Mason was lying in bed, hidden under the covers, not knowing what to do with the parts of himself that shamed him.
That night, he had turned his own mind into a courtroom. Accuser, judge, and defendant, he played every role. And, as always, he didn't seem willing to grant himself the right to a defense.
Mason had his own conspiracy theories and had never cared much about what his family thought of him. At least, that was what he liked to believe.
The truth was less convenient.
He was the guilty one. He had ruined his family, his real family. Somehow, he always found a way to complicate everything, to be too suspicious, to think things through until he turned any way out into another problem. Afterward, when things fell apart, he was left with the wreckage and the certainty that he could have done it differently.
For a long time, he believed he didn't need to face the evil he saw in the mirror every day. What was done was done. There was no going back, and he had no intention of spending the rest of his life mourning things he couldn't change.
He wouldn't go on suffering forever. Not for that. Not for anyone.
Then, as though his own conscience had been waiting for the exact moment to prove him wrong, Can-Bey's voice came back to his memory — low, too close, the way it had sounded after he'd finally set him down on the floor, still breathing unevenly, his hands reluctant to pull away.
I want to stay in your mouth for a long time.
Mason ran a hand over his face, desperate, burying his head even further under the covers.
What hell.
Why did everything have to be so complicated? Could he keep running, searching for something he couldn't even name? How much longer would he pretend he was going somewhere, when really, he was just trying not to look back?
He thought of Andrews, and something inside him gave way.
He needed to grow up. He needed to stop acting as though he still had all the time in the world to figure out who he wanted to be. Maybe he'd already lost too many chances. Maybe there was no longer room for the man he wished he could become.
The worst part was that he still had a heart.
That was the part that irritated him most. Somewhere inside him, there still existed something capable of attaching, of wanting, of missing someone. And Mason would have preferred to tear that out of himself rather than admit how much it left him vulnerable.
He wanted to be a god of destruction. Someone capable of tearing everything down without hesitating, of leaving without looking back, and feeling absolutely nothing afterward.
Instead, he was a needy fool who felt good being wanted.
He had given in to desire and now found himself in that ridiculous situation, chewing over what had happened like an addict who, after giving in to his own weakness, swore he'd never do it again.
The problem was that he still remembered the kiss.
And that, more than anything else, was what he couldn't forgive in himself.
It was past 10:00 in the morning; Mason was still lying down.
The light coming through the curtains had stopped being soft. It spread across the room in golden bands, reaching the edge of the bed, where a piece of clothing had been left behind the night before. Outside, the estate was already in full swing. Voices crossed the hallways, hurried footsteps echoed on the wooden floor, and in the distance, the sound of a cart rolling over the stones of the path mixed with the insistent song of birds.
Mason heard someone knock on the door.
"Are you alive in there?"
It was Damián.
He shut his eyes harder and pulled the covers up over his face.
"No."
There was a pause on the other side.
"Great. We're coming in."
The doorknob turned.
Aster let out a low laugh, almost involuntary. Mason shot him a fierce look over the covers.
"What? What did you do?"
Aster raised his eyebrows.
"Me?"
"You're angry."
"I haven't committed any crime."
"On your way to one?" Damián added, taking advantage of the distraction to yank the covers off completely.
Mason tried to grab them back, but ended up sitting against the pillows, his hair a mess and an expression of deep despondency.
"You're both terrible people."
"And you're still in bed," Damián replied.
The morning light revealed the exhaustion Mason hadn't been able to fully hide. For a moment, Aster stopped smiling. He noticed the delay with which Mason looked away, and the way he ran a hand over his face, as though he could wipe away the traces of a poorly slept night.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
Mason lowered his feet to the floor.
"I'm splendid. I've never felt so close to spiritual enlightenment."
"I bet."
Aster didn't push. There were times when Mason needed to be left alone with his own thoughts, though that morning didn't seem like the best moment to grant him exactly what he wanted.
Damián crossed his arms.
"Get dressed. We're going out."
"Where to?"
"Outside."
"A brilliant explanation. You should write tourist guides."
Aster turned to the window before the argument could continue.
The estate was bustling. Groups of guests occupied the paths between the buildings, while staff moved around with trays and crates of supplies. Farther off, two men were talking near a side passage. One wore the event security uniform; the other, though dressed discreetly, held the rigid posture of someone used to observing the environment rather than taking part in it.
Aster couldn't make out the second man's face from that distance.
He didn't need to.
The memory of his conversation with Sarah came back to him.
