"Kenny, the town is yours for a few hours," Boyd said outside the sheriff's station. "I'm going to visit my wife. It's been a while."
"The residents are a bit restless," Kenny commented, not convinced he could keep order at a time like this.
"I've already talked to Donna. She'll keep an eye on the Colony House people." The sheriff pointed inside the station, where the leader was temporarily staying with some of the residents.
"If anything happens, Khatri will help too. I won't be gone long." He needed to start preparing Kenny to take his place.
The deputy nodded reluctantly as Boyd walked away.
Heading toward the forest, the sheriff hiked for a few minutes until he reached a silent clearing.
At the center, a rough wooden cross marked the grave.
After what his wife had done, he thought it was best to bury her far from town.
"Hey, sweetheart," he murmured, kneeling in front of the cross. "I know it took me a while to come. Things... things got hectic again."
He looked up at the treetops, searching for words that seemed to slip away. "We were doing so well, you know? Everything was working out. It almost started to feel like..."
A shaky sigh escaped his lips. "But the deaths came back. One after another."
"And yesterday, with that attack... I almost lost Ellis," he confessed, his voice trembling slightly.
"But Jim and Jade, the newcomers, came up with this idea to build a radio tower on top of Colony House. I hope that leads somewhere."
He lowered his gaze to his own palm. "My hand started shaking just like my father's, so the countdown began... If that tower doesn't lead to anything, I need to act fast and find a way to get Ellis out of here, get everyone out of here."
---
Inside the armored, magically expanded comfort of the motorhome, Daniel was fighting his own battle. One far less emotional and far more irritating.
Sitting at the table, he stared at an unlined notebook he had just bought from the System Shop for 20 coins.
Beside him, a peculiar silver needle gleamed under the light. An absurd bargain at 1,000 coins.
"Let's begin," he muttered to the empty space.
He held the needle like a fountain pen and started tracing the first symbol onto the page. There was no ink. Instead, the tip left behind a white trail, draining directly from his Spiritual Energy.
Daniel began the process with 80 points of energy, thanks to the natural regeneration that had occurred after setting the traps.
The moment he made the first curve, a sharp throb hit his temple, like downing a cup of coffee that was way too strong. The energy flowed from his body into the metal tip, demanding exhausting concentration.
A millimeter off the axis of the design, and the sheet cracked before tearing in half with a faint blue spark.
"Patience is a virtue," he murmured, flipping the page.
The second attempt failed ten minutes later when he hesitated on the pressure. The third failed because the curve was too sharp. With every mistake, his energy bar dropped.
By the fourth attempt, a thin layer of sweat covered Daniel's forehead. He guided the needle with surgical precision, the white line shimmering perfectly... until near the end, where the needle slipped ever so slightly. The paper burned at the edges, and the drawing vanished.
He set the needle down on the table and leaned back with a heavy sigh. Half an hour of practice gone, and 40 energy points burned in the process.
[If you keep this pace, we'll have to deforest the entire Amazon just to supply you with paper. And your energy doesn't grow on trees. Ironically.]
"Honestly? I thought it'd be worse," Daniel admitted, running a hand over his face. "I'll get it on the next ones."
He decided to stop there. With 40 points of Spiritual Energy remaining, it was better to save them for emergencies.
Standing up, he began organizing the motorhome's interior. He had cleared out drawers and freed up part of the built-in wardrobe. A few moments later, three light knocks echoed on the door.
Daniel opened it to find Julie.
"Lunch is ready," she said with a small smile.
Lunch at the Matthews' house felt like a family trying to pretend everything was normal. Jim chewed his food with a complicated expression, occasionally glancing at Daniel.
Ethan, on the other hand, wouldn't stop talking about the game, earning a few reprimands from his mother.
"It was excellent," Daniel said, pushing his empty plate away.
After the meal, they officially initiated the move. Julie made a few trips between the house and the motorhome, carrying bed sheets and some belongings her mother had given her.
With everything finally in place, Daniel turned on the large flat-screen in the living area and put on The Avengers. Julie sat beside him on the couch.
Meanwhile, inside the Matthews' house, the front door was thrown open. Jade walked in without knocking, as usual.
"Kenny just passed the message along. The sheriff talked to the mechanic. He agreed to help and will lend us some batteries he had stored. We need to go pick that stuff up."
Jim wiped his hands on a cloth and stood up, his expression sharpening with purpose. "Good. The faster we handle this, the better."
