The atmosphere in the room was thick with tension, the air stagnant, as if the mansion itself was holding its breath. Jonah sat at the table, his tired eyes scanning the dim-lit room, his mind racing. He had seen too much, been through too many cycles of pain, betrayal, and anger to know that this mansion wouldn't let them go easily. His hands were clasped together, and his mind churned with memories of past mistakes and regrets.

Across from him, The Forgotten stood in the corner of the room, invisible once more. His power, once a curse, had become a tool for survival—but it didn’t bring him peace. The years of being overlooked, being ignored, had left scars that Jonah could see even when The Forgotten wasn’t visible. Jonah had seen potential in him, but also the brokenness.

Sitting next to Jonah, The Youngest fidgeted, his mask—a heart—glistening faintly in the candlelight. Unlike the others, he still wore his mask with a certain pride. But Jonah could see the cracks in his composure, the uncertainty in his eyes. His once-favored position had led him to be caught in a web of lies, jealousy, and fear, all woven by a family that couldn't understand what true love was. Jonah was determined to change that.

“We need a plan,” Jonah muttered, his voice raspy but firm. “This place... it’s not just a house anymore. It’s a trap, built on our family's mistakes.”

The Youngest nodded, but his expression was distant. “But... if we leave, we’re just running from the truth. From what we are.”

Jonah’s eyes softened. “We’ve all got scars. This place, the masks, the torment—it’s not what defines us, it’s what we do with it. You—” He pointed at The Youngest, his voice sharp. “—you can be more than just the ‘favored child.’ And you, TF,” he said, turning to The Forgotten’s corner, “you don’t have to fade into the background anymore.”

The Forgotten, invisible, stepped forward slowly, his form materializing in the faint glow of the candlelight. His mask—a question mark—looked strange, almost out of place.