Valenty nodded. "I've heard."
"I think Shawn might not be entirely suited for front-line missions," Calvin said carefully, his words a little halting as he searched for the right phrasing. "Whether it's his temperament or his abilities, he still seems a bit—"
"The base has, of course, taken that into account," Valenty replied with a light smile. "Given the current situation, you might be right—Shawn probably isn't ready for field deployment yet. But don't worry. We'll never send a reservist into danger unprepared. Besides," she paused, "not every Silver Needle is meant to charge into battle. Division of labor and coordination are always what matter most."
Hearing this, Calvin finally exhaled, a trace of tension leaving his shoulders.
He thumped his chest lightly a few times, as if shaking off the weight he'd been carrying—but some quiet worry still lingered behind his relief.
---
By evening, Hester and Liz had both returned to the student dormitory.
After entering her room, Hester collapsed straight onto her bed and fell asleep.
She didn't wake again until after eight o'clock. By that hour, the base cafeteria was already closed, so she thought about cooking something herself in the communal kitchen.
But that idea stayed only in her head. She lay still for a long time, staring at the ceiling, not moving at all.
Outside, the night was completely dark, yet a thin line of light filtered into the room—perhaps from a streetlamp, or something else. From time to time she could hear faint murmurs of conversation, though she couldn't tell whether they came from the building's lower floors or from an open window somewhere below.
A hazy dreamlike feeling crept over her again.
She recalled the song Liz had sung earlier—the so-called Silver Needle Battle Hymn was already a blur in her mind, but the foreign Askia Chant, whose lyrics she couldn't understand, remained vivid.
Liz had introduced her to several other members of the base today. Hester figured it was probably because, since joining, she'd barely interacted with anyone outside her roommates in Room 403 and a handful of instructors.
Liz had arranged all this—partly to coax her out of the dorms on a Sunday, partly to help her open up socially, even just a little.
Thinking about it now, Hester realized Liz must have been the "big sister" type back home; her care always came so naturally, so seamlessly.
Hester sighed softly. Whether it was in Shortbell Alley or Saint Anne's Convent, she had never managed to form deep ties with the world around her.
Yet in every place, there always seemed to be someone—like an anchor—keeping her from drifting too far into the margins.
Here, it was Liz.
At the convent, it had been Bertram.
And in Shortbell Alley… it was her mother.
Sometimes Hester couldn't understand how people found the strength to hold onto so many hopes—how they could keep facing the future like a flame that never went out.
She rose from bed barefoot and walked to the small side table by the window.
Sitting down on the iron chair, her feet brushed against the soft carpet beneath. She swung them gently, feeling the texture against her skin.
Then she leaned her cheek against the table, her fingers curling around the edge, her body folding over the cool surface.
Moonlight spilled through the window, glinting against the glass dome that covered a single paper rose.
Looking at it, Hester felt her heart grow calm again.
But somehow, it still wasn't enough.
There should have been someone standing there in the distance—
A hand reaching out to smooth her hair.
Her gaze slowly dropped to the silver key beneath the rose.
It was the one Chiba—now renamed Evelyn—had given her a few days ago.
She had placed it under the dome beside the rose, as if keeping two fragile memories together.
Hester stared at the key for a long moment, then gently lifted the glass cover and took it out.
She switched on the room light, found a piece of string, and threaded it through the key before hanging it around her neck.
But after a few seconds in front of the mirror, she frowned—it looked a little silly, and far too conspicuous.
So she took scissors, cut the string, wrapped it several times around her wrist, and tied it there instead.
Once she lowered her long sleeve, it was invisible.
After this small ritual, her earlier sluggishness completely vanished.
Hunger returned. She stood, stretched, and stepped outside.
---
When she opened the door, she saw Liz sprawled across the sofa beneath the living room window, a book in her hands.
They exchanged a silent greeting. Hester went to the storage corner near the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of purified water, and drank deeply.
She didn't realize she was blocking Liz's light, but Liz didn't complain—she just set her book down. "Were you sleeping in your room?"
"Mm." Hester nodded. "Got a bit hungry. Thought I'd make something."
Liz lay there watching as Hester worked—if you could call it that.
Her version of "making something" turned out to be boiling two eggs in plain water.
It was obvious she wasn't familiar with the induction stove; she stared at the black surface until it glowed red, only then believing it was hot enough to place the pot on.
The sight made Liz chuckle quietly.
Maybe Hester didn't realize it herself, but when she wasn't smiling, her expression always looked a bit fierce—that was probably why most people avoided talking to her. In class, the moment she sat down, her presence seemed to lower the temperature, her wary face silently warning keep your distance.
Even now, she still looked somewhat intimidating—but the awkwardness of her movements made it oddly endearing.
Liz didn't go over to help, but when Hester started looking around for something, she said softly, "The lid's in the cabinet below."
Hester crouched down and quickly found it.
After that, she wiped her damp hands absently on her clothes, then turned—Liz was back to reading again.
"Has Turan not come back yet?" Hester asked casually. Over the past few days, she'd barely seen her other two roommates. She knew Riga was still recovering in the underground infirmary, but Turan's continued absence was starting to feel strange.
"Mm. I think she's been training herself to exhaustion lately," Liz replied, rolling slightly onto her side. "The support center said it's best not to intervene. They think it's her way of letting things out."
Hester sat down at the large table in the living room. "I looked up Katra City yesterday."
Liz lowered her book again, turning her gaze toward Hester. "Yeah?"
"It's listed as one of the Fourth District's habitable zones," Hester continued. "When the incident happened, the Silver Needles intervened quickly, so there weren't many casualties… is that right?"
Liz nodded. "Mm."
"Then… is there something else behind it? Something that made her so obsessed with fighting?"
"Well…" Liz hesitated, thinking for a moment before answering.
"Usually, the chelating creatures that appear in habitable zones come from the wastelands. They find ways to slip past the barrier, bypass the isolation fields, and break through the outer defenses before entering the city.
To the victims, they seem like monsters falling from the sky—we call those secondary chelates.
"But what you encountered before, at the convent—when infection spreads among people, leading to outbreaks—that's called a primary chelate."
Liz scratched her head lightly, then looked back down at her book.
"Compared to primary ones, victims of secondary chelates tend to carry a deeper, purer hatred," she said softly. "Their desire to fight burns stronger."
She paused.
"…It's only human, I suppose."
---
(End of Chapter)
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