"Where were we?"
The girl, wrapped in a towel and with steam rising off her, stepped out of the bathroom. Her exposed legs were reddened from the heat, and she walked barefoot on the cold floor—there were no extra slippers in the house.
"You discovered that you have superpowers and an uncontrollable craving for human flesh."
Ethan answered. He sat on an office chair, waiting for Hex to come out. Her hair was wet, making him inexplicably think of a drenched animal. However, the bloodstains on her body had all been washed away. She tied her hair up with an elastic band, revealing pale, slightly bluish skin.
"Do... you blame me for killing those people? I swear they were all bad guys!"
The girl held up three fingers in a gesture of oath, then sat down on his bed, where dried bloodstains—her own—remained. Ethan didn't answer.
"You said you need to feed every two months, and it's been almost two months since the last time."
"Don't worry, I ate before I came."
"Who?"
"A guy who tried to rob and assault me. I left his body at the scene; I haven't had time to deal with it."
"Alright, go on. How did you know someone was trying to catch you?"
"Wow, I thought you'd say something like, 'Justice belongs to the law, it shouldn't be trampled upon.'"
She made a face, raising her hands in front of her, bending her index and middle fingers to make an air quote.
"You're right. Justice belongs to the law, so I'll leave judgment to it. I don't need to know why you eat people; I only need to know that you won't eat me."
Hex stood up, moving closer to his neck, sniffing his skin carefully. The scent of shampoo wafted from her. Ethan leaned back, dodging her.
"Don't worry, you don't smell edible."
"Uh... thanks?"
The girl sat back down, crossing her legs out of habit, then suddenly realized she was wrapped in a towel. Ethan turned his head, pretending to examine the evidence board. Her face flushed, she quickly adjusted his posture, sitting up straighter than she did when performing on stage. The young man cleared his throat.
"Go on."
"It was about four months later when two people, one looking like a corporate zombie, saw me. For some reason, he threw a biscuit at me. I told you before, whenever I come into contact with food, my eyes inexplicably turn red. I didn't think much of it at the time and just walked away, but soon after, several people attacked me."
"Like today?"
"Yes. I don't know what kind of bullets they used, but they suppressed my regeneration. So, I ran. Yet, somehow, those guys always managed to find me. So, I hid in the basement of that nightclub, using my powers to control some of the staff and living there."
"Eugh..."
Ethan listened, taking a deep breath, feeling uneasy. He walked quickly to the window, lifting a slat of the blinds to peer outside at the empty street—being 2 AM, there was no one around. For some reason, he half-expected to see a man with a gun standing in the middle of the road.
Those people weren't acting alone; they were connected. If Evans and his group could dig up information on his grandmother, why couldn't others track down his address?
"In that case, this place isn't safe anymore... We have to leave."
"Is it because of me?"
The young man pulled out his phone, browsing nearby hotels and finding one available for immediate check-in. He grabbed a backpack, walked into the bathroom, and stuffed the girl's discarded clothes into it.
"Whether it's because of you or not, I can't just let you go. Tomorrow, I'll hand you over to them."
The girl watched him busying himself as Ethan casually threw a few clothes onto her lap, then pulled out the revolver he had seized from that man—a M1879, 310 mm long, weighing 1,040 grams, chambered in 10.6 mm rounds. The specifications flashed through his mind as he swung out the cylinder.
Five bullets remained. After checking, he tucked the gun back into the inside pocket of his jacket, where it would be hard to spot. Where on earth did that guy get such a dangerous weapon? Did the Port Arthur massacre never happen?
Hex took the clothes and went back into the bathroom, while Ethan finished packing the necessary items. His eyes fell on the white mask lying on the desk—he wasn't sure where it had come from, but he stuffed it into the bag along with everything else.
Hex came out of the bathroom again, dressed in an oversized T-shirt and shorts. She reached for one of Ethan's coats, draping it over her shoulders. The boy, with a hiking bag on his back, glanced at her.
"Let's go, we don't know when they'll find this place."
He grabbed her hand and pulled her out the door. Luckily, it seemed no one had noticed them yet; otherwise, they wouldn't have let him leave. Walking down the empty street, the cold night wind blew, and the usual laughter of kookaburras was absent. Only a few drunks and scavengers were out.
...
"Looks like the boy is more alert than you thought," the father teased. He and Harvey stood in the room, the open door and the slightly messy state of the apartment before them. Harvey smirked, extinguishing his cigarette and tossing it into the trash bin. He stepped inside, scanning the place.
"Indeed, Ethan J. Mugridge..."
he muttered, examining the wall full of photos, testimonies, and police reports. Raising an eyebrow, he realized this kid seemed more mature than he had been at the same age—born to be a detective, really.
"So, what are you going to do now?" the father asked. Harvey crouched down, inspecting the bloodstains on the bed and floor. He touched it, sniffed it under his nose, murmuring a prayer. A purple glow appeared behind him again, and in an instant, he saw two human-shaped silhouettes formed from faint traces.
"It bit him but didn't consume his flesh?"
he observed, seeing the smaller silhouette crouched over the larger one. The father scratched the back of his head and answered his unspoken question.
"A hunter's contracted creature can't harm him. Likewise, beings of the same contracted hypostasis can't harm the hunter."
Harvey turned his head.
"How come I've never heard of that?"
"Because hunters usually contract with the dead—unresponsive corpses—and those cultists who pact with demons get versions that have been altered."
Harvey stood up, watching the two silhouettes carrying something as they left the room. The ring on his finger sensed a faint trace of magic lingering on the desk, and he touched the surface.
"Have V track their movements. I want to meet that boy."