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Chapter Text

Georgia's birthday party continued, with the children running and screaming with joy among the tables decorated with balloons and bunting. Yet Jeremy couldn't shake the unease he felt. Every burst of laughter from the other mercenaries seemed distant, as if he were observing everything through a fogged-up glass, unable to immerse himself in the same carefree energy surrounding them. There was something gripping him, something deep in his chest that he couldn't shake, something he felt was slowly consuming him.

And he couldn't help it. His eyes, time and again, turned to Spy.

The man seemed so... unapproachable, so self-assured as he watched the children with a calm smile. But when those same eyes rested on Jeremy, that smile transformed into something much more private, almost possessive. Every gesture he made, every movement, seemed more like a warning than an innocent action. And the worst part was that Jeremy couldn't help but feel drawn to Spy's proximity. His presence was inevitable, like a shadow projected over him, enveloping him, giving him no room to breathe.

Spy never left his side, moving closer and closer. Somehow, in the midst of the crowd, his closeness was all too obvious. The way his gloved hand ran down his back, so warm, so intimate, even though they were surrounded by the rest of the mercenaries. It was as if he were marking his territory, as if he were claiming it in a subtle but no less obvious way. Jeremy tried not to look at him, but the force of Spy's gaze absorbed him. He was trapped, unable to shake it. And then, when Spy stroked his shoulder, a shiver ran through him, followed by a feeling of disgust and repulsion that made him instinctively take a step back.

"Jeremy, are you okay?" Spy asked with a gentleness that didn't quite match the unease Jeremy felt inside. His tone was low, almost whispering, and that only made him feel more vulnerable.
Jeremy looked up, but he couldn't meet Jeremy's gaze. He felt as if his stomach were churning. Spy's smile, that smile that now seemed empty, made him feel sick, as if it were an invisible pressure that was slowly crushing him.

"Yes..." he said, and his voice trembled, though he tried to hide it. He wasn't sure why he couldn't tell the truth, why something in his chest told him he couldn't. But he was terrified.

Spy, not receiving the answer he was hoping for, leaned a little closer, his face so close that Jeremy could feel his breath on his neck. With a gentle touch on his arm, as if trying to reassure him but only making him feel more imprisoned, he murmured,

"You don't have to hide, Jeremy. Everything's okay here."

Those words, so sweet, so full of false security, made Jeremy's skin crawl. He felt his heart pounding, racing, as his thoughts began to spiral. Why did he feel like all of this wasn't right? Why did he feel this uncontrollable fear whenever Spy came near, whenever he touched him? But worst of all, he couldn't stop feeling confused. Why did something as simple as a touch make him feel this way?

In the distance, several of the mercenaries watched them, exchanging quick but meaningful glances, some with discomfort, others simply looking away. But the atmosphere was charged with something Jeremy couldn't ignore. Everyone seemed aware of what was happening, and it only made him feel more isolated.

Spy, however, seemed unfazed. He continued with his brazen, possessive attitude. As he leaned toward him, his eyes shone with a dangerous intensity, as if everything that was happening was just part of a game only he knew how to play.

"It's fun, isn't it?" Spy said, with a smile that made Jeremy feel even more trapped. "The birthday, the family... all of it." Somehow, his voice was gentle, yet at the same time, it carried a heavy burden that made him feel as if he were under control, as if there was no escape.

The contact between them was so clear, so obvious to everyone watching. The children played around, oblivious to the tension, but for Jeremy, the atmosphere was so thick he could almost touch it. Every time Spy looked at him, he felt the weight of expectations, of the unspoken history, of the lies they both knew, but no one dared to name.

Spy stroked the small of Jeremy's back, his fingers light and calm, but still, a touch so personal, so private, that it made Jeremy want to run away. What was going on? Why was Jeremy so afraid of him?

"Jeremy, you know you can lean on me," Spy said in a whisper, as if it were a universal truth that didn't need to be questioned, a truth only he possessed.

But Jeremy couldn't calm down. He couldn't stop thinking about what Mikhail had said, what Tom Jones had revealed, and what his mind was desperately trying to deny. Was it possible that Spy wasn't just his coworker? Was it possible that he was much more than that? Was it possible that...?

No. It couldn't be.

But Spy's embrace, the way he wrapped his arm around him, and the way his eyes devoured him with such possessive intensity, made him feel like he was lost, trapped in a web of lies, of distorted emotions, with no way to escape.

Georgia's birthday party was in full swing, laughter and chatter filled the air, the sun shone high, and the children played carefree. Yet for Jeremy, it was all a farce, a mockery. The noise of the party seemed to become distant, distorted, as if the sound had been turned down to a faint, thick volume, a fog that surrounded and isolated him. His mind, exhausted by internal struggle and uncertainty, couldn't stop revolving around what Mikhail had told him. Spy... he's not who he says he is. And, in some dark corner of his mind, he was beginning to fear that there might be some truth to Tom Jones's revelation. Is it possible? Is it possible that Spy... is more than just a companion?

As the children played and Spy seemed to enjoy the party, with his arrogant smile and unwavering demeanor, Jeremy felt his body begin to fail. A pressure in his chest, a knot in his stomach, as if it were about to explode. His breathing became heavier, and the air seemed to become thick, as if something invisible was squeezing him from every angle.

"Jeremy, are you okay?" Spy's voice reached his ears, too soft, too close, as if trying to pierce his skin with that false concern.

Jeremy, who had been trying to maintain his composure, felt a burning in his throat. Fear was transforming into something more visceral, something that was consuming him from the inside. His labored breathing turned into gasps. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to calm himself, but everything seemed to revolve around him. His vision blurred. The bustle of the party, the laughing children, the voices of the mercenaries conversing... all of it began to fade, drowned out by a rising tide of panic.

His body began to shake. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead, and in his stomach, that knot tightened. He couldn't stand. The weight of what he had discovered, of the doubts gnawing at his soul, was becoming physical. He was on the verge of losing control.

"Jeremy..." Spy said once again, but this time his tone was different. There was a touch of concern that Jeremy found almost hypocritical. And in that moment, Spy's facade cracked, if only for an instant. Spy's concern wasn't genuine for him. It wasn't for him. It was just another play.

Jeremy couldn't take it anymore. He turned around; he didn't know where he was going, he just knew he needed to escape. As he tried to walk, his body no longer responded. Dizziness took over him completely, and before he could react, he fell to the ground. A stumble, a thud against the floor, and then, silence. The party continued, but all Jeremy could hear was the rapid beat of his heart, the pounding in his ears that seemed to scream at him that something was wrong. What was going on?