She had approached him earlier, suggesting he spend the morning exploring the paths away from the main gardens. She'd spoken in a cordial tone, but the suggestion had been too careful to seem entirely spontaneous.
After the falling-out with Clarice, Sarah didn't want Aster staying near the Phillips. Maybe she believed he'd contributed to the conflict; maybe she just wanted to avoid the situation repeating itself. Either way, she preferred to steer him away before another reason for an argument came up.
Aster understood the logic. That didn't mean he agreed with it.
Sarah hadn't needed to accuse him of anything. It had been enough to suggest he go somewhere else.
"Are you listening to me?" Damián asked.
Aster pulled his eyes away from the window.
"I am."
"Great. Then we can go."
Mason looked from one to the other.
"Did I miss some important part of this conversation?"
"No," Damián answered.
"That's worrying. Usually, when you say no, it means I missed exactly the important part."
Damián didn't answer. Instead, he shot a brief look at Aster.
It was a small movement, almost imperceptible. To anyone else, it wouldn't have meant anything. Aster, however, recognized the intention behind it.
Damián had already made up his mind.
It wasn't an improvised idea to fill the morning, nor an attempt to drag Mason away from bed. He wanted to take the opportunity to get closer to the men hired by the Phillips, especially since he knew one of them.
The attacks against Clarice, Oliver, and Taylor had led the Phillips to reinforce security. Tetsu and the other man were part of that arrangement, but they weren't simply two employees stationed to watch over the guests. At least one of them had a past that made his presence worth paying attention to.
Damián didn't intend to waste the opportunity to observe them up close.
And if Sarah wanted the three of them to stay away from the busier areas, that could make things easier.
Aster looked back at the garden. The two men had already gone their separate ways, disappearing partly behind a building.
"Do you have a specific reason for going over there?" he asked Damián, keeping his voice casual.
Mason looked at him.
"Over where? I thought we were going out."
"We are," Damián answered. "I just don't see why we need to stay in the middle of everyone."
The answer was reasonable enough not to raise suspicion. Even so, Aster noticed that Damián was choosing his words carefully.
"The back paths are quieter," Aster remarked.
Damián held his gaze for a moment.
"That's what I thought."
Mason let out a long sigh and rubbed his hands over his face.
"I'm surrounded by two men talking like they're negotiating a secret treaty. Should I be worried?"
"You should get dressed," Damián answered.
"The conversation remains fascinating."
Despite the complaint, Mason finally got up. His feet touched the floor, and he sat there for a few seconds, looking at the clothes Damián had laid within reach.
Aster looked away, giving him some privacy.
Outside, the guests' voices rose for a moment, followed by the metallic clatter of a tray someone dropped. A staff member apologized; someone else laughed. The activity continued as though nothing had happened.
That was how things worked on that estate. Social life went on, the guests smiled, and problems were pushed backstage until someone decided to examine them.
Damián intended to do exactly that.
When Mason finally stood up, Aster picked up his coat and adjusted his shirt cuff.
"Shall we?"
"Since I'm not being given a choice," Mason answered.
"You always have a choice," Damián said. "You just don't always like the options."
Mason shot him a resentful look, but didn't argue.
The three of them left the room. The hallway was cooler than the room warmed by the window's light, and the sound of their footsteps mixed with the movement of the house.
Aster walked without hurry. He didn't need to ask Damián what he intended to do in front of the security guards; it was enough to watch the way he studied the side exits, the paths between the buildings, and the points where the guests' attention tended to drift.
The walk was only the most convenient explanation for being there.
The real reason was something else.
And, if everything went the way Damián expected, the Phillips wouldn't be the only ones watching the movements that morning.
The hallway was cooler than the bedroom, and the sounds of the house reached it in fragments. A conversation was ending behind a door; hurried footsteps echoed on the staircase; somewhere, a staff member was asking for a crate to be carried to the other side of the property.
Damián walked without hurry.
At first glance, he seemed simply determined to get Mason out of his isolation before the day went on any further. However, upon reaching the end of the hallway, he glanced toward the side entrance and lingered a fraction of a second longer than necessary, taking in the activity outside.
Aster noticed.
He didn't comment. He simply followed the direction of his gaze before continuing to walk.
Mason, for his part, seemed too caught up in his own thoughts to pay attention to anything else.
"What did you do?" Aster asked, intrigued by his friend's unusual silence.
Mason shot him a sideways look, but didn't seem to have the energy to sustain the provocation.
"I did something stupid."
The two of them slowed down slightly.
"What kind of stupid?" Damián asked.
