The room fell into a heavy silence, the tension thick enough to cut through with a knife. It was a shock, to say the least. Simon's face twisted into a mask of anger, his eyes burning with fury. Price's fists clenched at his sides, his face contorted with livid rage. Gaz, usually calm and collected, looked utterly betrayed.

Simon's hand shot out, grabbing a thick file from the table, and with a forceful motion, he tossed it in front of you. The sound of the file hitting the table echoed in the room, matching the weight of the revelation it held. You watched as everyone's eyes turned to you, their expressions a mix of confusion, anger, and hurt. You feigned confusion, opening the file slowly, as if hoping it would reveal something different than what they suspected. They had all assumed it was Graves or Sheppard, the ones they trusted the most, who were leaking information to Makarov and the Konni. But it wasn't them. It was you. The realization hit them like a punch to the gut, stealing the air from their lungs.

"What the hell is this?" Simon's voice boomed, his fist crashing down on the table. The force of his anger reverberated through the room. This explained everything. The countless operations that ended in ambushes, the valuable intel that slipped through their fingers, and the constant feeling of being one step behind Makarov. It all made sense now. "You're tellin' me that you're the one who's been letting Makarov know everything?" He asked, his voice raising. Simon slammed his hands down on the table again. "You're telling me it's because of you that Johnny's dead?"