."
The machines hummed.
Somewhere above them, Evelyn ruled with iron composure.
Down here, two men remembered the girl behind the crown.
The tension didn't disappear.
It shifted.
James leaned back on the medical table, rolling his shoulders. "You know," he said, "for a secret underground lab, this place could really use a distraction."
Dr. Calloway arched an eyebrow. "You want music?"
"No." James grinned. "I want chaos."
Calloway scoffed. "Absolutely not."
"Truth or dare," James said immediately.
Calloway laughed before he could stop himself. "You are not serious."
"Dead serious." James tapped the edge of the table. "Come on. Doctor. Live a little."
"I almost lost my career hiding a man who faked his death," Calloway replied. "I think I've lived enough."
James tilted his head. "Truth or dare."
Calloway sighed dramatically. "Fine. Truth."
James didn't hesitate. "Do you regret helping her?"
The smile slid off Calloway's face.
He took a second too long to answer.
"…Sometimes," he admitted. "But not for the reasons you think."
James nodded, satisfied. "Your turn."
Calloway crossed his arms. "Truth or dare."
James smirked. "Dare."
"Sit still for five minutes," Calloway said immediately.
James groaned. "That's cruel."
"Very," Calloway replied.
Thirty seconds passed.
James cracked. "I can't. This bed is judging me."
Calloway laughed. "You're impossible."
"Your turn," James said. "Truth or dare?"
Calloway hesitated. "Truth."
James leaned forward. "What's the real reason you didn't tell Evelyn what you found in the coffin?"
Calloway's eyes flicked toward the door.
"…Because she would've turned you into a weapon," he said quietly.
James exhaled. "Fair."
Calloway straightened. "My turn. Truth or dare."
James didn't even think. "Dare."
Calloway smiled — the dangerous kind. "Text the last unsent message in your phone."
James froze. "Absolutely not."
"That wasn't a suggestion."
James groaned, picked up the device, glanced at the screen — and immediately locked it again.
"Nope. I choose death."
Calloway laughed so hard he had to lean on the counter. "You're still in love with her, aren't you?"
James threw a pillow at him. "You're enjoying this too much."
Before Calloway could respond—
Click. Click. Click.
The sound cut through the room like a blade.
Heels.
Measured. Sharp. Familiar.
Both men froze.
James's eyes widened. "That's—"
"Her," Calloway whispered.
The footsteps echoed closer.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
James panicked. "What do I do?!"
"Get on the bed. Now."
James practically launched himself onto the medical table, yanking the sheet over himself and slapping the monkey mask back on in one frantic motion.
Calloway moved instantly — professional, calm, composed. He grabbed a tablet, adjusted the monitors, and leaned over James like nothing had happened.
"Relax your shoulders," he muttered under his breath. "You look too alive."
James stiffened. "That's not helping."
The door slid open.
Evelyn entered.
Her presence filled the room before her voice ever could. Black heels. Perfect posture. Eyes sharp enough to dissect a lie in seconds.
Calloway didn't look up. "Vitals stabilizing," he said smoothly. "Heart rate elevated but within acceptable range."
Evelyn stepped closer. Each step landed like a countdown.
She stopped beside the bed.
James forced himself to stay still.
She studied him for a long moment.
Too long.
"Why does he look… tense?" she asked.
Calloway adjusted a sensor. "Neuromuscular response. Perfectly normal."
James resisted the urge to breathe.
Evelyn leaned closer.
Her perfume reached him — familiar, dangerous.
"…He looks taller," she murmured.
James nearly flinched.
Calloway didn't miss a beat. "Postural correction. Gravity does wonders when someone's been lying down."
Silence.
Then Evelyn straightened. "Carry on."
Her heels turned.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
The door closed.
The footsteps faded.
Only then did James exhale — long, shaky, relieved.
Calloway leaned closer and whispered, "We are never playing truth or dare again."
James pulled the sheet down just enough to grin. "Worth it."
Calloway shook his head, fighting a smile. "You're going to get us both killed."
"And yet," James said softly, "you laughed."
Calloway sighed. "Unfortunately."
The machines resumed their hum.
But the air was different now.
Closer.
Dangerously closer.