The two of them left in a hurry. Tabitha stayed behind, starting to tidy up the house, trying to keep her mind occupied.
At the back of the house, Ethan sat on the wooden bench, completely absorbed in the handheld console Daniel had lent him.
About five minutes passed before the sound of slow footsteps broke the boy's concentration.
Rick approached, hands stuffed into his pockets, his posture slouched. "What are you playing?"
Ethan hesitated, his thumbs freezing over the buttons. The memory of how that man had almost hurt his sister was still fresh in his mind.
Still, Rick had apologized, hadn't he? His mother had always taught him that people deserved second chances.
"Crash," Ethan replied, his voice cautious.
"Good game," Rick commented. His voice sounded oddly restrained, almost dragged out. "I've beaten it before."
"I think it's really hard," the boy admitted, turning his eyes back to the screen, his small fingers pressing the buttons tightly.
"Can I watch you play for a bit?" Rick asked, taking another step forward.
Ethan considered it for a second. There didn't seem to be any danger in just letting the man watch. He gave a small nod.
Rick moved closer, continuing forward until he invaded the boy's personal space and sat beside him.
He stayed silent for a few seconds longer than normal.
Then, in an absurdly fast and violent blur, Rick's rough hand shot forward and clamped over Ethan's mouth. His other arm wrapped around the boy's waist, wrenching him straight off the bench in one sharp motion. The console slipped from his hands, falling onto the grass.
Pure panic took over Ethan. He tried to scream, but only a muffled sound came out against the man's dirty palm. The boy kicked and thrashed, but Rick's grip was crushing.
Without wasting a second, Rick began dragging him backward toward the dark tree line.
Inside the house, the quiet routine was broken by a noise coming from the back. Tabitha, who had been finishing folding a dish towel, frowned.
She quickly walked to the back door, expecting to see Ethan complaining about a difficult level in the game, but what her eyes caught made her heart nearly stop.
"Ethan!" she screamed, stumbling out the back door. "Let him go!"
Rick stopped abruptly at the edge of the forest. With a fluid motion that didn't match his sloppy posture, he pulled a revolver from his waistband and pressed the cold metal barrel directly against Ethan's temple.
Tabitha froze instantly.
"Take one more step and his brains paint this grass," Rick snarled. His eyes were wide, gleaming maniacally.
"What do you want?!" Tabitha begged, tears already streaming down her face, her hands raised in surrender. "Please, let him go!"
"Someone's very interested in your son," Rick said, a sick smile curling his cracked lips. "Call Daniel. Go on. Maybe Blondie can save the boy."
Rick's fractured mind worked at a twisted pace. The plan was perfect: carry out both orders at once—take the boy to the forest and lure Daniel into a deadly trap.
That morning, the whispering voice in his head had promised to reveal the exact moment to act. He had spent the entire day waiting, until just moments ago, when the invisible command finally guided him here.
Tabitha didn't think twice. She spun on her heels and ran like mad toward the motorhome.
Meanwhile, inside the vehicle, the atmosphere couldn't have been more different. The powerful sound system filled the space with the explosions of The Avengers. Julie was curled up on the couch beside Daniel, her eyes fixed on the screen.
"You have to admit," Daniel commented, not taking his eyes off the TV as he sliced a piece of apple with the tip of a pocketknife, "Stark is the only one with a decent sense of style in that group. The rest look like they walked out of a failed cosplay convention. Especially Captain America."
Julie was about to respond, but her voice was drowned out by violent, rhythmic pounding on the metal door.
"Daniel! Daniel, open this door!"
Tabitha's scream carried an agony that made Julie jump off the couch instantly. Daniel snapped the knife shut and stood up quickly, opening the door in one sharp move.
Tabitha stood there, her face twisted into a mask of terror, her hands trembling.
"He took Ethan! Rick took Ethan!"
Daniel's gaze darkened, turning cold and predatory. He didn't ask a single useless question, didn't tell her to calm down, didn't hesitate. He simply jumped down the steps and burst into a sprint in the direction Tabitha frantically pointed.
Tabitha's desperate screams shattered the calm of the street. A few doors creaked open, and curious, frightened residents began stepping onto their porches to see what was happening.
Julie, who had been frozen watching the direction Daniel had run, felt her mother's firm grip on her arm, snapping her out of it.
"Julie, call the sheriff and your father. Now!" Tabitha ordered before turning her back on her daughter and running toward the tree line, following Daniel's path.
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