After a few minutes of internal fangirling, Cyrus's father finally snapped. His voice boomed through the room, stern and disapproving. "Cyrus, what the hell is wrong with you? You've been wasting away in this hospital bed, like you've completely checked out from reality! Get a grip already. You're a disgrace—my son in name only, but acting like some pathetic waste of space. Start behaving like you're worth something, or don't bother calling yourself my kid." His father's sharp tone hit the air like a punch, making the room fall into an awkward silence. His words sent a ripple through the rest of the family, their eyes widening in shock as if he had just said something truly scandalous. The weight of his outburst left everyone frozen, unsure how to react.
Cyrus, trying to ignore the tension now thick in the room, looked away, turning his head toward the far corner as if something there was suddenly fascinating. He couldn't bear the weight of their stares, especially not after his father's words. Next to him stood the nurse, a beautiful woman with delicate curls of blonde hair cascading down her shoulders. She smiled sweetly, dimples forming in her cheeks as she adjusted the machines and checked his vitals, her presence the picture of calm professionalism. But to Cyrus, her soft demeanor only added to his irritation. He had no interest in making small talk or pretending to care about her kind gestures. Her smile felt intrusive, like someone trying to invade the private fortress of his thoughts.
He sighed internally, his patience thinning. The only person he wanted to think about, the only face he longed to see, was the one that haunted his mind—the killer. The nurse, with her perfect curls and glowing dimples, meant nothing to him. She was just another meaningless presence in the room, one that only reminded him of how far he was from the man who truly mattered to him. His true love. His obsession. The one who both terrified and captivated him.
He glanced over and saw one of his cousins standing nearby. Out of all his relatives, she looked the most like him, sharing the same distinctive features that set them apart from the rest of the family. It was something passed down from their grandmother, who had vitiligo, a condition that caused patches of her skin to lose pigment. Unlike their grandmother, his grandfather had an even skin tone, so the vitiligo only appeared on one side of the family. Cyrus had inherited it, just as his aunt had, and now his cousin bore the same mark. The condition seemed to create an unspoken bond between them, something deeper than just shared blood.
Cyrus's mother, though, was a different story. She had passed away years ago, and in every picture Cyrus had seen of her—the ones he had dug up from that old box with the blue pocket knife—her skin was flawless, with no sign of vitiligo. It puzzled him sometimes. If his mother never had it, and his father certainly didn't, how had he been the one to inherit this genetic trait? He had overheard hushed conversations when he was younger, relatives wondering how his skin mirrored that of his grandmother's, skipping over his parents entirely. It had been a surprise to everyone when Cyrus was born with those pale, patchy marks. The family hadn't expected it, especially since his mother's skin had been smooth and untouched by the condition, at least in every photograph he'd ever found.
Yet, somehow, against all odds, his grandmother had passed her unique skin down to him. It felt almost like a legacy, one that skipped generations, leaving him with more questions than answers. He couldn't help but wonder sometimes if there was something deeper, something hidden in his family's past that connected them in ways they couldn't fully understand. His gaze fell on his cousin.
Cyrus remembered how close they used to be. He was only two when his mother passed away, but in those brief years, they'd spent a lot of time together. Emily had been a constant presence during those early days, before everything changed. Now, after a few awkward seconds of looking at her across the room, he realized something was off. Emily, who usually kept a low profile, seemed to be on high alert. She wasn't like the rest of their family, who had finally decided to leave the hospital, offering well-worn smiles and reassurances. Emily stayed behind, her eyes darting around as if searching for something unspoken.
Cyrus watched her with growing curiosity. It wasn't long before she walked over, her footsteps soft and uncertain. Her gaze shifted and locked with his, holding a quiet intensity. Without a word, she sat down on the hospital bed, right by his feet. Her presence was so close, yet hesitant. Seeing her perched on the edge of the bed, Cyrus quickly sat up, adjusting himself to give her more space to sit properly. He felt a strange need to bridge the distance between them, to offer her comfort in this sudden, quiet moment of reunion.
Emily finally spoke, her voice barely a whisper, almost swallowed by the sterile silence of the hospital room. "Why... What's happening?..." Her tone was laced with uncertainty, her words fragmented as though she wasn't sure how to phrase the thoughts tumbling through her mind.
