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"Where... are we going?" Wesley asked.
"To get some things," Carlos said, walking ahead of him.
"The situation is very dangerous right now. We have to get out of here quickly."
"Al... alright," Wesley replied, still confused.
"But isn't this the way to my place...? That trolley track up ahead-isn't that where I live?"
"Yes."
Carlos looked at the familiar building across the street. He stopped, turned right, took out a key, opened the door to another building, and walked inside with Wesley.
"That's where you live," Carlos said.
"This is where I live."
Wesley's eyes widened.
He had never imagined that his father had been living directly across the street from him all these years, separated by nothing more than a trolley track.
"Don't worry about it," Carlos said, guiding Wesley to the sofa and setting him down.
He took a few chocolate bars from the fridge and handed them over.
"Eat something first."
Wesley tore into the chocolate without hesitation.
Carlos turned around and heated several slices of pizza in the microwave.
He knew Wesley's condition very well. He knew exactly how to deal with it.
Entering the assassin bloodline state three times while starving, combined with violent emotional fluctuations and information overload...
Frankly, the fact that Wesley still had the energy to eat surprised him.
Even Carlos himself wouldn't have done better in that situation.
And he also knew exactly what Wesley needed right now.
Food. Calories.
Nothing else.
For a while, the only sound in the room was Wesley chewing loudly.
Carlos stood nearby, unsure what to do with his hands.
The plan had gone exactly as intended, but this part...
Morin hadn't given him a detailed script for this.
If it were a scene involving exchanging bullets midair and then "killing" Morin with a final shot, Carlos could have executed it flawlessly without preparation.
But this kind of dramatic scene...
His head started to ache.
What expression was he supposed to wear?
What tone should he use?
What was he supposed to say?
"Is that..." Wesley suddenly stopped eating and looked toward one corner of the room.
"Are those... pictures?"
Carlos followed his gaze and saw several photographs laid out on a nearby table.
"Yes," Carlos said, walking over and picking them up.
"Some of these I got from your school. Some were sent to me by people I asked."
"This one's you on a motorcycle. And this one, wearing a suit..."
There weren't many photos.
But for every single one, Carlos could explain where it came from and when he got it.
Wesley listened while eating.
Those long-dormant memories in his mind-memories that had never carried any warmth-slowly began to gain color.
Gradually, his throat tightened.
"I'm... sorry," Carlos said, suddenly flustered.
"No, it's okay," Wesley wiped his eyes.
"I just... never thought anyone was watching out for me."
"I'm really sorry..." Carlos didn't know what else to say.
"I understand what you were thinking," Wesley said hoarsely.
"I know why you were always nearby but never showed up."
"But... I'm sick of this life."
"This stagnant life."
"Your mother," Carlos said, taking a deep breath.
"I promised her. And I also didn't want you dragged into this dangerous world."
"But now... things are unpredictable."
"If it weren't for that man kidnapping me," Wesley asked quietly,
"you would've just let me keep living like this, right?"
"My thinking back then was naive," Carlos admitted.
"I thought this was the only way to protect you."
"But I overlooked the fact that they've already lost all restraint."
"Who are they?"
Wesley stopped dwelling on the years Carlos hadn't appeared in his life and focused on the present.
He knew Carlos meant well. And he also knew that his own choices had played a role in where he stood now.
Of course, this was only possible because of the information Morin-playing the role of the enemy-had deliberately "leaked" to him earlier.
Without that groundwork, Wesley would never have thought this way.
No matter what Carlos said, Wesley wouldn't have listened. Resentment would have dominated everything.
But now, Morin had already planted the image of a father who "had to stay hidden to protect his son."
And Carlos appearing, exchanging gunfire with Morin, and "risking his life" to save him-
That sealed it.
"They..." Carlos let out a quiet sigh of relief.
They had finally reached the part of the plan Morin had arranged.
"They used to be assassins," Carlos said.
"Assassins of the Fraternity of Assassins. Just like me."
"But now, they're killers."
"My enemies."
"Assassins... killers..." Wesley repeated softly.
As the food continued to fuel his body, warmth spread through him, and his physical condition steadily recovered.
"Is there really a difference?"
As his words fell, a rhythmic knock echoed from the door.
Bang. Bang bang. Bang.
"Who is it?" Wesley instinctively lowered his voice, startled-then calmed when he saw Carlos standing still.
"Don't worry," Carlos said calmly.
"It's one of us."
He walked over to the door.
"He's my current companion."
"And the one who gave me another choice."
Carlos opened the door.
Morin stepped inside, having already changed both his clothes and his face.
"I got your call and rushed over," Morin said earnestly.
"Did you manage to save your son?"
"Yes," Carlos replied, pointing toward the living room.
"He's safe."
"That's my son."
"Wesley."
"Hello, Wesley Gibson," Morin said, smiling as he looked at him and nodded politely.
"It's nice to meet you."
It was as if the moment where he'd pressed a gun to Wesley's head-and even fired a shot near his ear-had never existed.
Morin had never formally trained as an actor.
But his acting skills were unquestionably top-tier.
For him, pointing a gun at someone one moment and then, after changing his face and clothes, smiling and greeting them the next-
That was nothing at all.
Just an actor's self-cultivation.