The smile plastered across Kante's face refused to fade, not even for a moment. Now that all the pieces had fallen into place, he couldn't help but grin even brighter.
"So, let me get this straight."
His voice was steady, but his words dripped with amusement.
"This surgeon works for a group of organ traffickers. By pure chance, they stumble upon someone special—a Connect, of all things. The Connect escapes... but not before they manage to rip out one of his eyes."
He chuckled softly, the sound low and unsettling.
"And somehow, on the very same day this man gets back home, I—completely by accident—go to him for help."
Kante clasped his hands together, fingers interlocking.
"And what does he do? He decides to experiment and gives me the Connect's eye."
The grin on Kante's face stretched wider, his teeth glinting under the fluorescent lab lights.
"How fascinating."
He leaned back, propping his elbows on the armrests of the old leather chair. His eyes gleamed with excitement.
"And if my research is correct… these Connects might be immortals. Their bodies don't die—at least not in any normal way."
Kante's grin became almost feral.
"So that means... Does that make me immortal too."
He threw his head back and laughed—a sound so sharp and eerie that it echoed around the lab, bouncing off sterile surfaces. For a moment, his laughter rang out alone, filling the room with a chilling energy. Then silence fell, heavy and deliberate.
Kante tapped his fingers against the metal table, then he exhaled in a long, satisfied sigh and stood up, brushing off his shirt.
"Well," he murmured to himself, "it'd be a shame not to have some fun with this."
"Playing a little game shouldn't hurt."
He made his way into the adjoining library, the soles of his shoes clicking against the cold tiled floor. In the center of the room stood a circular study table, cluttered with papers, journals, and scribbled notes. Kante slid into a chair, as if settling in for a long game, and pulled out a notebook and pencil from the shelf.
A few minutes later, he brought out his phone and the soft strumming of the Lonely Guitar Man began to play, filling the quiet space. With a contented sigh, Kante opened a book, though his mind was clearly far from its pages.
---
Meanwhile, Uche stirred, his head throbbing as the pain that had wracked his skull slowly receded. His blurred vision began to clear, giving way to something far stranger—a vision that flickered into focus.
"Hey, hey!"
A familiar voice called to him, full of concern.
"Uche, are you okay? What's wrong?"
It was Mira. She crouched next to him, her dark eyes scanning his face, searching for any signs of distress.
Uche raised a shaky hand, signaling for her to stay calm. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus on the vision swirling in his mind.
In it, he saw a hand—a familiar hand—flipping through the pages of a book. But the pages were completely blank, every single one, until the hand stopped at the very last. There, on the final page, was a detailed pencil sketch of a young man.
It was a perfect portrait—curly black hair, an oval-shaped face, and wide, observant eyes. Uche felt his heart sink as realization struck him like a punch to the gut.
The portrait was him.
'What is this bastard planning?'
Uche's thoughts raced as panic crept into his chest.
Then, as if the hand in the vision could read his thoughts, the pencil hovered for a moment before writing something next to the sketch. The words formed slowly, deliberately.
*Connect, is it?*
A small, mocking smirk was drawn at the end, turning the message into a twisted joke.
Uche's breath hitched, and he jerked his head back, as if trying to escape the vision. His heart pounded violently in his chest, and he gasped for air.
"Uche!"
Mira's voice snapped him back to reality. She jumped to her feet, alarmed by his sudden movement. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"
"That bastard,"
Uche muttered under his breath, his pulse racing.
The pencil in the vision had started moving again, writing more words below the first line.
*Wondering how I found out?*
Uche clenched his fists, a wave of anger surging through him.
"This bastard... he's toying with me!"
He shouted, startling Mira. She instinctively took a step back, her expression shifting from concern to confusion.
"Uche, what's going on? Talk to me!"
Uche stared into the air, his mind spiraling as the horrifying truth began to unfold.
'Snowflake knows.'
He thought.
That man knew everything. Not only did he know that Uche was a Connect, but he was also fully aware that Uche could see through his eye.
"How the hell did he figure it out?"
Uche muttered under his breath, his mind racing.
In the vision, the pencil scribbled once more.
*Don't worry—no one else knows. Your people did a good job covering their tracks.*
Uche's hands began to tremble. A cold sweat formed on his brow.
'He has to be working with those organ traffickers. There's no other way he could've gotten my eye.'
The realization hit Uche like a slap to the face.
'If Snowflake isn't part of that network... how else would he have my eye?'
For a brief moment, Uche considered reporting Snowflake to the police, exposing him and the whole operation. But the thought was fleeting.
'No... bad idea.'
He reminded himself that he was already a suspect in a murder case. Getting involved with the police would only complicate things, he would also be exposed.
More words appeared in the vision, scrawled beneath the previous ones.
*How about a little game, my friend?*
And with that, the vision ended.
Uche sat frozen, his heart still racing in his chest.
"That bastard,"
He whispered again, fury boiling beneath the surface.
"What happened?"
Mira asked cautiously, her gaze fixed on him.
"Did you see something?"
Uche swallowed hard and nodded.
"Snowflake knows. He knows I'm a Connect—and he knows I can see through his eyes."
Mira sighed, rubbing her temples.
"Honestly, I'm not surprised. You messed up the moment you went after him earlier in that company."
Uche scowled, knowing she was right. He had made a critical mistake, and now Snowflake had the upper hand.
"So, what does he want?"
Mira asked, her voice laced with suspicion.
Uche ran a hand through his hair, frustration clear on his face.
"He said he wants to play a game. Whatever that means."
Mira folded her arms and leaned against the wall.
"He'll contact you again. It's only a matter of time. Whatever he's planning, we won't let him get away with it."
Uche nodded slowly, though uncertainty gnawed at him.
---
That night, Mira stayed at Uche's apartment, much to his dismay.
"You don't have to stay here," Uche had insisted. "We can meet tomorrow."
Mira had only smiled.
"It's dangerous to be out at night, you know. Besides, I'll be here to protect you if anything happens."
Despite his suspicions about her, Uche reluctantly agreed. He barely slept, though. Every few hours, he slipped out of his bedroom to patrol the house, casting wary glances toward Mira, who slept soundly on the couch in the living room.
But nothing happened. No tricks. No strange behavior. Just peaceful sleep.
The next morning, Uche was greeted by something completely unexpected—a cheerful smile.
"Good morning, Mr. Uche,"
Mira chirped, stretching with an innocent grin.
Uche blinked at her, his eyes groggy.
"Morning, Miss Mira."
Then he yawned, rubbing his face.
"Now, can you leave so I can actually get some sleep?"
Mira laughed.
"That's not very nice, you know. But fine, I'm going."
As she reached for her hat, Uche noticed the dress she had worn the previous night was still draped over a chair.
"Hey, what about your dress?"
Uche asked.
Mira glanced back with a mischievous smile.
"Keep it. I'll let you have it."
And with that, she winked and strolled out the door, leaving Uche more confused than ever.