cHApTEr 11. EmoTionAl DAmAgE (1 of 3)

The ride back to the storage facility felt endless. They had to be cautious while navigating the streets, making sure not to cross paths with the police. Their car already looked suspicious, and Terry’s blood on the hood didn’t help. It didn’t evaporate or return to him. It seemed to confirm what Farah had suspected. Impact Corpse and others like him didn’t need their body cells returned because they could regenerate new ones out of thin air. But in Terry’s case, it was also likely there was nowhere for the blood to go anymore. He was gone. Without life, without a soul anchoring his body, there was nothing left to regenerate.

On their way back, they didn’t run into any issues. It felt as though, for once, luck had decided to be on their side. Still, it was a little too late for that. As soon as they reached the storage facility and secured themselves within its sterile corridors and roll-up steel doors, Farah grabbed Erinel by the collar and pinned her sharply against the wall.

“What the hell was that?!” Farah yelled, furious cold emanating from her green eyes.

Erinel looked back at her, unphased, as if she were the one allowing Farah to raise her hands.

“What are you talking about?” she asked flatly.

“Don’t you dare play games with me!” Farah’s voice grew louder, her grip tightening as her anger flared further. She pressed Erinel harder into the wall. “What did you do to Terry with that fucking blade? And what did you mean when you said he was too far gone?”

“When is Terry coming back?” Matt groaned pitifully from where he hovered behind Mioray. His voice trembled as he sobbed, clutching Mioray’s severed arm. He hadn’t let go of it during the entire ride back.

“He’s not coming back,” Erinel said, meeting Farah’s gaze with cold defiance. “He’s gone, as he should be. As all of you should be. Death must not be cheated. We, the greanrips, allow you to exist. Your purpose is to help us guide the souls of the dead into the realm between realms. It’s the only way this works.”

“And what if we refuse?” Farah spat at her, voice low and teeming with threat.

“Then you’ll have to be dealt with. One way or another,” Erinel replied bluntly, her words bereft of emotion. It was as though she spoke only facts. “You can’t die through simple means. And you can’t be forced into the realm between realms. That’s why I need the Cursed Blade of Avalon. There’s another belief about the blade, forgotten by humans. Anyone who is stabbed by the blade will have their soul sealed inside it, just like Avalon himself was.”

Her eyes flicked briefly toward Mioray. The fact that even he didn’t know this, was proof of its secrecy. And it stung. Mioray had never heard any of this before about the blade.

“Impact Corpse has to be stopped,” Erinel continued calmly, “and I intended to use the blade on him. Unfortunately, I failed. And then Terry got out of control. If he was going to become like Impact Corpse, wreaking chaos instead of helping guide souls, then he had to be eliminated as well. I saw my chance, and I took it. I tested the blade on him.”

It was disturbing how casually Erinel spoke about all this, as if she genuinely believed her actions were justified. Mioray couldn’t help but recall how frighteningly resolute she was when she first showed him how guiding souls to the afterlife worked. Back then, Andrew had resisted listening to her, and if Mioray hadn’t intervened, who knew what she would have done? Erinel wasn’t human. She was a greanrip. The morals that applied to humans simply didn’t seem to apply to greanrips.

“It worked,” she concluded. Her voice was calm, unnervingly cold. “You couldn’t see it, but I saw it. Terry’s soul got sucked into the blackness of the blade.”

“Wait,” Mioray said, unease spreading through him. “If his soul is stuck inside the blade, is there any way to get him out? What does being sealed inside the cursed blade even mean?”

“That, I don’t know,” Erinel admitted, her tone devoid of sympathy. “But I wouldn’t get your hopes up. His soul was severed from his body. And without his soul, his body simply stopped functioning.”

“Enough with this bullshit!” Farah growled, cutting off their exchange. She shook Erinel violently, her patience finally snapping. “I don’t care about any of this fairy tale crap! I only agreed to work for you because I could live here rent-free! You’re the one who resurrected us, and now you’re saying we’re violating the laws of nature?! Fuck that! You just make up rules when it suits you! You should’ve told us about the blade and your twisted plan!”

