The trio slipped into the mortuary one by one.
Wednesday went first through the vent, landing lightly inside. Enid followed with considerably less grace. Ethan paused, assessed the opening, then shook his head.
"That's not happening," he muttered.
In a blink, black mist curled around him. A bat emerged and darted through the vent, wings folding neatly as it dropped into the room. A moment later, the mist gathered again, reshaping into Ethan's human form.
The mortuary was quiet.
Fluorescent lights hummed faintly overhead. Stainless steel surfaces reflected cold, distorted versions of them. Along one wall, a security camera stared blankly—pointed uselessly toward concrete.
Why it was facing the concrete instead of the room—Ethan had already turned it that way earlier with his telekinesis.
Enid's attention slowly drifted to the far wall, where rows of metal doors lined the surface. She pointed, hesitantly.
"Are there… bodies in those?" Enid asked, pointing uncertainly at the row of metal doors lining the wall.
"This is a mortuary," Wednesday replied flatly. "What were you expecting? Seasonal decorations?"
Enid grimaced. "I was hoping for less confirmation."
Unfazed, Wednesday had already moved on. She crossed the room and opened the office door at the back, stepping inside. Her eyes immediately swept over the shelves and filing cabinets, cataloging everything in seconds.
She began pulling files, flipping through them with practiced efficiency.
Ethan leaned against the doorway, watching her work. "By the way," he asked, "where's Thing?"
"He's conducting his own investigation," Wednesday said without looking up.
She gathered several folders—reports from previous monster victims, along with the most recent file belonging to the victim whose murder had been pinned on Ethan. She skimmed through each one carefully, her expression sharpening as patterns began to form.
She took copies of the files for her investigation.
Then she moved on.
Wednesday crossed back into the main mortuary, stopping in front of one of the metal drawers. She gripped the handle and pulled.
The freezer slid open with a low scrape of metal.
Inside lay the body, pale beneath the harsh fluorescent lights, wrapped and motionless. Cold air spilled outward as the drawer extended fully.
Wednesday's gaze sharpened immediately.
It was a female victim.
She leaned closer, eyes tracing the injuries with detached focus. On the right side of the waist, partially obscured, was a clean incision.
She paused.
"That's not from the claws," Wednesday said quietly. "The edges are too precise."
She studied it a moment longer. "This looks like it was made with a surgical blade."
She slipped on her gloves without comment and pressed gently around the wound, examining the damage with careful precision, checking for signs of tampering or anything that had been taken.
Behind her, Enid had gone very still.
"…Ew," she managed.
That was as far as she got.
Her knees buckled, and she tipped sideways.
Ethan reacted instantly, catching her before she hit the floor. He steadied her, lowering her carefully against his chest.
"She's out," he said calmly, checking her breathing. "Just fainted."
He looked up at Wednesday. "What did you two do before coming here?"
"Nothing unusual," Wednesday replied. "We broke into a crime scene and searched a murder house."
Ethan blinked.
"…Right," he said. "That explains it."
For someone who had never seen blood—or anything remotely like this—it was far too much to process in a single day.
Like that, Wednesday examined the remaining bodies.
Each drawer told the same story.
Missing organs. Clean incisions. No tearing. No hesitation marks.
Every removal was precise.
Surgical.
She stepped back, folding her arms.
"This monster isn't acting on impulse," Wednesday said. "It's like a serial killer. One that collects trophies. And whoever it is has medical knowledge."
She turned as she finished speaking—and stopped.
Ethan was standing a few feet away, Enid cradled in his arms in an unmistakable princess carry. Enid was still unconscious, her head resting against his shoulder, breathing steady.
Wednesday stared at them for a moment longer than necessary.
"Why," she asked flatly, "are you carrying her instead of waking her up?"
Ethan glanced down at Enid, then back at Wednesday. "For my happiness."
"Your happiness?" she repeated. "Do you have nothing in your head except teenage hormones?"
Ethan smiled, unapologetic. "Multitasking exists."
Wednesday scoffed. "You're incapable of taking anything seriously for more than five minutes."
"That's not true," Ethan replied. "I take murder very seriously."
She should have dismissed it.
Instead, she felt something twist in her chest—sharp, irritating, and entirely unwelcome.
Annoyance, she told herself. Purely annoyance.
Yet her gaze lingered again on the way Enid rested against him so easily. How natural it looked.
She didn't like that feeling.
She liked even less that she couldn't immediately name it.
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Jealousy doesn't suit you."
"I'm not jealous," Wednesday snapped.
The speed of the response irritated her further.
She turned away abruptly. "Wake her up. We're leaving."
Ethan adjusted his grip slightly but didn't move. "You know," he said casually, "you should admit your feelings instead of boiling them inside. If you keep doing that, they tend to burst."
Wednesday turned her head just enough to look at him.
"If I had feelings worth admitting," she said coolly, "you wouldn't be standing there diagnosing me."
Ethan smiled. "Not denying it. Noted."
"And irrelevant," Wednesday added.
He shrugged, unfazed. "By the way—do you have anyone for the Raven Dance?"
Wednesday's expression didn't change. "Why would that concern you?"
"I was thinking of asking you out," Ethan said.
She paused, just long enough to acknowledge it. "Aren't you going with Enid?"
"Who says I can't go to Raven with two girls?" Ethan replied.
*****
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