Chapter 375: The Truth Always Comes Out

"Don't worry, you don't have the power to hurt me."

No one could have anticipated how profoundly this statement would impact Hannah Hutchins. Had someone said it before her arrest, it might have moved her to tears. But here, in this unfamiliar environment, spoken by a man in a crimson robe with a sword at his hip, the words only triggered a panicked scream.

"Alright, Coulson, she's all yours," Solomon said dismissively, withdrawing the untouched ice cream meant for her and beginning to eat it himself. His irritation was palpable—Hannah's reaction had embarrassed him in front of his apprentices and earned him a sharp glare from Melinda May. As punishment, Solomon decided that Hannah had forfeited her ice cream privilege entirely.

Coulson internally groaned at the sorcerer's blunt approach. He regretted not briefing Solomon on how to handle someone in Hannah's state—stressed and disoriented in a foreign setting. While Coulson understood the value of transparency, using supernatural powers to float ice cream toward someone was hardly the right approach. It bordered on absurd.

"She's calmer now," Solomon said with a dismissive wave. "You can proceed. Her mental state is fragile, and enchantment magic would work on her easily. If necessary, I'll ensure she sees us as friends."

"Let me handle this," Coulson interjected, placing a bottle of water on the table in front of Hannah before stepping back to maintain a respectful distance. "I apologize for bringing you here in this manner, Ms. Hutchins," he said gently. "At the time, the situation was escalating, and this was the safest option for everyone."

"Safest… for everyone," Hannah echoed softly, her voice tinged with despair. "And… that ice cream?" she asked nervously, glancing toward Solomon.

"That was my ability. It has nothing to do with you," Solomon said flatly, licking his spoon.

Relieved, Hannah visibly relaxed, closing her eyes. "Oh, Lord, what have I done?"

"I promise you, Ms. Hutchins, no one has been hurt," Coulson reassured her, moving a step closer. Solomon noticed May subtly tensing, ready to spring into action if the situation took a dangerous turn.

"No matter where I go, things just get worse," Hannah murmured.

"When you were outside the house earlier, were you angry with those people?" May asked, her tone calm and measured.

"Angry? No," Hannah replied. "Most of them I know. It's them who were angry, and I can understand why. Oh, God, Frank's wife—her face when she looked at me…"

"Frank Delacroix," Coulson said, naming one of the workers killed in the particle accelerator accident.

"Their deaths are my fault," Hannah said, her voice breaking as she succumbed to grief. Outside the interrogation room, Fitz-Simmons monitored her brain activity. Despite her emotional turmoil, the readings remained normal, starkly different from the spikes they had observed during Solomon's spellcasting.

Coulson's empathetic demeanor was slowly dismantling Hannah's defenses. Abandoning his authoritative stance, he sat on the floor, mirroring her position, and inched closer. The lack of traditional interrogation furniture made the setup feel less intimidating, and his gentle persistence coaxed her into opening up.

"For weeks, I kept getting reports from Section Two—coupling bolts coming loose. Tobias was the technician there. We replaced the parts and ran multiple tests for metal fatigue, but every few days, the issue would crop up again," she explained, her eyes reddened from crying.

"Did you discover the cause?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "But I must have missed something—clearly."

"My team is investigating the incident and what might have happened to you," Coulson said cautiously.

"To me? What do you mean?"

Coulson hesitated. The truth risked pushing her further into distress. He glanced at May and Solomon for confirmation. May nodded, her stance unwavering, but Solomon appeared more preoccupied with his strawberry ice cream.

"We believe the accident may have given you telekinetic abilities," Coulson finally admitted.

"Like him?" Hannah's gaze darted to Solomon. "Is that how he is?"

The possibility of shared circumstances might have eased her anxiety, but Solomon had no intention of indulging her misconceptions. With a roll of his eyes, he said curtly, "No, Ms. Hutchins. It's not the same."

"You think I did it, don't you?" Her voice trembled, her hands clasping tightly. "The police car, the gas station—you think that was me?"

"We're not certain," Coulson said, his voice firm yet compassionate. "This may be hard to hear, but those incidents share one common thread: you."

"But it wasn't me," Hannah insisted, her voice breaking. "It wasn't. I wish it were; then maybe I could stop it somehow."

"If it's not you, then who is it?" May asked.

"You won't believe me," Hannah muttered.

"Try us," May urged.

"It's God," she whispered, her voice trembling. "He's punishing me. He's abandoned me. He's stopped protecting me, and that's why this is happening."

"Protecting you from what?"

"Demons," Hannah said, tears streaming down her face.

"She's telling the truth," Solomon interjected, stepping forward. "But she lacks the knowledge to be precise. What she's dealing with isn't a 'demon' in the traditional sense."

He knelt in front of her, his gaze steady and calm. "And another thing, Hannah Hutchins—you're wrong about something else." His voice softened as he placed a hand gently on her head. Coulson and May watched in stunned silence as a radiant golden light enveloped the room.

"God hasn't abandoned you, Hannah Hutchins," Solomon said.

Hannah stared, her fear melting into awe as warmth radiated from deep within her. The light soothed her, filling her with a peace she hadn't felt in days. "Your faith has triumphed," she heard him say. "Now, sleep."

As quickly as it had appeared, the divine light vanished, leaving the room in its mundane state. Hannah rested her head in Solomon's hand, fast asleep and visibly at peace.

"It was just a little trick with light and shadow," Solomon said nonchalantly, licking the remnants of his ice cream. "She's asleep now, and she won't spiral further. Don't look at me like that—I can be considerate when I want to. But the real issue here is the so-called 'demon.'"

"So, it's real?" Coulson asked, his voice low.

"Of course," Solomon said, his tone sharp. "Why else would I be here?"

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