When Leo turns the corner, he's greeted by the sound of a bang — and Bruno stands at the end of it all, a fist pressed up against the metal door. There's an itch of pain that travels its way up his arm, all from the sheer force he puts into the slam; but he only smiles, any sign of discomfort invisible through his stare.
"Is this what you heard when she fell?" He slides his hand down back to his side, flesh against steel. The drag leaves his mark of rotting fluid on its pristine surface, barely noticeable through the weakening trace of light. "What a sound to be greeted by, one of fatal failure. How did it feel, to experience her body shatter?"
Chuckling. Crunching as he twists and pops every knuckle in his hands — a mockery of recollection. Even from the shadow, his eyes glow visibly with inhumanity, as his silhouette stays planted on cold tile.
"Does your own helplessness haunt you, as it did myself? Let me give you a chance to redeem yourself, Leo." He returns his arms to his back, intertwining his peeling hands; he stands a little taller, lifting his chin and further revealing the necrosis along his windpipe.
"I'll tell you what truths I've seen up there — she would have loved to see what awaited us at the top. Surely, you'd be kind enough to grant her the peace of truth after you failed her." A step, right to where he can no longer bear the fluorescence. He beckons to the dark with a tilt of his head, silver hair falling over his face, and drops his voice to a playful whisper, decorated with underlying malice.
"Come over, won't you?" Soft giggling. "We cannot have everyone hearing the truth without them putting effort into finding it, as you and I did relentlessly."
Unflappable and in control he may seem, even he has limits. The constant migraine is more than enough to wear even the most stalwart down; add the horror of the elevators alongside everything else and it doesn't take a genius to deduce why his nerves are frayed.
Leo swallows his discomfort, smoothing his expression into something impassive. His hands flex behind his back. A Shame--at least, he presumes it a Shame--wearing a twisted, decaying version of Bruno's face lies in wait.
(An unmoving body. Unending sameness. Guilt a weight upon his chest.)
In his peripheral, the residue left behind on the wall glints. Nausea rises in his throat. Leo will never forget that sound for as long as he lives. Nor will he ever forgive himself for his inability to help when desperately needed.
He can endure mockery. His weaknesses have been cruelly thrown back in his face since he was small; Bruno's questions are not dignified with a response.
But the nausea grows worse with every sick pop, twisting in his stomach until he has to grit his teeth against the feeling.
(Redemption is not meant for people like him, no matter how he tries.)
Inhuman light glitters in Bruno's eyes. It's just enough to remind Leo this is nothing more than a physical manifestation of Shame, of his deepest failures coming to life.
Bruno moves. Leo raises his hands on instinct, fingers splayed as if seconds away from casting, consequences be damned. True; he never did discover what happened atop the elevator shaft. Did something--perhaps this version of Bruno?--push first Emma, then the masked Bruno, to hide whatever lay beyond the wires and metal?
"We cannot have truth in the shadows," Leo replies, voice hoarse. "The light is far more apt for finding peace. I see no one else here; you cornered me well."
A pause. Admitting to his own Shame might backfire, and yet...when the stakes are this high, he's willing to risk it. "As you've pointed out, I did not put any effort into finding the truth. Not like you and Emma."
His voice wavers on her name.