'Are you serious? Does he really think I'll forget what just happened? He looked like he'd seen a ghost. Why won't they tell me the truth…? James, Vane… What is Johan?'
Leor's gaze sharpened as he locked eyes with James, trying to decipher his actions. Then, his eyes shifted to Johan, who was rubbing his chin thoughtfully, just as puzzled.
Whatever. I'll talk to him alone after dinner. He's probably uncomfortable sharing whatever it is in front of Johan. Leor exhaled, his unease lingering, but he chose to move on.
Taking a deep breath, he nodded calmly. "...Alright."
James gave a small nod, his attention still fixed on Johan.
Meanwhile, Johan's thoughts spiraled into an existential crisis. Madman! I am so fucked, aren't I?
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Just as the awkward silence was about to end, light footsteps echoed from the doorway, drawing their attention.
Clara!
She stepped inside, wearing a simple gray gown that swayed with her every movement. Her untied black hair played with the wind, framing a thoughtful expression.
But as she recognized them, her face softened, and a small smile embraced her delicate features. Her light green eyes greeted Leor and James first, then curiously swept toward the unfamiliar man.
Without a word, she shoved three large cotton bags into Leor's hands. He barely caught them, fumbling slightly.
"Sort out the meat and groceries. I'll cook after I freshen up," she instructed nonchalantly.
Leor sighed but nodded in response.
Later, at the dining table, they sat across from each other, leaving the head seat empty. Leor and Clara on one side, James and Johan on the other.
Clara tore into a piece of mutton unceremoniously before passing a glance around the table. "So, how's the food?" she asked expectantly.
James ate his stew absentmindedly, lost in thought.
There were rumors… Something about experiments… Creating something akin to a ghost, but alive… Should I contact the church? No, I can't spook them. If he starts trouble, I can handle him.
"It's amazing, but how much oil did you even add?" Leor frowned. "I don't want to get fat."
"Don't worry, one meal won't change anything!" Clara huffed in annoyance.
You can never satisfy him. Either it's about protein, or it's 'makes you fat'—kills my appetite every time.
She turned to Johan, curious about the mysterious guest's opinion.
Johan, caught off guard, replied without much thought, "Yes, it's good. Though I usually prefer medium rare."
Clara blinked. "Medium rare? What's that?"
Johan looked up at her, then sighed with a hint of self-deprecation. She really reminds me of her… I wonder if Freida is eating properly…
"Nothing special. It's just a way of cooking meat at a certain temperature to keep the juiciness and tenderness intact."
"Oh, that's interesting. You should teach me sometime," Clara said, her cheerful smile lighting up her face.
"Sure," Johan nodded.
But in Leor's eyes, something changed.
Clara's small, gentle smile began to stretch unnaturally. Her lips, once subtly raised, now curled to their absolute limit, her baby-soft cheeks hollowing. Her perfect white teeth, barely visible before, were now bared to their upper edges—too wide, too sharp.
Leor's breathing hitched. An instinctive fear gripped him. The smile—mocking, knowing, unnatural—seemed to pierce straight through him. His vision blurred. His heart slammed against his ribs, beating so fast it felt like it would burst.
"Clar—ra…" His voice cracked as his body trembled. The warm, lively room distorted around him.
Then—
THUD.
"Leor!" Clara's voice rang out in alarm as she turned to him.
His head had slumped forward, collapsing onto his plate, his cheek pressing against the steaming mutton. His breathing—gone.
James was the first to move.
He sprang from his seat, grabbing Leor's body and leaning him back against the chair. One hand steadied him, the other checking his face.
Clara, panicked, grabbed the corner of her gown and began wiping the spices off Leor's face.
Johan stood up, eyes narrowing as he analyzed the situation.
James pressed his fingers to Leor's neck. Warmth. Still alive.
He exhaled in relief before slapping Leor's face gently, trying to rouse him. "Leor, wake up."
Clara clutched his hand tightly, her face pale with worry.
Johan, watching intently, thought, Something was definitely wrong with him today… but what? No matter how hard he tried, he lacked the pieces to the puzzle.
Then—
Leor's eyes snapped open.
Not slowly, not lazily—fully open, in an instant. His green pupils dilated so much it seemed they might fall from his skull.
James's heart clenched. "Leor, are you okay?"
Then—
A scream.
Raw, primal fear erupted from Leor's throat as he scrambled backward, toppling off his chair and crawling away across the stone floor. His body shook, his face drained of color—pure, unfiltered terror.
And he was staring directly at James.
James froze. What…?
That face… That scream… Leor had never, not once, looked at him like that.
Clara's eyes widened in horror. What is wrong with him?! Without thinking, she threw her arms around Leor, pulling him into a tight embrace.
She had never seen this expression on his face. Never. And she couldn't bear it. Whatever had terrified him so much, she just wanted to tell him—it's okay. I'm here.
Leor didn't resist, letting her warmth ground him, but his pale, trembling eyes never left James.
Johan noticed. He's not scared of Clara—just James. That's… odd.
Huff. Huff.
Minutes passed.
Leor's breathing gradually steadied as he clung to Clara's warmth.
Johan and James stood apart, both thinking, both wary.
That wasn't normal fear, Johan realized. It was fear of something unnatural.
James's expression darkened. A curse. Did Johan put a curse on him?
Their gazes locked, both accusing the other.
Then—Leor exhaled. He remembered.
His eyes flickered toward James, filled with something indecipherable. Conflict. Pain. Determination.
Then, finally, he let his body relax into Clara's embrace.
I won't let any of you die.
His green eyes sharpened to the limit.