Rosalia — POV
She's fine. The fever was strong, but luckily she recovered quickly — maybe because she's one of the superpowered. In any case, there's nothing wrong with her body. A little rest and food and she'll be back to full strength." The doctor who had been examining me and taking my temperature said this. He had a pleasant, ordinary face and small gold-rimmed glasses.
We didn't stay with the doctor for long.
After I separated from Cassel I calmed down quickly. I asked Liz about the situation and was surprised to learn that Cassel had settled them in a multi-storey car park.
The place looked safe enough. Even if there weren't rooms or beds, at least the chance of a zombie attack on the fifth floor of this building was low — especially after Cassel's team had closed and secured the doors.
But that wasn't the problem.
The problem was that Cassel hadn't acted this way in the novel…
In the book, he didn't stop. After rescuing the heroine he headed straight into the city, never pausing despite suffering heavy losses in equipment and lives; he'd even been seriously injured, yet he never stopped.
So how? And why?
Something felt wrong.
I walked behind Liz, thinking it through and taking in my surroundings.
I had to admit: Cassel's team was damn good at their jobs.
In no time the empty space had filled with all sorts of things.
Tents of different sizes and colors were pitched — clearly grabbed in haste from shops along the road. There were chairs and tables, cooking gear — nothing luxurious, just some pots and small stoves that run on gas canisters…
My mind wasn't occupied with those objects or with the people bustling around, or with their identities.
I was trying to arrange every event of the novel in my head and line them up with what had happened since I arrived in this world.
I felt like I was about to catch a thread, on the verge of discovering something big… until —
My mind went completely blank.
One moment I had a map of cause and effect; the next, it was as if someone had torn the paper away.
The thread I'd been reaching for slipped through my fingers like smoke.
What thread?
Damn threads and damn everything.
When I saw the scene before me, I stopped thinking about anything else.
That bitch, I thought, my upper teeth pressing hard on my lip until I tasted metal.
Then I surged forward, walking fast and ignoring Liz's voice behind me.
My heart thudded.
My vision narrowed.
Time condensed into the space between two breaths. ….
"Brother Cassel, thank you for saving me earlier. And I'm sorry — I didn't know George was like that…" Mary bit her lip and looked up at Cassel with a soft, innocent gaze.
Cassel didn't show any expression. He said coldly and indifferently, "First, I am not your brother. Second, I dealt with that man because of what he did. That's it. There's no reason for you to come to me and talk about such nonsense — you're wasting my time."
The girl's eyes sparkled and she seemed on the verge of tears.
Then she stepped forward hesitantly and reached for the man's hand as if she wanted to touch it.
When I saw that, up close—
When I saw that fallen woman try to take Cassel's hand my eyes turned red with anger.
How dare she?
How dare she try to touch him?
My fury exploded in an instant. Without any warning, I took large strides and stood between them.
I slapped Mary's hand hard before she could even touch the back of Cassel's hand.
The sound of it snapped through the air like a whip.
Heads turned.
A wind of silence swept the space.
For a heartbeat, the world held its breath.
I stood with my back to Cassel; I didn't look at his face and I wasn't in the mood — my rage was enough to overturn seas and heavens.
"Don't you dare touch him, or— I'll kill you." The words came out between grinding teeth, overflowing with hatred and a killing intent that surged through my veins, nearly making me lunge at the wicked woman in front of me and strangle her slender neck, break it with force.
But I didn't. Some part of my mind still told me I couldn't kill the heroine just like that. I knew I shouldn't act that way.
Still, the thought of what she had done to my dear Cassel, the knowledge of her intentions, made me want to tear her limb from limb.
"I— I— why are you treating me like this? I just wanted to speak with Mr. Zancroft."
The heroine looked at me as if I had killed her parents, that look accusing me of bullying her unfairly.
Fine. The heroine of this world had always acted more like a green-tea courtesan than the story's lead.
"Listen to me carefully. I don't care about you or your schemes. But it would be better if you kept your plans — away from him. Don't come near him. Better yet, stay at least ten meters away from him from today on. Try anything again and see what I do to you."
I had no patience to reason with her.
I wanted to turn and take Cassel away from her, but then a loud, arrogant voice cut across the tense hush.
"Mary! Mary!"
Its owner approached — hair the color of blinding yellow, a face twisted with spite and disgust.
Cecil said, "You filthy— how dare you bully my lover? Do you know who I am?" He raised his useless hand as if to slap me.
My jaw clenched, ready to snap. I was about to respond when— without warning — a strong arm wrapped around my waist and yanked me back.
The force nearly lifted me off the ground and made me dizzy.
Air whooshed from my lungs. I tasted fear — sharp, metallic, immediate. When I opened my eyes to see what was in front of me I was speechless.
Before me, Cecil held his hand — round in a strange way.
By "strange" I mean: the human body shouldn't be able to—
Oh, oh… damn. Cassel had broken the brat's hand.
Silence shattered into sharp, stunned gasps.
Cecil's face warped between fury and pain.
Mary's mouth opened and closed like a fish's.
Cassel's expression didn't change — but now the room smelled of iron and something else: consequence.
And in that beat of paused chaos, I realized something.
Something was different. Something dangerous had shifted.
I didn't know whether to be relieved or terrified.
And whatever came next would not wait politely for me to understand.
I swallowed.
My throat was dry.
My pulse hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.
Outside, beyond the sealed doors, shadows pressed close.
Inside, a broken hand trembled in Cecil's lap.
Then — before I could decide what to do — someone shouted from the far end of the garage.
A new voice.
A new alarm.
I turned to see the newcomer.