The manor loomed like a sleeping beast, its silhouette jagged against the bruised sky. Allan's car rolled up the gravel driveway, headlights slicing through the mist. Inside, Esmeralda sat with a grin stretched across her face, eyes wide with a strange, almost giddy light.
Allan glanced at her. "You've been smiling since we left the fight. What's going on in that head of yours?"
Esmeralda giggled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I don't know. It's just... you and Cassodie. That was insane. You were like—like something out of a myth. The way you moved, the way she glowed... I've never seen anything like it."
"We killed twenty-one people," Allan said flatly.
"They weren't people," she replied, her voice soft but firm. "Not really. You saw what they were."
He didn't answer. His eyes drifted to the backseat where Cassodie lay unconscious, her body limp, her golden aura extinguished. He remembered the way she'd fought before he stepped in—her movements fluid, her body bathed in that ethereal glow. It had been beautiful. Terrifying. Now, she looked fragile. Mortal.
He parked the car. The manor's windows were dark. At 4 a.m., no one stirred.
"We need to get her inside," he said.
Esmeralda nodded, her excitement dimming. Together, they carried Cassodie through the grand entrance, the echo of their footsteps swallowed by the vastness of the 272-room mansion.
They wandered for what felt like hours, the corridors twisting like veins. Allan cursed under his breath.
"You've worked here for five years," he said. "How are we lost?"
Esmeralda hesitated. "I've never been in this wing."
"Why?"
"I wasn't allowed."
Eventually, they stumbled upon a room unlike any other—its door warped, the air around it thick with something foul. Inside, the walls were lined with empty shelves, and the floor was coated in a viscous fluid that shimmered unnaturally.
"Is this... a lab?" Allan asked.
"No It's heaven of course It's a lab." Esmeralda banefully said probably due to the fact that Allan got distracted and left her to carry Cassodie who was heavier than a log.
Allan took up the responsibility in a way to signify it's relative ease. Esmeralda frowned while Allan lay her on a work bend which was suspiciously empty enough to lay Cassodie and was just big enough to lay her. He confirmed it this mansion had empathy or he was a conspiracy theorist.
Esmeralda knelt, touching the fluid. "Lubricant. Industrial. But why here?"
On the far wall, Allan spotted a photo. His breath caught. A woman with sharp eyes and a knowing smile. His grandmother. The one his mother swore he'd never met.
"That's impossible," he whispered.
Esmeralda didn't hear him. She was already tending to Cassodie, improvising with torn cloth and antiseptic she'd found in a rusted cabinet. Miraculously, the bleeding slowed.
"She'll live," Esmeralda said.
"How do you know?"
"She isn't bleeding Idiot."
Allan watched her. "You're good at this."
"I have to be," she replied, her voice suddenly brittle.
He helped her lift Cassodie again. As they walked, he asked, "Why were you so desperate to know about our powers?"
Esmeralda stopped. Her eyes shimmered with tears. "Because I'm dying."
"What?"
"A disease. It runs in my family. We die at thirty-two. I'm thirty."
Allan felt the weight of her words settle in his chest. "I'm sorry."
She smiled weakly. "I don't want sympathy. I want answers. I saw what you did. I saw Cassodie's aura. I need to know what that was. I need to know if it can help me."
Allan looked away. "I wish I could tell you. I don't understand it myself. Cassodie and I... we're connected to something. A system, maybe. But it doesn't speak. It doesn't explain. It just... reacts."
Esmeralda's face fell. "So you don't know how it works?"
"No. I don't know what triggers it. I don't know what it wants. I don't even know if it's real."
She nodded slowly, tears slipping down her cheeks. "Then I'm out of time."
Later, while Esmeralda rested, Allan explored the room again. In a drawer beneath a broken desk, he found a box labeled with his name. Below it, in his grandfather's handwriting: Inheritance.
He didn't open it. Not yet. Something told him it wasn't time. The same feeling that had drawn him to Cassodie, that magnetic pull he couldn't explain. The system—whatever it was—was guiding him.
Esmeralda found him again. "Take it," she said. "I don't trust this place. Or myself."
He nodded, tucking the box under his arm.
Cassodie's room was warm, filled with soft light from a single lamp. Melody sat cross-legged on the bed, her expression cheerful.
"You're late," she said. "I had to clean up your mess. Twenty-one bodies. You owe me."
Allan blinked. "You're not mad?"
"Oh, I'm furious. But I'll get over it."
She turned to Esmeralda, who stood awkwardly in the doorway. "You're new."
Esmeralda nodded. "I—yes."
Melody smiled. "Cassodie will be fine."
Allan frowned. "How do you know?"
"I just do."
They left the room, but Allan couldn't stop thinking about Esmeralda. Her smile. Her tears. Her ticking clock.
Back in his quarters, Allan opened the box. Inside, nestled among old papers, was a petri dish labeled Plan B. The system stirred.
A-grade item. Relieves all afflictions.
His heart pounded. This was it. Esmeralda's answer. Her salvation.
He stared at the dish, torn. If he gave it to her, she might live. But what if Cassodie needed it? What if he did?
The system offered no guidance. Only silence.
Allan sat in the dark, the petri dish glowing faintly in his palm, and wondered what kind of man he truly was.