They did not return to the shining part of the city.
They moved deeper into the infected veins beneath it.
The building Clare chose stood alone between two collapsed structures, as if the others had tried to escape its presence and failed. Its windows were dark hollows. No glass. Just black rectangles staring outward like empty eye sockets.
Inside, the air smelled of dust and old rain.
No electricity in the corridor. Only the thin blue spill of distant city light crawling in through cracks.
Their footsteps echoed too loudly.
Clare stopped at the end of the hallway and pushed open a door.
It groaned.
She stepped aside.
"This is yours."
No explanation. No warning.
She walked away.
The sound of her boots faded.
Then silence swallowed everything.
The room was barely a room.
A narrow metal bed stood in one corner, its frame slightly bent, as if someone had once gripped it too tightly. The mattress was thin and uneven, springs pressing upward like ribs beneath dying skin.
The walls were scarred.
Long scratches ran across the peeling paint. Some deep. Some shallow. The color had once been pale blue, but now it flaked away in strips, exposing grey concrete beneath. It looked less like paint peeling and more like skin shedding from something that had tried to escape its body.
There was a small clock nailed crookedly above the door.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Each second too loud.
No curtains. No warmth.
Only shadow.
Kal stepped inside.
Closed the door.
He did not touch the bed.
He did not turn on the dim bulb hanging from a wire overhead.
He walked to the farthest corner and slid down against the wall.
Darkness wrapped around him like wet cloth.
He pulled his knees to his chest.
And sat.
At first, there was only the clock.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Then the faces came.
Not clear.
Not whole.
But present.
Three silhouettes standing before him in the dark.
Their throats open.
Their eyes wide.
"Did we need to die?"
The voice wasn't loud.
It was calm.
Almost curious.
"Did we hurt you?"
Another voice.
Soft.
"Did we deserve it?"
The third.
He pressed his palms over his ears.
"No."
But the voices did not come from outside.
They bloomed inside his skull.
"You moved first."
"You didn't hesitate."
"You didn't look at us."
"You cut."
"You cut."
"You cut."
His breathing became shallow.
"She forced me," he whispered.
"Did she?"
"Or were you afraid of yourself?"
The question twisted.
"Seraphina."
The name echoed like a forgotten identity dragged across glass.
"Seraphina."
"A woman inside a man's body."
"And still you didn't understand desperation?"
"Still you didn't understand fear?"
The darkness thickened.
The room felt smaller.
The air heavier.
He saw it again.
A different memory.
A different room.
Thomas standing in front of him.
Her voice trembling.
"I slept with them."
A lie.
"I'm not pure."
A lie.
"I did what I had to."
A lie.
She had said those things to survive.
To avoid being broken.
To avoid being discarded.
And she had begged.
The three women's voices rose again.
"HYPOCRITE."
"HYPOCRITE."
"HYPOCRITE."
"I AM NOT!" Kal screamed, slamming his hands over his ears harder. "I am not! I am not!"
The walls did not respond.
But the scratches on them looked deeper.
Longer.
Like fingernails had tried to claw out.
The silhouettes leaned closer.
"You judged us."
"You decided."
"You killed."
His chest tightened.
He looked down.
His hands.
In the darkness they looked wet.
Thick.
Dripping.
He blinked.
They were clean.
But the warmth remained.
He rubbed them against his jacket.
Still warm.
Still sticky.
He gagged.
The clock grew louder.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Then...
A different voice.
Small.
Soft.
Close.
"It's alright, sister."
He froze.
A child's voice.
Gentle.
"It wasn't your choice."
A small hand tugging at his sleeve in memory.
"What you did… someone else intended."
The darkness loosened slightly.
"I still love you."
His breath broke.
The silhouettes faltered.
The accusations dimmed.
Kal lowered his hands slowly.
Tears ran freely now.
He stared again at his palms.
Clean.
Empty.
But they trembled like they carried weight.
