The training hall was unnervingly still that evening. A single flickering bulb dangled above them, its weak light stretching long, trembling shadows across the scuffed wooden floor. The silence felt oppressive—thick enough to taste—like the air itself was bracing for impact.
Adrien stood against the far wall, arms folded, eyes as sharp as drawn steel.
Riyan tapped the punching bag in slow, controlled rhythms—each thud carrying more suppressed fury than training.
When Aarvin walked in, Riyan turned first.
"You holding up?"
Aarvin nodded, though his gaze remained distant.
"I'm tired of reacting," he murmured. "This time… we take control."
Adrien's gaze shifted toward him.
"We won't need defense today."
Before Aarvin could ask, the old wooden door creaked open. Footsteps entered—slow, familiar, unwelcome.
John.
The bulb above them buzzed, dimming for a heartbeat before stabilizing. No one spoke. The wind whistled through broken windows, pushing dust through the air like drifting ash.
John lifted his hands—not in surrender, but in quiet resignation.
"Before you knock me out again… just listen."
Riyan didn't wait. He lunged forward—
"You think talking will fix anything?"
Aarvin raised an arm, stopping him without breaking eye contact with John.
"Let him speak."
John swallowed hard. His voice trembled despite his effort.
"I didn't know it would go that far. James told me it was just a scare—a warning. I didn't think they'd actually—"
Adrien cut sharply across his sentence.
"You were standing with them. Don't rewrite the story."
John's jaw tightened.
"I know. I messed up. I'm not here to justify anything."
Aarvin's voice was low, steady, far more dangerous than a shout.
"You betrayed us."
John didn't look away.
"…Yes."
Riyan scoffed.
"Quick confession. Great. Now get out."
But John stayed rooted. Slowly—painfully slowly—he reached into his pocket. Adrien shifted instantly, muscles coiled, ready to strike.
John froze.
"It's just a note."
He placed a small folded paper on the table. His hand shook.
Aarvin's fist tightened beneath the table's edge.
"I came because you need to know," John said quietly. "James is planning something bigger. And this time… Aarvin isn't the first target."
He turned toward Riyan.
"He is."
Riyan blinked.
"Me? Why?"
John hesitated for one long, suffocating moment.
"Because you're his pressure point. Break you… and Aarvin breaks with you."
A deep, cold heaviness settled in the room.
Adrien studied John with surgical precision.
"And why warn us now? Guilt? Fear?"
John's honesty was raw—ugly, fractured.
"Maybe I realized James will throw me away next," he whispered.
"Maybe I'm done being scared.
Maybe…"
His voice cracked.
"…maybe I actually was your friend—once. And now I have to live with that."
Riyan laughed bitterly.
"Friend? I'd trust a snake first."
John nodded, eyes lowering.
"I'm not asking for forgiveness."
Aarvin finally unfolded the note.
One line, written in red:
**"Tonight. Old Dormitory Basement. Riyan first."**
Silence crashed down around them.
Riyan exhaled.
"So they want me?"
Adrien shook his head.
"No. They want Aarvin to chase you."
Aarvin folded the note with slow, deliberate calm.
He stepped closer to John.
"If this is another setup," he said softly,
"understand something…"
John's breath shuddered.
"I won't hesitate next time."
John nodded once.
"I know."
He turned and walked out. The door closed behind him with a hollow, echoing thud—like a coffin sealing.
Riyan spun to Aarvin.
"You seriously believe him?"
Aarvin shook his head.
"I'm not believing him."
He looked at Adrien.
"I'm reading him."
Adrien's eyes glinted.
"Good. Betrayal always has a second chapter."
Riyan cracked his knuckles.
"So what's the plan?"
Aarvin stepped into the pool of flickering light.
"They think *you* are the bait."
A slow, cold smile formed on his lips.
"This time… we choose the bait."
The storm was shifting.
And the shadows—
they were about to face the light.
* To be continued…