She had always been different, even as a kid. Quiet, withdrawn, never the one to initiate conversation unless it was with him. They had shared something special back then, a closeness he hadn't felt with anyone else in the family. But that was before the funeral. Before his mother's death shattered the fragile bonds that held their family together. When she died, it sent shockwaves through them all, and at the funeral, everyone had been distant—so wrapped up in their grief that they had barely spoken to one another. It was the beginning of the slow drift that pulled them all apart.
He hadn't seen Emily in years. Not since the day of the funeral when his aunt, Emily's mother, had been so overwhelmed by grief that she cut off all communication with the rest of the family. Emily had disappeared from his life almost overnight, their once close relationship severed by the unspoken weight of sorrow. He had missed her, but there had been no chance to reconnect—until now. And looking at her, seeing the worry etched across her face, Cyrus realized that maybe she had needed him just as much as he had needed her all those years.
Cyrus hugged her, and started crying. Over time it became overwhelming to try to solve St. Greys Case and also find out who that man was, Plus his feelings towards the man were even more overwhelming. He knew he loved the man but he also knew he shouldn't. out of all the feelings he felt one was the greatest, he was scared. Scared to tell anyone about what he found, who he was, and how he liked that killer.
Emily immediately hugged him back, her arms wrapping around him with more strength than her frail frame suggested. Her body, though delicate, felt reassuring in the moment, a thin layer of warmth amidst the cold tension that had built up inside him. She was pale—so pale that her skin reminded Cyrus of the snow in the dead of winter, untouched and cold. Her small, dark curls hung gently around her neck, framing her face, which looked even paler in the dim hospital light. Her light brown eyes, which once had a subtle warmth to them, seemed drained now, as though life had taken its toll on her, leaving them a washed-out version of the color they used to be. Still, she held him tightly, almost desperately, as if she knew how badly he needed someone to be there for him.
Her frail arms enveloped him in a tight embrace, and for a moment, the tension in his body eased just a little. He didn't need words from her—just the feeling of her presence, the reminder that he wasn't entirely alone in this overwhelming nightmare. He let out a shaky breath and spoke, his voice trembling and raw, like it might shatter if he pushed too hard. "This week... absolutely is the worst week of my life!" The words spilled out of him in a rush, his emotions too tangled and heavy to hold back any longer.
Emily pulled back just enough to look at him, her eyes searching his face. Her voice was soft, weak, like a breeze barely stirring the air, but the concern in it was undeniable. "What's happening? I saw it in your eyes... like you're carrying a secret that's been eating away at you." Her words hung in the air, a quiet acknowledgment of the torment she could see but didn't yet understand. She knew there was more to his suffering, something deeper than just a string of bad days or unfortunate events. It was as if she could sense the weight of his secret, even if he hadn't told her yet.
Cyrus swallowed hard, unsure how to respond. He felt exposed, as though Emily had seen right through him to the heart of everything he was hiding. It was the last thing he wanted to talk about, yet at the same time, the pressure to confide in someone—to unburden himself—was almost unbearable.
Before Cyrus fully comprehended what was happening, he found himself pouring out his heart to her, the weight of his words heavy on his chest. Each confession felt like a jagged piece of glass, cutting through the façade he had carefully constructed. He fought back tears, the threat of vulnerability making his throat tighten as he struggled to maintain his composure. Lowering his voice to a near whisper, he glanced around, his instincts alert to the possibility of eavesdroppers lurking in the shadows. He didn't want anyone to overhear the raw truths spilling from his lips.
Emily's expression morphed into one of horror as she absorbed his revelations, her wide eyes reflecting a mixture of shock and disbelief. The realization that he had shared such dark secrets weighed heavily in the air between them, an unspoken acknowledgment of the darkness they both navigated. Cyrus could see the color drain from her face, and he knew the gravity of his words had struck a chord, igniting a fear within her that mirrored his own.
Suddenly the door creaked open, the figure standing in the doorway sent a chill down his spine, a mix of dread and familiarity that left him momentarily speechless. The familiar outline filled him with an unexpected sense of both hope and fear. As the figure stepped closer, he felt Emily tense beside him, her breath hitching in her throat.