Chương 87: CHAPTER 86 – Morning and Evening Recovery

Normality had returned to Machinamentum's tower, and with it the gruelling hours for the workers, now exhausting for the poor labouring masses assigned to repair work. Light shone through the corridors, and a girl in a striking sky-blue blouse, perhaps slightly too tight across the chest, walked briskly among the staff in blue coats. Her white velvet trousers clung to her hips, compressing them with every step." He's woken up and didn't even come running to us? Jeanne, go give him a lesson!"

Monica's furious voice pounded through her head, nearly making her collide with a petite nurse on duty. She straightened her wavy, tousled brown hair, gathered into a failed braid a few hours earlier, and adjusted the glasses given to her by the very person responsible for her emotional state that morning." What am I supposed to say to him? I'm a bit angry with him, but it's better to see how he is first, right? What if I end up disturbing him and making him feel bad?"

Her pace quickened as she swayed left and right like an eel. Her face turned crimson from the mixture of emotions, forcing her to shake her head just to calm down. She wandered the complex for about ten minutes, dodging collision after collision, searching for the room of those two. The names Grayson Dirac and Lance Klint were on everyone's lips, courtesy of Lexa Worhol.

"Yes, Gray confirmed that Lance is fine and that he woke up early this morning… They asked for two decks of cards and some water." Jeanne's memory was vivid, like the image of that woman rummaging through the gigantic red wardrobe with mirrored doors. Her room was something the term luxurious couldn't begin to define. All tapestried in red and white, with gold decorations, and a magnificent view of the outside of the dimension generated by the relic.

Jeanne turned to watch the mass of machines flying in the clear sky and the ranks of people working on the lawns. In the distance, on a small hill, dark columns of smoke marred the peaceful view. She averted her gaze, clicking her tongue, as Lexa appeared before her with the clothes she was to wear. She handed them to her, immediately raising a veil with her own ability. Jeanne stared at her, confused, poking her head past the dark curtain.

"I don't think I understand, Miss Lexa? What am I supposed to do with these? They look expensive." The woman laughed, covering her lip with the back of her hand and pushing Jeanne's head back into the fitting room.

"Come now, it's a gift! A gift! Enjoy it and consider it my way of thanking you. I owe all of you something!" Jeanne, embarrassed, decided to accept the advice; however, as she got dressed, she realised the sizes weren't the best. She stepped out from behind the veil wearing the clothes, fairly tight. Lexa studied her carefully, then turned and grabbed some dark sandals from the wardrobe.

"You'll have to get resized, but they are already doing wonders. You're enchanting!" Lexa smiled, watching Jeanne struggle to close the last button of her blouse.

"Perhaps a bit too enchanting…" A vein of frustration was palpable on her forehead. She quickly calmed down, seeing Jeanne struggle to put on the shoes. She smiled at the sight of that body, so strangely robust for a young lady, feeling almost sympathetic.

"Thank you…" Jeanne gave a quick bow, shy as she searched for the door. Lexa noticed the messy, wavy hair, shoulder-length and incredibly voluminous. She whistled, catching her attention.

"Do you want me to do your hair?" Lexa smiled, pointing to a brush on the small table in the corner of the room. It was a little table of light wood, decorated at the corners with silver and gold, with a large hexagonal mirror. The girl smiled, shaking her head.

"A pity… You'd have brought out your full charm." Jeanne now wandered the corridors, still wondering where the room was and what the charm Lexa had mentioned with that sly smile stamped on her face was. In the spacious white and blue room, the sun kissed the backs of the small plants with pointed bark in the corner with its light. They were a strange and amusing species to admire: a trunk with few leaves and many thorns, which occasionally bloomed with a mushroom-like flower.

"Don't get distracted, Lance! We're at the final hands here!" Grayson smiled, completing the chain of cards in front of him. He smiled, satisfied, puffing out his chest and polishing his glasses without wiping the grin from his face. Lance turned, looking at the cards on the table and in his hand.

"But there's nothing to get distracted by… I've already won!" The boy threw down his entire draw, forming a perfect straight. Grayson stared at him, open-mouthed, quickly doing the count. He turned paler with every number that appeared in his mind, until he lowered his head, fingers trembling in his platinum hair.