Spy was the first to arrive, crouching beside him with an unsettling calm, so rehearsed, so fake. His eyes, which should have reflected genuine concern, were impassive. But it was the way he touched him. With a hand on his shoulder, as if more concerned with the appearance of the situation than with him.

"Jeremy, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice a mix of sweet and raspy, so calculated.

Jeremy tried to react, but he couldn't. His entire body was shutting down. The anguish was so intense that he could barely think straight. All he could see were Spy's eyes, those eyes staring at him with an almost predatory intensity. It was as if he were caught in an invisible net, one he couldn't see but that held him captive.

The chaos inside him boiled over. The truth was crushing him. Everything was a lie. Spy wasn't what he seemed. He wasn't just his partner. He wasn't just the man who gave him sweet answers and warm caresses. He wasn't just someone who had earned his trust. It was something much darker. Something that had cunningly manipulated and controlled him, something that had been operating in the shadows of his life, since his first second.

With a titanic effort, Jeremy looked up, trying to take a seat on the floor and drag himself weakly away from him. His eyes, filled with pain and fear, met Spy's, and he saw what he had never wanted to see. He saw it clearly: the lie. The mask fell for a second, revealing the truth, the truth that had been buried beneath layers of manipulation and falsehood. And as he looked at him, a strangled scream formed in his throat.

"What the hell did you do to me?!" —he screamed, his words coming out in desperation, as if everything he had been suppressing for so long had suddenly burst forth.

Spy didn't move. He remained calm, but the coldness emanating from him made the other mercenaries, who had approached upon seeing the commotion, freeze. None of them dared to intervene. Some even exchanged awkward glances, while others seemed to understand exactly what was happening, though they didn't dare intervene.

Jeremy, in his panic, struggled to his feet, staggering. Confusion and fear consumed him. He didn't know if he was dreaming or if everything he had ever believed was a lie.

"You're... you're my father, aren't you?" he asked, his voice breaking, as if the truth was suffocating him.

Silence filled the air, and Spy didn't answer immediately. Time seemed to stand still. Spy's eyes, usually so calculating and full of control, now held a spark of something darker, something much deeper. A quiet arrogance, as if he had been waiting for this moment all along.

Finally, with a tight smile, Spy moved closer, placing a hand on Jeremy's chest, a possessiveness that was abundantly clear. There was no answer to his question. Only a touch that made him feel even more trapped.

"It doesn't matter what you think you are, Jeremy," Spy said, his voice cold as steel, but sweet as an elixir. "The only thing that matters is what we are now."

Jeremy felt a worsening dizziness, his body collapsing again, this time not from physical pain, but from the truth that was tearing him apart. He collapsed again, but this time he couldn't tear his gaze away from Spy, who watched him with that calm, that tranquility that had frightened him for so long.

The party crumbled before Jeremy's eyes, and he could no longer see beyond the truth that had caught up with him. The lie, the lie he'd been living all this time, had finally caught up with him.

Chapter Text

Spy's mind, always alert and sharp, was in conflict, something he didn't experience often. The situation had taken an unexpected turn, one that even he hadn't anticipated. Every word Jeremy spoke of, every look of bewilderment and fear, stabbed at him with a pang of anguish he hadn't expected. What was he supposed to do now?

Spy stood motionless, watching Jeremy fall back to the ground, reeling in confusion, his breathing labored. Everything he'd built, everything he'd manipulated, was crumbling before his eyes, and the only way he'd learned to maintain control—a control that had worked with everyone, even Jeremy—seemed to be failing him. What if he lost him? The thought of losing Jeremy paralyzed him, terrified him in ways he didn't fully understand.

Spy had always handled relationships like a game, a game where manipulation and distance were his allies. But Jeremy wasn't like the others. He wasn't just a coworker, not just a son he could keep under his control. There was something about him, something that had trapped him from the start: his vulnerability, his anger, his fears. There was something about the way Jeremy had needed a father, and Spy had played to that instead of actually being one. But now… now he didn't know if he could keep playing this game. The thought of losing Jeremy, losing him and his trust, was terrifying. It was the only thing he had left.

Spy leaned forward slightly, his hand touching Jeremy's shoulder, trying to calm him, keep him still. But as he did so, his mind kept screaming silently. Why had he done it? He had made a decision, but that decision had unleashed chaos that he now didn't know how to handle. How to go back? How to move forward without losing him?

In his mind, the answer was clear: he couldn't lose Jeremy. He wasn't going to let anything or anyone take him away from him. Jeremy was his, and he wouldn't let the truth tear them apart. He wouldn't let him go so easily.

As Spy struggled in his mind, a pair of voices broke the tension.

Dell and Mick quickly approached, noticing the chaos Jeremy was trapped in. Dell, with his usually calm but pragmatic demeanor, tried to remain composed as he crouched next to Jeremy, one hand on his back, offering physical support.

"Jeremy, calm down." Dell's voice was gentle but firm, with the experience of a man who knew how to deal with difficult situations. "Breathe, just breathe. It's all right."

Mick, on the other side, watched with a fierce glare. His usually stern face was tinged with palpable concern. Unlike Dell, Mick didn't take other people's situations seriously. But he knew Spy, knew what he was capable of, and this only gave him a bad feeling.

“You don’t have to face everything now, Jeremy. Just be calm.” Mick spoke in a harsher tone, his hand firm on Jeremy’s shoulder, as if trying to anchor him to the present.

Spy watched silently, watching as those two mercenaries tried to help Jeremy. Why were they interfering? Didn’t they understand that this situation was different, that they couldn’t help? Only he could fix this. Only he could hold him back.

However, at that moment, something else caught his attention. Zhanna and Misha’s other sisters were ushering the children away from the scene, keeping them occupied so they couldn’t see their father’s turmoil. This was the right thing to do, this was what had to happen. The children couldn’t see their father figure vulnerable like this, couldn’t witness the chaos of what had happened. But Spy knew what was happening was much bigger than just an incident in front of the children. It was the beginning of the end of his control over Jeremy.

Jeremy, meanwhile, remained agitated, his eyes flashing with a mixture of confusion, fear, and something else. Something deeper, which Spy recognized but couldn't accept. Why didn't the boy trust him? Why was everything falling apart around him? In his face, Spy could see the seeds of distrust planted, and desperation grew within him.

As Dell and Mick tried to calm him, Spy moved forward, but this time his touch was softer, more insidious, as if trying to win back what he'd lost. He stroked Jeremy's hair, a gesture that usually worked, but this time Jeremy didn't react the way it had before. This time, his breathing grew faster and faster, and that spark of panic in his eyes only grew. Jeremy squirmed, desperately denying the contact.

