The air outside was cooler now, touched by evening's hush.

A fading glow bled across the walls as the sky slid into dusk, painting the Udeh residence in quiet amber.

Miriam, leaning silently against a railing.

Her arms folded, eyes lowered.

The tired droop of her cheeks, the hollow beneath her eyes… they said what words couldn't.

"You don't look so good," Timothy said softly, stepping beside her.

Miriam glanced up at him, and her lips curled into a smile, small, tight at the corners, and far from convincing.

"You seem better than usual."

"Don't spread false rumors," he replied, a faint chuckle leaving his throat.

They shared the moment, dry and quiet, a brief relief from the storm that had passed inside.

"I hope you're not still upset... about earlier," Miriam said, hesitating before she continued.

"My father... he can be overwhelming."

Timothy shrugged, though his eyes remained fixed on a distant place beyond the fence.

"It was an honest conversation. Maybe... too honest." The words lingered with him longer than he expected.

He remembered the room, the weight in everyone's eyes.

The way he'd been measured, judged, like a puzzle piece forced into the wrong picture.

Then Miriam turned to face him fully.

Her voice was quieter this time.

"Are you really that suicidal?"

Timothy blinked, uncertain if he'd heard right.

"I mean..." she continued.

"I know you're drawn to danger, but the way you speak sometimes 'Death is the last evolution of every species?' it sounds like you're chasing it."

He paused, visibly thoughtful.

Then, he scratched the back of his neck before answering.

"Oh, um... I didn't mean it like that." He gestured absently with his hands as if trying to grab the right words out of the air.

"I guess... I meant the confrontation of death. The... encounter. No one's really done that and come back to talk about it. It's not about dying, it's about... what death does to you."

Miriam raised a brow, unconvinced.

"I don't know how to explain it properly," Timothy admitted. "But fear... fear is like a drug. It either pushes you to rise or forces you down. Every time you push back, you take a step forward. But when you let it push you... you fall."

He looked at her, searching for a flicker of understanding.

"You talk like you were never weak," Miriam said, softly.

The words sliced cleaner than she intended.

And for a moment, something in Timothy hardened.

His shoulders straightened.

His face became unreadable.

"Is that what this is about?" he asked, tone devoid of any warmth.

"You're traumatized?"

She stepped back slightly, defensive.

Teeth clenched.

But Timothy wasn't convinced.

Not this time.

He had tried to see through her pain before, tried to understand it.

But now, he had placed himself inside her shoes, and what he found didn't add up.

Not entirely.

The way she moved and spoke, the resolve in her voice, it wasn't the language of fear.

It wasn't pain or fragility.

It was purpose disguised as instability.

His gaze narrowed, studying her closely.

There was a stillness in her.

The kind that didn't come from peace, but from depth.

Like the surface of a stormy ocean, raging above but calm below.

Her eyes didn't lie.

No matter how shaken she acted, something within her remained unmoved.

Then there was something else.

Something... chemical.

A realization flickered behind Timothy's eyes.

He didn't see it, nor did he hear it.

He sensed it.

Where emotion should have spilled, it didn't.

No anger.

No fear.

No adrenaline.

No scent.

He had learned to read it, pheromones, ever since Anna and the misunderstanding it caused.

He thought they only mattered to insects at first until it dawned on him.

Humans were social creatures too.

Chaotic, yes.

But still bound by nature's subtle rules.

And this close to her, in this tense moment, he should've caught something.

But there was... nothing.

In a way, he was supposed to be able to perceive more pheromones accurately from humans than insects because simply they were of the same species.

Some things came to place in his mind but this was already an assumption he just confirmed.

"I'm not traumatized," Miriam finally said.

Her voice was steady now, firm.

"I became a hunter to protect myself. To be strong enough to stop threats before they reach me. I chose this path. And yes, maybe I picked the short end of the stick, but that doesn't mean I regret it."

Timothy said nothing.