“I would appreciate it if you stopped shaking me, Farah,” Erinel said sharply, grabbing Farah’s wrists and pulling herself free with startling force. “I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t sure if it would actually work. I also didn’t think you’d support the idea of testing the blade in action. And even if I had told you about the blade and its properties, you’d feel unsafe around me.”

Farah grimaced at her words, taking a step back as a faint sneer curled her lips.

“Right,” she barked, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “Because, of course, I feel totally safe around you now! You already killed one of us!”

“What are your suggestions, then?” Erinel fired back, her voice dry and cutting as she stepped toward Farah. “What do you think I should have done?”

“Why the hell are you asking me? You’re supposed to be the expert here!”

“I know as much as any of you about this condition that Impact Corpse and Terry developed.” Erinel’s voice was steady, her cold eyes boring into Farah. “But unlike you, I can draw conclusions. The first time we saw Impact Corpse in his current state was three weeks ago. Since then, nothing about his behavior has changed. And nothing suggested that it ever would. I had to assume Terry would follow the same path.”

But was that entirely true? Mioray’s thoughts swirled as he considered what Erinel had said. After the attack on the university, Impact Corpse had gone into hiding. Until today, he hadn’t shown himself, hadn’t done anything. If they’d somehow managed to bring Terry back to the storage facility, safe and away from the chaos… If they’d just talked to him, reached out to him…

Erinel admitted she didn’t know much about this horrific condition, so how could she be so sure it was irreversible?

Matt’s loud crying brought their attention to him. Clutching Mioray’s severed arm tighter, he sobbed harder, his face streaked with tears.

“Stop it, please!” he screamed. “Terry wouldn’t want us to fight!”

Erinel turned and looked at Matt. Her lips curved into a faint, unsettling smile. She probably thought he was taking her side. Slowly, she approached him, and Mioray found himself stepping aside to make way for her.

“You’re right, Matt,” Erinel said, patting the boy gently on the head. “What’s done is done. It’s unfortunate that we lost Terry, but we can’t abandon our duty. We need to guide the souls of the dead–”

“Do you seriously think I’m going to work for you as if nothing happened!?” Farah snapped, cutting her off.

Erinel abruptly turned her head toward Farah, her hazel eyes flashing with an unkind fire. The corridor practically crackled with hostility.

“Let’s call it a day,” Mioray interjected, stepping quickly in front of Erinel to block her view of Farah. The murderous glint in Erinel’s eyes was unmistakable, and Mioray didn’t doubt for a second that if Farah pushed her any further, the Cursed Blade of Avalon would be put to use again that night.

To his relief, Erinel paused. After a moment of tense silence, she nodded. “I agree,” she said, her tone softening slightly. Her expression shifted. She regained her usual lovely, enigmatic face, though the shadow of her recent actions still lingered in her features. “I understand that it’s hard to accept what happened today. You can all take some time to grieve.”

She patted Matt’s head again, offering the boy an encouraging smile. Then she turned and began walking toward the exit.

“Where are you going?” Mioray asked, baffled. He expected her to retreat to her room, but clearly, she had other plans.

“I’m going back to the factory,” Erinel replied smoothly. “I need to assess what can be done about Mia, and I have to find Kevin’s head before anyone else does.”

With that curt explanation, Erinel left. The sound of her footfalls disappearing down the corridor left an emptiness in the air. Now that she was gone, so too was any sense of direction. Mioray was standing in the middle of the corridor, armless and unsure of what to say or do. He glanced at Matt. He felt he should console the boy, but no words came to him. What could he say to make it better? To make any of this better? Farah had already stormed off to her room, fuming from her fruitless confrontation with Erinel. She let out an infuriated huff as she disappeared down the hallway, leaving Mioray and Matt alone.