Spy said nothing. He couldn't. He couldn't tell him everything was okay, because he knew it wasn't. He knew the truth couldn't be ignored much longer. He knew that the child, his son, had discovered the truth of what he had never imagined.

Spy looked at the mercenaries, Dell, and Mick, as if it were a scene beyond his control. Why couldn't they understand? This was his. Jeremy was his. But something inside him told him that wasn't the case anymore. Something had broken, something Spy couldn't put back together. And the truth was seeping through the cracks.

The tension in the air was palpable, a tension that enveloped the entire room, like a thick fog taking over reality. The mercenaries were scattered, some still high on Georgia's birthday, but others, like Mick, could no longer ignore the situation. There was something else, something deeper, and his instinct told him he had to intervene.

Spy was still standing there, watching with tense calm as Dell, Tavish, and Herbert helped Jeremy out of the room, away from the chaos, trying to contain his panic attack. But Mick couldn't stand idly by. He'd been in many battles, but this wasn't one he could evade. He knew what was happening, and what Spy had done, and he couldn't let it continue like this anymore.

With a slow but determined stride, Mick approached Spy, and for a moment, everything around him seemed to fall silent. Dell, Tavish, and Herbert exchanged glances, but the focus was clear. Mick was ready to confront him.

Spy, still with his usual commanding demeanor, glanced sideways at Mick. He wasn't a man easily intimidated, but something about the sniper's stare, that raw hardness emanating from him, made a small spark of unease appear in Spy's eyes.

"What are you looking at, Bushman?" Spy's voice was low, almost soft, but thick with tension. As if he were trying to disguise what he already knew, what everyone knew but no one wanted to admit.

Mick didn't respond immediately. There was no need. His eyes fixed on Spy's were all he needed. With a swift movement, he shoved Spy, pushing his shoulder with the palm of his hand. The action was a direct challenge, a warning. Spy looked at him in surprise for a second, but the surprise soon turned into a cold smile, as if he didn't care what was happening.

"What the hell are you doing, Mick?!" Spy's voice rose, a mixture of anger and bewilderment.

But Mick didn't back down. He took a step closer, his face implacable, his gaze fixed as if he were deciding whether to leave him there, or beat him until he understood. He couldn't stay silent anymore.

"What you did, Spy, is a fucking aberration." Mick's words fell like a weight. "This isn't a mistake, it's not something you can ignore or hide."

Spy remained silent, regarding Mick with disdain. He didn't understand how, but something inside him stirred. How could someone like Mick, such a cold, unflappable guy, dare to say that to him? Yet he knew there was some truth to what Mick was saying. The rage and fear that were beginning to boil inside him only intensified.

Without warning, Mick raised his arm and punched Spy square in the chest, a sharp blow that resonated around the room, causing Spy to take a step back. It wasn't a fatal blow, but it was enough for Spy to feel the pain, enough for a shred of his control to slip away.

Mick stared at him, his voice low but firm.

"Your son... you're not his father, Spy. You're not. And that's why I won't allow you to manipulate him like this anymore." The words were sharp, like a dagger buried deep in what remained of the mask Spy had forged.

Spy, though surprised, reacted immediately, anger wrapping around him like a cloak. He was a man used to being in control, and someone like Mick, with his insolent attitude, wasn't going to defy him with impunity.

But before he could respond or do anything else, the other mercenaries, Dell, Tavish, and Herbert, entered the scene. It was clear Jeremy was going through internal turmoil, and although Mick had momentarily detoured to confront Spy, he couldn't ignore the need to help his partner.

Dell, calmer than the others, turned his attention to Jeremy, who was still trembling and breathing rapidly, and began speaking to him in a low but firm tone.

"Jeremy, breathe. You're safe, do you hear me?" Dell looked at him seriously, trying to keep him grounded in reality, knowing that his panic only increased the likelihood of an even greater catastrophe.

Tavish, for his part, stood behind Jeremy, trying to provide physical support, using his proximity to calm him, while Herbert, as a medic, began to check his physical condition, looking for signs of a more severe crisis.

But Spy, his pride intact, stood firm. What had happened, Mick's words, didn't affect him. He had dismantled and manipulated more lives than anyone in that room, and he wasn't going to allow a mercenary to take away his power, his control. Even though his thoughts were at war, even though something inside him twisted, what remained clear was that nothing could separate him from Jeremy.

In the distance, however, Mick watched from a distance, his gaze heavy with disapproval, knowing that nothing that was happening would go unchallenged. Spy wouldn't give up that easily, but Jeremy knew it now.

The room fell silent after the confrontation between Mick and Spy. The mercenaries were scattered, but the atmosphere was charged with palpable tension. Meanwhile, Dell, Tavish, and Herbert helped Jeremy in another room, still trembling from the effects of his panic attack. Spy remained motionless, watching the scene, his gaze steady and cold. Although his outward control didn't waver, something inside was churning, as if Mick's words had struck a nerve, even with his perverse judgment.

Jeremy, despite his confusion, was beginning to regain control of himself. The tremors began to subside, and although his mind was in turmoil, clarity slowly began to assert itself. The indescribable fear that had gripped him when he was near Spy still hadn't disappeared, but at least he was no longer so overwhelmed by the feeling of panic. The blood flowed more calmly through his veins again, and his thoughts began to form a more coherent pattern.

He moved away from the other mercenaries, seeking some space, searching for something that would allow him to process what had happened. However, he couldn't remain silent any longer. He'd had enough of the lies, the manipulation, the confusion. He knew he had to speak, had to share what he felt and what he'd discovered.

He walked away from the others to a secluded corner of the room where the noise of the party was still in the background, but far enough away that no one could hear what he was going to say. It was a crucial moment, and Jeremy knew what he said would change everything.

Gazing at the floor, feeling ashamed, he slowly turned around and, in a whisper, began to speak, knowing it was time to get everything he'd been bottling up for weeks out of his chest.

"Guys... I don't know where to start..." His voice trembled slightly, unable to contain everything he felt. "This wasn't an accident. What happened with Spy... It wasn't a simple coincidence." He closed his eyes for a second, as if trying to seek some kind of solace within himself before continuing. "I feel... dirty, but at the same time, I don't know if I can live without him, or if I should be around him. All of this... makes me feel like I'm nothing more than a puppet."

