The sickly sweet smell of opium still clung to his clothes. Ciel sank into the carriage seat, letting his weight fall against the backrest. Outside was London at midnight. The black-lacquered carriage crept slowly through streets with few lamps. Only the rhythmic clatter of wheels against cobblestones echoed steadily. "[cold]Faster. Get us back to the inn at once." His voice was the same as always. Cold, imperious, commanding. But his fingers, folded atop his knees, trembled faintly. (*I was... the summoner?*) Lau's words churned endlessly in his head. The truth that had been hurled at him in that opium den. The ones who killed the cultists weren't a demon—it was you. A lie. That couldn't be true. He was the victim. A child who had been made a sacrifice. He had made a contract with a demon for revenge. He had believed that, lived by it, for three years. This overturned everything. (*But...*) In his pocket, the charred fragment of the diary grew heavier. The writing he had found in those ruins—writing he should never have written. *I ran away. I alone ran away.* What did those words truly mean? "[gentle]Young master, are you not cold?" From the seat opposite came the voice of the perfect butler. Not a single strand of jet-black hair was out of place. His crimson eyes seemed to glimmer faintly in the darkness. "[cold]...I'm fine." Even as he answered, Ciel's fingers unconsciously traced the ring with its blue gemstone. The proof of the Phantomhive earldom. A keepsake of his parents. (*Papa, Mama... I...*) He had sworn revenge. Gazing at the mansion engulfed in flames that night, he had vowed to take vengeance without fail. But— "[whispers]...Did I truly want revenge?" He only realized he had spoken aloud after the words escaped. Sebastian did not answer. He merely smiled in silence. That silence pierced like a blade. (*Wasn't I just terrified, desperate to be saved—and simply screamed?*) The trembling grew steadily worse. From his fingertips to his arms, from his arms to his whole body. It wasn't just the carriage's motion—this was a shaking he could not stop by his own will. Had revenge been nothing but an excuse? His parents' deaths were his own fault, born of his weakness. He could have done something that night. And yet, he ran. Wanting only to save himself— "[angry]...Say something." Unable to bear the silence, Ciel lashed out. He looked at Sebastian's face. But the butler merely wore his usual elegant smile. "[gentle]The horses are moving at a somewhat brisk pace. Are you feeling carriage-sick?" At that smoothly delivered reply, blood rushed to Ciel's head in an instant. "[angry]I'm not carriage-sick!" Only in that moment, when he raised his voice, did the atmosphere in the carriage ease slightly. But silence soon returned. Sebastian simply gazed at Ciel with eyes that seemed amused. The trembling wouldn't stop. His teeth began to chatter. (*I just wanted to be saved.*) Those words clung to his mind and wouldn't leave. Had revenge all been an afterthought? A justification to protect himself? —No. It couldn't be. And yet. "[whispers]I've... I've been nothing but a coward from the very start." It was a voice wrung out from deep within. Before he knew it, he was curled up small on the carriage seat, hugging his knees. The thirteen-year-old earl was trembling like a small child. Pride, arrogance—all of it stripped away. He wanted denial. He wanted refutation. He wanted to be told he was wrong. But Sebastian did not deny him. "[gentle]Young master." His voice carried its usual calm tone. However, the words that followed— "[gentle]It may be that you offered your parents' souls as the price for the summoning." Ciel's breath stopped completely. "[gentle]After all, it was you who called me." The tone remained elegant. The words dropped as casually as if discussing the weather. His parents' souls—he himself—had offered them. For three years, he had lived to avenge his parents. And yet, he might have been the very one who killed them. "[scared]Ah... ugh..." A voiceless scream leaked from his throat. His vision warped. Something exploded inside his head. The flames of that night. His parents' faces. The mansion burning down. And—a white hand. "[crying]A lie... no... that can't..." He gripped the carriage window frame. So hard his fingers turned white. Guilt, self-loathing, rage, and terror melted together into a chaotic mess inside his chest. He no longer knew what he was thinking. —Before he knew it, his own hands had wrapped around his own throat. His thin fingers tightened, constricting. It wasn't that he wanted to die. He simply knew no other way to stop this feeling. He couldn't breathe. It hurt. But if this continued— "[gentle]Please stop, young master." Sebastian's hand seized both of Ciel's wrists. Effortlessly, with a single hand. The fingers through the white gloves were cold as steel, yet their grip was absolute. "[crying]Let go! Let go of me!" Ciel struggled desperately. He twisted his arms, struck Sebastian's chest. But he was no match for a demon's strength. "[crying]I... I... Papa and Mama...!" Tears spilled over. He couldn't stop them. Not his voice, not his tears. Everything he had kept locked away for three years came flooding out as if a dam had broken. "[crying]Ah... uwaaaaaa...!" His wailing cries echoed through the midnight carriage. Could the coachman hear? It didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore. Sebastian said nothing. He simply gazed down at Ciel's tear-drenched face with those crimson eyes. In that gaze, there was no pity, no anger. Only pure—demonic—interest glimmered there. At last, Ciel's strength drained away. His will to resist, his voice to scream, all exhausted, he slumped limply against Sebastian's arm. Only faint sobs remained. "[gentle]Good night, young master." Sebastian quietly released Ciel's wrists. His voice was, as ever, calm, cold, and beautiful. Ciel collapsed onto the carriage seat. His tear-soaked cheek felt the cold touch of leather. He had no strength left even to keep his eyes open. (*It's... over now.*) Everything. —At that moment, an image suddenly surfaced in his mind. The underground chamber of the ruined church. The female survivor Lau had mentioned. That woman might know what he had screamed that night. (*Does that woman... truly know the truth...?*) In the darkness of the abyss, a single faint light flickered. It was a thin, fragile light, on the verge of vanishing—but there, in the depths of Ciel's despair like the bottom of a dark sea, it unmistakably shone. The carriage continued through the fog-shrouded streets of London. Outside the window, the dense night mist hung heavy, blurring the glow of the streetlamps into hazy smears of light.