Arthur moved out of his apartment.

  He packed only what mattered—the few things his sister had given him. Everything else was sold without hesitation. By the end of the day, the apartment was empty, stripped of anything that once felt like home.

  From then on, Arthur lived in X-Cut’s secret basement.

  That night, he broke into the house of the kid who had been bullied with him in the school toilet at the very beginning.

  The lock gave way easily.

  The house was quiet. Unaware.

  Arthur moved straight to the parents’ bedroom, his steps soundless. He administered a drug—measured, deliberate. Enough to keep them unconscious for two hours.

  They never woke up.

  Afterward, Arthur went to the kitchen.

  He cooked rice.

  Slow. Careful. Ordinary—almost painfully so.

  When it was done, he placed it neatly on the table and picked up a pen.

  Dear son,

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Your father and I had to leave on a very important trip.

  Please eat this when you feel hungry.

  Arthur carried the unconscious parents to the van. He shut the doors behind them and slid into the driver’s seat.

  The engine started quietly.

  The van rolled away into the night, heading toward X-Cut.

  —

  Back in the present, Arthur’s eyes snapped open.

  Pain hit him all at once. His entire body ached, wrapped in bandages, bruises screaming beneath them. Standing beside the bed was Rey.

  “Arthur… you’re awake?”

  He swallowed, his throat dry. “Where am I?”

  Rey answered calmly. “New York.”

  Arthur slowly looked around. White walls. Machines. The sharp smell of antiseptic.

  A hospital.

  A sudden flash crossed his mind—a girl with pink hair, healing his wounds with an eerie, unnatural power. The memory slipped away as fast as it came, leaving only confusion behind.

  Arthur frowned.

  “What… happened in Antarctica?”

  Rey didn’t hesitate. “You were stabbed. When we got there, we finished off the last survivors and brought you back.”

  Arthur clenched his teeth. “What about present-day Japan?”

  Rey exhaled softly. “Shegio… committed suicide in prison.”

  Silence.

  Arthur’s voice dropped. “And my sister’s killer? You found anyone yet?”

  Rey shook her head. “…Sadly, no. And honestly, I think it’s impossible.”

  Arthur’s jaw tightened. His eyes burned with fury.

  “It has to be possible,” he said coldly. “Within four weeks, or I’ll expose every single one of your secrets to the whole damn world.”

  —

  Rey stood up.

  “I’m going to the toilet,” she said, and left the room.

  Inside the toilet, she locked the door and pulled out her phone.

  She made a secure call.

  “Nord,” Rey said quietly.

  “…We have four weeks,” Rey continued. “Until we dispose of Arthur Morgan’s corpse.”

  She paused, listening.

  “We need to keep him busy. Give him whatever important jobs we can. Anything. We can only afford to use one month.”

  A voice crackled on the other end of the line.

  “Understood. I will.”

  Rey ended the call.

  —

  To be continued.