Chapter 346: Empty Words
The restaurant was one of those comfortable mid-range places that served decent food without pretension. Exactly the kind of establishment where two people could have a conversation without drawing unwanted attention. I’d arrived fifteen minutes early and claimed a corner table with good sight lines to both entrances. The menu was already open in front of me, and I’d placed my order by the time I spotted the hooded figure entering through the main door.
Mark moved differently than I remembered. Where he’d once carried himself with the confident swagger of someone who believed his own rhetoric about being smarter than everyone else, now he moved with the careful deliberation of a man who’d learned to check shadows and watch for threats. The hood of his jacket was pulled up despite the mild weather, and when he finally lowered it after sitting across from me, I understood why.
His face was a map of badly healed scars. Three parallel lines ran from his left temple to his jaw, too precise to be accidental. His nose had been broken and reset imperfectly, giving his features an asymmetrical cast. A burn mark covered most of his right cheek, the kind of injury that spoke of deliberate torture rather than accidental trauma.
"You wanted to meet at a restaurant?" he asked without preamble, his voice carrying a rasp that hadn’t been there before. "Really?"
I cut into the steak that had arrived moments before he sat down, chewing thoughtfully before answering. "I was hungry. And restaurants are public enough to discourage dramatic scenes while being normal enough that no one pays attention to conversations."
"Easy for you to say," Mark replied, glancing around nervously. "Unlike you, I can’t just get away with murder and walk around in public like nothing happened."
The comment was clearly meant to provoke a reaction, but I found myself oddly detached from his attempt at manipulation. The Mark sitting across from me was no longer the smooth-talking schemer I’d once known. I felt like this version was bitter, scarred, and desperate. He was more pitiable than threatening.
I had technically gotten away with murder. But calling my actions during the kidnapping and torture "murder" was like calling self-defense during a home invasion a crime. They’d taken me against my will, tortured me for experimentation, and nearly killed me. Everything I’d done afterward had been about survival and escape, with maybe a tad bit of revenge, but definitely not some calculated killing spree.
"What did you want to talk about?" I asked, taking another bite and reaching for my water glass. The food was actually quite good, and I saw no reason to let Mark’s dramatics ruin my meal.
"Geneva," he said, settling back in his chair with the expression of someone preparing to deliver uncomfortable truths. "You should have seen what I was talking about. What I tried to warn you about."
I paused in cutting my steak, genuinely curious about where he was going with this. "You mean MacLeod’s betrayal? Or the fact that not every leader supported the endorsement?"
"Both. Neither." Mark’s hand moved unconsciously to touch one of the scars on his face. "The system will remain, Reynard. Some leaders won’t change. Some cultures won’t change. All we can do is profit from the situation as it exists, not waste our lives trying to transform it into something it can never be."