Chapter 36: The Birth of Mr. Dust
The mask felt heavier tonight.
Not because of its weight—I'd worn it enough times to forget it was even there—but because of what it represented now. Mr. Fox wasn't just a symbol anymore. He was a name woven into whispers, into fear, into respect. And as I walked out of Station 47, past the faces still marked by the echoes of Sasha's arrest, I realized something.
I wasn't just wearing the mask.
I was becoming it.
The night air hit differently when the adrenaline wore off, crisp and cold like the universe itself was trying to remind me I was still human beneath the persona. I shoved my hands into my pockets, walking the familiar route back home. The city lights blurred around me, smudged against the dark canvas of the skyline. Every step was a beat in a song only I could hear.
When I finally reached my apartment, I hesitated at the door. Just for a second.
Then I pushed it open.
Camille was the first thing I saw, of course.
Because how could I not?
She stood in the middle of the living room like she owned the very concept of attention. Her outfit was even more extravagant than last time—layers of dark silk intertwined with gold accents, asymmetrical cuts that somehow made perfect sense, and sleeves that flared like whispers of smoke. A-Rank fashion designer? Understatement. She didn't just design clothes. She crafted art you could breathe in.
Sienna was curled up on the couch, her face an impressive shade of red that almost matched the blush creeping up her neck. She looked like she'd been sitting there for a while—probably enduring Camille's relentless teasing.