A strangled sob escaped his throat.
Lyor immediately yanked his hand away from his chest and clamped it over his mouth, trying to trap the sound inside. His shoulders shook violently as he pulled his legs up, curling into himself. He buried his face into the thick fur-like weave of the blanket, muffling the broken noises that kept forcing their way out.
Maybe he would get punished for crying.
Maybe for being a nuisance.
But he could not stop.
So pathetic. No wonder Father gave me away.
But… wasn't this what he had wanted all along?
To escape?
Now that his father had finally gotten rid of him, why was he crying?
Someone nearby inhaled sharply through their nose. The sound was tight. Controlled.
Angry.
The realization made his stomach drop.
Maybe it was because, deep down, he already knew this place would only become another apartment like before. Just bigger. With more people. It felt like being dragged out of one hell only to be thrown into a worse one.
And sooner or later, they would not want him either. They would discard him, too.
That's okay, he told himself numbly. Let's just get on with this.
He forced his head up and wiped his tears and snot away with aggressive motions, trying to erase all evidence. He sneaked a glance at the woman beside him.
She looked… strange.
Her wrinkled face seemed even more creased than before, and the lines deepened for some reason. Her eyes were rimmed red, lips pressed together into a thin line, tightly as if she were holding something back.
The sharp breathing came again from his right—a breathing pattern of barely controlling the anger.
Lyor swallowed.
He should ask permission to speak first. Then ask what work he needed to do.
"I… can I speak?" His voice came out hoarse, like he had not used it in days.
The woman's hand flew to her chest. She immediately glanced toward where Sol stood, then looked back at Lyor. Her expression shifted into something gentle, almost like the kind smiles he had seen in advertisements online.
He felt movement to his right but did not dare look.
"Of course you can. No need to ask, sweety."
Her voice trembled slightly. Lyor flinched internally at the word.
The last time someone had called him that, he had been forced to scrub an entire office floor spotless, only to receive a salary deduction because that same woman had dropped a stained napkin after he finished cleaning.
He clasped his hands together tightly to stop them from shaking, took a small breath, and spoke.
"When do I… start working? What job?"
"Work?" she repeated, sounding genuinely surprised.
He nodded, eyes fixed on his damp palms.
"Calm the hell down. You're making me f—" Sol cut himself off with a frustrated groan. "—making me exhausted."
"Sol!" the woman snapped.
No no no no… not even the first hour and I already messed up.
His heart slammed violently against his ribs. He scrambled off the bed onto his knees, bowing his head so low his forehead nearly touched the floor.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I'm sorry."
The apologies spilled out breathlessly. A hand touched his shoulder. He flinched hard, body bracing for the impact he was sure would follow. Instead… soft pats landed against his shoulder.
Gentle.
"You didn't do anything wrong, sweety," the woman said quietly. "No need to be scared. We will never hurt you… if that's what you're worried about."
Huh…? What do you mean you won't hurt me?
People were supposed to be punished when they made mistakes.
She is lying.
"Come on," she continued softly. "Sit properly. And you don't need to apologize for feeling scared or anything."
He obeyed automatically, moving back onto the cot. Every instinct in him screamed that this woman was strange… and that Sol might lash out at any moment.
"Sol, do you want to step out?" she asked.
No response came.
"Let me know if you do."
Then her attention returned fully to Lyor.
"Do you remember your name? Or your age?"
She spoke slowly, carefully, like someone approaching a wounded animal.
Of course, I remember.
"Uh… Lyor Daniels. I'm eighteen years old."
"Eighteen?!" both adults exclaimed at the same time.
"No way," Sol added.
No no no no no… I should be able to work. Or else father will be angry.
"It's okay, it's okay," the woman said quickly. "We're just surprised that you… um… remember all that." She paused. "Almost no one remembers who they are when they arrive in Nemeteia. Do you perhaps remember where you were before here?"
The questions sounded strange.
"I… was in the bathroom."
"And before that?"
"At the office."
"What's an office?" she asked.
This time, Lyor could not stop himself from staring.
Was this place really that remote? It looked like a village from a television drama after all. Suddenly, it reminded him of the house made of sweets in the story of Hansel and Gretel, and its owner. Any remnants of hope that these people might be better than the ones in the company were washed away.
"It's… where people work if they belong to a company."
"Oh… okay." She nodded slowly. "So you remember who you are and where you were? All of that?"
"Yes."
"That's… great!" Her cheerfulness sounded forced to him, tipping his suspicion further. All this kindness must have been an act to coax him into working harder.
It did not matter. It was not like he had a choice.
Then he remembered something suddenly.
"The cat? Is it okay?" His eyes darted around the room.
She chuckled softly. "Yes. The cat is okay."
Relief flooded through him so strongly that his shoulders sagged. He wanted to see it again, just to be sure, but he held himself back from asking.
"Are there a lot of rats?" he asked hesitantly. "I can make traps if you want."
Yes, observe, adapt, make yourself useful.
"What makes you think there are rats here?" she asked, amusement threading her voice.
"Because you said that cat was the best hunter."
A beat of silence passed. Then the woman doubled over laughing.
The sound burst out of her like an old engine sputtering to life. Lyor blinked, confused, assuming he had guessed the infestation wrong. A mistake, and she was laughing about that without yelling.
"Or… was it cockroaches?" he added quickly. "I know how to catch them, too."
She laughed harder, to the point he was genuinely concerned she might stop breathing.
"Shut up," Sol muttered.
"So—sorry," Lyor said immediately.
"Not you," Sol replied.
"No, no… not you," the woman wheezed between breaths. "Me. It's just so funny that you thought we had a rat problem when I said hunter."
"Oh… sorry. So Hunter is his name. I'm glad Hunter is okay."
That only triggered another wave of laughter.
"It's not funny, you old woman!" Sol snapped.
Lyor mentally confirmed he should avoid antagonizing that man at all costs. Eventually, the woman regained control of herself, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes.
The universe seemed to hate him even at this new place. At that exact moment, Lyor's stomach growled loudly.
Mortifyingly loud.
He thought he heard Sol laugh under his breath before the man cleared his throat quickly.
"How inconsiderate of me," the woman said warmly. "Let me get something for you to eat."
She stood and headed toward the door, then glanced back.
"Sol, try not to scare the kid to death until I get back."
"I'm not a kid," Lyor blurted out before he could stop himself. His hands clenched immediately. "Sorry."
"No need to apologize, Lyor. I'll be right back."
She left the room.
And just like that, he was alone with the grumpy man.