The train ride south was a passage through a fading nightmare. The further they got from the Shattered Ridge, the more the terror of the Six-Armed Warden receded, replaced by a deep, systemic ache that had settled into Leo's bones. It was more than the bruises or the throbbing in his bandaged finger; it was a hollowed-out feeling, as if the manifestation of Yusuke Urameshi had scoured him from the inside out.
He drifted in and out of a fitful sleep, his dreams a chaotic montage of teal eyes and a monster's shriek of pain. Each time he jolted awake, he found Mira's gaze already on him, her expression unreadable in the dim carriage light. She didn't offer platitudes, just a silent, steadying presence that was the only solid thing in his whirling world.
They changed trains at a grimy junction town, the air thick with coal smoke and the shouts of porters. As they stood on the crowded platform, Leo felt the familiar, cold prickle on the back of his neck—the instinctual warning of being watched. He forced himself not to snap his head around, instead letting his gaze casually sweep the crowd.
"Don't look," Mira murmured, her hand subtly tightening on his arm. "Two o'clock. By the newsstand."
He saw them. Two men who stood out not for their appearance, but for their unnatural stillness. They wore the dark, utilitarian uniforms of the Hunter Guild, but they lacked the rugged, worn-in look of field agents. Their jackets were impeccably clean, their posture rigid. One held a small, crystalline slate, his thumb scrolling through data. The other simply watched the crowd, his eyes moving with a slow, methodical precision that was more machine than man.
"Auditors," Leo breathed, the word tasting like ash. The Guild's internal police. They hunted irregularities, not monsters.
"They're scanning manifests," Mira whispered, her voice tight. "Looking for names from the north."
A cold knot tightened in Leo's stomach. The official story of their escape was a fragile shield, and it was already being tested. They turned, pretending to be engrossed in a faded poster advertising a "Guild-Sanctioned D-Rank Expedition!" until the southbound train hissed to a stop, swallowing them into the relative anonymity of another third-class carriage.
The sprawling, smoky silhouette of New Arcanis on the horizon brought no sense of homecoming. The familiar, soot-stained spires of the Low District looked less like a sanctuary and more like a cage he was walking into voluntarily. The city's air, a thick cocktail of industry, sewage, and sizzling street food, was a physical shock after the clean, sharp cold of the north. The cacophony was a drumbeat of normalcy that felt alien and threatening.
They moved through the crowded streets, their northern gear making them feel like ghosts returned to the land of the living. Every shout, every clanging tram bell, made Leo flinch. His body was a tapestry of pain, each step a fresh reminder of his own inadequacy.
"We need to see sir Korran," Leo said, his voice raspy.
"Not like this," Mira countered, her eyes constantly scanning, assessing. "You look like you just returned from hell...first get rest and treated...let's go to my place.
Her place was a single room above a chandler's shop, accessed by a rickety exterior staircase tucked away in a reeking alley. It was cramped, but it was a fortress. The door had three different locks.
As Leo sank onto her narrow bed with a groan, she busied herself with the practiced efficiency of survival—boiling water on a small hotplate, laying out a clean, if threadbare, tunic for him.
"Here," she said, her tone all business. "Try not to get any more blood on this one. It's the last clean one I have."
He managed a weak nod, beginning the painful process of cleaning his wounds. The warm water stung, but the pain was grounding.
While he worked, Mira peered through the slats of her window blinds down into the alley. Her body went still.
"Leo," she said, her voice dangerously low.
He froze, a damp cloth pressed to the cut on his temple. "What?"
"The cart. Old Man Hemlock's fruit cart. It's gone."
"So? Maybe he sold out early."
"He never sells out. And he never leaves before sundown." She turned from the window, her face pale. "Did you noticed....The alley is empty. It's a perfect spot for an ambush."
A cold dread, colder than any northern wind, washed over him. They had been so careful.
Three sharp, precise knocks rattled the door on its hinges.
It was not a friendly sound. It was the sound of authority, of impatience, of a promise that the door would not be an obstacle for long.
Panic, bright and electric, flashed between them. There was nowhere to hide. The room was a box. Leo slid off the bed, his movements stiff with pain, and pressed himself flat against the wall behind the door, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
Mira took a deep, shuddering breath, smoothed her tunic, and opened the door a bare two inches, the heavy chain lock engaged. "Yes?" she asked, her voice impressively flat.
A man's voice, smooth and cultured, filtered through the gap. It was a voice that belonged in a Guild office, not a stinking Low District alley. "My apologies for the disturbance. I am looking for a Leo? A student of the Hunter Academy?"
Leo's blood turned to ice. He didn't recognize the voice, but its very presence here was a violation.
"Who's asking?" Mira's tone was a masterclass in defensive neutrality.
"My name is Kaelen. I am with the Guild's Anomaly Analysis division." The title was benign, but the delivery was not. "We understand he recently returned from the northern territories. There was a significant... energy discharge event near Frostpine. Standard procedure is to debrief all potential witnesses. We'd like to ensure his well-being and document his account."
"He's not here," Mira said, her voice tightening at the edges. "I haven't seen him."
There was a pause. Leo could feel the man's gaze, sharp and analytical, trying to dissect the sliver of Mira's face visible through the crack.
"I see," Kaelen said. The temperature of his voice dropped several degrees. "That is... unfortunate. The Guild takes the stability of mana fields very seriously. Uncontrolled variables can be... dangerous. It is in everyone's best interest that they are identified and contained."
"I'll tell him," Mira said, her knuckles white where she gripped the door.
"Do. We will be in touch."
They listened to his footsteps recede down the wooden stairs. They were not the heavy tread of a hunter, but a precise, almost mechanical tap... tap... tap that spoke of control and absolute confidence.
Mira slowly, carefully, pushed the door shut. The click of the three locks sliding back into place was the loudest sound Leo had ever heard. She leaned her forehead against the wood, her entire body slumping.
Leo stepped out from his hiding place, his face ashen. "Anomaly Analysis... They don't know about the ring. But they know something happened. They're connecting me to the energy spike."
"He wasn't just a clerk, Leo," Mira whispered, turning to face him. Her eyes were wide with a new, specific fear. "When he turned to leave... the light from the window hit the side of his neck. There was metal. Fused to his skin. And his eyes... when he looked at me through the crack... they didn't blink. Not once."
The description painted a picture not of a man, but of a instrument. A tool honed for a single, grim purpose.
The ring on Leo's finger felt colder and heavier than ever before.