All Chapters of His Mask, My Sin: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Ezra's POVI don’t realize how much blood is on my hands until I’m alone.The Institute is vast in a way that feels deliberate, wide halls, vaulted ceilings, stone that hums faintly beneath my boots. Ancient and modern layered together. Screens glow against runes carved centuries ago. Weapons rest in glass cases beside servers and maps that move when you look at them too long.None of it sticks.I keep scrubbing my hands.There’s no sink nearby, so I use a cloth from my jacket. I wipe my palms, my fingers, beneath my nails. Again. Again. Dried blood flakes free, but the sensation stays. Like it’s soaked deeper than skin.I tell myself it’s Matteo’s blood.I don’t let myself think about whose else it might be.“A habit?” a voice asks.I stiffen, turning.The man who greeted us earlier stands at the mouth of the corridor—tall, dark-haired, sharp-eyed. Beside him is another, broader, older, with gray at his temples and a scar that runs from jaw to ear. Both wear the same sigil on their

tried to reach my hand down to his dick, to pleasure him, but I couldn’t. That’s when my patient reached its limit. I placed my hands on either of Matteo’s shoulders, and push him down on the bed. My hard nipples were tender from his relentless assault. The wetness from saliva turned cool quick and almost made me pulled him back to violate it once more.“Aidan, what the hell?” He complained with hungry looks on his face. He still wasn’t satisfied with eating my nipple. I smirked and got up from his laps. I kneel down between his legs and rub his tip through the boxer. I played with it for a while, and gave the wet spot of pre a quick kiss and move on.I began to peel away his boxer. His large tool made it quite difficult to remove it. When I pulled, his dick moves down with the underwear, like it wants to hide from me. When his boxer was finally off, his large thick cock sprang to life, it slapped his hard abs and spilled sticky precum over it.It was bigger than me all around and lon

CHAPTER 24 — THE SENTINEL PROTOCOLEzra's POV I don’t say his name.That’s the first thing they notice.The room is built to break people circular, windowless, carved from black stone that drinks sound. Sigils pulse faintly in the walls, old and authoritative. The kind of magic that doesn’t ask, only measures.Three evaluators stand opposite me. A witch. A werewolf. A man in a gray coat whose heartbeat I can’t hear.“State the subject of your Sentinel bond,” the man says.I lift my chin. “The Key.”The witch’s brow creases. “We asked for his name.”“I gave you his designation.”Silence stretches.The werewolf’s nostrils flare. He smells the blood under my skin. The restraint. The violence packed so tightly it hasn’t breathed in hours.“Sentinel Ezra,” the man says calmly, “this is an evaluation. Cooperation is not optional.”“I’m cooperating,” I reply. “I’m not indulging.”The witch scribbles something in the air. Ink burns briefly, then vanishes.“Very well,” she says. “Begin Proto

CHAPTER 26 — MATTEO’S TRUTHPOV: Matteo I’ve learned that silence has weight.It presses differently when someone is afraid than when they’re angry. Aidan’s silence tonight is the kind that hums tight, coiled, vibrating just beneath his skin. He’s sitting on the edge of the narrow Institute bed, shoulders hunched, fingers laced together like he’s afraid they might shake loose if he lets go.I watch him from the doorway.He hasn’t noticed me yet.That’s new.“Aidan,” I say softly.He flinches anyway.“Sorry,” I add quickly, stepping inside and closing the door behind me. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”He turns, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You didn’t.”Lie.I sit beside him, close enough that our knees brush. He stiffens then exhales, leaning just slightly into the contact. That small surrender hurts more than if he’d pulled away.“You’re grounding again,” I murmur, half to myself.He blinks. “What?”“Your breathing,” I say. “You do it when you’re spiraling. Sh

CHAPTER 28 — WHAT’S LEFT OF A SENTINELPOV: EzraGrief didn’t break me.It sharpened me.That’s the first thing I learn.The second is that everyone else notices.They just don’t say it out loud.They try to put me in a room with soft lights and softer voices three days after Aidan dies.Three days of forms, reports, hushed footsteps when I pass. Three days of people looking at me like I’m an unexploded weapon someone forgot to disarm.I stand in the doorway and don’t move.The counselor Institute-issued, neutral posture, hands folded like prayer gestures to the chair across from her desk.“Ezra,” she says gently. “Please. Sit.”“No.”It isn’t loud. It isn’t angry.It’s final.Her lips press together. “This is protocol.”“So was keeping him alive,” I reply.Silence drops like a blade.She inhales, recalibrates. “You witnessed a traumatic loss.”“I witnessed an institutional failure.”“That’s not mutually exclusive.”“I’m not broken,” I say.She studies me carefully. Too carefully. Lik