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Because they are now free from whatever burdens they hold, whatever misfortune that bounds them."

He looked down at his hands, the faintest tremor in his fingers. "It wasn't about deceit. It was about giving the dead and the missing what little peace we could. (...)

"Hidden motive? No," he said quietly. "After everything that happened, I just wanted us to have a fun moment. The locals offered a feast, and it felt right to accept. To sit together, to breathe, to remember."

And the forest team… they're not the ones I fear for; whatever lurks out there is far kinder to death than I am."

Jared's laugh died in his throat; he leaned back against the cold stone and shook his head. "Why would I kill you? Do you think I take pleasure in that? If anything, what's unfortunate needs to be let go. (...)

"They didn't kill me because they already knew me. Or maybe… because I already belonged here."

Jared's expression softened when Heidi asked him again, though not with comfort—more like the slow return of a memory. "The locals?" he murmured, eyes drifting toward the damp stone walls of the lighthouse.

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"Ah, the number 5?" Jared turned back to Heidi. "I don't know, I didn't come up with the number, but I know that 5 symbolizes freedom."

The laughter lingered a moment too long, as if he were mocking someone else—yet somehow, also mocking something within him.

The next question came up. "Unfortunate? Me? Luther said that?" Jared burst into laughter, a shrieking laughter, shaking his head. "How dare he call me unfortunate? Has he ever looked at himself—at that pitiful reflection of his?"

"Ah, and Venetia, right?" Jared shifted his attention fully to Venetia. "You asked if this trip was intentional? Tell me—do any of you ever do anything without intention?" "The publicity of your family, the string they put on you. Everything is intentional."

Nell stepped forward next. The moment she mentioned Luthor's name, Jared couldn't help but let out a short laugh. "Luthor? You mean… Luther?" he said, the corners of his mouth still twitching with disbelief. "Who do you think he is, Nell?" Jared asked back to her.

"Hi, Jared. What are you?" Rouge popped the next question, and Jared chuckled. "If I have blood under my flesh circulating in my veins just like you, then what am I?"

"They?" Jared's voice broke the silence. His eyes wandered through the walls up to the ceiling. "My mother was never taken away by anyone, Heidi." He paused, darting a cold gaze at Heidi. "But I know she is free. She is no longer bound, she no longer has to listen to them."

Just like her mother's heartbeat, which Jared could remember every beat. Ah, it has been a long time since he met her. A year or so. He couldn't tell, but the question Heidi asked reminds him of something. Something he didn't want to remember.

The floor was cold stone, slick with moss and seawater, and somewhere deep within, the echo of the waves sounded almost like a heartbeat.

The lantern tower loomed above. Inside, the air was thick with salt and silence, the kind that made every breath feel too loud.

They decided Jared would be the one to face their questions, and the lighthouse became the place for it. From where he stood, he could see how its walls cracked, its metal bones groaning with every gust of sea wind.

And as the tension wound tighter around the small camp, one question began to rise louder than the rest—when the time finally came to demand the truth, which one of them should they interrogate first—Jared, or Reed?