Micah sat slouched on a couch in a cosy entertainment room, the faint glow from the television washing over his face in shifting colours as he flipped through the endless carousel of movie options. He had fled here after his conversation with Clyde, retreating with a restless urgency, needing to escape before the shame burning in his chest consumed him whole.
He had gone with the wrong hope, he realised now. He had thought he could proudly recount his tale of Shinggunham to Clyde, perhaps see some flicker of admiration in Clyde's eyes. He had imagined Clyde's deep voice murmuring something like "well done" or "you're clever". But reality had struck harder.
The moment Clyde pointed out the most glaring flaw in his plan, keeping Darcy in the dark, Micah had lost his composure, and the sour taste of humiliation had stayed in his throat.
He felt stupid. Yeah. What had he even been doing? Pretending? Fooling himself? In the end, wasn't he just a villain?
