The funeral was held on a gray morning, fitting for the grief clouding Levi's heart. The sky hung low with heavy clouds, threatening rain but never delivering—like the world itself held its breath in mourning.
Levi stood before the casket, dressed in black. His hands trembled as he gripped the folded speech he never got to finish. So many things he still wanted to say. So many wounds that had only just started to heal.
Leon McLaren's photo stared back at him from the easel beside the casket. Regal. Proud. Alive. Nothing like the disfigured image that haunted Levi's dreams.
The priest's words felt distant, echoing like whispers in a cave. People wept softly behind him—some family, some colleagues, others there for appearances. But Levi didn't care. His world was silent, save for the roar of pain in his chest.
Jaceon stood in the crowd, far back, hidden in the shadow of a black umbrella. His face was unreadable, his posture rigid. He didn't belong here. Not among mourners. Not after what he had done.
He could still smell the scent of burning flesh. Still hear the screams. Still see Leon's eyes locked onto his, full of terror. He had done it. He'd burned Levi's father with his own hands.
And now he was watching the boy he loved bury a man he'd killed.
After the final prayer, Levi stepped forward. He didn't speak. He simply dropped a single white rose onto the casket and stared.
"You were far from perfect, but you were still my dad. And someone took you from me."
He whispered under his breath, "I swear to you… I'll find who did this. And they'll pay. No matter what."
The rose touched the polished wood like a whisper of goodbye. Levi turned and walked away, jaw clenched, eyes cold.
He didn't see the way Jaceon flinched. Or how his fists trembled inside his coat pockets.
That night, Levi sat at his desk, pulling out every file he had on his father's business dealings, enemies, debts, anything. His grief had been replaced by fire. He would find the one responsible. Even if it meant walking through hell itself.
Jaceon watched him from the hallway, silent.
He wanted to tell him everything. Confess. Beg for forgiveness he didn't deserve.
But he didn't. Because he knew Levi would never look at him the same again. And he wasn't ready to lose him… not completely.
So, he remained Levi's lover in silence.
And Levi remained determined, unknowingly hunting the one person he trusted most.
Because justice had a name.
And its first target… was Jaceon.
Two weeks passed.
The investigation had turned cold, colder than the body that lay six feet beneath the ground.
Detectives paced Levi's living room like ghosts, files and photos scattered across the table. They spoke in riddles—entry logs, security footage gaps, blood traces that didn't match anything on file. But there was one thing they all agreed on.
"There's no logical way Leon McLaren left his mansion that night."
Levi blinked. "What are you saying? He clearly left. He was found outside the city limits."
One of the lead detectives, an older woman with tired eyes, shook her head. "That's the problem. He didn't leave. No one saw him leave. No alarms. No doors opened. No cameras captured it. It's like… he was taken by a ghost."
Another detective added, "This isn't the work of a typical killer. Whoever did this is a professional. Someone with resources. Training. Or…" He hesitated. "Something more."
Levi stared blankly. "Then catch them."
The woman sighed. "We're trying. But this goes beyond us. You're young, Levi. You still have your life ahead of you. Sometimes the best thing to do… is let go."
That was the moment Levi snapped.
"Let go?" he growled, rising from his seat. "You want me to just forget the man who raised me? Who was burned alive like some animal? I'm not just going to move on. I won't."
The room fell silent.
Later that night, the detectives left with nothing but unanswered questions, leaving Levi surrounded by silence again—just him and Jaceon.
And tension.
Jaceon brought him tea, gently placing the cup beside him. "You need to rest."
Levi didn't even look at him. "I don't want your tea."
"I just thought—"
"You keep saying you thought, Jaceon. But you're not doing anything. You're not helping me." Levi responded.
"I can't—" Jaceon replied.
"Stop saying that!" Levi snapped, finally facing him. "You can. You just won't. And I don't understand why."
Jaceon stepped back slightly, his voice lower. "Because helping you might make things worse."
Levi narrowed his eyes. "Or maybe you're afraid. Or maybe you know something. Because every time I bring it up, you shut me down."
Jaceon's silence spoke louder than any lie.
Levi stood, staring at him. "You're hiding something from me."
Jaceon flinched but forced a bitter smile. "You're hurting. You're looking for someone to blame. I get it."
"No," Levi said, voice cold. "I'm looking for someone who actually gives a damn."
He stormed off toward the bedroom, the door slamming shut behind him.
Jaceon stood there, breath shallow, his heart splintering with guilt. His reflection in the darkened TV screen looked more demon than man.
He was losing Levi.
Not because of some otherworldly law.
But because of the truth eating him alive.