Chapter Thirteen - The Face That Lied

Aaron came back slowly.

First, the pain—sharp and specific. His shoulder screamed when he tried to move. Ropes. Tight. Cut into skin already torn.

Second, the taste—blood. His own. Maybe someone else's.

Then the sound.

Footsteps.

Deliberate. Calm.

He forced his eyes open.

Concrete walls. No windows. Fluorescent lights flickering overhead. The air smelled like bleach and copper and something worse—something like death trying to hide its scent.

In front of him, a figure stood.

Tall. Lean.

Familiar.

"Matt," Aaron croaked. His voice was sandpaper.

The man didn't answer.

Just turned slowly.

And smiled.

It was wrong. Too calm. Too still. A smile stretched across a face that had forgotten what it meant.

"Hey, Aaron," Matt said softly. "You're awake."

Aaron tried to lean forward. The ropes burned.

"Where the fuck are we?"

Matt looked around. "Somewhere quiet."

He crouched in front of him. Eyes level. Voice kind.

"You shouldn't have come looking for me."

Aaron stared at him. Studied the face. The eyes.

Something was missing.

"No," Aaron said. "You're not him. Not all the way."

Matt tilted his head. "He showed me the truth."

"Bishop?"

Matt's smile faltered. Just a hair. Like someone tugged the edge of a mask.

"He didn't lie to me," Matt whispered. "You did. Every time you said we'd make it out. Every time you said the drugs didn't change us. That we could be more."

Aaron's jaw clenched.

"You think Bishop gave you something real? He gutted you. He wore you like a fucking puppet."

Matt stood.

Walked slowly to the wall.

Picked something up.

Turned.

A scalpel.

Aaron froze.

Matt held it up like it was delicate. Sacred.

"He didn't make me do anything," he said. "He just stopped lying."

He stepped forward.

"Now it's your turn."

Aaron didn't flinch. Didn't speak.

He just looked his brother in the eyes.

And saw nothing looking back.