"I didn't want to," he whispered.
The clock struck louder.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Then.
The door creaked open.
Light sliced through the darkness like a blade.
The hallway's faint glow poured in, turning the room from a grave into something merely abandoned.
The clock struck.
Eight times.
Each strike echoing unnaturally long in his ears.
Dong.
Dong.
Dong.
Dong.
Dong.
Dong.
Dong.
Dong.
Clare stood in the doorway.
Silver eyes reflecting the dim light.
She did not ask what happened.
She did not comment on the tears.
"Come eat."
Her voice was flat.
Kal buried his head between his knees.
"I'm not hungry."
Silence.
"I said, come eat."
No response.
The light disappeared.
The door shut.
For a second.
Hope?
Then it burst open again.
Bootsteps.
Heavy.
Direct.
Before he could react, a sharp kick struck his side.
He fell onto the dusty floor, air leaving his lungs in a hollow gasp.
Clare grabbed his collar and flipped him onto his back.
Then she sat on his abdomen, pinning him effortlessly.
Her weight wasn't heavy.
But it was absolute.
She leaned down, her face close enough that he could see the pale ring around her irises.
"Listen, brat."
Her voice was low.
Not angry.
Not loud.
Just cold.
"I am not your mother."
Her fingers tightened around his collar.
"I'm not going to kneel beside you and whisper, 'My sweet baby, please eat.'"
Her silver eyes glinted.
"I want you in shape."
Her knee pressed slightly harder into his stomach.
"Because tomorrow we start real work."
Her gaze sharpened.
"If you become a hindrance…"
She tilted her head slightly.
"You know what happens."
Her breath was steady.
Unemotional.
"Remember what you told me."
Her eyes did not blink.
"I don't care how guilty you feel."
She leaned closer.
"So get used to it."
A pause.
"These kinds of things will be regular."
The word regular echoed worse than the clock.
Regular.
Murder.
Tests.
Desperation.
She released his collar.
But didn't stand immediately.
For a brief second, her silver eyes looked almost inhuman in the darkness.
Like something ancient staring through him.
Then she stood.
Walked to the door.
Stopped.
Without turning back:
"Ten minutes."
The door closed again.
This time the darkness felt different.
Not accusing.
Not comforting.
Just waiting.
Kal remained on the floor.
Breathing.
Listening to the clock.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tomorrow.
Regular.
He slowly pushed himself up.
His hands still trembled.
But now,not from guilt.
From understanding.
The horror wasn't what he had done.
It was that he would have to do it again.
And next time,It might be easier.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Six.
The sound felt closer this time. Louder. Like it had been ticking inside his skull all night.
A voice followed it.
Rough.
Sharp.
Not gentle.
"Wake up."
Kal's eyelids dragged open.
The ceiling was cracked, morning light bleeding through a narrow slit in the boarded window. Dust floated in the pale beam like drifting ash.
He shifted slightly and realized—
He had slept on the floor.
His hair was tangled. His shirt stiff with dried sweat. Faint brown stains marked the sleeves. His neck hurt. His back burned from the cold concrete.
Clare stood near the doorway.
An apron hung loosely around her waist, tied over dark fitted combat trousers. The fabric clung cleanly to her frame. Underneath, she wore a sleeveless black training top, arms lean and defined. Even in simple clothes, she looked sharp. Functional. Ready.
No softness.
She tossed something at him.
It hit his chest and fell beside him.
A toothbrush.
"Bathroom. Five minutes."
Her tone wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
Kal pushed himself up slowly. His limbs felt heavy. His head throbbed faintly.
He walked to the small washroom.
The mirror was cracked across the center.
For a second,he froze.
Blood covered his face.
Thick.
Dark.
Running from his hairline down his cheeks.
His breath caught.
He blinked.
It was gone.
Only pale skin. Hollow eyes. Messy hair.
He stared at himself longer than necessary.
Then slowly wiped the fog from the glass with his palm.