“Let’s go, Matt,” Mioray said finally, his voice heavy with resignation. Matt didn’t argue. He looked ready to follow anyone’s lead, like a wounded animal that no longer had the will to resist. Mioray sighed and led him to his room.

The week that followed was grim, to say the least. Even the discovery of Mioray’s left arm didn’t brighten the mood. After what felt like an eternity, he was back to how he was before his death. At first, it felt strange. Having both arms again felt like something distant and foreign. But, as with all good things, he adapted quickly. And yet, he didn’t feel happy about it. Not even close. He should have, logically speaking, but he didn’t. And the reason was obvious: Terry.

Getting used to life without Terry was far harder than getting used to having two arms again. Terry’s lifeless, blue-tinged body, now gruesomely disfigured with bone-muscle wheels, was placed in his room, lying flat on a vehicle lift like a car desperately in need of repair. His body didn’t decay, but it didn’t regenerate, either. It was cold. Motionless. Like a grim statue frozen in time. Sooner or later, they had to decide what to do with his body. But for now, everyone avoided the subject. No one was ready to make that call.

Perhaps Kevin would know what to do. The lawyer was supposed to return soon, but his regeneration was taking longer than expected. Erinel had explained what happened after she went back to the factory. When she found Kevin’s head, it was barely even recognizable as a head – nothing more than a bloody, mangled mush. She collected what she could of it, enough to preserve the vital pieces, and hid it so the police wouldn’t find it. It was better to leave the remnants of Kevin’s head at the factory, waiting for it to slowly reconstruct itself, than to take only what she could carry and leave crucial pieces behind, like fragments of his brain. Once his head’s regeneration was complete, Erinel retrieved it from her hiding spot and brought it back to the storage facility.

Mia’s situation, in comparison, was far worse. Her body had exploded entirely, scattering its pieces all over the compartment where the fight with Impact Corpse took place. Naturally, the area had been tightly secured, and although Erinel was invisible, she couldn’t just slip in and retrieve what was left of Mia. The police had already taken custody of her remains and moved them somewhere for examination.

Ultimately, it all came down to waiting for Kevin to ressurect. Once he returned, they’d figure out the next steps, if there were even any to take. Impact Corpse vanished yet again, and Erinel busied herself with her duties, guiding the souls of the dead. She was the only one still committed to the work, though. Mioray had ventured out just once to buy himself a new phone and to let his parents know he was fine. Meanwhile, Farah had locked herself away in her room, and Matt was doing the same in his.

Reques City, however, was consumed by relentless chatter about the “terrorist attack.” People speculated constantly about who was responsible for it and what their motives might have been. Some even connected the incident to the previous attack on the university, but no definitive conclusions were reached. What unsettled everyone most was the lack of information from the authorities. For reasons unknown, they had chosen to keep the public in the dark.

No official reports mentioned the failed attempt to arrest the Dismantler or the suspicious group of people encountered alongside him at the abandoned factory. A few rumors had circulated about a strange, human-like vehicle rummaging through the streets, but these were quickly dismissed as wild exaggerations, said to stem from the vehicle’s unusually high speed.

During the week of waiting, Mioray mostly stayed in Matt’s room, attempting to cheer him up. But it proved to be an impossible task. Matt barely spoke, and nothing Mioray said seemed able to reach him. Finally, out of ideas, Mioray decided to simply sit with the boy and watch the TV series Swan Peace from the very beginning. He’d promised Andrew that he’d catch up one day, and now seemed as good a time as any. For the first few episodes, Matt showed little interest, sitting in silence as Mioray watched. But after a while, Matt started paying attention. Without a word, he gradually joined the marathon. With neither of them needing sleep, they blew through episode after episode, immersing themselves completely in the show, until there was nothing left to watch.

They finished their marathon just as Kevin’s resurrection was nearing. Before checking in on Kevin, Mioray decided to see how Farah was doing. He thought news of the lawyer’s return might lift her spirits or at least get her to come out of her room. Throughout the week, Mioray walked past her room several times. Each time, loud rock music blasted from within, the same tracks looping over and over. One band in particular dominated her playlist: Ringing Bark.

