When Misha woke, the first thing she noticed was that nothing hurt enough to wake her. That alone felt suspicious. She remained still beneath the unfamiliar blanket, eyes open beneath the white mask, listening to the house breathe around her.
There were no bells, no clicking mouths outside the shuttered window, and no metal scraping against stone. Just the faint settling noises of an old house and the soft hiss of wind forcing itself through cracks around the shutters.
Misha stared at the ceiling. The plaster above her had split in several places, one crack branching toward the wall like a vein.
She had told Alaric to wake her in two hours. There was no way she slept for two hours since her body felt too heavy in that particular way that came after sleeping long enough for exhaustion to settle deeper instead of merely being postponed.
Frowning, she pushed herself upright. "That bastard."
The Hearthkeeper’s cloak lay folded beside her on the bed. At some point after the danger passed, its Combat Form had disengaged, allowing her to take it off last night.
She picked it up and slipped it around her shoulders, fastened it, then looked toward the window. Gray daylight leaked through the narrow gaps. Her expression flattened when she saw the actual daylight. He had let her sleep longer.
A notification appeared before she could decide how irritated she was about that.
「 〔BROADCAST NOTICE〕
No noteworthy activity detected.
Observation Channel has gone offline.
Broadcast will resume automatically when conditions are met. 」
She stared at the notice then exhaled. "Finally."
There were no Observers, and no Saint treating every conversation like the beginning of an unfortunate romance. Most importantly–
She could take the damn mask off.
Misha reached up and pulled the Stray Cat mask free. Cool air touched her face and the relief was immediate enough to make her shoulders loosen.
She had slept with it on and apparently, the artifact did not fall off simply because the wearer became unconscious, which was useful from an identity-concealment perspective and mildly unnerving from every other one.
Misha placed a hand over her face. Her skin felt clammy, hair stuck against one cheek, and the back of her neck felt damp beneath the collar. She probably looked awful.
She left the bedroom. The house looked different during daylight. Still abandoned and still stale, but less like something waiting to swallow her. Dust hung visibly in the gray light. The floorboards had warped near the walls, and old water stains spread across the ceiling like bruises. Someone had left a small wooden horse on the corner of the floor.
Misha looked at it for half a second, then kept on walking. No, she was not going to think about the child who had owned it. Not this morning.
The washroom stood at the end of the hall.
There was no running water, but a ceramic pitcher remained on a narrow shelf beside the basin. She uncorked it, smelled the water and saw that it had no visible residue, it was rather clear so she poured only a little into the basin to waste nothing. The cold water bit her fingertips.
She set the mask beside the basin and looked into the mirror. For the first time since entering Exodus, she saw her own face without white mask between herself and the world.
The mirror had gone dark around the edges with age, silver backing corroded into black patches. Her reflection looked tired as it sat in the middle like something trapped inside the old glass.
Black hair, flattened on one side. She noticed a barely visible cut along her cheek, bruising beneath it. Her warm brown eyes ringed by exhaustion.
Misha wet the cloth and wiped the grime from her face. She cleaned around her eyes, ran damp fingers through her hair at the forehead, then picked up a dry cloth and patted the remaining water from her skin. Then she leaned closer to inspect the faint cut along her cheek.
The bathroom door opened.
Snapping around, her hand dropped to Twinfang.
Alaric stood in the doorway, one hand was still on the handle and his blue eyes widened.
Misha froze, so did he. And for one irritating second, neither moved.
His gaze went straight to her face and his expression changed in a way she did not like. Surprise first, then recognition, then the unmistakable start of–
Misha grabbed the mask and put it on so quickly it caught some of her hair. "What are you doing here?!"
Alaric blinked. "I–"
"I’m using the bathroom!"
His gaze flicked toward the basin. "I can see that."
"Then get out!"
"It wasn’t locked. I didn’t know anyone was in here."
"Now you know!" She shoved the door closed.
Alaric pulled his hand away just before the wood caught his fingers.
The latch clicked and silence followed it. Misha stood there with one palm flattened against the door. Her heart had sped up since she had been careless. Stupidly careless.
She had assumed the Observation Channel going offline meant privacy. It meant privacy from Observers, not from the very real man downstairs who apparently had functional legs and no reason to know she had entered the washroom.
Misha shut her eyes. ’Idiot. I should have locked the door, checked it... or made noise.’
She glanced down at herself, she was fully dressed. ’Thank goodness.’
Seeing her face was bad enough. If he had walked in while she was bathing, Twinfang might have acquired a new nickname.
She remained inside another minute mostly because she needed enough time for the embarrassment to cool into irritation. Irritation was easier.
When Misha opened the door again, Alaric was waiting outside. He was leaning against the opposite wall with his arms crossed. He had changed nothing about his appearance except perhaps running a hand through his hair. Brown strands still fell messily over his forehead, and the subtle beard along his jaw made him look annoyingly composed for someone who had almost lost a hand to a bathroom door moments earlier.
His gaze moved to the mask then back to her eyes and a smile appeared. "Done?"
Misha walked past him and gave him no answer. His footsteps followed.
"I admit," Alaric said behind her, his voice carrying that smooth confidence that only seemed to function when nothing was actively trying to kill him. "I expected the woman beneath the mask to be attractive, but I feel mildly insulted that you were hiding quite that much from the public."