"1050 to 975! That makes twenty wins for yours truly." Lance exulted, resting his head on the pillow and swaying his shoulders as if doing a little dance. Grayson did the same, stretching out on his cot. He settled onto his back and grabbed the pitcher of water with lemon slices. He poured himself a glass and sipped it, dejected.

"How are you this good?!" He asked, nearly choking on the water. Lance turned, rolling onto his side and smiling.

"When I was a courier, I always enjoyed stopping by my clients' places when they offered. In the end, I learned a lot of useful things, including chess and other board games." He settled himself like Grayson, crossing his legs and sitting directly on the bed.

"I don't know if they're useful, but I'd really love to play chess with you. I'd definitely give you a run for your money." Grayson smiled, slamming his fist into his palm with extreme speed. Lance smiled, nodding.

"In any case, you're really happy, you know that, Gray? You're way brighter now!" The boy looked at the scientist, who, with a smile, turned to gaze out the window. Drones flew in place of birds, but not a single fragment of the outside clamour touched that quiet hospital room.

"By now I've realised I'm different. I haven't fully accepted it yet, but being able to talk with you, to work with all these people, reminds me what it feels like to be human. On the other hand, people think I'm dead, and there's no one left to mourn me. They'll have held my memorial and gone back to work. At the end of the day, I died and was reborn as the Architect, but I'm still convinced Grayson Dirac has a little more to offer." Lance looked at him, smiling, nodding as the false winter clouds blocked the sun.

"Look at this arm! I should have lost it, but over the course of a single night it's perfectly reformed, even if I struggle a bit to feel it or move it the way I'd like." He smiled, moving his paler arm left and right, almost as if it were floppy. Lance raised his gaze to the ceiling, licking his lip.

"Same goes for me… I became a Meta during a delivery. Probably the conditions for making me one had been lying dormant and reactivated in a moment of need. I was dying, after all." He laughed, while Grayson stared at him, shocked.

"Don't look at me like that! We're in the same boat." Lance struck him on the forehead with his index finger, making his neck bend back.

"Yes, you're right… I'll be discharged soon and go back to work." A sigh escaped his throat as he scratched the impact point just above his nose. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the medical staff hurrying about in the corridor.

"Sorry, don't you like research? And the stars? When I saw you, I immediately thought how much you gave me the impression of a scientist." The scientist laughed, slapping his bare abdomen with the palm of his hand. The dark, almost circular scars were visible, yet his body seemed to be in excellent shape: muscular, athletic, with rather supple skin.

"Yes, but… I don't really know anyone here! I made a whole scene with that Vea, but I really don't know how to interact with the staff. I'm not a big extrovert, and I'm not good with social interaction. Lexa will be furious with me and will never leave me a minute alone!" Lance laughed, wiping tears and crusts from the corner of his eye. Grayson shot him a glare, pointing a finger at him.

"Easy for you to talk! Nice face, athletic build, and smart-guy glasses! I bet you had a line behind you when you worked as a courier." Lance stared at him, mouth agape, gradually turning it into a smile. He laughed harder than ever, rolling on the bed left and right.

"I can't tell you how easily I get embarrassed around others, especially women! It's something genuine. It's really stronger than me. There's genuinely nothing special in what I do. I am who I am, with my flaws and my strengths. I just want to help others and find my sister." Grayson threw himself onto his bed too, stretching out definitively.

"Sister... Lexa told me a bit of your story. I hope you can reunite soon." The scientist stared at the ceiling, with his hand behind the nape.

"You really are a nice guy. I was sure the first moment I spoke to you." Lance smiled, while Grayson's ears reddened.

"Humble and honest too… You seem like you came out of some fairy tale. And shirtless in winter? Did you come from Northest?!" Lance clicked his tongue, huffing a few disconnected words.

"When you're a Meta, your body adjusts very quickly… And you're not bad physically either. Now that you're a Meta, putting on a bit of mass will be really easy with your regeneration." Grayson nodded, feeling his abdomen and arms.

"They'll never be like yours, but they're fine as they are. Erika liked me just the way I was, but honestly, I wish I could have offered her more." Both sighed, staring at the shadows on the ceiling. Lance turned, only to find Grayson's finger pointed at his face.

