?Chapter 1503:


    She leaned closer, closing the distance until her eyes locked onto his, every syble delivered with intent. “Now let’s have a conversation.” Her tone hardened. “Who are you people? Where is Chris?”


    “Chris? I don’t know anyone by that name.” Maynard spoke without thinking, the words spilling out as he stared at the gun barrel inches from his face. The confusion in his eyes was brief but real — an instinctive reaction under intense pressure.


    Maia looked down at the subdued man, mild surprise flickering across her expression. “You’ve never heard of him?”


    She didn’t wait for an answer. Taking the Glock from Siena, she checked it swiftly, loaded it, and raised it with steady hands until the muzzle aligned with Maynard’s forehead.


    “This is yourst chance,” Maia said quietly. Her voice was gentle, yet the weight behind it was unmistakable. “Don’t lie.”


    The cold steel pressed against his skin, sending a wave of dread through him, as if death itself were marking him.


    Maynard stared at her — at the woman who appeared delicate yet radiated absolute resolve. Swallowing hard, he spoke with difficulty. “I can’t betray my organization. But I swear, we’re here to protect you. If you think I’m lying…” He paused. “Then go ahead. Shoot.”


    He shut his eyes and epted whatever came next.


    Maia hesitated. That level ofposure and loyalty wasn’t something ordinary mercenaries possessed.


    “It doesn’t matter,” she said after a moment, pulling the gun away. Her tone rxed, though the threat remained. “We’re not in a rush. Tell me your name.”


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    “Maynard Smith.”


    His name was so ordinary, shared by countless others across the country, that he felt no hesitation in sharing it.


    Without warning, Maia reached into her coat and removed an old notebook. She flipped straight to the final page and held it up. Below the drawing of a mask, penned in an elegant script, was the solitary initial M.


    The moment Maynard’s eyes fell upon the image, a jolt of recognition pierced hisposure — his pupils tightening against his will. That faint reaction, swift as it was, did not escape Maia’s keen eye.


    Maia closed the notebook. “That reaction gave you away,” she said calmly. “You’re with an organization called The Mask, aren’t you?”


    It was a calcted guess. The drawing was a deliberate, ambiguous test — it didn’t definitively prove the organization’s name. But Maynard’s reaction was proof enough.


    Stunned and shaken, he stared at her with wide eyes, thoughts reeling. How could she possess that secret — the leader’s own emblem?


    Watching his shock, Maia allowed herself a faint, knowing smile. Her deduction was right. Her education in Zoey’s prison-cell library, particrly her study of micro-expressions, had served her perfectly.


    “I know it all,” she lied coolly. “This was simply a verification to ensure we’re on the same side.”


    Sweat rolled down Maynard’s temple. He reyed his orders in his mind — there had been no instructions for this situation, no warning that the target might know who they were. Finally, his resistance copsed.


    “Yes,” he said quietly. “We are members of The Mask. Our mission is to protect you.”


    “Did Mr. M send you?” Maia asked.


    Maynard shook his head. “I don’t know that name. I report to my superior — codename Death.”


    Maia’s eyes narrowed slightly. Death. So the group operated strictly through aliases. That exined why the name Chris had meant nothing to them.


    “And the sniper in the park earlier — were they your people?”


    “Yes. They intervened to cover your escape, but their position waspromised and they had to pull out. We were assigned afterward.”


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