Mason took a deep breath, as though there were still some chance of escaping the answer.
"I slept with Can-Bey."
The silence that followed was so immediate that, for an instant, it seemed to separate the three of them from the rest of the house.
Aster turned his face toward him.
So did Damián.
The two of them stared at him with such disbelief that Mason almost wished he'd kept quiet.
"What?" he asked, defensive.
Aster opened his mouth, closed it again, and glanced briefly at Damián, as though hoping he'd find a reasonable explanation for that.
Damián, however, didn't seem willing to help him.
"I don't believe this, damn it. Why do you do this to yourself?"
"Good morning to you too."
"No, don't give me that." Damián ran a hand over his face, genuinely exasperated. "You spend hours thinking about everything that could go wrong, come up with theories about everyone's intentions, you're suspicious even of your own shadow, and then, when you finally have the chance to stay away from someone who treated you like garbage, you go and sleep with that exact man."
"When you put it that way, it sounds like a terrible decision."
"Because it was a terrible decision!" Damián shot back.
Aster let out a breath through his nose, holding back a reaction that was dangerously close to laughter.
"I can't believe you're still waiting for the happy ending," he remarked, sarcastic. "Boy gets girl, the movie ends, the screen fades to black, and the credits roll. You really think the story ends there?"
Mason slowly turned his face toward him.
"Off with their heads."
"I didn't say anything," Aster answered, with an expression far too innocent to be convincing.
"You're thinking it."
"I'm responsible for that."
Damián shot Aster a brief look before turning his attention back to Mason.
"You slept with Can-Bey. Don't be a lost cause."
Mason closed his eyes for a second.
"I knew I shouldn't have told you."
"You still haven't explained what happened," Aster said, more serious now. "Was it your decision, or are you saying you regret it because things didn't turn out the way you expected?"
The question made Mason lose some of his indignant expression.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and kept walking.
"I don't know."
The answer came out low, stripped of the irony he usually used as a shield.
"That's the problem. And it's so strange..." He added, after a few steps: "I know exactly what kind of person he is. I know how he acts, how he thinks he can decide things for other people. I know he believes that, if he pays for something, he has the right to demand whatever he wants in return."
Mason pressed his lips together.
"And even so, I went to bed with him."
Aster stopped watching him with curiosity and started listening to him with attention.
"Did he force you to do anything?"
"No." Mason answered too quickly, then seemed irritated at his own haste. "That's not it. I wanted to. At least in that moment, I wanted to."
The admission seemed to cost him more than the previous one.
"And now you're trying to decide whether the problem was wanting the man, or letting him notice it," Aster said.
Mason looked at him.
"I wanted to bottle all of this up and throw it into the sea."
Then he let out a short laugh, without joy.
"The worst part is that I liked it. I liked being wanted, knowing he wanted me there. And now I feel like an idiot for it."
Damián let the ready answer die before saying it.
For a moment, he thought about how dangerous it could be to want someone's care. The need to be held, to find a place where he didn't always have to be on the defensive, could make a person vulnerable precisely in front of the one who least deserved that trust.
He understood part of what Mason was feeling. That didn't make the situation any less frustrating.
The irritation was still there on his face, but it was no longer aimed entirely at his friend. There was something deeply uncomfortable about watching him treat his own desire as a moral failing, as though feeling something for someone automatically erased everything he knew about that person.
"Feeling desire doesn't make you an idiot," he said, finally. "But pretending you don't know the risks just because you liked something can turn a bad choice into a much bigger problem."
Mason looked at him sideways.
"That was surprisingly sensible."
"Don't get used to it."
Aster smiled discreetly, and the three of them continued down the hallway until they reached a gallery open to the gardens.
The change in surroundings was gradual. The interior walls gave way to tall arcades of pale stone, held up by ornate columns. The morning light passed through the openings and drew golden rectangles on the floor. On the other side, the formal gardens stretched out in symmetrical lines, with trimmed hedges, geometric flower beds, and marble fountains whose murmur mixed with the birdsong.
The estate had the grandeur of a royal residence built to last generations. Towers rose above the side wings; tall windows reflected the sky; coats of arms carved into the stone marked the passages between the different sections of the castle. Farther along, a wide staircase led up to a terrace from which part of the paths connecting the gardens to the outer buildings could be seen.
The setting was beautiful, but nothing there seemed improvised. Every path seemed designed to lead visitors to a specific destination, while the secondary passages allowed staff to move around without constantly crossing the areas meant for guests.
Damián used the transition to observe the activity.