"I know what you're about to say… You have your problems, and I have mine, but I know we'll always help each other. Erika isn't here anymore, and I know she'd just want to see me carry on. Same goes for Lug." Lance nodded, satisfied with the answer, sitting back up on the bed to stretch.

"Where are you going?" Lance massaged his shoulders, abruptly grabbing his glass and downing all the remaining water. He wiped his mouth with his wrist, systematically flexing his fingers.

"I'm going for a walk. If I stay here, they'll definitely come and yell at me for not letting them know!" Both laughed, nodding, when a loud commotion rose from outside the room. A girl arrived, pirouetting at the entrance, apologising repeatedly. Part of her hair was stuck to her nape, while the rest fell thickly over her shoulders and chest. The two stared at her for a moment before she turned and smiled.

"LANCE!" She hurried into the room, drawing close to him and inspecting him from head to toe. She paused for a few moments on the bandages on his arm, then let out a sigh of relief. The boy's face flushed red at having her so near, while Grayson watched him with a grin. The girl grabbed his arm firmly, feeling his elbow and wrist.

"Lance… Why isn't there a needle mark here?" Jeanne asked in a tender voice, her grip strangely tightening more and more. A rivulet of sweat fell from the tip of his nose as he babbled various excuses, and her sweet face drew dangerously close to his.

"He climbed the ceiling to avoid getting it… He said he was fine as he is. I believe him, of course, but I'm not a doctor." Grayson smiled, pointing at the handprints in the corner of the room. Jeanne nodded, pulling a syringe from her pocket.

"Luckily, a doctor told me to give it to you if I found you in your room. Come on, otherwise the medicine won't be as effective." Jeanne smiled, bringing Lance closer to the needle, who was now resigned. She pushed him onto the bed, slowly sliding the metal tip into the dark vein.

"I get the feeling I shouldn't be watching this scene…" Grayson thought, seeing that tall, sinuous girl pushing that boy, so robust and terrified of a tiny needle, onto the bed. Jeanne wiped her forehead, satisfied, and looked at the cards scattered on the little table between the two beds.

"What were you playing?" Jeanne asked, curious, counting the rows arranged on each side.

"Lance called it Burrao! It's mainly about earning points through various card combinations drawn from the deck or from your opponent's old arrangements. An old woman in Sector II taught him, and he's really good at it." Grayson put the cards back in order, placing them in the appropriate little box. An idea flashed in Jeanne's mind. She lowered her head, extremely embarrassed.

"I-I'm Jeanne Goghette! I-I'm so sorry for all the trouble I've caused you! Thank you for protecting my companions." Grayson stared at her, his jaw stretched to the floor, his face instantly catching fire. He shook his head, babbling something. Lance, meanwhile, watched him, somewhere between stunned and amused.

"Of course I know who you are! It's thanks to you that we were saved. Besides, Lance hasn't done anything but talk about how dear his companion is to him and shower her with praise." Jeanne turned to stare at Lance, who had gone completely white. Grayson let out a faint groan, immediately getting up and heading for the door.

"I think Lexa wants to see me... Have fun!" He turned, raising a thumb, before slipping away. The two had been left alone, sitting close together on the bed, the air thick with tension." If Lexa doesn't kill you… I will, Grayson!" In his mind, Lance seethed with rage and hatred, while in reality he was petrified on the edge of the bed. Jeanne lowered her head, clasping her hands and smiling.

"Thank you for saving me…" She stared at him from the corner of her eye, lingering on that vaguely dark, ever-thoughtful eye. She moved her reddish cheeks to form a smile.

"I'd say the same to you. Without you, I wouldn't have killed that beast, and Grayson probably wouldn't be here… So thank you from the bottom of my heart, Jeanne." The girl smiled, rubbing her eyes weakly. Both laughed, simultaneously slamming a fist onto the other's shoulder. They kept laughing, yet she kept tapping him, until it became a barrage of slaps.

"Th-Then why do you always m-make me worry!" They didn't hurt, but Lance didn't stop her, wanting to see the tender puffs on her face. He smiled as she struck his shoulder and legs.