He looked at the three mercenaries surrounding him. Dell, with his analytical gaze, remained silent, but his eyes showed the concern of someone who had already seen a lot in his life. Tavish, for his part, said nothing, but his rigid posture indicated that he understood the gravity of what Jeremy was saying. Herbert watched him with an expression of genuine concern, also with the morbid curiosity of wanting to know how far Spy might have gone, but he knew this was a delicate moment for Jeremy. They didn't need to ask any more questions; they could already see what was happening.

"Spy..." Jeremy continued, his voice breaking. "He's not just my partner, he's not just someone who stayed in my house." He paused, feeling a lump form in his throat. "I thought... that he was what I needed. A partner, someone to look after me. But now I realize... what really scares me is that... maybe he's my father. I don't know." And that tears me apart, because I don't know if I should feel the way I feel about him, or if this is all a damn lie.

There was a brief silence as the mercenaries processed his words. Jeremy could feel the intensity of the moment, as if the entire room had stopped, waiting to see if someone was going to break the ice. But they didn't.

Dell was the first to speak, his tone calm but firm.

“Jeremy…” Dell looked at the floor, processing what he’d just heard. “I know this sounds fucking complicated, but… as far as Spy goes… it’s not something we don’t know. Everyone here knows who he is… what kind of man he is. And we all know what he does, how he plays with other people’s emotions.” He took a step forward, placing a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder. “What he’s said and done to you isn’t just manipulative, it’s dangerous.”

Jeremy stared at him, searching his face for something, some clue that what he was saying made any kind of sense. Did he know all along? Did everyone know? It felt like he was losing control, but the confirmation he’d just heard gave him some relief.

“So? You knew that he… that he could be my father?” Jeremy asked, a hint of desperation in his voice. “Tell me the truth. Tell me if I’m the only one who didn’t understand what was going on between him and me.” Tavish, with his crooked smile, glanced at the other mercenaries before answering.

“You’re going to have to ask yourself a big question, Scout, about what all this really means. What Spy does, how he approaches you… He’s been doing it forever. What I don’t understand is how you didn’t see it before… And now, I don’t know what the hell was going through his head, but what he did to you is inexcusable.” He paused, the weight of his words hanging in the air. “What he’s done now, holding onto your feelings, is just one more lie. A coward, Jeremy. That’s what he’s always been.”

Jeremy’s expression changed, fear returning to his eyes. Did everyone know? Did they know too? The truth hit him like a slap in the face, but at least he no longer felt like he was alone in this mess.

Herbert approached him as well, watching him with his concerned but stern expression.

“Spy may not behave like a father, but his behavior toward you… that’s not something that can be denied. We can’t tell you what to do, Jeremy.” You have to decide what to do with all of this. He looked at Jeremy again, as if wanting him to understand what wasn't being said. What you feel for him isn't a mistake. The mistake is in what he made you believe. Now is the time for you to accept that, to distance yourself from that lie. You have to free yourself from all of this, because if not, it will continue to drag you down.

The panic and pain still burned in Jeremy's chest, the betrayal of not having been told before, when he was younger, but he avoided poisoning himself with it now, choosing to think that, at least, he wasn't as alone as he had been before. Now he knew he had allies, that not all was lost, that perhaps he could find a way to escape Spy's manipulation. But he also knew it wouldn't be easy, because the man he had loved and hated in equal measure was the one who had kept him trapped in a lie for so long.

Suddenly, the weight of everything that had happened in his life and what he still had to face seemed heavier than ever. But for the first time, Jeremy began to feel in control. At least he had the chance to make decisions for himself.

The three mercenaries remained silent after those words. Jeremy watched them with a mixture of disbelief and unease. The words of Dell, Tavish, and Herbert were like daggers of reality piercing his chest, and although they hurt, he felt it was the only way to find the truth.

The lie that had been Spy, that idealized image of someone who could be the father he never had, crumbled before him, revealing the truth: the man who had been by his side for so long was nothing more than a coward, a liar, someone who had robbed him of the chance to truly be what he needed.

Jeremy felt empty, lost, but at the same time, something inside him awakened. The confusion began to clear, and although the pain was still intense, he could see the line between what was real and what wasn't. Spy wasn't the man he had wanted him to be, he wasn't the father he had dreamed of, and more importantly, he had never been one.

His eyes slightly clouded, Jeremy finally spoke, his voice calmer but laced with a deep sadness.

"Why did he do this?" he murmured. "Why did he do this to me?"

The three remained silent, unsure exactly why Spy had crossed such a line. Not only out of respect for his biological connection to Jeremy, but because of all those years of service where he had silently cared for him with a genuine paternal affection that he himself didn't dare accept. They looked away from Jeremy, and he sighed with deep sorrow.

Jeremy swallowed hard, his mind overwhelmed by the truth he had just heard. And although the answer wasn't easy, for the first time in a long time, he felt he could take control of his life.
"I don't want to be her toy," he murmured, more to himself than to the others. "I don't want to be another lie."

The mercenaries didn't respond immediately. The tension in the air was thick, but Dell finally stepped forward and placed a hand on his back, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Then do what you have to do. And don't worry about what Spy did. The only thing that matters now is what you decide." Jeremy nodded slowly. He didn't know how he was going to deal with all of this, but for the first time, he felt like he could. No more lies. No more manipulation. He was ready to take the next step.

Without looking back, he walked out of the room, determined to leave behind everything that had held him captive, even if it was difficult.

Chapter Text

The atmosphere in the room was tense. Mikhail had intervened, holding Mick by the shoulders with unexpected strength, his eyes fixed on the mercenary, who was still determined to continue the confrontation with Spy. Mick's fury was palpable, but Mikhail, with his calm yet commanding nature, didn't let the situation escalate any further than necessary.

"Let me go, Misha!" Mick growled, struggling to free himself from Mikhail's grasp. "This son of a bitch deserves what's coming to him."

Mikhail didn't budge. His voice, deep and firm, echoed in the room.

"Enough!" he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We're not doing any of this here. Not like this."

The other mercenaries remained silent, watching the scene. They all sat tensely, staring toward the center of the room, where Spy remained standing, aloof from the scene. Some looked on with disdain, others with helplessness. Dell, Herbert, Tavish, and Mikhail shared a look of understanding, as if trying to process the magnitude of what had just happened.

But what was most felt in the air was outrage. This wasn't a simple disagreement between colleagues; this was something much deeper, much dirtier. Spy had crossed the line. And what he had done to Jeremy wasn't just a betrayal; it was a painful manipulation that couldn't be ignored.

No one spoke, but discomfort floated in every corner of the room. Spy had brought chaos and mistrust with him, and no one knew how to handle it. Jeremy, his mind still wrestling with the truth, wasn't present in the room. He had gone in search of something that, perhaps, even he didn't know how to define.