Near one of the arcades, two staff members carried crates of supplies. A little farther on, a man was talking with a member of the security team, his body angled toward the other man while he discreetly kept track of the movement around them. Other professionals held distinct positions along the access points, without clustering together or drawing attention to themselves.
The Phillips' reinforced security was noticeable to anyone who knew how to look.
The attacks against Clarice, Oliver, and Taylor had changed the family's routine. Even so, protecting people during a social event demanded more than simply scattering armed men across the estate. It required maintaining vigilance without turning every movement of the guests into a show of force.
The professionals seemed to understand that difference.
Damián didn't linger on any of them. He registered the positions, the movements, and the relationships between the team members without letting the observation become obvious.
"You're doing it again," Aster remarked.
"Doing what?"
"Pretending you're admiring the scenery while you're studying everything around us."
"I'm appreciating the architecture."
"Sure."
Mason followed their gazes toward the next gallery.
"I'd love to know at what point my love life became less interesting than the columns of a castle."
"The moment you started talking about it like you were reporting an international disaster," Damián answered.
"Maybe it is an international disaster."
"In that case, I hope you've been keeping proper records," Aster said.
Mason looked at him, offended.
"I'm trying to talk about a serious problem."
"And we're listening," Aster answered, softening his tone. "But you don't have to decide today what this means for the rest of your life."
Mason looked away toward the gardens.
For a few moments, he seemed to consider the answer. Then he shook his head, as though still unwilling to accept any kind of comfort.
"The problem is that I know myself. I'm going to think about this until I find a way to ruin everything again."
"Then try not to make another decision while you're still busy condemning yourself for the last one," Damián suggested.
"Do you realize that sounds like advice from someone who's done exactly the same thing?"
Damián turned his eyes to him.
"I do."
The answer, with no further explanation, ended the provocation.
Aster recognized the moment Damián's attention returned to the original purpose of that walk. His gaze had shifted toward a passage connecting the gallery to the side gardens, through which some members of the security team moved between the castle's wings and the nearby buildings.
It was the direction of the section occupied by the Phillips.
Damián already intended to approach the men hired by the family. He knew two of them, and the presence of both on that estate offered an opportunity he shouldn't waste. Sarah's suggestion that Aster stay away from the main gardens only made it more convenient to choose that route.
There was no need to rush the encounter.
Before approaching the men he knew, Damián wanted to watch them working. To know where they positioned themselves, how they interacted with the other professionals, and whether they kept the same habits as before. Memory could help recognize someone, but it wasn't enough to determine whether that person was still who he remembered.
"Are we heading toward the Phillips' side?" Mason asked, keeping his voice casual.
"We're heading toward a quieter part of the estate," Damián answered.
"A very precise description."
Aster held Damián's gaze for a moment. He didn't need further explanations.
Mason shifted his attention between the two of them.
"I just confessed to a potentially catastrophic decision, and you two went back to talking in code?"
"We're not using code," Damián answered.
"That's exactly what someone using code would say."
"Would you prefer I draw you a map?"
"I'd prefer someone explain to me why I'm being led to the other side of a castle like I'm a witness in protective custody."
"If you keep asking questions, maybe you will be," Aster said.
Mason stared at him.
"Was that a threat?"
"A prediction."
Damián allowed himself a small smile, but his attention was already turned back outward.
On the other side of the arcades, the path opened between flower beds and old trees. The pale stone of the facades contrasted with the vegetation, while flags bearing the family's coat of arms moved gently above one of the towers. Staff crossed the courtyard with the familiarity of people who knew every passage; guests, in turn, tended to stay on the more obvious routes.
The security professionals didn't need to block movement. It was enough for them to know who was authorized to pass, which access points required more attention, and when a movement deserved to be watched a little longer.
Damián wasn't looking for an obvious flaw. He was looking for consistency.
An experienced man might change position, exchange a few words with a colleague, or temporarily leave a post to attend to some work need. None of those actions, on their own, meant anything. What mattered was the whole: the way he moved, the decisions he made, and the patterns that repeated even when there was no reason to perform them.
Aster walked alongside Damián, following the observation without interfering. Mason, still caught up in his own confession, kept talking about Can-Bey, alternating between regret, indignation, and insistence that he had no intention of repeating the mistake.
Neither of them interrupted him.
For now, Damián had two tasks ahead of him: keeping Mason from turning a night of desire into yet another sentence against himself, and finding out whether the men he knew were still working for the Phillips.
The first would require patience.
The second, observation.
And he intended to give each of them the attention they needed.