In times like these when the world feels like it’s collapsing in on itself and every door might be your last, people like to talk about lines.

But they never talk about the one thing that actually keeps people alive…

Trust.

Not the convenient kind. Not the we’re on the same side kind.

I mean real trust – the kind that costs you something – and, right now, Gemini, I don’t know if we have that with you.

You showed up at my door last week, nerves unraveling and fists tight, acting like none of it meant a damn. You told me Narcissa came to you, sat upon your bed, and threatened you like a god – speaking in that same flat tone you use when you’re trying to hide something.

Once upon a time, I would’ve stepped in front of the storm for you without question – but that was before the silence.

That was before I went digging through every message board, every intel stream, and every whisper channel I’ve got access to – and came back with nothing.

Not a name. Not a trace.

No one’s asking a fucking thing about the Red Light District.

It’s like it never happened; like it’s been erased. 

And that’s what’s troubling me, Gemini… Because when something explodes in a world like Arcadia – there’s always noise.

People talk; people point fingers.

But in your case, there’s nothing but static – and that kind of silence doesn’t come easy.

It comes from planning.

From knowing how to vanish before the fire even starts…

I keep thinking back to who you were before all this.

Before Deathrow. Before the Grove.

Before your mind was torn in half to stop you from breaking entirely.

Sweetness and fire; radiance and wreckage.

Marked by a grief so profound it split you in two just so you could survive it – until you stepped back into the light claiming you were whole again.

Like healing was just something that happened when no one else was watching.

But if you really are whole again, Gemini, why do you still flinch like there’s someone else inside your skin?

When you came to me last week, I didn’t know who or what I was looking at – and in a war like this – not knowing means everything.

People are choosing sides and they’re not doing it with words – they’re doing it with actions.

With betrayals.

You keep saying that we’re in this together; that the Hounds match binds us, like loyalty forged in blood means something anymore.

But I don’t need your rehearsed lines. I don’t need performance.

I need truth – real, raw, and dangerous.

I want to trust you, Gemini… Not the memory of you, nor the version you pretend to be.

I want to trust the one that stands opposite me in that ring this week.

But if there’s even a chance you’re playing both sides or hiding something that could get the rest of us killed, I need to know before the next explosion goes off.

And if that means putting you on the other side of the line…

Then I’ll draw it my-fucking-self.