Mick finally stopped in his struggle, breathing heavily, his fists clenched, but no longer ready to strike. Mikhail had calmed him, but the resentment remained in his eyes.

"This can't be let go!" Mick blurted out, his voice harsh and filled with suppressed fury. —Spy has lied to Jeremy all this time, manipulated him, and now we have to be complicit in his shit.

Tavish, who had been watching silently, rose from his seat, looking at the others with a serious expression on his face.

"And not only that." His voice was low, but his message clear. "The worst part is, he knows it, he knows he's done it, and he doesn't care." His gaze shifted to Spy, who remained motionless, a mask of calm on his face, but everyone knew his world was shaking.

Herbert also broke the silence, his tone heavy with disdain.

"There's no going back after this." His eyes shone with a faint flicker of anger. "This guy has crossed all boundaries. We can't keep staring at his face again and pretending nothing happened. Jeremy isn't his toy. He never was."

At that moment, Spy knew he could no longer hide behind his facade. He knew he'd lost control, that the lie he'd woven so precisely was crumbling. The mercenaries saw him for what he was: a man broken by his own choices, trapped by his lies.

Mikhail, maintaining his calm, finally spoke again, his voice much softer, but also filled with an underlying hardness.

"Enough, Mick. It's not going to help." He looked at Spy, a hardness in his eyes, then turned to the rest of the mercenaries. "What he did to Jeremy can't be justified, and we all know it." His gaze scanned each of their faces, knowing there was no room for excuses. "Now, we have to decide if we move forward with this or if we stay trapped in Spy's lie."

The question hung in the air, floating in the room, as everyone, one by one, processed what was at stake. Spy knew his facade could no longer hold, and guilt was tearing him apart from within. But he couldn't give in, not now when everything he'd worked to achieve seemed to be crumbling.

Spy took a deep breath, as if trying to find some way to save what was left of his world. But deep down, he knew nothing would be the same. Everything had changed.

With a slow movement, he turned to the other mercenaries, and for the first time, his voice wasn't sure. It was almost a whisper, as if he'd been pulled toward a truth he never wanted to see.

“What happened with Jeremy… it’s not what you think,” he said, his tone low and full of regret. But as he spoke, something inside him broke. “What I’ve done… I did it because I don’t know what else to do. I’m lost, do you understand?”

But words weren’t enough. The distance between him and the others was already there, and no matter how hard he tried to fill that void with justifications, the truth, that bitter, terrible truth, had already seeped into the air.

The room remained silent. No one was willing to comfort him. No one was willing to accept his explanations.

Mikhail looked at the others, waiting for someone to say something, but there was no need. They knew the truth. They knew that Spy could never escape what he had done.

Chapter Text

Jeremy sank to the grass, his gaze fixed on the darkening sky above him. The cool country air did nothing to calm the storm raging inside him. His chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, his thoughts raving.

Spy was his father.

He'd been by his side all this time. He'd watched him grow up, watched him fight for every shred of respect he earned. He'd let him fight alone. He'd let him hate him. He'd let him search for answers in the wrong graves. He'd let him die. And when he came back, instead of telling the truth, instead of being a man, he'd insinuated himself into Jeremy's life, into his house, into his bed.

Anger and hatred burned like acid in his stomach.

Herbert's baboon lay beside him, calm, watching him with its dark, silent eyes. As if it knew something in Jeremy was breaking and yet didn't try to stop it. It was just keeping him company.

Jeremy clenched his fists on his knees. His body was shaking. Not from fear, not from sadness. From rage.

He'd spent his entire life searching for answers, and when he held them in his hands, they tasted like poison. Everything he'd built of himself, everything he thought he knew about his history, had crumbled in a single instant.

"He's not going to beat me," he muttered through gritted teeth, his jaw clenched until it hurt.

He wasn't going to let this garbage destroy him. It couldn't.

He wasn't going to let Spy, his father, break him any more than he already had.

He wasn't going to let this matter define him.

But the nausea wouldn't go away.

Hatred was gnawing at his insides, and the thought that he'd once cared for this man, that he'd once believed in him, made him want to tear his skin off in strips.

The laughter of children could be heard in the distance. Pyro was running with them, and Jane was encouraging them with his thunderous voice. Zhanna and her mother, along with Mikhail's sisters, made sure everyone was entertained. Far from the chaos.

Jeremy took a deep breath.

He looked at his trembling hands.

This wasn't going to win.

He couldn't allow it.

The air in the room was thick, suffocating. The mercenaries were still there, their gazes filled with rage, disgust, and disappointment. But Jeremy didn't need them.

This wasn't a spectacle for a jury. There were no appeals. There were no allies.

Spy sat in one of the dining room chairs, his back straight, his posture impeccable, but that physical mask couldn't hide the imperceptible tremor in his hands.

When Jeremy entered, all eyes were fixed on him, but he saw only one person.

That man.

That traitor.

Without saying a word, Jeremy walked toward him, slowly, calculated. He didn't stop until he was close enough for Spy to feel the latent threat in every step.

"Come outside."

It wasn't a request. It was an order.

Spy didn't say anything. He had no choice.

He rose from his seat with the elegance that had always characterized him, but his movements lacked the same confidence as always.

Jeremy left first. He didn't wait.

He didn't look at the others, not at Mikhail, who still held Mick in his presence, nor at Dell, Tavish, and Herbert, who watched him go in silence.

He didn't owe them explanations.

This was his. His alone.

Spy's footsteps remained firm behind him, following the sentence like a prisoner who knows his execution is inevitable.

The grounds behind the house were wide, the grass rippling in the warm summer wind. A fitting battlefield.

Jeremy stopped in the clearing, turning with his fists clenched.

Spy was there, in front of him. No longer his partner.

No longer his lover.

No longer anything.

"How long?" Jeremy spat the words like venom.

Spy didn't respond immediately. He was looking for a card to play. Some trick. Some sweeter lie, easier to swallow.

But he had nothing.

Jeremy saw it. He saw him hesitate. And that hesitation was the most honest answer he'd ever received from that man.

"I always knew," Spy finally admitted.

Jeremy felt his world shatter again.

"You always knew," he repeated, his voice low and dangerous.

Spy opened his mouth to speak, but Jeremy didn't let him.

"You always knew, and you let me believe my old man was a ghost. You let me grow up alone."

Spy closed his eyes for a second. There was no justification he could use.

"You always knew, and you butted into my life." Jeremy took a step forward. Spy didn't back down.