He listened and remembered, the last time she said she wanted to prove something flashed through his memories

"I've been thinking," she continued.

"If I can't save myself, then I'll help someone else. That's all I can do. So stop treating me like I'm fragile. Like I'm insane."

Her voice lowered, only loud enough for him to hear.

"Edward is coming for us all. Whatever happened in that dungeon changed everything. You're stronger now, sure. We are the best versions of ourselves. But he's still out there. Watching. Waiting. You think power doesn't come with a price?"

Timothy looked at her, something funny in his eyes.

The words that spilled from her mouth could be interpreted in more than one way but he didn't oppose

Then he said,

"It does come with a price. But only when you didn't work for it."

A ghost of a smile traced his lips.

Before she could respond, he turned and began to walk past her.

"This isn't my best version," he said over his shoulder.

"And honestly... I doubt I'd last long against Edward as I am now."

She watched him go, his silhouette framed by the last light of day.

And though the space between them stretched again, something had shifted.

"So you're just going to forget it and walk away?" Miriam's voice followed him, strained, quiet, but unmistakably pained. "There are other options, y'know... Timothy," she said but got no reply

His steps didn't stop.

His shoulders barely shifted.

"Goodnight," he said simply, not curt, not cold, just... done.

Then he disappeared beyond the gate, out of her reach, out of her house.

Again.

Behind him, Miriam stood in place, her fists clenched at her sides.

Her gaze fell, and she held it there for a moment, silent, still, before she finally exhaled.

The breath was calm, almost too calm, and she turned back inside with quiet resignation.

---

Timothy's ride came within minutes.

The Uber driver barely spoke, a tired man with a tired playlist humming in the background.

But inside the vehicle, Timothy was far from calm.

The streetlights passed in intervals, gold and hollow, as the city moved past the windows like a blur he couldn't connect to.

His mind raced with fractured thoughts: Noah and the rest of the hunters that were captured any status unaware of, the raid and its meaning, Stephanie's confession, Miriam's silence, Edward and his lack of strength to confront them all.

'How long have I been a pawn in someone else's plan?' Timothy thought when he already knew the answers.

Ever since the double dungeon... He just refused to admit it even now.

The answers didn't line up though

Nothing did.

He didn't know if it was betrayal he felt, or shame.

But beneath all of that, like an echo inside a sealed room was a growing sense of danger.

He didn't feel used.

He felt hunted.

By the time the car pulled into his street, he hadn't said a word in twenty minutes.

No clothes.

No association stipend.

No clarity.

But he had a house.

And in it, someone to talk to although at a cost

It was late by the time Timothy settled in.

He'd changed into a loose shirt and old shorts, sitting barefoot at the edge of his bed.

The lights were off.

The room was bathed only in the silver hue of moonlight cutting in through the window blinds, casting long shadows over the floor.

In the far corner of the ceiling, suspended upside-down, a figure stirred.

Subtle, still.

Only two of her six eyes were open, watching him quietly.

Anna.

They hadn't spoken since he came back and engaged in a staring contest, and it was unlike her to not start a quarrel.

She'd kept to herself, resting, maybe.

Or brooding, as she often did. B

But tonight, Timothy couldn't keep quiet as well

He'd been rehearsing the words in his head since the car ride home.

Yet now, sitting there, all he did was stare back.

Seconds passed.

Maybe minutes.

Neither of them moved.

The staring contest stretched into something odd not hostile, but not friendly either.

It was just... loaded.

Like both knew something the other wasn't ready to say.

But this time, it wasn't Anna who broke the silence.

It was Timothy.

"Anna," he said quietly.

"I need you to tell me everything you know about dungeons."

Her second set of eyes opened and stared at everywhere except himself

The room felt colder, somehow.

She didn't answer immediately, not out of refusal, but something else.

She tilted her head the slightest bit, her body still suspended in perfect stillness.

Studying him.

Measuring the shift in his tone, in his posture.

Something about him had changed.

Anna could tell.

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