Clifton walked into the massive, open-concept American kitchen. His fingers were shaking slightly as he pressed the extraction button on the espresso machine.
The loud grinding noise of the coffee beans drowned out the sound of his heavy breathing. He planted both hands flat on the cold marble counter, staring blankly as the dark brown liquid dripped into the cup.
Buster Williamson, the first team's entry fragger, shuffled into the kitchen wearing slides. He was holding a mug with an anime girl printed on it.
Buster instantly felt the suffocating low pressure in the room. He stepped cautiously toward Clifton.
"Sponsors on your ass about streaming hours again?" Buster asked.
Clifton picked up the shot of espresso. He drank it black. The bitter, acidic taste burned his throat.
"No," Clifton said coldly.
Buster leaned against the stainless-steel fridge. He lowered his voice like he was sharing gossip.
"I just saw Delmus looking pale on the stairs. Did you go down to the basement and rage at the kids?"
Clifton's fingers clamped down on the small ceramic cup. The skin over his knuckles stretched white. The dark liquid inside shook violently.
He turned his head. He looked at Buster with eyes so cold they could freeze blood.
"Do you remember the Fire Cup tournament in Chicago a year ago?" Clifton asked, his voice rough.
Buster blinked, surprised. Then he slapped his thigh.
"Hell yeah. That was our peak. How could I forget?"
A smile completely void of warmth pulled at the corner of Clifton's mouth.
"That trainee in the corner. The one with the cap. That's Justice Terry."
Buster's fingers went slack. The anime mug slipped from his hand. It slammed onto the marble counter with a loud crack. Buster's eyes went wide with pure shock.
"Wait," Buster stuttered. "The guy who vanished right after the finals? The one you went crazy looking for for a whole month?"
Clifton didn't answer. He just slammed his empty espresso cup down onto the counter. The heavy thud echoed in the kitchen.
Buster realized how bad this was. He looked around nervously, checking the hallway to make sure no one was listening.
He stepped closer to Clifton.
"Why the hell is he at Aegis? Is he here to beg for you back?"
Hearing the words 'get back together' made Clifton feel like he was being stabbed. A heavy, violent rage flashed in his eyes.
He ground his teeth together. "He told me it wasn't real. That night in Chicago. Everything. Said it was a mistake. That he didn't mean for any of it to happen."
Buster sucked in a sharp breath. He looked confused.
"But... the way he used to look at you. It was like you were his whole world."
Clifton ran a hand aggressively through his hair, cutting Buster off.
"It was an act. He's a liar. A fucking actor."
Buster looked at the raw pain twisting his captain's face. He swallowed hard.
"What do you want to do? Should I tell Delmus to kick him out right now?"
Clifton let out a dark laugh. A dangerous, predatory light sparked in his eyes.
"No. If he crawled through hell just to get into the first team, let him stay."
Clifton turned his back to Buster. He walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, staring out at the blinding California sun.
"I'm going to rip his mask off in front of everyone," Clifton said, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper.
Buster felt the crushing weight of Clifton's aura. He swallowed again, too scared to say another word.
Right at that second, a faint metallic clank sounded from the hallway outside the kitchen. Like someone had bumped into a wall.
Clifton snapped his head around. He moved like a startled leopard, crossing the kitchen in three massive strides. He grabbed the sliding door and shoved it open.
The hallway was empty. But a few feet away, a metal trash can was swaying back and forth. Someone had just run away.
Clifton stared at the swaying metal. Suspicion and paranoia spiked in his chest.
He stepped back into the kitchen. He pointed a finger at Buster.
"Not a word of this to anyone. Especially Delmus and the coach."
Buster nodded frantically. He made up a quick excuse about needing to start his stream and practically ran out of the kitchen, desperate to escape the suffocating tension.
Clifton stood alone in the kitchen. He looked out at the green lawn. His right hand instinctively reached up to massage his throbbing wrist. But his mind was completely gone, dragged back to a rainy night in Chicago one year ago.
