"I assume you know why we're here."
Eric blinked up at the doctor, lab coat, medicated glasses perched on his nose, false warmth in his eyes that hinted at having seen too much.
Blond hair was tied back in a neat man bun, and he stood expectantly, waiting for answers.
But that was the problem, Eric thought, exhaling heavily. He had a mess of clues swirling in his head, yet none seemed significant enough to warrant the weapon-wielding enforcers surrounding him.
Was it the car? Old vehicles were banned worldwide—something about preserving the last scraps of the ozone layer.
Reason he drove at night, usually for shady clients who needed items hidden from daylight. The cash was good, and there was never a dull moment—until the work dried up.
Which was why he'd gone to the Bureau.
The bed beneath him felt too thin, as if it might collapse if he pressed too hard. But he knew it wasn't the bed making him uneasy—it was Drenvar, still glaring at him, making him shift uncomfortably.
Fuck.
His mind reeled from the system's reboot. Whatever that was, whatever had just happened, was a problem for future Eric.
Present Eric had a more immediate issue: the armed enforcers in his hospital room. If he added up all his minor crimes, his ass was about to be thrown into a dungeon.
"I assume you know why we're here," the doctor repeated. A polite way of saying, 'dont test me.'
Eric wet his lips. "The car wasn't mine."
Drenvar's expression didn't shift—just a slow blink, as if assessing how much of an idiot he was dealing with. After their last encounter, Eric wasn't sure he wanted him to find out.
Without a word, Drenvar slammed a stack of papers onto his lap. "Do not go that route."
Veyle was physically intimidating, slicked back black hair, broad-shouldered like enforcers tend to be, and with the added power clinging to him, he made the room harder to breathe in.
Eric shuffled through the photos: him sprawled bloody and unconscious on the floor, charred debris and collapsed structures in the background. But something was off about these pictures.
No ash. Not a smudge or smear on him. He flipped through them faster—the building, the stadium, all collapsed—but no ash.
His stomach twisted. Was the ash a hallucination too? Like the girl? Like the screen they clearly weren't seeing? Was he losing it?
"Was there a reason you drove to the South checkpoint alone? In the middle of the night?" Drenvar pressed. "Is there a reason you're not dead?"
But Eric noticed the questions he didn't ask. Veiny split in half? Ashspawns obliterated by the light? The ashfall? As much as he wanted to scream it all, that damn thing pulsed:
[Say nothing about the events leading to your fall. +5 points]
Sweat streaked down his forehead, his back, soaking into the hospital gown.
The images told one story—him, unconscious in a disaster zone—but his memory told another. The ash had been everywhere. He'd felt it clogging his throat, his lungs. He'd seen it swirling, remnants of whatever had burned. Yet here, in the clinical evidence in his hands, there was none.
So he wasn't even lying when he muttered, "I don't… I don't know what's going on, man."
"Something wrong?" Veyle asked, too casual.
Eric hesitated. He was in deep shit—that much was clear—but how deep depended on what Veyle really wanted. If this was about the car, the smuggling, or even his Bureau run-in, he could bullshit his way out like always.
But if it was about this—whatever this was—he was playing a game without knowing the rules.
He stared at his hands and murmured, "I was on my way home when my car exploded. In the process of hiding…" Veiny's memory flickered. "I fell."
A shadow fell over him. He knew it was Drenvar before he even looked up.
Drenvar held his gaze and Eric made the mistake of turning away.
The doctor cleared his throat and rose. "It's likely you don't remember much after the explosion and fall. We all thought you died. The heart monitor stopped beeping, and the nurse who's currently having a panic attack was here to pull the plug."
Eric smiled bitterly. "Maybe I'm just lucky."
His stats blared red.
"Hmm," the doctor said, a small smile on his own lips. "Yes, luck." He turned, walking toward a guard who already had a suitcase open. From it, he withdrew a syringe, raising it overhead so the pointed tip glinted in the light. "Unfortunately, luck has nothing to do with my area of expertise. Four days ago, your assessment came back pink. Coincidence is too costly a belief."
Eric didn't like how he said coincidence, like a curse. He didn't like how the guard reached for their guns, as if expecting him to bolt.
He really didn't like that syringe.
"You're an anomaly, Eric." The doctor turned, catching Eric's expression, and stifled a laugh. "No, you're not in trouble. But with your consent, I'd like to draw some blood for further testing."
Eric stared at the syringe, then at the doctor's too-polite smile.
His fingers curled against his legs. "And if I say no?"
Drenvar tilted his head,. "Why would you say no?"
The two enforcers at the door straightened slightly.
The doctor smirked. "Then we wait. You'll be under surveillance until we determine what happened to you, one way or another. Blood tests would simply expedite the process."
Expedite. Right. Because having enforcers breathing down his neck indefinitely sounded like a great alternative.
For a Bureau that had demanded he never show up for testing again, they were hell-bent on running him through that damn machine now.
Exhaling, Eric stretched out his wrist. "Fine. Do whatever you want."
The doctor smiled. "Thank you for your compliance."
The screen flickered.
[First Quest Completed]
[+5 Points Earned]
[Lying looks good on you]
A breath he hadn't realized he was holding slipped free.
