When his mask cracks Novels & Stories

“And look what that trust earned us. Bugs in the walls. Names in tabloids. Betrayals stacked like dominoes.” I swallowed hard. “And yet you still show up. You still fight to keep it alive.” For a moment, his mask cracked. He leaned back against the desk, rubbing a hand over his jaw. The gesture was almost human in its vulnerability. “You don’t understand,” he said, quieter now. “Every time I let someone close, I wait for the moment they break me open. And when it comes, I don’t know how to put myself back together without turning cruel.” The confession landed heavy between us.

I felt like there wasn’t anything physically possible that I couldn’t do. My fist crashed into the jaw of one of the masked people and I heard and felt it snap. The person’s mask cracked into two as they crashed to the ground from the force of my blow. It was a man, I could tell from the horrible scream he let out and he cradled his broken jaw. The other three stopped short at this. They had obviously been expecting a weakling, not someone who could break a person’s jaw with one punch.

Cassain had stormed to the projector and yanked the cable out of the socket, his movements jerky, and desperate, but the damage had been done. Then the chandeliers flickered back to life, washing the hall in light once more. He turned toward me, eyes blazing, jaw tight. The mask he’d worn for years had finally cracked. “You snake!” he spat, his voice echoing off the marble walls. Dozens of heads turned. The murmurs died instantly. “It’s a lie!” he shouted, his voice splintering with rage. “All of it! She’s a manipulator, a liar! None of this is true!”

That mask of his was second nature—his last line of defense and the only thing that kept him sane after all he’d been through. I didn’t care if he kept it, used it to give him some semblance of stability, but not with me. Never with me. Without an inkling of hesitation I closed the distance between us, stepping into his space until the gravitational pull that circled Dain yanked me in. His breath came in short pants, escaping lips that were tightly knitted together. I had to sink my teeth into my own to stifle the sound I made when he flinched under my touch. Like clockwork, I could hear his mask shatter a second time, and when his eyes opened, they were brimming with a century’s worth of un

I didn’t want safety if it meant absence. My vision blurred with fresh tears, and I turned my face away, ashamed at the cracks splintering through me. The ceiling swam, sterile white bleeding into haze. “Who are you?” I asked. “Why do you sound like you’ve known me?” For the first time, his mask cracked. Not much, just a flicker in his eyes, a shadow of something softer. Regret, maybe. Memory. “I’m someone who made a promise,” he said, voice rougher now. “To Damien. And to you, though you don’t remember it.”

The mask stretched into a smile, making it look even more grotesque than before. "The Catalyst would live as long as you do," the mask said. Miguel suddenly dropped the box. "Boss," he said, pointing at the mask. I turned to look at it. The mask was spewing a black inky substance, and immediately it entered my mouth. I fell as I struggled to breathe. I clawed at my throat as I felt I was being drowned by the strange substance.

“My wife followed after her a short while later. Everyone said it’s because her heart was broken.” “If I may ask,” I said. “How did it happen?” Then added, “you absolutely don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I understand.” “Rogues.” His face twisted as he spat. “It’s always rogues. Those disgusting creatures that have refused to live or die. They go around spreading misery like a virus.” “I’m sorry.” I said, handing the mask back to him. “I can’t buy this. Not after knowing its history and how important it is to you. Especially now that you’re all alone.”

I said, forcing a wry smile, "but I won't stop." For a moment, his expression cracked; half pride, half fear. He brushed ash from my hair, voice low. "Stubborn ember." I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze. "Storms and embers. Together, right?" His grin finally broke through, rough and tired but real. "Always." The mask at our feet split fully, crumbling into dust. The ember stirred deep in my chest, uneasy, as if warning me this wasn't an ending. Just the opening wound.

He pulled open the door, let the cold wind rush in, yawned, and waved lazily. “I’m out.” Inside the room, the man in the golden mask clenched his fists so hard his knuckles cracked. Who knows how long he stood there, until suddenly—like he sensed something—he let go and rushed out the door. ***

But the other part of me, the hardened, pragmatic part, screamed in protest. The mask I wore so well was cracking, revealing the truth beneath: a man desperate for something he didn't deserve, something he couldn't have. And I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that I was going to break everything trying to get it.