)

Mason's eyes shifted between Cora and Grayson, and he couldn't help but roll his eyes as if he'd just pieced together the situation. But Cora's revelation left Grayson puzzled, his mind whirring with questions as the pieces of this complex puzzle continued to fall into place.

"You were the one who stole the Social Contract," Mason's voice remained eerily calm.

"Couldn't have done it without you, darling." Cora's smile lingered as she pulled a slender keycard from her dress pocket and tossed it to Mason. The card glided along the floor, coming to rest at his feet. "I've gathered enough evidence to put you behind bars for a lifetime."

Grayson silently wished that Cora would pick her words more wisely. He'd braced himself for a potential outburst from Mason, even fearing he might pull the trigger. Yet, to his surprise, Mason kept his cool, his firearm steady, his trigger finger twitching impatiently.

"You may have evidence, but I too have Lawers and not to mention over 30 armed men waiting outside," Mason calmly asserted. He tilted his head, his eyes smouldering like pools of lava beneath the moonlight. "What makes you think you'll get out of this unscathed?"

Cora's jaw clenched, and she took a step back while keeping her gun trained on Mason. She then called out loudly down the hall, "You can come out now."

A middle-aged man with bushy eyebrows and a bright yellow hat emerged from a nearby room. It was The Taxi Driver. He stepped into the scene and, to Grayson's amazement, ripped his face off, revealing it to be a mask. The pieces of the puzzle fell into place, and Grayson realized that this man was the same one he had seen with Cora at the party, the one who had given him an accusing look.

"Looking for this?" the man said as he produce a folder, which Grayson assumed contained the original Social Contract. "Here. You can have it." He casually tossed it to Mason, who reluctantly caught it with one hand.

The man cleaned off what was left of the mask from his face, tearing out fake eyebrows and scratching off the prosthetic nose. Catching Grayson's gaze, he offered a nod, insisting he used the opportunity to move. With a watchful eye on Mason's weapon, Grayson subtly adjusted his stance, cautiously moving out of the potential line of fire, all while hoping Mason wouldn't notice.

Mason stared at the folder in his hand, his emotions well hidden beneath a mask of calm. "Who the hell are you?" Mason finally demanded, his gaze shifting from the folder to the man before him.

The man seemed unfazed by the intensity of the moment. "My name is Gabriel Ferguson," he started, and Grayson knew exactly where he heard his name before. He was listed as a possible threat in his grandfather's List, now Avery's. He was one of many detectives, assuming one that had helped his own father, Sheffield Grayson, to investigate Hawthorne Island's incident.

"Me and Cora have been investigating you, Mr Valentine, under the name of Hudson Emrys." Gabriel shot a glance at Alison.

Alison stood frozen,her face drained of colour, her jaw dropped slightly, at a loss for words. 

"Hudson gets his money from me. I basically paid both of you to do what, send me to jail?" Mason's voice oozed arrogance as he spoke. "If it's money you want, Cora, wouldn't you be a dear and get what's left in my Safe?"

Cora's stern expression didn't waver. "Your money won't buy your way out of this, Mason." 

Gabriel added, "We have all the evidence we need to make sure you pay for your crimes." With a deft motion, he retrieved a small recording device from his jacket and continued, "Or, in your own words..." He pressed a button, and the recording playback filled the corridor.

"I've manipulated contracts, hidden my involvement in illicit activities, and played all the angles to my advantage." There was a hint of pride in Mason's tone from the recording. "Life is a game, and like any game, you can cheat if you're clever enough."

Gabriel clicked the recording device off and slid it back into his jacket pocket. "Mason, you may have played the game well, but remember, we're professional detectives. We don't play games; we solve them." Then Gabriel looked down at his watch. "The police will be on their way. I'd say you have about 10, maybe 15 minutes at most before they arrive," he informed them. 

Mason went quiet and still, his thoughts racing as he considered his choices. The expression on his face hinted that even with his powerful allies and connections that ran deep within the system, their evidence against him was substantial. 

Check mate, Grayson thought. Game Over.

Cora lowered her gun as the sounds of footsteps echoed from the other end of the hall. She assumed it was the police and taunted Mason, "Well, it seems they've arrived sooner than we thought."But her tone didn't sound the slightest convinced. 

Meanwhile, Grayson kept a close eye on Mason, trying to figure out what he was thinking. He was sure that Mason was up to something, and the sly chuckle that escaped Mason's lips confirmed his suspicion that something wasn't right.

The footsteps grew louder, but strangely, they seemed to belong to a single person. Why would a police officer run through the corridors alone at night, and what had happened to Mason's 30 armed men outside?

The footsteps grew nearer, almost reaching them. Then, as if Mason had made up his mind, he spoke, "If I can't have Alison, then nobody will."

Instantly, Grayson understood the chilling intent behind Mason's actions. He was going to shoot Alison. It didn't take long for the others to realize it too. But would Mason really go through with it?

Grayson urged himself to move, to do something, to prevent whatever terrible plan Mason had in mind. But time seemed to slow down around him as he watched the gun slowly shift toward Alison.

Gabriel and Cora shouted in desperation, stretching out their hands in a desperate bid to block the lethal bullet aimed at Alison.

Grayson's heart skipped a beat as he stole a fleeting glance at Alison's face. Normally, Alison had always been one to face danger with a stoic indifference, as if life meant nothing to her, but her expression now told a different story. In her eyes, he saw a glimmer of something he hadn't seen in her before: a longing to live, a yearning for a future she hadn't dared to hope for. The world around him seemed to slow down as he watched the gun inching closer to her, threatening to extinguish the newfound spark of life in her eyes.

MOVE! His inner voice screamed at him. MOVE! 

Still, time itself seemed to drag as he watched in agonizing detail the gun's deliberate shift toward Alison.

He had to act, not only for Alison but also for his own sake. He couldn't bear to see someone he cared about suffer or face death once more. MOVE! DAMMIT, MOVE!

Looking at her now, Alison was a friend, a partner in crime, a lover he wasn't entirely sure about, a sisterly figure, she was everything. Whatever she was to him, she was something worth fighting for, and whether it was his own desire or his Hawthorne persona taking control, he was determined to find out what that something truly meant.

It was as if a switch had been flipped inside Grayson, like a fire ignited within him. With every ounce of strength, he launched himself towards Mason, just as the gun lined up with Alison. Grayson's outstretched hand came agonizingly close to the weapon, but it was a fraction of a second too late.

The corridor rang with the deafening gunshot, echoing through the night. Grayson crashed into Mason, pinning him to the ground, his grip unyielding on Mason's firearm. Silent tears streamed down Mason's cheek as he closed his eyes, and when he finally reopened them, it was as if the last remnants of his humanity had faded into darkness.

Anger surged through Grayson, his breath coming in heavy gasps. He clamped down on Mason's wrists harder than necessary until they turned white. Failure, a familiar and painful companion, once again loomed over his life. 

He couldn't bring himself to look at Alison, his eyes remaining locked on Mason's defeated gaze. His own eyes burned, and he fought fiercely to hold back the tears that threatened to spill.

The game was over. No one had won; no one had lost. It was simply over. His mind raced through memories and regrets, engulfing him in self-blame. It was too late to protect Alison, to ensure she lived to see another day. And it was all Grayson's fault...

As Grayson grappled with his failure, a fragile voice pierced the heavy silence of the corridor. It was Alison, her voice quivering yet filled with life, and her next words took him by surprise as she simply uttered, "Hudson?"