"Perhaps you're confusing my silence with some of my other desires. It just so happens that I have many of them."
He let his words fall heavily before continuing in a tone carrying a trace of indifference. "You love creating stories in your heads to justify your actions. But don't pin your madness on me."
Kayden looked toward Frey, then his gaze settled on Elster. "I don't die easily, and none of you have earned the honor of burying me."
"So… you deny it?" Frey asked again, his eyes following every detail of Kayden's expression.
Kayden lifted his head slightly, his voice steady. "That's right."
But Frey wasn't satisfied. He leaned forward, clasping his hands together as he pressed his questions with the persistence of a surgeon probing an open wound.
"Why?"
Kayden remained silent for several seconds. He stared at the floor as though searching for an answer carved into the tiles, then slowly raised his eyes. There was a glimmer of defiance in them, crossed by a shadow of unease.
"I have everything I want… Why would I do something as foolish as killing myself? Why would I throw everything away?!"
His voice rose at the end of the sentence, louder than he had intended. His jaw trembled as he unconsciously clenched his teeth, as though trying to keep the truth from bursting out.
A faint smile without a trace of warmth appeared on Frey's face. The lines across his forehead tightened, a mixture of mockery and preconceived judgment settling into his features. He tilted his head to the side and spoke slowly.
"According to your research, you're attempting to create an unnatural environment, manipulating the very system of nature itself. That does not meet our standards. Therefore, you are guilty."
Kayden's brows knitted tightly. His eyes widened as though he had been struck by an unexpected slap. Even his hands had begun to bleed beneath the restraints.
"What?"
His voice dropped slightly. "You don't understand… It's scientific research, nothing more. The university and the dean approved it!"
But Frey slowly shook his head, his eyes half-lidded as though passing judgment on a man already condemned.
"The university? The dean? Those are nothing but pieces of paper. We, however… the Church rejects this kind of heresy."
The word heresy fell heavily.
Kayden's breath caught instantly. His brows trembled as he stared at Frey in disbelief and denial. He opened and closed his mouth twice before finally finding his voice.
"Heresy?! What do you mean? Do you think I'm spreading corruption? Do you think I would dare do something that goes against your faith?"
Kayden felt his words strike against a cold wall. There was no response, only Frey's rigid eyes, like a stone wall that no light could penetrate.
"But I'm not," Kayden muttered, his voice barely escaping his lips. His eyes were half-dulled with exhaustion, yet they still carried one last spark of defiance.
"I haven't violated your beliefs."
He drew a shaky breath, then continued, trying to sound rational.
"The idea was nothing more than reversing the growth cycle… simply to allow farmers to produce more. As you can see, it doesn't end there… The crops grown in the controlled environment were going to be—"
He stopped abruptly.
He could tell from the cold looks before him that his words were disappearing into a void. He turned toward Elster, almost pleading with him to say something.
But Elster was lost in his own thoughts. He stared at the ground for a moment before raising his head.
"That sounds incredibly complicated… You're smart, aren't you?"
Kayden didn't answer.
Elster continued in a quiet voice. "There was a boy I used to sit with. Then, in a single moment, he burned everything that belonged to him. Do you know why?"
He tilted his head slightly, as though the answer were obvious. "Because of his intelligence. He was exceptionally intelligent… even more than you. And now? I don't see him anymore. Sometimes… I miss talking to him."
Kayden's heart trembled. His eyes fixed on Elster as though searching for a lifeline in the middle of an ocean.
"Where is he now?" he asked, his voice laced with worry.
But before he could receive an answer, Enzo cut in coldly.
"He died. People like him don't deserve to live."
Frey returned to the conversation. "Kayden Bryce… you have committed many sins. Tell me… do you believe in God?"
Kayden raised his head with difficulty, his breathing ragged, his eyes drifting between the faces surrounding him.
"Look around you… Look at the trees, at nature, at humanity… How could humans not believe?"
But Frey merely tilted his head, a look of contempt passing over his face.
Because of that look, Kayden continued slowly.
"You don't understand… and you never will."
Kayden's jaw tightened. He pressed his lips firmly together, as though afraid that another word might open the gates of hell.
So he chose silence.
But suddenly, without any apparent reason, the collar around his neck erupted with suffocating energy.
His body screamed before his voice could.
The veins in his neck bulged as his eyes widened in utter shock.
"Why?"
He didn't understand.
He hadn't said anything deserving of punishment.
And yet the pain tore through his soul, as though the collar were punishing him for his very thoughts not his words.
Meanwhile.
Inside Ayrton's house, the atmosphere was taut as a bowstring on the verge of snapping.
Isabelle came rushing in, holding Henry's hand. She had even grabbed Colton's hand and refused to let go. Her face was flushed, her eyes burning with a mixture of anger and fear.
She entered the parlor with a sharp cry that cut straight through the tension. "Ayrton!" Isabelle called his name loudly.
Ayrton hurried downstairs, his footsteps quick, like a man running across ashes that had yet to cool. He stopped before her, his voice thick with concern.
"What happened, my lady?"
For a moment, the words stumbled over Isabelle's lips before bursting out like an arrow.
