The air in Moro's laboratory always smelled of chemicals and old metal. It was a scent Dante had grown used to over the years. Usually, it calmed him. Tonight, it felt suffocating. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, flickering slightly as the voltage dipped. Shadows stretched across the steel tables, lengthening like fingers reaching for something they couldn't grasp.
Moro stood behind the main desk. His hands rested flat on the cold surface. He wasn't looking at Dante. He was looking at the drawer just below his fingertips.
"You asked for information," Moro said. His voice was steady. Too steady.
Dante stood in the center of the room. His black coat hung heavy on his shoulders. He didn't move. He didn't blink.
"I asked for a name," Dante corrected.
"There is a difference."
"Give it to me."
Moro hesitated. For a man who dealt in facts and data, hesitation was a anomaly. He pulled the drawer open. Inside, there was only one thing: a small slip of paper. He slid it across the desk. It stopped just inches from Dante's gloved hand.
Dante looked down. The paper was plain. White. Unmarked except for a single line of text typed in the center. A name. Dante didn't reach for it right away. He simply stared. His expression remained unchanged. Cold. Smooth. Like marble carved into the shape of a man. But inside, the silence was loud.
Kairo stirred in the back of his mind. The voice was dry, like pages turning in an empty library.
(Kairo): "Do not touch it. Ignorance is a shield."
Dante ignored the voice. Mūn drifted into his peripheral vision. A shadow within the shadows.
(Mūn): "Your heart rate increased. By twelve percent."
(Dante): "Shut up."
Dante picked up the paper. The texture was rough. Cheap stock. The kind used for temporary notes before they are destroyed. He read the name. Once. Twice. The letters didn't change. They didn't shift. They remained exactly what they were. A ghost from a past he had tried to bury. A name that belonged to a time before the blood, before the contracts, before the demons.
Moro watched him closely. He was a man who studied reactions for a living. He knew how pupils dilated. He knew how breathing patterns shifted under stress. He saw none of that in Dante. And that worried him more than any outburst would have.
"You know him," Moro said. It wasn't a question.
Dante didn't look up. "From a very long time ago." His voice was low. Flat. But there was a weight behind it. A gravitational pull that made the air in the room feel heavier.
Moro leaned back against the desk, crossing his arms. "I told you before I handed that over. I won't be responsible for your reaction."
"And yet you gave it to me."
"Because you needed to see it. Hiding it wouldn't stop him. It would only blind you."
Dante finally lifted his gaze. His turquoise eyes met Moro's dark ones. There was no anger in them. No shock. Just a deep, quiet recognition. Like seeing an old wound that had never fully healed.
Moro sighed softly. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "What are you going to do?"
Dante placed the paper back on the desk. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver lighter. It was scratched, worn from years of use. He flicked it open. The flame sparked to life. Small. Blue at the base. Orange at the tip. He held it over the paper.
The heat curled the edge of the white stock. Black crept inward, eating the letters. The name vanished first. Then the rest. Ash flaked off onto the steel surface. Dante watched it burn until nothing was left but gray dust.
"What I always do," Dante said. He closed the lighter. The snap echoed in the quiet room.
Moro frowned. "That isn't an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting."
Dante straightened his collar. He adjusted the cuffs of his black coat. Simple movements. Deliberate. He turned toward the door.
"Dante," Moro called out. Dante stopped. He didn't turn back.
"If you go after him," Moro said, his voice dropping lower, "you need to know something."
"What."
"This isn't just about Sophie anymore. It hasn't been for a long time."
Dante was silent for a moment. The hum of the lights filled the gap. "I know."
"You don't. Not fully."
Dante's hand rested on the doorknob. The metal was cold against his palm.
(Mūn): "He is trying to help."
(Dante): "I know."
(Kairo): "He is also hiding something. His pulse spiked when he spoke."
(Dante): "Everyone is."
Dante opened the door. The light from the hallway spilled in, cutting across the dark lab. It illuminated the dust motes dancing in the air.
"I'll find out the rest myself," Dante said. He stepped out. The door clicked shut behind him. The lock engaged with a solid thud.
Moro was alone again. The hum of the lights seemed louder now. The smell of chemicals was mixed with the faint scent of burnt paper. It smelled like endings. He looked down at the desk. The ash remained. A small pile of gray dust where a name used to be. Moro reached out and touched it with his fingertip. It smeared easily. A gray streak on his skin. He wiped his hand on his coat.
"I hope you're ready," Moro whispered to the empty room. He wasn't sure who he was talking to. Dante? Or the man whose name had just turned to smoke?
It didn't matter. The game had changed. The pieces were moving faster now. Moro turned to his computer screen. Data scrolled across the monitor. Lines of code. Encrypted files. Green text on a black background. He typed a command.
ACCESS GRANTED.
He stared at the screen for a long moment. His reflection stared back from the dark glass. He looked tired. Then he closed the window. Some secrets weren't meant to be digitized. Some things had to be handled in the dark, away from servers and logs.
Moro picked up his phone. It was an old device. Untraceable. He dialed a number he hadn't used in years. The digits felt heavy under his thumb. It rang once. Twice. Three times.
"Speak," a voice answered. The voice was distorted. Mechanical. But Moro knew the tone.
"It's done," Moro said. "He knows."
"And?"
"And he burned it."
A pause on the other end. The silence stretched, thin and tense. "Good," the voice said. "Then there's no turning back."
Moro's grip on the phone tightened. "You said he wouldn't be harmed."
"I said what was necessary."
"That wasn't the agreement."
"The agreement changes when the variables change. Dante is a variable we cannot control. But we can steer him."
Moro closed his eyes. He felt the weight of the betrayal settling in his chest. It was heavier than the chemicals, heavier than the silence.
"Just keep Sophie out of it," Moro said.
"No promises."
The line went dead. Moro ended the call. He placed the phone back on the desk. He pushed it away, as if it were contaminated. Outside, the city lights of Jōkan twinkled like distant stars. Unaware. Uncaring.
Somewhere out there, Dante was walking. Alone. With a ghost in his head and a fire in his chest.
Moro looked at the ash one last time. He grabbed a cloth and wiped the desk clean. The gray dust vanished.
"God help us all," he muttered. He turned off the lights. The room went dark.
A/N: Thank you for reading Chapter 13! The mystery deepens. Who was on the paper? Why did Moro make that secret call? Who is on the other end of the line? Let me know your theories in the comments! Don't forget to add Shadow Contract to your library and vote with power stones if you're enjoying the ride. See you in Chapter 14!