He brushed his teeth mechanically. The taste of metal lingered in his mouth even though there was none.
He splashed water over his face.
No blood.
Still, it felt sticky.
When he stepped out, the small dining area came into view.
The table was half-broken, one leg uneven. A folded piece of cardboard supported it from below. The chairs didn't match. The wall paint was chipped here too.
Clare sat across from an empty seat.
Two plates.
Fried eggs.
Plain.
Two cups of black coffee.
Steam rose in thin twisting lines.
She didn't look at him.
He sat down quietly.
Kal observed her.
"She lives alone."
"No pictures on the wall."
"No decorations."
"No extra plates."
"No second pair of shoes near the door."
"Does she ever laugh?"
"Does she get bored?"
"Does she have someone?"
"A boyfriend?"
"Family?"
"If she has lived in darkness her entire life, can she even feel emotions anymore?"
"Happy."
"Sad."
"Lonely."
"All I've seen on her face is work."
Before he realized it,the coffee cup flew.
It hit his chest and burst open, spilling hot liquid across his shirt.
The heat made him gasp and fall sideways, chair scraping loudly against the floor.
It wasn't severe—the jacket absorbed most of it,but it burned.
Clare stood.
"Stop acting like a girl. Be a man."
Her voice was flat.
"If I ever see you behaving like that again, I'll cut your dick off."
The words hung in the air like something normal to her.
Kal lay on the floor for a moment, stunned.
"Is she insane?"
"How can she say that?"
"If it hurts, it hurts. How am I supposed to control pain?"
"And yes, bitch.I am a girl inside."
He clenched his teeth.
Slowly got up.
Sat back down.
Ate.
Silently.
The egg tasted like nothing.
The coffee that remained was bitter.
Outside, morning light crawled over the broken buildings. The street was empty. Too empty.
They stepped out.
No one in sight.
The slum looked abandoned at this hour.
Clare started walking.
Kal followed.
"Asking questions will only bring trouble.
Just follow."
Ahead stood a half-collapsed church.
Its cross leaned sideways. Stained glass shattered. The doors hung crooked.
Behind it stretched a field of wild grass, knee-high and swaying softly in the morning wind.
Clare stepped into the grass.
She had removed the apron.
Now she wore a fitted dark training jacket over her sleeveless top, sleeves rolled to her elbows. Fingerless gloves. Combat boots pressing firmly into the earth.
She looked like someone built for war.
Not for living.
She turned toward him.
"You said you forgot how to use your ability. Right?"
Kal removed his stained jacket and dropped it aside.
"Yes, Miss."
She narrowed her eyes.
"I will reawaken your PBV."
He blinked.
"PBV?"
His face betrayed him immediately.
Clare sighed sharply.
"You bastard. I'm wasting my energy. I can tell by looking at you."
She crossed her arms.
"PBV is our life energy. Every living thing has it. Animals. Humans. Even plants."
Her voice became more instructive.
"They use it unconsciously. Just to live. To breathe. To heal."
She tapped her chest lightly.
"But some of us can draw it from the core and push it outward. As output. As force."
Kal listened carefully.
"So… it's like water in the human body?"
She didn't interrupt.
"When necessary, the body releases it naturally—like sweat through pores. But here… some people can consciously bring that 'water' out."
She didn't smile.
But she didn't reject the analogy either.
Kal hesitated.
"What happens… if too much of that energy comes out?"
For the first time,Clare smiled.
Not warmly.
"You dry out."
The wind moved through the grass.
"And then you die."
The words didn't sound dramatic.
They sounded factual.
She stepped closer.
Her silver eyes locked onto his.
"Today, I'll force my PBV into you."
The air felt heavier suddenly.
"If your core is intact, it will respond."
"And if it isn't?" Kal asked quietly.
Her gaze didn't waver.
"Then you'll crack from the inside."
Silence spread across the empty field.