"I was wrong! I'm sorry." He smiled, leaning onto his side. She stopped, smiling and giving him one last punch on the shoulder. She crossed her fingers in silence, pressing her index fingers together.

"Talking with you… Reminds me of when I was happy. That's why I can't stand it when I risk losing you." Lance felt his heart beat faster for a second as he watched her stand, adjusting her blouse and trousers. She took a couple of steps toward the door, then turned.

"You know… I'd like you to tell me about what you said to Grayson." Jeanne began walking again, silent, save for the sound of stressed cotton. The button at the centre of her chest burst, bouncing down the corridor like a bullet. She stood petrified, while Lance had already curled up under the covers.

"And that's how my morning went before Lautre found me and forced me into a bit of 'exercise.'" He smiled, grabbing the freshly filled glass of amber liquid from Edvard Ross's hands. Around him, the atmosphere was peaceful, and the lights had become soft and yellowish. All the members were sprawled on the various little sofas for the occasion: Monica held Jeanne tight, forcing her to drink more from the reddish bottle in her hands, while Maliard was arranging some papers on the dark mahogany counter.

"There are only three of us still standing here. My compliments, boy! You're an excellent drinker." Lance set the glass down delicately, now empty, wiping the golden drop from the side of his mouth. Maliard gathered the papers and stapled them, turning toward them. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

"Thank you, Mr Ross. This atmosphere is strangely relaxing." Lance smiled, taking a moment to watch the girls stretched out on the sofa, Hoku and Noel busy playing thumb wars, and Lautre Clerc sprawled on the floor, cradling a gigantic bottle of greenish liquor.

"Call me Edvard. Roles don't mean much here anymore. We're family, aren't we?" The man replied, wiping his moustache, dampened by the liqueur, with his handkerchief. Lance nodded, lowering his shoulders and relaxing.

"It's been a pleasure, but I have a duty to go finish some notes." Lance waved goodbye to Maliard when Edvard tapped him behind the knee with the tip of his cane.

"Some interesting conversations might arise. Why don't you stay with us a while?" Maliard shook his head, making the papers slap against one another. With that stern face, he sized up Lance, then returned his gaze to the red moustache.

"Work is important, but if you want to have fun, go ahead… But don't overdo it, especially you!" He pointed an accusing finger at Lance's pale face, then slipped away. On the threshold, he met a tall figure. The soft light coloured the lenses of his mask as he entered the room.

"Night, Lucas." Maliard smiled, laying a hand on his shoulder and smiling as he disappeared into the darkness. The scientist waved his hand, drawing close to Monica. The woman looked at him, smiling, clinging to him just like a cat.

"Ah, it's you, Lucas… Come on, take me to the sea! TO THE SEA!" Monica fell deadweight, still clinging to his coat. He sighed, in that way strangely distorted by the mask's filters. He picked her up, careful not to disturb the impassive Jeanne, who had perhaps fainted.

"Sorry for the disturbance. I'm taking her to sleep." Both Lance and Edvard waved, and in the meantime Hoku and Noel, despite being intoxicated, got up as well. Hoku gave a quick bow, and Noel followed clumsily.

"We're going. Tomorrow we have to investigate a possible singularity in Sector II with Maverick." They smiled and all left together, with Monica on their shoulders. Only Lance and Edvard remained, still able to talk.

"We never get the chance to talk like this these days…" Lance stared at him, intrigued and stunned by those words, as he heard him sigh.

"It's been quite a demanding few months. I'm glad we're all well." He smiled, running his index finger around the rim of his glass. Edvard lit a cigar, letting the smoke trail past his shoulders. He nodded, satisfied." Changeant is a bigger problem than expected. The singularities are increasing, and we don't even have a lead to follow to get to the bottom of it." Lance nodded, dejected, remembering all the events.

"I imagine the situation isn't easy for you either." His ears twitched, as if they had caught something.

"What do you mean? My goals are the same as all of yours." Edvard took the cigar from his mouth, pointing it at Lance. The stub of tobacco and burning herbs gave off a dizzying scent, almost as if urging him to say something.

"Liar… No one here at NOIR doesn't have a wish they hope to fulfil through the organisation. Do you remember Maverick's reaction when you named Malcolm the first time? Hoku and Noel have been through things too, but even they have their own goals. Maliard is that way, but you also know what someone who lived through that massacre feels, especially being so close to the victims. Lance, I know you've been thinking about your sister since you got here."