Today was no different. Mioray approached her door, hearing the familiar sound of the band’s music emanating from behind it. He knocked firmly, but there was no response. It seemed Farah didn’t hear him. With a sigh, Mioray decided to try his luck and go inside. He just hoped she wasn’t naked, as she was the last time he made this mistake.

He cautiously opened the door and stepped inside. Immediately, a wave of hot steam enveloped him, thick and misty like a sauna. It clouded his vision, and for a moment, all he could hear was the pounding of rock music from the speakers. Squinting, Mioray looked around and carefully continued further into the room.

Like before, the source of the steam was obvious: hot water endlessly pouring into the bathtub in the adjoining bathroom. He hesitated, vividly recalling his prior misstep of barging in while Farah was bathing. But before he could make up his mind, his eyes caught sight of Farah.

She wasn’t in the bathroom after all. She was sitting on the sofa by the wall, wrapped tightly in her puffer coat despite the stifling warmth of the room. It was almost as if she was trying to fight off an inner cold that even the heat couldn’t touch. In her hands, she held an unopened can of beer, staring at it blankly.

“What do you want?” Farah asked, her voice flat and disinterested.

“I wanted to check on you,” Mioray replied.

“I’m fine,” she said coldly. “Satisfied? You can leave now.”

Mioray didn’t move, standing silently as her icy words lingered in the humid air. Farah sighed in exasperation.

“Fine. Stay if you want.”

She popped open the beer can in her hand, the sharp hiss breaking the tense silence.

“Are you sure it’s safe to drink that?” Mioray asked, doubtful.

“Like I care,” Farah said with a shrug, though she didn’t lift the can to her lips. “Why does it matter if I barf from drinking beer I’m not supposed to or from getting too drunk?”

“Then why drink at all?”

Farah shook her head in disbelief. “Because I want to get drunk, you moron.”

Mioray blinked, taken aback. For a moment, he considered whether she was being serious, but eventually chalked it up as one of her trademark remarks, the kind only she seemed to understand.

“Kevin’s supposed to regain consciousness today,” he said, settling cautiously onto the far corner of the sofa, keeping as much distance as possible between them.

“Good for him,” Farah replied, her eyes fixed on the beer can in her hand.

The music continued to blare, one rock song after another. Neither of them spoke. They simply sat there in uncomfortable silence, the gap between them as wide as ever.

Another song ended. Mioray cleared his throat, using the quiet moment to speak. “I think Matt’s getting better,” he ventured cautiously. “He’s not talking yet, but at least he got into watching ‘Swan Peace’ with me.”

Farah glanced at him, tilting her head in mock curiosity. “So? You want me to pat you on the back or something?”

“No,” Mioray stammered. “I just thought… you’d care about him.”

“I do,” Farah murmured, her lips tightening with regret. “I should’ve checked on him too, I know that. It’s just… he always hung around Terry and Mia. And now Terry’s gone, and holy Mirabelle only knows what happened to Mia.”

“Do you think she’ll be alright?” Mioray asked.

“With Erinel owning us?” Farah scoffed bitterly. “Not in the slightest. Erinel treats us like tools, like we exist to carry out her orders. For all I know, when she went back to the factory, she made damn sure Mia wouldn’t come back either.”

“No,” Mioray said firmly. “I don’t think she’d do that to Mia.”

“Of course you’d think that. You’re still head over heels for her. Even after she killed Terry.”

“I’m not!” he shot back.

“Yes, you are.”

The argument escalated quickly, both of them hurling accusations back and forth, each unwilling to concede or back down. It was a foolish, pointless spat, but neither seemed willing to let it go. Eventually, Mioray felt the weight of his frustration sink into him like a stone. He stood up abruptly, his body brimming with restless energy, and turned to leave.