"They took my son!"
The sentence echoed like a slap.
She turned toward Ayrton, her eyes overflowing with emotion. The world felt unbearably small in that moment, as though the walls were closing in around her, forcing her forward.
"Who spread the news?"
Her questions followed one after another, with no distinction between fear and anger. Her voice trembled, as though the words themselves were fighting their way out.
Ayrton ran a hand across his forehead before speaking, unmistakably tense.
"What exactly happened?"
Before she could answer, Henry intervened and quickly recounted what had happened, his words coming in broken fragments as though he were trying to piece together the shards of a moment before they disappeared.
While Henry explained, William sat in the corner, his face expressionless, reflecting nothing but resignation. He abandoned whatever he had been doing and answered with chilling coldness.
"I won't do anything without Kayden. I won't offer you any help without him."
His words were short.
And deeply irritating.
Ayrton didn't respond.
He quickly grabbed his coat, then bent over the table and began writing a letter with hurried strokes.
Isabelle stared at him in disbelief.
"Who are you writing to?"
Her voice shook. "The agreement between us was clear. We were supposed to erase every trace so the Church wouldn't come after us. So why? Why did they take my son?"
She stepped closer, her composure fraying at the edges.
"Ayrton, give me an answer before I go and burn that Church to the ground."
The tension seemed to gnaw at her nerves.
"To Lord Arthur," Ayrton replied without lifting his eyes from the lines.
A long silence followed.
The words seemed to pile up inside Isabelle's chest.
Then she rose again, swiftly snatching a sheet of paper and a pen from his hand.
"Give me the pen. I'll write to my family—and to the Theodore family. I'll destroy whoever took him!"
Isabelle seized the pen and began to write.
In that moment, she felt as though words themselves could erase the pain.
She wrote with frightening urgency, the letters chasing one another as though trying to keep pace with her heartbeat.
She handed the papers to Ayrton.
Their eyes met for a brief moment.
Ayrton noticed several phrases filled with anger, vengeance, and a feverish determination to destroy whoever was responsible.
They were stronger than a prayer closer to a vow made before the world , Ayrton burned his own letter first.
But he suddenly stopped.
A sharp rush of movement struck something in the garden outside.
The sound was a final reminder that the world did not stop at the boundaries of this room.
Everyone froze for a few brief seconds.
Then fear turned into alertness.
Ayrton prepared himself for battle, tension coiling around his body like invisible rings.
But barely a moment passed before the door opened, and someone appeared in the entrance.
Isabelle looked toward the newcomer.
It was none other than her suicidal son, George.
George stepped inside, slowly adjusting his clothes. He seemed to be in pain from the fall moments earlier. He gave a faint smile and spoke with a mocking tone.
"The garden isn't destroyed yet… but my powers…" He paused. "They're just unstable."
Ayrton's expression relaxed. He approached him, a mixture of surprise and nostalgia visible on his face. "I haven't seen you in a long time."
The priest, George, greeted Ayrton before sitting in the nearest chair, as though returning to a place that was both strange and familiar.
He looked at Ayrton steadily. "Do you still use people as slaves?"
Ayrton's expression barely changed, but he replied in a deep voice.
"The experiment is still ongoing… and my powers are unstable as well. But you're far more unstable than I am. What the hell did you do to yourself…?"
As Ayrton spoke, his eyes remained fixed on Isabelle, as though afraid she would collapse if she tried to speak.
George gave a faint, mocking smile before looking toward his mother.
"Mother… why are you here?"
He frowned slightly "I was supposed to be the one falling in your place, at our house. Not here. Why are you at Ayrton's house? Why does Henry look so pale? Where is Kayden?"
But Ayrton didn't let her answer.
He began explaining what had happened in brief detail, trying more to calm Isabelle than to convince George.
When he finished, he added jokingly,
"You weren't even planning on seeing me, were you?"
George chuckled lightly and shook his head.
"You're the one who should be looking for me… not the other way around."
He sighed dramatically. "What kind of world is this that doesn't understand my immense value?"
He looked at Ayrton with mock pity. "You're terribly poor."
George fell silent for a moment.
Then he asked, this time with genuine seriousness. "Was there a man who looked… corrupted?"
"Yes… that's right."
At that moment, a shadow fell across George's features. He lifted his gaze toward the ceiling and muttered in a voice that almost sounded like concealed sorrow.
"Kayden is going to be beaten badly."
Ayrton stared at him in surprise.
"You mean Elster?"
George nodded.
"Yes."
Ayrton sighed and covered his face with one hand, like a man remembering an old headache.
"But Elster… he's the most corrupted man of them all."
George slowly rose to his feet and pointed toward Ayrton, his tone carrying a warning.
"And you… you're not ready to see him."
Ayrton didn't answer, but something strange tightened inside him—a mixture of threat and certainty.
George turned toward his mother, his tone gentler now, as though trying to leave her reassured.
"Stay here… I already know who reported Kayden."
Isabelle's breath trembled as she asked,
"Who?"
But George didn't answer. He merely gave her a cryptic reply.
"I'll take care of it myself."