I had just arrived in front of the house, still holding my wounded arm which continued to seep blood despite partially freezing.
The night air bit into the wound, making it sting even more. As I was about to open the door, the phone in my pants pocket vibrated with a hard, persistent buzz.
Bzzzt.
I pulled it out with my bloody hand.
Unknown number.
I answered, holding it to my ear without speaking first.
"H-Hello?" A voice came through, soft, hesitant, like someone struggling against their own shame. "Is this... the massage service listed on the poster? The one that... specializes in stress relief and... muscle tension?"
Even though the voice was small, muffled, and full of doubt—I recognized it instantly.
Ophelia.
The voice of the academy headmistress, usually so confident, authoritative, even arrogant, now sounded like a shy teenager asking about something taboo.
Hearing her voice, my mind immediately raced to the plan I'd laid out a week ago.