“Fine,” he muttered, walking to the door. He grabbed hold of the steel panel and began to roll it open, his movements sharp and deliberate. The sound of the door groaning on its hinges punctuated his irritation.

As he opened the door halfway, Farah called out to him.

“Heatsink Corpse.”

Mioray stopped.

“What?” he asked, throwing her a puzzled glance over his shoulder.

“Heatsink Corpse,” Farah repeated, walking toward him. Her voice had lost its edge, and her expression now seemed… subdued. Vulnerable, even. Her hands were empty. The beer can was left abandoned on the sofa. “It’s the name Terry gave me,” she admitted quietly.

Her gaze dropped to the floor as she went on. “It… comforts me. You know, someone else would’ve come up with some dumbass name like Ice Corpse, or Cold Corpse or whatever. But I hate the cold. We’re not supposed to feel pain, and, for the most part, I don’t.” Her voice faltered as she continued. “But the cold? It freezes me from the inside out. That’s why I have to wear this coat all the time. It has heating pads sewn into it, powered by stardust. It keeps me warm, but it’s not enough. So I try to heat my whole room too. Imagine the utility bills I’d face if I had my own place.”

She let out a dry, humorless laugh, shaking her head.

“I’ve got no other choice but to live here, where everything’s set up with Terry’s money. He was one son of a bitch, but he wasn’t greedy. He loved sharing. Guess it made him feel good, knowing other people depended on him.”

Mioray found himself nodding at Farah’s words. He couldn’t help but agree with her. She wasn’t exactly praising Terry, but in some strange way, what she said felt like the perfect kind of remembrance for him. Terry wouldn’t have wanted to be remembered as a hero, but as a flawed, messy, and undeniably human individual. He was a man who got famous without letting it consume him, though maybe, in the end, that fame played a part in causing his original death. At least he didn’t deny his past. And yes, he loved people depending on him, but he loved helping them, too.

Still, what struck Mioray even more was how open Farah had been just now. She rarely shared much about herself, usually keeping everything locked behind layers of sarcasm and hostility. Hearing her talk about how her ability affected her, her constant battle with the cold – even after death – caught him entirely off guard. Thinking about what she went through just to stay warm pained him. To constantly fight an unrelenting chill, even in undeath, it was like she was eternally stuck in the depths of Snowrealm.

No wonder she didn’t embrace being undead like the others did.

“So… you froze to death?” Mioray asked cautiously. He knew all too well how easily Farah could lash out.

But she didn’t, not this time. She only clicked her tongue in frustration, a small motion to show her annoyance.

“Me and my boyfriend were heading to a party outside the city,” she said after a moment, her tone quieter. “His car was an old piece of junk. Winter this year was brutal. And then the car broke down, in the middle of nowhere. Blizzard was in full swing. There was no reception and we couldn’t call for help.” She clicked her tongue again. “We were freezing. Eventually, we took our chances and left the car, hoping to find someone – anyone – living nearby. I don’t remember much after that. Just the cold. The blizzard. The fear.” She paused, her eyes narrowing at the memory. “Next thing I know, I woke up in the hospital. My boyfriend didn’t.”

Mioray winced as the weight of her story sunk in. That was a horrific way to die. Two people, just a couple on their way to a party, likely talking about all the fun waiting for them, only to end up in the clutches of a relentless blizzard. Trapped. Helpless. Alone against nature.

He could barely bring himself to imagine how terrifying that night must have been for them. Did Farah and her boyfriend really think they could find shelter? Or was leaving the broken car simply an act of desperate defiance, a refusal to let it serve as their grave?

And, in the end, they didn’t survive. Farah was given another chance to continue her life, but at what cost? She lost her boyfriend, the person she likely loved. Mioray assumed he must have been a good guy to put up with her sharp personality.

Or maybe that experience, that loss, was what made Farah who she was today?

Before Mioray could sort out his thoughts, the door he’d been holding half-open suddenly rolled fully upward. Both he and Farah turned their heads sharply.