Lance swallowed, nodding weakly, almost as if caught in the middle of a crime.

"She's the priority for me, that's true… But I really do want to help people! My family would have wanted that from me." Edvard gave another nod, putting the cigar back between his lips.

"It's a wonderful thing, your sacrificing yourself for others and always putting your body on the front line. But you're young, and I beg you, Lance, live your life, and I'm convinced that's what your family would want. Live for goals, but don't give yourself goals just to live. That's emptiness." Lance smiled, chuckling as he settled more comfortably into his chair.

"Without desires, paranoia and selfishness wouldn't exist." Edvard nodded, tapping his cane on the floor.

"But without desires, human life would be meaningless. Paranoia must exist because it's a cruel reminder not to abandon our dreams, and selfishness is, unfortunately, the fuel inherent within us. Everyone wants something for themselves. You are Lance Klint, not a member of NOIR, or a Meta, or your family's idol. You are a great older brother." The boy smiled, expressing all his gratitude for that remark.

"You're right, but it's hard to see myself as myself. Somehow I've gravitated toward the suffering, and it's stronger than me to help them. Most likely, if I'd needed money for Jude's research, I'd have gone into medicine." Edvard snapped his fingers, satisfied. He blew out a puff of smoke and smiled, curling his moustache.

"You really give me the idea of a fine doctor. I know how much you've studied all the books Monica and Lucas gave you. Those glasses aren't just for show." Lance brought his fingers to his nose, removing the frames and observing them under the light. They were old glasses, but so perfectly cared for that it was impossible to think they were a war relic.

"Lucas and some Machinamentum scientists said they might be an acquired relic. You told me they belonged to Adam, what a name! That man really gave the empire a run for their money."

"The materials are typically what you'd find in the workshops of Termìe or Northest. They're certainly not normal, after they appeared on your face while we were having lunch with Lexa and the others." Edvard laughed, extinguishing what remained of the cigar in the ashtray, leaving it to burn for a few moments alone.

"I don't know if you saw Gray and Rea's faces! They were both shocked! I'll be honest, though. I didn't think they could work that way. After my blank period, I thought they had disappeared. Instead, not only do they help my vision, but they can also appear on my face and are nearly indestructible." Both laughed as Lance let them fall, then made them reappear on his face.

"They suit you terribly well! It makes me think you're collecting relics as a hobby by now." Lance stroked the bracelet on his bicep, now thin and delicate. It was cold to the touch, yet he couldn't quite feel it on his skin.

"I'd rather not devote myself too much to this 'collecting.'" Lance smiled when something drew him closer to the table, intrigued.

"You mentioned workshops earlier, didn't you? You've been to Termìe and Northest?!!" With a curious gaze and dilated pupils, he leaned on the table, smiling. His smile only grew when he saw him nod.

"You're curious? I can understand your interest. After all, we live in an Epoch where the world has closed itself off, but it wasn't always this way. My family, before the war, was in close contact with the other merchant companies. I went there with my fiancée, as they say there, to enjoy life." Lance turned his head, pulling back.

"Fiancée? What's that?" Edvard shook his head, stunned by such a banal question.

"I thought you'd know… A fiancée is a companion with matrimonial prospects. I spent several months both in Northest and Termìe with her. They're very different countries. Firstly, the climate is extremely harsh, and the people are truly less welcoming than here. The architecture mainly uses wood and bricks in the case of Northest, while marble and lighter rocks stud the streets of the Empire's cities." Lance listened intently, nodding.

"The streets of Northest are all rock, and the majority are steep! The capital is a gigantic fortress among the mountains, full of snow and with towering walls. To get there from the landing ship, we used a steam transport system connected directly to the mountains. What I experienced being suspended above the dark cliffs gave me nightmares, and the local fauna certainly doesn't help… Too many unsettling legends for my tastes, though now I think they were due to poorly managed Singularities."

Lance nodded silently, memorising every one of those words.

"Northest didn't have a force to keep them at bay?" Edvard gave a nod, wiping a small pile of ash from his abdomen.

