Chapter 2: The Mask Slips**
The silence in the alleyway grew deafening. The leaves rustled overhead, casting fractured shadows over the trio.
Clara’s lips parted, searching for tears that suddenly refused to come. When she realized Vincent’s hand was no longer shaking with grief, but with absolute revulsion, something shifted behind her blue eyes. The fragile victim vanished. In her place sat a stranger—sharp, calculating, and cornered.
""You really want to do this here, Vincent?"" she said, her voice dropping an octave, completely stripped of its usual breathy helplessness. ""In front of stray garbage?""
The boy took a step back, instinctively sensing danger, but Vincent reached out with a steady hand, gently placing himself between Clara and the child.
""What's your name, son?"" Vincent asked, not looking back at the woman in the chair.
""Leo,"" the boy muttered. ""Leo Barnes.""
""Thank you, Leo,"" Vincent said softly. He turned back to Clara. ""The police are three minutes away. I pressed the panic beacon on my watch the moment you changed your tone.""
Clara laughed—a dry, bitter sound that echoed off the wet cobblestones. Slowly, deliberately, she uncrossed her legs. She kicked off the woolen blanket that had covered her lap for a thousand days. She planted her designer leather boots onto the wet pavement and stood up to her full height, smoothing the folds of her champagne dress.
""You were so easy, Vincent,"" she sneered, stepping away from the wheelchair without a single tremor. ""A wealthy man drowning in savior complex. You wanted someone to rescue. I simply gave you the role of a lifetime.""
""And the doctors? Dr. Vance?"" Vincent whispered, the sheer scale of the betrayal sinking its teeth into his chest.
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""A few hundred thousand dollars buys a lot of fake X-rays and confidential signatures,"" Clara smiled, cold as ice. ""Now, give me that phone, or your precious little witness won't live to buy his sister's medicine.""
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