"You always knew, and you touched me."

Spy swallowed, his jaw clenched.

"You always knew, and you still did it."

Silence.

Spy didn't have a winning hand.

Jeremy raised his fists.

"Fight." His voice was low, husky with pure, suppressed fury.

Spy didn't move.

"Fight, you damn coward!" Jeremy roared, and it was he who threw the first blow.

Spy didn't dodge.

Jeremy's fist connected with his jaw, with the force of all the rage pent up in his body, with all the desperation, with all the pain. Spy staggered, but didn't fall.

Jeremy didn't give him a chance to speak. He kept hitting.

Not for revenge.

For justice.

Spy let himself be hit.

Because he knew he'd already lost.

Chapter Text

Punch after punch, Spy's face was covered in blows. That fine, well-groomed face was scarred, almost obsessively, with every contact Jeremy's bare knuckles made with his face. Jeremy could no longer see clearly, his eyes clouded with rage, and his hair was a mess around his face. He clasped his hands together and, with all the strength he had left, began to hammer his father's chest. Screams and gasps of exertion echoed between them, one gasping for air, the other gasping for death. For a second, their eyes met, creating a click in both of their subconscious.

The sound of the blows faded.

Jeremy didn't know when his fists stopped moving. He didn't know when his fingers, clenched with rage, gripped the fabric of Spy's jacket instead of continuing to punish him.

He only knew that something inside him had snapped.

"Damn it..." his voice cracked, a sob caught in his throat.

The heat of his own hatred had been smothered by something deeper, older, more deeply rooted. His inner child.

That child who grew up without answers.

That child who waited for a hand that never came.

That child who had convinced himself he didn't need a father, only to discover, too late, that he had always needed one.

And he hated him for it.

But in that moment, his hatred had no strength left.

His legs gave way. His entire body shook with exhaustion, with rage, with sadness. He collapsed against Spy, his forehead slamming into the chest of the man who should never have been a part of his life.

His fingers clung desperately, as if there was still some last hope that it was all a nightmare.

But it wasn't.

None of this was.

And then Jeremy cried.

He cried like a child who never had the chance.

He cried like the abandoned son who was never strong enough to truly hate his father.

He cried because he wanted it to end, but didn't know how.

Spy didn't move.

He didn't hug him.

He didn't push him away.

He didn't try to comfort him with another lie.

He just stood there, feeling the weight of his own monstrosity.

Because he knew.

He knew that if he tried to touch his son right now, he would lose everything.

Jeremy gasped, his chest rising and falling violently.

He still felt the adrenaline burning in his veins, the echo of his own anger throbbing in his head. But there was something else now. Something dark, something he didn't like to acknowledge.

Satisfaction.

His father was there, on the floor, defeated.

Spy didn't try to defend himself. He let himself be beaten, as if accepting his sentence without a single complaint.

But the real sentence...

That wouldn't be as simple as letting him die.

Jeremy looked at him. He saw him choke on his own blood.

He saw the pain in his eyes. He saw the misery.

And he liked that.

For a moment, just a second, he thought about doing nothing.

Leaving him there. Letting fate finish what he'd started.

But then, the thought struck him.

No.

That would be too easy.

If Spy died now, the punishment would end.

The suffering would end.

The hell he deserved would end.

No.

He wouldn't let him get away like this.

Spy would live.

And he would live knowing he could never cleanse this stain.

That he would never be in control again.

That he could never run away from this.

Jeremy knelt beside him, his breathing still erratic.

"Don't you dare die, you old son of a bitch."

His voice wasn't merciful. It was commanding.

Spy trembled. He coughed up more blood.

But he said nothing.

Jeremy grabbed the collar of his jacket, forcing him to remain conscious.

"You're going to keep breathing. You're going to keep looking at me. You're going to keep living with this."

His hand tightened, his fingers almost digging into the bloody fabric.

"Because if you think this ends here... you're wrong."

His breath was hot against Spy's face.

"I'm going to make sure that every damn time you close your eyes, you see me."

Spy swallowed, his throat working hard.

His body didn't belong to him anymore.

Nothing belonged to him.

Jeremy had him now.

And he wouldn't let go.

The air was thick, heavy with the weight of unspoken words and repressed emotions. The tension was palpable, almost unbearable, as Jeremy glared at Spy, his eyes filled with rage, his fists clenched, his lips stained with blood.

"Enough," Jeremy murmured, his voice strained, full of venom. Without another word, he lunged at Spy, without hesitation, and in one swift movement, he grabbed his face tightly. There were no words of reconciliation, no apologies, only the weight of a condemnation that had been stalking him for years.

Spy, weak and trapped, couldn't move or defend himself. He could only feel the pressure of his son's hands on his face, as real and tangible as the lies he'd been weaving.

Jeremy didn't hesitate for a second. The rage, the confusion, everything he'd kept inside, exploded in that instant. He closed the gap, a visceral act, a reality check he wouldn't let go. On a savage impulse, he sank his teeth furiously into Spy's ear, tearing the skin enough for blood to spurt hot against his tongue. It wasn't an act of defiance, nor a subtle warning. It was a brutal reminder of what Spy had done, what he had stolen from him.

Spy let out a stifled cry of pain, feeling the stabbing pain course through his body. Jeremy jerked away, spitting out the blood with contempt, looking at him with the ferocity of someone unwilling to let his enemy forget his condemnation. The metallic taste on his lips and that piece of himself he was now missing was the final condemnation, the final way to prove that Jeremy was not only in control of his life, but of Spy's as well.

When he pulled away, he looked at him once more, one last look filled with contempt. "This isn't about love... Dad. It never was."

And with those words, without another look, without remorse, Jeremy stood up, turned, and walked away, leaving Spy collapsed, overcome by the weight of his own lie.

Chapter Text

Jeremy didn't stop walking toward the house. His breathing was heavy, the bitter taste of blood still in his mouth, but what disturbed him most was that cold feeling in his chest. The certainty that, despite everything he'd done, he hadn't managed to cut the relationship he'd had with Spy at its roots. The rage remained inside him, but it no longer felt like an explosion. It was a growing emptiness, something deep he couldn't shake.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other mercenaries watching the scene, some with impassive faces, others with a mixture of astonishment and perhaps a hint of respect, as if it had all been inevitable. Jeremy didn't want to think about what they thought of him, not now, not after what he'd done.

"Don't let him die," he said in a deep voice, turning once more toward the scene where Herbert and Mikhail were approaching Spy, both with a mixture of professionalism and a slight tension that only veterans could understand. Jeremy spat a little more blood onto the grass before entering, as if it would somehow cleanse him of everything that had happened.