She kept walking. "I’m currently considering stabbing you again."
He laughed and raised both hands even though she was not looking. "I’m kidding, kidding."
"Too bad then."
Alaric caught up beside her, his expression brightened with shameless amusement. "It was an honor to accidentally witness my savior’s angelic face."
Misha stopped and turned with her eyes narrowed. "You enjoy annoying people, don’t you?"
His mouth curled. "Do I?"
There it was again. That little edge beneath the stupidity. Misha had begun to recognize it. He did not throw words randomly, not all of them. He tossed them like pebbles into still water and watched the ripples.
He watched reactions the same way she did. Only Alaric wrapped observation in shamelessness until it looked harmless.
She folded her arms. "So what kind of reaction are you trying to get from me?"
His smile remained, but it shrank. "Any reaction that proves there’s actually a person behind that mask."
Misha went quiet. That answer had not been what she expected.
Alaric nodded toward the smooth white surface covering her face. "A person who hides things makes others curious. Aside from that, half of your fighting style changes whenever you start talking to someone I can’t hear."
Her shoulders tightened before she could stop them.
He noticed it, of course, but he did not point it out. He did not need to. The side of lips curled into a smirk. "And you look at compliments like they’re poisoned food."
"Most compliments come with something attached."
"Ah." He looked pleased with the answer. "See? That."
"That what?"
"That little glimpse of the woman hiding underneath all the suspicion." His gaze remained on her as he continued, "so yes, I poke." Then the mischievous grin came back. "And, with your permission, I’d very much enjoy continuing to poke the woman I’ve fallen for."
He started reaching toward her hand to which Misha moved it away before he could touch her.
His brows rose. "Ah, deflection."
She turned and headed for the stairs. "You talk too much."
Alaric followed. "Now that I’ve seen your face," he continued, "I should mention that I vastly prefer it to the mask."
"No. You’re not seeing it again."
"That seems unnecessarily punitive."
"You walked into the bathroom."
"Accidentally. And I immediately left."
She raised a brow. "No, you didn’t. You were staring before I shut the door on you."
"I was surprised." Then he put one hand over his chest. "And I was appreciating your beauty."
Misha sighed inwardly. Why was she even answering him? Every response only gave him another surface to bounce off. She should have learned by now.
Silence. That was the best answer for him
She reached the bottom of the stairs and headed straight toward the kitchen.
The smell met her first. Old grain, mildew, and dust. There was something faintly sour beneath it. She opened the cupboards anyway and found it empty. The storage room offered little more. A cracked jar, spoiled flour, and a sack of grain that smelled wrong before she even loosened the string so she shut it immediately.
Alaric appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. "Breakfast looks promising."
"Then eat the grain."
"I prefer living, though."
Misha reached into her subspace and pulled out the Faust Provision Pouch. Then she withdrew two preserved meals. It was nothing glamorous. Dense bread, dried meat, preserved fruit, and compact portions meant to survive travel rather than inspire joy. Then she took out two bottles of clean water before she set everything on the table.
"Sit."
His smile appeared. "So commanding."
He obeyed anyway.
Misha sat across from him then stopped at the realization where she could not eat through the mask. She had no choice but to take it off if she wanted to eat properly.
After eating several bites in silence, she looked up. "You’re staring again."
"I’m admiring."
She sighed once more. "Eat your food."
He glanced down at the portion she had placed in front of him, then back at her. "That’s rather sweet of you, princess."
Misha’s brow twitched. How many endearments did this man have to call her? She was already too tired to argue with every individual word. "Just call me Shana."
Gravekeeper for the System, Shana for people, and Misha for those who actually knew her.
"Shana," Alaric repeated, testing the sound once, then smiled. "What a beautiful name. Befitting a lovely woman."
Misha gave him a deadpan glare. "Just the name."
"Darling Shana."
If her gaze could throw Twinfang, he would already be bleeding.
Alaric laughed. "Alright, alright."
"Just eat up already. We’re leaving after this."
"I would love to accept such a thoughtful offering from a beautiful woman." He sighed dramatically. "Unfortunately, I’ve already eaten."
Misha glanced at his gear. He probably has his own stored provisions. "Then why did you let me put food in front of you? You could have told me."
"I wanted to see if you would."
Her brow twitched again. "You’re annoying."
"Only to the woman I’ve fallen for."
She rolled her eyes. Then she returned his untouched meal to the pouch. Wasting food was stupid, especially here.
Taking another drink of water, she remembered something. "So why didn’t you wake me?"
Alaric’s smile shifted. "I couldn’t bring myself to disturb my lovely woman getting her beauty sleep."
"I am not your woman."
"No." He leaned his cheek into one fist. The smile turned meaningful. "Not yet, sweetheart."
Misha stared at him then decided not to react knowing he was deliberately doing it. Fine, let him starve.
"Do you know where Kiln House Four is?"
That shifted him. He blinked a few times before his expression turned thoughtful as though searching his memory. "That..." He rubbed one thumb along the edge of his sleeve then exhaled. "No, I can’t say I do. I arrived about a week ago before the Floor Quest reset."
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