"Of course, but it was never fully instituted until after the war. Originally, Northest, when I visited, was under the command of Logistilla, the old queen. However, after the war she abdicated and named the current Morgan as queen. The entire monarchy is matriarchal. The majority of important roles at court are managed by women. Once there were numerous scientists, perhaps alchemists is a more correct term, who worked with the Institute to curb the appearances."

Lance recalled all of Lucas's notes and the terms in an unknown language." Now I understand those strange words."

"In Termìe, on the other hand, the people were too exuberant for my tastes! Excessively happy and zealous. But one chord is vivid in my memory... The capital, Saint Lumiere… I've never seen anything so majestic. The entire city is built inside the Cathedral of Primus, an entire city inside a church… The sky is decorated with gigantic glass mosaics, and the whole interior is lit by the holes in the marble walls and by columns of blue light.

The streets seem like capillaries connected to the outskirts, crossed by golden locomotives. At the centre, toward the sky, a column rises with all the figures of the Efibes religion, forming the seat of the pontificate." Lance's eyes widened, imagining that church inhabited by so many people, each with their own life and intimacy.

"The religious festivals there are incredible, too! People dance and celebrate under the statues, scattering incense and wine everywhere. But there's also a slice of tranquillity, and the food is incredibly good. The women, however…" The alcohol began to attack his nervous system, relaxing his voice and making him blush slightly.

"Well, there is no meaning in that, since they could never be as beautiful as her." The air became somehow heavier, dense to breathe. Lance furrowed his brow, watching Edvard's face take on a terribly melancholic expression.

"I'm sure she was a magnificent lady." The man let out a sound, chuckling and turning his gaze toward the girl stretched out on the sofa, her hair touching the floor, and his dear companion, snoring on the carpet and embracing the large bottle of liquor.

"Lance… I've been with many women in my life, thought a lot, commented a lot, and yet every time it's the same thing. When I sleep with someone, it's nothing but a tangle of flesh and sweat. There's only the pleasure of the nerves, but the mind goes hungry. That's what I've felt since she's been gone from me. In my pleasure, I don't feel the influx of flaws." A memory began to hover as he spoke, as faint as winter condensation or morning dew, yet as clear and real as proof of his past.

The sky was clear, blue as sorrow and caressed by the golden light of dawn. On the wooden deck, still carrying the foam of the previous night's swells, a young man with a freshly shaved beard ran perilously. He slipped, clutching the handrail to keep his balance. He held a bouquet of roses, shaken by the sea breeze. His hair had grown dishevelled from the salt spray, yet he pressed on, straight toward the woman leaning near the ship's bow.

"Riadne!" She turned at the sound of her name. A woman slightly taller than average, with black hair gathered in a messy chignon and decorated with a butterfly-shaped hair clip. She wore a sky-blue dress, rather light for the northern climate. On her feet, leather boots, dark and worn. Her olive eyes lit up as she brought her pale arms behind her back, smiling. Her face was freckled, bearing a constant veil of tiredness but healthy.

"Edvard! It's so early! Why are you here?!" She skipped toward him, immediately embracing him. The man laughed, pointing the bouquet at her face. She beamed, covering her lips with her fingers. She took them at once, burying her face in them.

"Happy anniversary!" The woman laughed, elated. The man watched her intently in her childlike, sincere movements, feeling his own heart pound. A splash hit her face, startling her.

"Another year has passed… I still can't believe it." Her tone grew deeper, and her eyes luminous and vibrant, deep and dark.

"Why did you choose me?" She asked, turning toward him and letting the hand holding the flowers slide to her side, trembling slightly. The wind stirred her dress, highlighting the curve of her legs and hips.

"What are you saying, Riadne?" He asked, drawing closer to her, almost kneeling.

"I'm just a maid, nothing more. I have nothing to offer you like the other women who come to your father's residence. Round and you have done so much for me, but I feel I can repay nothing." Tears formed on her face as she blushed. Edvard took her hand, smiling. His reddish forelock stirred by the wind.

"You've already done so much by becoming part of my life. You have no debts with me." She lowered her head, silent, and he continued to speak.

