Clara remained in the doorway, her heart pounding, as Don Baste entered the room.
“You disappeared last night,” she whispered in a trembling voice.
He hesitated, the weight of the secret weighing on his back like a chain.
“I… I can’t hide it anymore,” she said, tugging at the edge of the synthetic leather.
The material ripped apart with a quiet, empty sigh, revealing the pale skin beneath.
His face was gaunt, his jaw sharp, his eyes deep-set but wild.
On his scarred arms one could read the map of a life spent in shadow.
“I’m not a monster,” he whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks.
