Scars of Silence(MxM) のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 21 - チャプター 30

The two weeks before the signing ceremony were a study in controlled chaos and exquisite agony.The negotiations entered their final, feverish phase. Every clause was scrutinized, every comma debated. The tension in the conference room was a physical thing, thick with the competing ambitions of nations and the personal vendettas of ambitious men.Gabriel was a shark in these waters. He thrived on the pressure, his charm giving way to a razor-sharp, relentless focus. He pushed for every concession, his eyes constantly calculating. And he watched. He watched everyone, but his gaze lingered most often on Lorenzo and me, looking for the crack he was sure was there.We gave him nothing.Our public performance reached new heights of icy perfection. Lorenzo was the implacable Admiral, conceding ground only when the logic was irrefutable, his demeanor a fortress of professional resolve. I was the flawless mediator, my arguments precise, my tone neutral, my scent locked down to an impenetrable

Geneva was a shock to the system.After the saturated colors and ancient heat of Naples, Switzerland felt sterile, precise, and cold. The Alliance headquarters was a sleek glass tower overlooking a lake so blue it looked fake. My apartment was modern, minimalist, and utterly silent. The quiet was the worst part. In Naples, even in my hotel room, there had been the constant, low hum of the city, the scent of salt and espresso in the air. Here, there was only the hum of the refrigerator and the faint smell of clean, recycled air.And the silence in my own head.The bond, which had been a constant, often painful presence in Italy, didn’t disappear. It transformed. The sharp, immediate ache of proximity was gone, replaced by a deep, hollow emptiness. It was like losing a limb and still feeling phantom pains. I would wake in the night, my hand reaching for a warmth that wasn’t there. I would catch a scent on the street—pine, not ocean pine—and my heart would lurch before my brain caught up

The seven days crawled by. The burner phone sat on my bedside table in Stockholm like a sleeping dragon, inert and full of latent power. I didn't touch it. I barely slept.The documents Matteo had given me were locked in a secure safe in my apartment. I didn't need to look at them; their contents were seared into my mind. The formal renunciation. The bureaucratic back-and-forth about leave. The simple, heartbreaking drawing. She knows.The knowledge was a warm, fragile flame in the cold emptiness of my chest. He was fighting. He was telling his daughter the truth. He was dismantling the life he'd built stone by painful stone.But Matteo's warning echoed louder. Thorne is the enemy now.Gabriel didn't call again. The silence from him was more threatening than any contact. He was planning something. I could feel it in my bones, a prickle of unease that had nothing to do with the bond.My work suffered. My focus, usually my greatest asset, was fractured. I made a careless error in a data

The message to Matteo was a flare shot into the dark. An act of pure desperation. I had no idea if he’d get it. If he’d believe it. If he could, or would, reach Lorenzo in time.The hours that followed were a silent, suffocating vigil. I paced my Stockholm apartment, the cold Scandinavian night pressing against the windows. The bond was a tight, painful wire vibrating with a tension that wasn’t mine. Lorenzo was feeling the earthquake I’d warned of, even if he didn’t know its origin. I could sense the distant, rolling thunder of his anxiety, his anger. He was in the storm now too, and I’d dragged him into the eye.It felt like a betrayal, even as I fought to save us.My phone buzzed at 03:17. A text from a number I didn’t recognize. Just four words.He will be there.Matteo.Relief, sharp and hot, flooded me, followed by a surge of pure, cold purpose. It was set. The last meeting. The place where everything went wrong. We would go back to the beginning, with the end breathing down our

I spent the night in a small, spartan room in the Alliance facility. It wasn’t a cell, not officially. It had a narrow bed, a desk, a chair. The door was locked from the outside. A guard brought me a tasteless meal. I ate some, not because I was hungry, but because I needed to keep my strength up. For what, I didn’t know.The bond was a steady, low hum now. The frantic anxiety was gone, replaced by that focused, granite-like determination I’d felt before. Lorenzo was doing something. Planning something. The feeling was a lifeline in the dark.Sleep came in fitful bursts. I dreamed of the balcony in Naples, but this time, Lorenzo was the one falling, and I was reaching for him, my fingers always an inch short.The guard woke me at dawn. “Get dressed. The hearing is in one hour.”I put on the same clothes I’d arrived in. They felt like a prisoner’s uniform now. I was escorted by two silent security officers through a series of sterile, bright corridors. We didn’t go to a courtroom or a