Herbert, the old doctor, watched with a cold, calculating gaze before turning to Mikhail.

"I'm glad the boy doesn't look like you, mein freund..." he said with his distinctive German accent, crouching down next to Spy, assessing his condition. "He's got guts."

Mikhail frowned, but said nothing. He remained silent, looking at Spy with a mixture of disapproval and something else, something that might have been pity if someone were watching closely. The silence between them was thick, tense, as if they both knew nothing would ever be the same after this.

Jeremy, almost at the door of the house, heard Herbert's words, and a small spark of discomfort ran through him, but he said nothing. He didn't feel like facing anything else. Not with anyone. The relief he felt at having done what he did wasn't the kind of relief he'd expected. It wasn't "I did it," but a mixture of guilt, uncertainty, and, worst of all, confusion.

As he entered the house, the children were playing, oblivious to the storm raging outside. Georgia, still celebrating her birthday, was laughing while Pyro did his best to make her smile. Jane and Mikhail's sisters stood nearby, keeping watch, but not asking questions. Jeremy sat in a corner, his mind still reeling from everything that had happened.

"What you did..." Dell's voice broke the silence as he approached him. "Don't blame yourself for what happened."

Jeremy looked at him, and for a second, he realized that even though they all knew what had happened, they hadn't expected him to fall apart like that. They weren't looking at him with pity. On the contrary, they were looking at him as if he'd done what was necessary.

"What we need is for you to be okay, kid," Tavish added, crossing his arms. "Now what, huh?"

Jeremy looked up at them, unable to form a coherent response. Rage still coursed through his veins, but he didn't know where to direct it. At Spy. At himself. At everything.

A heavy silence fell. The children continued playing, but Jeremy couldn't get Spy's face out of his head. Had he really given him what he wanted? Had it all been for him, or was there something else he didn't dare think about?

At that moment, he had no answers. But something deep inside him told him that whatever was coming, he wouldn't be able to stop it.

Jeremy stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at his reflection with a mixture of disgust and emptiness. The tap water gushed, and he plunged his hands into the sink, almost desperately trying to clean his face. The blood, the tears, the sweat—it all mingled in a nauseating way. He had committed an act he never thought he'd be capable of. And now he didn't know how to reconcile it.

The mirror reflected his swollen, red eyes, as if the heavy memories of that night couldn't leave him, as if he were trapped in a nightmare. Something inside him told him that what he had done was justified, that it had been necessary, but the other part of him, that more human part, only felt that he had destroyed himself.

"I don't want the children to see me like this..." he muttered to himself, frowning as he ran his hand over his face, trying to erase every trace of what had happened, every mark that reminded him of it.

When he left the bathroom, Zhanna was waiting for him outside, her face a mixture of concern and calm. Gently, she offered him a clean towel and escorted him back to the living room, where the children's bustle continued in the background. He couldn't let them see him like that, not now, not with everything going on.

In the other part of the house, while Jeremy struggled with his thoughts and his image, Tanya, Jeremy's daughter, watched silently from a corner. Her gaze had fallen on Spy, whom she had previously seen interacting with her father, and although her innocence kept her oblivious to the depth of the situation, something about Spy's image had disturbed her.

She had always had a close relationship with Spy; he was a man who could make her laugh and feel safe. But now, with the conversation and everything she had seen, she couldn't help but feel uneasy. There was something in the air that made her suspicious; something wasn't right.

With stealthy steps, Tanya detoured toward the kitchen, avoiding the stares of the adults who still didn't seem to notice her unease. Her mind raced with questions. What had happened to Spy? Why was he so hurt? She knew something wasn't right; she couldn't ignore what she had seen on his face before he was taken away. She wanted to understand. She was determined to get answers, and if she had to ask Spy directly, she would.

She cautiously entered the kitchen, where Herbert and Mikhail were standing, tending to Spy, who sat in a chair with his head bowed, breathing unevenly. Herbert was cleaning Spy's wounds with a damp cloth, and Mikhail seemed to be watching silently, his gaze somewhere between tired and worried.

"Uncle Spy?" Tanya said softly but firmly. There was no turning back.

Spy, hearing the little girl's voice, raised his head slowly, his eyes glassy, ​​still somewhat disoriented from the blows. His face was marked by blood and fatigue, but he tried to smile reassuringly, as if everything was fine, as if nothing had happened.

"Tanya, honey... don't worry," he said in a trembling voice, forcing a smile as he tried to compose himself. His eyes shone with the lie he was about to tell. "I fell... from a high place. Nothing serious, just a minor accident," he explained as he took a deep breath, trying to sound as convincing as possible.

But little Tanya wasn't fooled. Her eyes, large and curious, narrowed, and her brow furrowed with a mixture of distrust and concern. She couldn't believe him. There was something in his tone, in his gaze, that told her there was more to that answer.

"You and Dad had a fight, didn't you?" she asked bluntly, a hint of fear in her voice. She knew Spy wasn't perfect, and even if she didn't fully understand the magnitude of what had happened, something in her gut told her something else was going on between them.

Spy was silent for a moment, the weight of the girl's words hitting him hard. Memories of what had happened between him and Jeremy flashed through his mind, and guilt rushed at him like a torrent. But, as always, he forced his feelings under a layer of artificial calm.

"No, honey, nothing like that," he answered quickly, though his voice wavered slightly. "Your dad and I... we just had a disagreement. You know, we're men... sometimes we argue, but it's nothing to worry about. I don't want you to freak out, okay? It was just an accident. Nothing more." Herbert, who had been watching silently, took a step forward, his eyes flickering between Spy and the girl. Mikhail also intervened, placing a hand on Tanya's shoulder, a light pressure that conveyed support.

"Tanya, your dad and Spy are adults," Mikhail said in a calm tone, trying to smooth things over. "Sometimes things don't go the way we want them to, but you don't have to worry. They're just sorting things out."

Despite the adults' words, Tanya didn't seem convinced. Her gaze darted from one to the other, searching for any sign that would confirm what she suspected. But something inside her told her to trust what the adults were telling her, even if she couldn't help feeling uneasy. There was more to what the adults wanted to show.

"Is everything okay, Uncle Spy?" Tanya insisted, unconvinced. Although she tried to hide it, fear was still present in her voice, a fear she couldn't fully understand.

Spy, seeing the concern in the girl's eyes, sighed. The lie was still her lifeline, and although her heart burned with guilt, she couldn't allow the shadows of the truth to seep in. Not yet.