Kevin stood in the doorway, as alive and whole as ever. With his head intact. His glasses, perched on his face, immediately fogged up from the thick steam spilling from Farah’s overheated room.

“You’re both here,” Kevin said, pulling the glasses from his face as he squinted through the mist. “Good.”

He was dressed in the same clothes he always wore – a metallic-blue suit, crisp white shirt, and a dark green tie. It was as if his outfit was immune to wear and tear, no matter what happened to him. Even after being beheaded by Impact Corpse. Mioray couldn’t help but wonder if Kevin’s wardrobe was filled with identical suits, a whole array neatly hung in a closet somewhere. That was the only explanation that made sense.

As Mioray looked him over, a swirl of conflicted feelings stirred within him. On one hand, it was reassuring to have Kevin back. With him around, there was no need for Mioray to shoulder the responsibility of keeping their dysfunctional group together. Mioray was inadequate for that role anyway. It seemed so natural, trusting Kevin to make decisions alongside Erinel. They made the perfect team. Deep down, Mioray knew he could never really be a part of it.

It was a bitter thought, but Farah wasn’t wrong. Even after everything that happened, Mioray still couldn’t stop himself from feeling something for Erinel. He wasn’t sure if it was infatuation or something else, but he wasn’t indifferent towards her.

“Good to see you, man. What’s up?” Mioray tried to sound casual, forcing a lightness into his tone that felt unnatural. The awkward delivery earned him a raised eyebrow from both Kevin and Farah, making him instantly regret his attempt at casualness. He wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear.

“Actually, I was looking for you, Mioray.” Thankfully, Kevin let the awkwardness slide without comment. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Not at all,” Farah cut in quickly. She stepped through the now-open door, brushing past Kevin. “You can have him all you want. I’m going to check on Matt and see what this idiot,” she motioned lazily toward Mioray, “did to our sweet little boy while I wasn’t watching.”

Before disappearing around the corner, she stopped and turned back briefly. “I’m glad you’re back, Kevin.”

Once Farah was gone, Mioray rolled the door down until it clicked shut. Kevin stood in the same calm, collected manner as always, but something about the silence between them felt heavy. Maybe it was just the strange reality that Kevin was alive again and that the last time Mioray saw him, he was a headless corpse.

“So,” Mioray broke the silence, trying to push the image from his mind. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

Kevin pulled a cloth from the outer pocket of his suit and began cleaning his glasses with precision. Only once the lenses were spotless and back on his face did he finally speak.

“How is your training going?” he asked.

“My what?” Mioray blinked. The question blindsided him. Of all the things Kevin could’ve wanted to discuss, training was probably the furthest thing from Mioray’s mind.

Kevin sighed, folding the cleaning cloth neatly and tucking it back into his pocket. “So you’ve been slacking off,” he said flatly, irritation flashing briefly in his tone. “Even now, after you’ve regained your arm? I can’t say I’m surprised.”

Mioray frowned and mumbled something under his breath. Being scolded like a child was more than a little irritating.

“Why do you even care?” he grumbled.

“For starters, Impact Corpse is still out there,” Kevin said, his tone measured but firm. Without waiting for Mioray to respond, he turned on his heel and started walking down the hallway in the opposite direction from where Farah went. Mioray hesitated for only a moment before following. He didn’t have much choice.

“Or did you think that was it?” Kevin continued as they walked. “Now that we’ve lost Terry, we need to be better prepared than ever. I don’t believe Impact Corpse intends to stay in hiding forever. Sooner or later, he’s going to make another move. And if we keep handling things the way we’ve been so far, it’s just a matter of time before we end up caught in the crossfire again.”

"We’ll have to resume your training," Kevin decided. Mioray sighed heavily, frustration bubbling in his chest. On second thought, maybe he didn’t like Kevin making decisions after all. "I’ll talk to Matt about it. But that will have to wait. We have some work to do."

"What work?"

Kevin reached into the inner pocket of his suit and pulled out a couple of wooden sticks. They looked oddly familiar – eerily similar to Erinel's fingers when she transformed them into those slender, tree-like branches.

