Night had settled deep into the city, heavy and restless.
Ethan stood on the narrow balcony of his apartment, forearms resting on the cold metal rail, eyes fixed on the streets below. Headlights streamed endlessly, people moving with purpose while his own thoughts collided and spiraled.
The party. The shouting. The motorcycle. The voice behind the mask.
His jaw tightened.
He hadn't slept.
He didn't want to.
Every time he closed his eyes, he heard it again — that command, sharp and furious, like someone fighting the urge to say more than they should.
You don't listen.
Ethan exhaled slowly. "Then talk," he muttered into the night. "Or leave me alone."
A sound answered him.
Not footsteps.
A soft, controlled landing.
Ethan spun.
The gorilla mask stood at the far end of the balcony, tall and still, framed by the city glow behind him. No dramatics. No intimidation. Just presence — deliberate, grounded.
Ethan's pulse jumped. "You really enjoy appearing like this, don't you?"
The masked man raised both hands slightly. Not surrender. Not threat.
"I'm not here to fight," the distorted voice said. "I'm here because I owe you something."
Ethan scoffed. "You owe me a lot of things."
"Yes," the mask replied. "And I'm starting with this."
He stepped forward, slow enough that Ethan could track every movement.
"I shouldn't have shouted," the masked man said. "Not at the party. Not at you. And not at Clara."
That stopped Ethan.
"…You came back to say that?"
"I came back because you deserved it."
Ethan studied him carefully now. "Why do you care what I deserve?"
The gorilla mask hesitated — not out of fear, but calculation.
"Because you were never supposed to be in danger," he said quietly.
Ethan laughed once, bitter. "Funny way of showing it."
The masked man didn't argue.
Instead, he said, "Every time you stepped close to something you didn't understand, I was already there. Redirecting. Delaying. Cleaning up after people who wanted you hurt."
Ethan's breath caught slightly.
"What people?"
The mask didn't answer.
"I didn't shout because you were wrong," the man continued. "I shouted because you were almost exposed. And once that happens… there are no second chances."
Ethan felt something shift in his chest. "So what, I'm fragile now?"
"No," the man said firmly. "You're valuable."
That landed harder than any threat.
A sudden gust of wind tore through the balcony, sharp and aggressive. Papers skidded across the floor. The curtain snapped against the glass.
Dust lifted.
The gorilla mask flinched, turning slightly.
"Damn—"
He reached up instinctively, rubbing his eye as something blew into it.
The strap caught.
Just for a second.
The mask loosened.
Ethan frowned. "Wait—"
The wind surged again.
The man cursed under his breath and pulled the mask away fully, just to clear his vision—
—and froze.
Too late.
Ethan's heart slammed into his ribs.
The face beneath the mask was real.
Familiar.
Not imagined.
Not a ghost.
"…No," Ethan whispered.
The man looked back at him, eyes sharp but exhausted — eyes that had been watching far longer than Ethan had ever realized.
"You're—" Ethan staggered back a step. "You're the one from the ledger."
Silence crushed the air between them.
The city below felt impossibly distant now.
The man didn't deny it.
Didn't rush to explain.
He simply said, "I didn't intend for you to see my face."
Ethan's voice trembled. "You've been around me this whole time."
"Yes."
"You knew where I lived."
"Yes."
"You knew where I came from."
"Yes."
Ethan swallowed. "The orphanage."
The man's jaw tightened.
"I was there," he said quietly. "Long before you noticed anything was wrong."
Ethan's hands shook. "Then why not just tell me?"
"Because knowing puts a target on your back," the man replied. "And I've already buried too many people who knew too much."
Ethan stared at him, stunned. "So everything you did—"
"—was to keep you breathing," the man finished.
Another gust of wind swept through, gentler this time.
The discarded gorilla mask lay on the floor between them.
Useless now.
Ethan looked down at it, then back at the man.
"You protected me… by scaring me half to death."
The man almost smiled. Almost.
"I'm better at threats than comfort."
Ethan let out a shaky breath. "You yelled because you were scared."
The man didn't answer.
Which was answer enough.
The silence that followed was heavy — not hostile, but fragile.
Ethan finally spoke, voice low. "Now that I know… what happens next?"
The man met his gaze.
"Now," he said, "I protect you without hiding."
Ethan's pulse quickened.
The mask on the floor reflected the city lights — empty, abandoned.
And Ethan understood something he never wanted to learn:
The danger was never the man in the mask.
It was the world he had been shielding Ethan from.
And now that Ethan could see him—
That shield had cracks.