"In all those women, I didn't find your kindness, or your intelligence, your empathy. The flesh is tortured by being fused with iron. Nothing can make me happier than your smile." The tears continued to fall, sweetening as they streaked her cheeks. That man's smile stretched, and without realising it, he cried too.

"So when we return… Would you like to marry me?" The memory broke off, vanishing before him and bringing him back to Lance's face, confused and worried. He was pale and at the same time wounded, yet he didn't recall saying anything offensive. Edvard was just telling a little story from over a century ago.

"Boy, why…" He felt the tears gather on his chin, smiling with a sigh. Lance reached out his hand, trying to console him over that story. Edvard watched him carefully, shaking his head.

"By now she's dead, and this smoke is the only reason I can't yet consider her as such." His fingers turned greyish before becoming thin columns of dense vapour.

"Edvard, I…" The man shook his head, pouring himself the last glass of the evening. He delicately set the empty bottle on the table, catching his reflection in the dark glass.

"Lance… Have you ever loved someone? Or do you think that here you can no longer love anyone because you're not who you used to be?" The boy looked around, then observed his own palms, for a second visualising them stained with blood and slime. Lance shook his head.

"You're wrong to think that way… Monica would want so much from Lucas, but that man is still a little childish deep down. It saddens me to know that a kind heart like his has made her shed so many tears." Lance remained surprised, deciding to nod and listen.

"Now I understand why they always talk together…" Lance felt surprised, but for some reason happy to think of those two being closer.

"Love someone with all of yourself. Spend your heart on someone who yearns for a piece of you. A piece that lights up your life, and you'll see things will cheer up a bit. Perhaps the answer is close…" As they spoke, Jeanne had silently risen, slipping toward them and sliding directly onto Lance's shoulder. Her lavender-scented hair fell over his face while her soft cheeks caressed his. Edvard smiled, watching Lance turn into a flame.

"B-Bed..." Jeanne murmured, collapsing completely onto him. Edvard noticed, through the embarrassment, a veil of sharp happiness." Yet again I see another victim fall at the hands of that sickness."

"A man shouldn't keep such a beautiful girl waiting to have a request of hers fulfilled." Lance nodded, delicately grabbing Jeanne under the arms and hoisting her onto his shoulders. Edvard watched him, confused." Oh well... This clumsiness is part of his charms."

"You've passed another test, Lance Klint. I'm proud of you." Lance turned, Jeanne's hair stuck to his face and her breath pressed against his nape.

"Edvard, what are these tests? You've been talking about them since the first time we met." The man nodded slowly, crossing his arms and watching him intently.

"The tests to become a man, that's what they are. You've passed quite a few of them, and I'm truly proud to have you here at the Agency with us." Lance was confused. He didn't understand any of what the man had just said.

"I might still be immature to understand... But I'm glad to have met you, Edvard."

"Now, goodnight. Don't keep her waiting." The boy smiled, waving a hand to the man and vanishing into the corridor, with Jeanne's warmth on his shoulders. His steps were slow and gentle, barely jostling the face resting on his shoulder. He held her from beneath her thighs, careful not to pinch her. He thought back on Edvard's words, still fresh in his mind.

"You know, Jeanne, I'm a bit of a coward telling you this like this… But I really care about you. If I hadn't had you close, things would have been truly bad, and I never could have had what I have now. The road is long, but with you here, it's not so bad." The girl let out a moan. A mix of the scent of lavender and cherry liquor aroma landed on the boy's cheeks. Lance turned pale, beginning to sweat.

"Lance is a good person…" She spoke to herself, her eyes still closed, and her lips barely parted. Her voice was slow and tired, dotted with strange pauses and sighs.

"He's cool, he tries hard, and he's the kindest person I know, but I wish…" Lance strained his ear, stopping in front of the door to their room.

"I wish he'd notice more how much I care about him." Jeanne's forehead fell heavily back onto his neck, while the boy's eyes grew slightly moist. The door was strangely open, which cheered him up considerably." Good... I can't let her sleep outside her room." He was entering when he noticed a yellow sheet stuck on with adhesive tape.

"Meet me tomorrow at dawn in my laboratory. Don't say anything to anyone here." Lance immediately recognised the handwriting on that slip: It was Lucas Hoppenheimer's.