"Wait, is that–?"

"It is," Kevin said, cutting him off. Without warning, he flicked one of the sticks at Mioray, striking him cleanly. He immediately struck himself with the other stick. Just as before, the sticks passed through clothing and flesh seamlessly, leaving no mark. This time, however, the sticks disintegrated afterward, dissolving into dust in the air.

"I didn't know Erinel could detach them," Mioray muttered, noticing the faint green aura now hovering above Kevin, still tethered to his body. He frowned, unsure what Kevin was planning. Was he suggesting they go looking for souls of the dead together?

"She can," Kevin said, brushing specks of dust from his sleeve. "But from what I understand, it’s not exactly a pleasant experience for her. She only does it in emergencies. And I’d say this counts." His gaze sharpened as he continued. "While you guys were sulking and avoiding her, Erinel was doing all the heavy lifting. With the death toll rising from last week’s incident, she’s been overwhelmed. She told me she guided the soul of a girl you met at the charity event."

Mioray froze, his jaw tightening. Kevin was talking about Claire, who’d died right before everything spiraled out of control with Terry. In the chaos, Mioray had forgotten about her completely.

He clenched his fists, guilt twisting his stomach. He should have been the one to guide her. He owed her that much at least. Claire had died so suddenly, flames and destruction all around her. She must have been terrified. Confused. Her life ripped away in an instant. And then Erinel came to her. Erinel, with her cold, matter-of-fact demeanor. There was no warmth there. No reassurance for Claire as she was forced to walk through a portal into the unknown.

And yet, Mioray had no right to judge Erinel. In fact, all of this only proved she’d remembered Claire when he hadn’t. She’d remembered his conversation with the girl at the museum, remembered him trying to save her from her death. Did that mean she cared?

Mioray thought back to what Erinel had told him after they guided Andrew to the afterlife. She used to talk to the souls of the dead, but had grown more and more disconnected from the living as time passed. She’d stopped trying. How lonely that must have been, growing so detached.

No wonder she’d been so callous when she killed Terry. What else could she do? She hadn’t interacted with humans regularly, not in a normal way, for who even knows how long. She was like someone burned out after giving everything to their job and receiving no reward in return. And things only got worse since. He, Farah, and Matt turned their backs on her, too consumed by their own grief and anger.

"Did she say anything else about Claire?" Mioray asked, his voice taut and lined with guilt.

"No."

"I’ll go ask her," Mioray said, turning on his heel.

"Stop," Kevin said firmly, grabbing Mioray’s shoulder before he could leave. "You can do that later. Erinel is already gone. She’s out there, doing her job, as she always does. And now, so should we. But first, there’s somewhere we need to go."

"Where are we going?"

"You’ll see," Kevin replied cryptically, continuing down the hallway without offering any further explanation. Mioray frowned.

"Also," Kevin said casually, not turning back, "do you still have a way to contact that detective? The woman?"

"Natalie Lance?" Mioray clarified. Kevin nodded. "Yeah, I have her card. Why?"

"We need to get in touch with her. She might have information about Mia’s whereabouts. I checked briefly through my sources, but I came up empty. That Natalie Lance is our only lead. And, seeing as there’s been no information circulating about us, it seems she chose not to rat us out. It’s worth a shot."

Kevin glanced over his shoulder, his voice tinged with mild amusement. "As unreliable as you are, you’re the only one who has any connection to her."

Mioray glowered at the remark, his irritation bubbling to the surface. That last part was completely unnecessary and unreasonable. Worse still, Kevin couldn’t even hide the faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but there nonetheless. Was this what Kevin considered a sense of humor? Terry had always joked that Kevin never smiled, but apparently, when he did, it was just to needle Mioray.

Kevin was just like Farah. Out of all the people in the world, why did Mioray end up stuck with undead like them? He let out an annoyed huff and stomped off in the direction of his room. He needed to grab Natalie’s card.