The broken church loomed behind them like a witness.
Clare raised her hand slowly.
"Stand straight."
The morning sun remained a witness.
And the training began.
The air changed.
Clare did not move.
Yet the space around her began to shimmer.
At first it looked subtle , like heat rising from asphalt on a summer road.
Then it deepened.
The church behind her bent slightly, its broken cross warping as if seen through boiling water. The grass around her ankles flattened without wind touching it.
Kal swallowed.
"What's this…?"
His throat felt sand-dry.
His lungs tightened as if invisible fingers were slowly squeezing them.
Goosebumps spread violently across his skin. His knees trembled.
His bladder twitched in humiliation.
He clenched everything.
Breathing.
"Hold it."
"Hold it."
Clare's voice cut through the pressure.
"Concentrate."
Her eyes gleamed faintly now ,silver catching light that wasn't there.
"If you lose focus, that's it."
The air vibrated harder.
"Imagine you're holding it around your body. Like invisible armor."
The ground beneath Kal's shoes felt unstable.
Then,a blast.
Not fire.
Not wind.
Something denser.
A compressed wave of hot pressure slammed into his torso.
His shirt tore instantly.
A burning circle exploded across his abdomen ,skin turning raw red as if pressed by a giant heated palm.
He flew backward.
The world flipped.
Sky.
Grass.
Sky again.
Then impact.
His head hit dirt.
White noise filled his ears.
His vision rolled.
He tried to breathe.
Nothing came in.
His arms wouldn't move.
His fingers twitched uselessly.
Numb.
Everything numb.
The sky above him spun lazily.
Clare walked toward him.
Each step heavy.
Slow.
Her form blurred.
"I don't know…"
The words formed in his mind.
Help.
But his mouth did not open.
His body refused him again.
The pressure inside him felt wrong.
Something was leaking.
Pouring out of him.
Like water from cracked skin.
He felt hollowing.
Draining.
Drying.
"You dry out."
"Then you die."
Seraphina's memory burst forward without warning.
Mother's blood on the ground.
Dark.
Thick.
Pooling beneath her .
Brother tied to a chair.
Crying.
Begging.
Helpless.
The smell of iron.
The sound of boots.
"No."
"Not again."
He forced his eyes to focus.
"Focus."
"If you lose focus, that's it."
His mind grabbed onto something simple.
Counting.
Ten.
Nine.
Eight.
Seven.
His body trembled violently.
Six.
Five.
The leaking sensation intensified , like vapor escaping through pores.
Four.
Three.
He imagined something crude.
A lid.
A container.
Holding it in.
Two.
One.
Instead of letting the pressure spill outward
He pulled.
Not pushing out.
Pulling in.
Like drawing breath inward through every inch of skin.
The sensation shifted.
The draining slowed.
Something gathered.
Dense.
Heavy.
Close to his bones.
Then,a faint distortion shimmered around his body.
Not explosive like Clare's.
Not violent.
Thin.
Like fog hugging his skin.
The leaking stopped.
The hollow feeling stabilized.
Kal's eyes refocused.
He was still on the ground.
But something was wrapped around him now.
Not visible.
But present.
Like wearing a tight invisible coat.
Clare stopped a few steps away.
Her shimmer faded.
The pressure in the air vanished instantly.
The church straightened.
The grass rose again.
She looked down at him.
A small smile curved her lips.
"Interesting."
Kal lay there gasping.
His body still weak.
But not empty.
She reached into her jacket pocket.
Pulled out a photograph.
Held it between two fingers.
A woman.
Beautiful.
Sharp jawline.
Elegant figure.
Wearing a black party dress.
Holding a cocktail glass in a dimly lit bar.
Neon lights reflecting on polished skin.
Her smile confident.
Behind the photograph, handwritten words:
Please find out if my wife is cheating and send me proof. I will pay you enough to satisfy your greed.
Clare looked from the photo to Kal.
"Our job."