Trapped. For the first time in his life, he felt truly trapped.
****
"We all thought you died…"
Died.
The thought hit him like a freight train as he stood behind the transparent door of a mag-lev tube, a couple of Drenvar's soldiers stationed in front of him.
Though the transport was ultra-fast, it was limited to upper- and middle-class cities. Places like Neal City still relied on congested trains.
Inside the lev tube, he clutched his chest, eyes wide at an outside he couldn't quite see, feeling his loud, erratic heartbeat—or was it his?
"…The heart monitor stopped beeping, and the nurse who's currently having a panic attack was here to pull the plug."
System Activation
Eric gripped harder, his other hand clinging to the crutches supporting his left leg. It had taken a hell of a lot of convincing to assure Drenvar he was fit to go home—and another hour to talk him out of a tracking chip.
He just needed to get back to Kael. That would be impossible if he collapsed in front of these men. They'd haul him back to that bed in seconds.
And time…
Eric straightened, glaring ahead. Something told him time was too precious to waste in a hospital.
He'd go home, put Kael's mind at ease, and if that damn screen persisted—still burning bright at the back of his mind—then whatever they were would soon learn how far he'd go to survive.
But first, Kael.
Reaching Neal City, he noticed it wasn't on fire. Eric exhaled heavily, his grip on the crutch easing. He wondered how she was doing—not well, if she wasn't answering her phone.
He bit back a sad smile. He wished he could tell her how narrowly he'd escaped death, but he couldn't—not when he wasn't sure if the thing inside him was a blessing or a curse.
Minutes later, the pod stopped in front of that rickety house, more steel than brick, slowly falling apart. A small smile crept onto his lips, bittersweet. Somehow, he'd made it home. He didn't know how, but he had.
He hobbled out of the parted glass door, sensing them follow. He turned and shook his head. "I'll take it from here."
Drenvar's men exchanged a glance but didn't argue. Their orders likely didn't extend beyond escorting him, though Eric had no doubt they'd watch from afar. He ignored them, adjusting his grip on the crutch as he limped toward the front door.
It wasn't locked.
He pushed it open, and a gust of hot air slammed into his face.
Eric tightened his grip on the crutch and forced himself inside, his limp more pronounced now that adrenaline was fading. He reached the small hallway leading to the bedrooms and pushed open her door—
She wasn't there.
Except for her phone, lying idly on her purple bed, burnt and hard–melted into a grotesque form of what it had once been.
"Kael…" he whispered.
He turned toward the exit, reaching the door, when he heard it.
"He said he'll come. He promised, Nat."
The bathroom.
Even before he reached the door, he could see her in his mind's eye: surrounded by ice in the bathtub, hands curled around her knees, damp hair falling as she stared into nothing, seeing something others couldn't.
"He's going to come," she murmured again. "Eric… he's not… he's alive… Maybe… Maybe he got stuck… maybe if… if…we go out...we find him"
"Kael, take a deep breath," Natalie's voice cut in—soft, concerned, yet unapologetically authoritative. "This is the last of the ice. I can't get more without raising suspicions."
"But he's going to come… Eric will…"
Eric barely registered the pain in his leg as he moved.
His fingers found the door handle, trembling from exhaustion. He'd have liked to change before going in, but Kael needed him.
With a breath, he pushed the door open.
The bathroom was dim, the only light a flickering panel from the hallway dropping more shadows than light over the cracked tiles. The air was atrociously heavy. Melted plastic, something burning that didn't smell like anything he could place his finger on.
There, in the white bathtub, Kael sat curled into herself, in purple pajamas, knees drawn to her chest. The ice around her was melting, making bubbles pooling at the tub's edges.
Her lips were blue.
Natalie knelt beside her, brows furrowed, dark eyes flashing with exhausted worry. Sweat rolled down her white singlet as she dropped more ice into the tub.
"I kept calling," Kael mumbled, her voice hoarse, as if she'd screamed herself raw. "But the phone… it burned. It just—" Her breath hitched, and she shook her head. "I tried to hold on. But it's so hot, Nat. It won't stop burning." She buried her face in her palms. "It's all my fault. It's my fault."
Eric exhaled. "No, it's not."
His voice trembled, but he wasn't about to care.
The room froze.
Her head jerked up. For a moment didn't breathe, only stared through him, as if uncertain he was real.
"Eric?"
"Hey glow stick."
Then she lurched forward, nearly slipping on the ice as she flung herself at him, arms wrapping so tight around his neck, he was knocked out of balance for just a second.
Eric swallowed the pain.
She was hotter than an open flame, ready to burn anything in her path.
"You're late," she choked out a sob. "I was so afraid… I thought you died." Her tears drenched his shoulders. "I felt… I felt you die…"
He couldn't tell her she was wrong, nor could he tell her she was right.
What was he supposed to say to her? Yes, Kael, I died. But I came back. No, I don't know how. No, I don't know what I am now.
Instead, he exhaled, pushed the thought out of his head and pressed his chin to the top of her head.
"It's alright," he breathed. "I'm here now…"
A lie? Faith? He wasn't sure.
Kael only clung harder.
He squeezed his eyes shut.