Chapter 160: Fragments That Bleed

“Do you really want to know who your parents are?”

Yannis’ voice was calm, to the point of indifference—like the answer didn’t matter to him at all.

It was too calm, it unsettled Lara.

But the way his fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around his cup betrayed him.

Because he was waiting. Not for her question— But for her answer.

Lara didn’t respond immediately.

The garden seemed to quiet around them, the distant breeze brushing past the hedges as if even the wind was holding its breath.

She lowered her gaze slightly, thinking.

Not hesitating out of fear—but calculation.

Then, slowly, she looked back at him.

“If you show me something connected to them…” she said, her voice measured, controlled, “a photo, maybe—”

Her eyes sharpened, steady and unyielding.

“—that should be enough to trigger something, right?”

It wasn’t a plea.

It was a strategy.

Yannis studied her for a minute.

There it was again, that familiar sharpness.

That instinct to hunt for truth instead of waiting for it to be given.

It was dangerous.

And painfully familiar.

“…Fine.”

The word came out quieter than he intended.

He set his cup down, the porcelain making a soft, deliberate click against the saucer.

“Then I’ll give it to you,” he said. “After I leave.”

Not now. Not here.

A subtle boundary drawn.

As if even he didn’t trust what might happen the moment those memories surfaced.

Lara noticed. But she didn’t push.

Yannis reached into his coat and pulled out his phone. The screen lit up against his palm, casting a faint glow across his otherwise composed expression.

His thumb hovered for half a second—

Just half—

Before tapping on the Share Photos icon.

A small, almost insignificant action.

And yet—

Something in the air shifted.

Like a door had just been unlocked.

Or opened.

And whatever was waiting behind it…

Was finally about to step through.

…

“The file is encrypted,” Yannis said calmly, as if it were a trivial inconvenience. “I’ll give you the password when I leave.”

Lara’s brows drew together as she stared at the notification on her phone, the faint glow reflecting in her eyes. The message sat there—silent, sealed, waiting.

Yannis watched her for a moment, then leaned back slightly in his chair.

“Tell me,” he said, his tone shifting—softer, probing beneath the surface, “what did you remember when you saw the photos?”

Lara didn’t answer immediately.

Her fingers tightened faintly around her phone.

“…Nothing good, all unpleasant,” she said at last.

Her voice was quiet. And her eyes— they dimmed.

Not with sadness but with something heavier.

Something she didn’t want to name.

Yannis’ gaze dropped to the table, settling on the half-full cup of coffee that had long gone untouched. The thin wisp of steam had already disappeared, leaving behind a surface that reflected nothing.

He focused on it.

Because if he looked up, if he met her eyes again, he wasn’t sure he could keep the distance he needed to maintain.

Should he ask more? Push further?

He was still weighing it, pondering whether to ask when Lara spoke again.

This time, without prompting.

“The forest,” she said slowly. “I remember… being alone and spending the night there in a cave.”

Yannis stilled.

Her voice was steady, but the images behind it were not.

“I was seven,” she continued. “It was cold. Too cold for a child to be outside at night.” A faint crease appeared between her brows. “I don’t remember how I got there… only that I knew I couldn’t go back.”

Yannis’ hand tightened under the table.

Seven.

At seven—

He had been somewhere else entirely.

A place with bright lights, marble halls, and endless crowds — the largest art and historic museum in the world.

His family had taken him across continents—into a world of art and history. He remembered standing beneath high ceilings, staring at masterpieces revered by the world.

The faint smile of the Mona Lisa.

The silent grace of the Venus de Milo.

Rooms filled with thousands of works—centuries of civilization preserved in perfect stillness.

That had been his world at seven.

And hers was a cold forest. And she was all alone.

Yannis’ fingers curled slowly into his palm.

He hadn’t known this part of her past.

Lara continued, unaware of the storm tightening beneath his calm exterior.

“I was bullied in school,” she said, her tone flattening as if she were listing facts instead of memories. “It wasn’t anything dramatic. Just… constant.”

A pause.

“Enough that you stop expecting help, that you stop caring.”

Yannis’ jaw tightened.

A flicker of disbelief crossed his mind.

His godfather— the same man who had always been patient, generous, almost overly protective toward him—

Had sent Lara there? To a place like that?

He could not tell in the photos.

The information, all of it had come from him.

Then Lara spoke again. And this time, the air shifted.

“There was a teacher,” she said.

Just that.

Nothing more.

But something in her voice made Yannis’ breath hitched.

“He…” She paused, her fingers curling slightly against her sleeve. “He tried to molest me.”

A heavy and absolute silence engulfed the surroundings.

.Yannis didn’t move, didn’t react.

On the outside, years of discipline held him in place—his posture steady, his expression neutral, his breathing controlled.

He was a professional. A doctor.

But beneath that, something dark stirred.

Because Lara, wasn’t just another patient.

She never had been.

“…I see,” he said quietly.

Too quietly.

Then, almost abruptly, he straightened slightly, breaking the weight of the moment.

“By the way,” he added, his tone shifting with deliberate effort, “I took a video of you earlier.”

A pause.

His gaze flicked briefly to his phone.

“The sword dance.”

Lara blinked, the heaviness in her eyes easing just a fraction.

“When did you learn that?”

“Ah… that.” Her voice softened, though a trace of distance still lingered. “High school.”

A faint, almost nostalgic curve touched her lips.

“I was the corps commander back then,” she said. “We performed it during events.”

Yannis watched her closely.

Because even now—

There was something about the way she held herself.

The precision. The control. The way her movements earlier had carried not just grace and elegance but lethality.

And for the first time—

A question surfaced in his mind that he hadn’t dared to ask before.

That kind of skill…

Was it really something learned only in school?

Or—

Was it something she had simply remembered?

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