"Yes, everything's okay," she repeated, though this time her voice sounded less certain, emptier. But she looked at Tanya sweetly. "Don't worry about me. I'm fine. It's just a scratch. It'll pass. And... it's no one's fault. No one but bad luck, do you understand?"

Tanya didn't respond immediately. Her expression was still serious, as if she were trying to decipher something she didn't quite understand. But in the end, she nodded slowly, though the doubt remained on her face.

"Okay, Uncle Spy..." she finally said with a sigh. But she continued to watch him with the same twinkle in her eyes, as if she knew something wasn't right, something only time and the truth would reveal.

Tanya rejoined her siblings, Georgia and Captain, in the garden. She tried to hide her concern, as if nothing was happening, because she didn't want to ruin her friend's birthday. She knew something wasn't right, but she didn't want to alarm the others, much less her siblings. She was an intelligent child and understood that there were times when silence could be a better answer than questions. Besides, her parents and the adults around her seemed to want to handle the situation in their own way. So, as she played, her eyes often slid toward the kitchen, as if she was waiting for someone to give her one more clue as to what had really happened between Spy and her father.

Meanwhile, inside the house, Jeremy found himself in a kind of trance, absorbed in his own internal chaos. He stood, watching the children play from a distance, but unable to enjoy the calm of the scene. His mind was fragmented, weighed down by the memories and revelations of the last few moments. He couldn't help but feel the weight of pain, betrayal, and discomfort that still resided within him. Beside him, Jane remained silent, hugging him from the side in a sisterly manner, like an anchor in the midst of the storm raging inside him. She didn't need to say anything; her presence was enough to give him some comfort, however temporary.

Zhanna, for her part, also remained close, holding Jeremy's hand with her bionic hand, which, although made of metal, had a surprisingly warm touch. Despite being a prosthesis, the pressure it exerted on his palm gave him a sense of stability, a strength that made him feel a little less vulnerable, less alone.

There were no words that could ease the complexity of what he felt, but these small gestures, these presences, kept him grounded in reality. No one was asking him for explanations, no one was judging him, and that helped him more than he could express. He knew that if there was anyone who understood the pain he felt, it was Zhanna, a woman who had seen the emotional scars of many people up close over the years, like those of his older brother, Misha. And Jane, with her imperturbable solidity, offered him a kind of silent refuge.

In the distance, Spy was still being cared for by Herbert and Mikhail, and the heavy atmosphere of the situation kept echoing in his mind. But there, in the midst of it all, Jeremy felt the only way to move forward was to not get lost in the chaos. And for some reason, that momentary peace, as fragile as it was, was due to those simple gestures of support.

"You don't have to do anything, Scout." "Just breathe," Jane whispered softly, feeling the tension in Jeremy's body.

"Yes..." he replied, letting the weight of his breathing ease for a moment, as if the simple act of exhaling could bring him some clarity.

Zhanna lightly squeezed his hand. Without another word, she understood perfectly. Both of them, with their silent support, were there for him, no matter what happened next. Without judging, without questioning, without trying to change what was already broken. Just being there, with him, while he tried to put himself back together.

In the distance, the children continued to play, oblivious to the drama unfolding in the shadows. But for Jeremy, that small refuge of normalcy, however fleeting, was the only thing that gave him some strength. He didn't know what he would do in the future, or how he would face what remained of that night, but at least, in that moment, he wasn't alone. And that was enough.

Jeremy felt a knot in his stomach when he heard Tanya approaching, her steps soft and cautious. It was difficult, not only because the girl was still young and perceived more than she should, but because the words Tanya was about to speak forced him to confront something he hadn't fully resolved yet. What was at stake wasn't just his relationship with Spy, but his children's relationship with him, his image as a second father and protector.

Tanya approached her father with a serious look, as if she knew something profound was happening, but didn't quite understand it all. She sat down next to him, looking at Jeremy with those large, curious eyes that, despite their young age, seemed to understand more than he could have imagined.

"Dad... did you and Uncle Spy fight?" Her voice was soft, but the question was filled with an innocent but penetrating concern.

Jeremy looked into her eyes, feeling a heavy pressure pressing against his chest. He didn't want to lie to her, he didn't want to burden her with the full weight of the truth, but at the same time he knew that question wasn't something he could simply ignore.

He was at a crossroads, an internal battle that wasn't just about what had happened between him and Spy, but about what he himself wanted, what he needed to do with his life and the lives of his children. Could he really go through with making Spy suffer for everything he'd done? Or, worse, was that what he really wanted to do? Hatred and anger were still a driving force in him, but a part of him knew that this path, even if it felt satisfying for a moment, was going to lead him to a dark place he wouldn't be able to easily escape.

He ran a hand over his face, trying to organize his thoughts before speaking, but he knew he couldn't lie to his daughter.

"It's not a fight, Tanya. It's..." He paused, searching for the best way to explain it without burdening her with more than was already happening. In the end, a half-truth seemed like the only option. "It's complicated. Uncle Spy... he made a lot of mistakes." And now we're trying to... to understand everything that's happened.

Tanya stared at him, clearly not satisfied with that answer, but didn't press the issue further. Instead, she snuggled closer to him, her small body pressed against his, seeking comfort in the silence.

Jeremy, for his part, fell back into his thoughts. He could feel the weight of the situation growing stronger and stronger. He was afraid that his children would come to see Spy the same way he saw him now: as a traitor, incapable of being a true father. The image of Spy had been everything to him for so long, and now that image was crumbling before his very eyes. But was it fair to keep upholding it? Was it fair to maintain that lie any longer, especially if it was starting to hurt him and his children more?

For a moment, he thought maybe the healthiest thing to do would be to let Spy go, to give him the space he needed to walk away from a life full of lies. But at the same time, the fear that this decision would affect his children paralyzed him. They were already missing something: their mothers weren't present in their lives, and Jeremy had taken it upon himself to try to fill both roles, but somehow Spy helped lighten that burden... What would he tell them? How would he explain that their "Uncle Spy" was no longer a part of his life? How would he make them understand everything that had happened?

Fatherly love, that need to protect the children from all harm, clashed with the truth he was about to accept. The fact that, despite everything, Spy had been his father figure in some ways, and despite what he'd done, it was impossible to erase those years of manipulation, deceit, and pain.

He looked at Tanya, who was watching him silently, and a sigh escaped his lips. The girl hadn't asked for complete answers; she'd only wanted to know if he and Spy were okay. But the truth was, nothing was okay. And perhaps the question that tormented him most was: What would happen to him and his children if he let this conflict continue to take control?