Halo had expected the day to follow its usual rhythm, predictable and brief. But the devil doesn't bargain.

The discovery of Aeliana with those men outside, guards of this land, would have to wait. He couldn't even revisit their previous conversation or fully process what he'd seen last night.

He found himself downstairs in the hall, the meal he'd described to Silas placed before him. He hadn't anticipated a crowd, but everyone who'd come to the inn that day was there: the staff, the guests, even the owner, an old woman who looked like death warmed over her.

The beef curry exceeded expectations. Between the smell, the thick sauce, and the tender beef, his mouth watered instantly.

But the heavy breathing of bystanders crowding behind him made him uneasy, as did his own dark thoughts.

Silas had to have seen him leave last night. Halo wasn't positive, but the way he'd been positioned when he returned, even a toddler could've put it together. Given how protective Silas was of those guards, what if this meal was poisoned?

All that mattered was that Halo enjoyed the meal. There was nothing against his death later on.

"Can we have the leftover after he's tasted it?"

The men behind Halo started murmuring, but he couldn't find his voice. Silas watched him intently, arms folded across his chest. Despite everything, the anticipation in the chef's eyes was clear. If the food was great, he could die from it.

After careful consideration, Halo began to eat the curry anyway. There was only so little he could do now.

When he reached for the spoon, stillness descended. The hall went quiet, the very air frozen in anticipation.

For a moment, Halo was puzzled. Based on his memories, Silas had prepared exactly what Seraphim used to make for him, maybe better. He couldn't think why he'd dislike it.

As soon as the beef touched his lips, red flashed his face before giving way to disappointment. He gulped it down hastily and took another bite, only to be met with the same result.

Halo's gaze shifted to Silas. Sweat beaded on the chef's forehead, but his eyes remained fixed on Halo's plate. The men behind him muttered amongst themselves, reacting as if Halo had just slaughtered someone in front of them. Meanwhile, the inn's owner turned and left.

He couldn't tell what was missing, but despite the evident tenderness of the meat, it still tasted like sand. Now he didn't just pity Silas for exhausting himself over something so pointless, he was terrified for his own future. Was this how it would always be? Only able to taste Seraph's cooking and nothing else?

He began massaging his brow in disappointment. Silas neared him.

"It seems like this will be my last meal. What about it didn't you like?"

He asked, wearing a forced smile.

Halo sighed and shook his head.

"I should have. But I couldn't even taste it… I don't know why."

The moment he spoke, Silas staggered backward, moving sluggishly as he collided with tables and chairs. He gripped his head, teeth grinding together, eyes filled with unmistakable pain.

The onlookers merely stood frozen, watching Silas writhe through his transformation. As soon as his agonized screams filled the hall, Halo jumped to his feet and summoned his daggers.

He moved toward Silas casually, then, in one fluid motion, the chef's head was severed and bounced across the floor.

They stared at him in disgust, but Halo simply walked out. He had a job to attend to.

Silas had already changed eighteen lives with his meals. And judging by how weathered and battle-scarred he looked, his previous diners might have had it even worse than Halo.

The others probably went through poisoned lands or saw Sinners so grotesque they lost their ability to taste. But Halo had only shared a meal prepared by someone he cared about. He'd never imagined this simple act could cause such trouble.

At this moment, he hardly cared if the meal was poisoned or not. He doubted it would even have any effect since he didn't taste a thing.

The kill was pointless. He didn't even get a Sin Fragment since the transformation wasn't finished. But the revolted stares from the crowd said it all. The next few days were going to be rough.

The incident haunted him the rest of the day. His morale had tanked, and he kept slipping into distracted reveries. Even Boss could see the change, though he showed little concern.

His day proceeded as usual regardless. He couldn't skip visiting the library, missing a day right after their conversation would look suspicious. So he went but stayed cautious.

Compartmentalizing his personal issues and his Purpose was second nature to him. He spoke to Aeliana as though he hadn't witnessed her clandestine meeting the previous night.

Something felt off, though. Aeliana was far more energetic and assertive than usual last night. He tested her by "accidentally" knocking her glasses off, and even though she looked surprised, her sluggish grab for them was flawless for a blind person.

She wasn't wearing her glasses the previous night when he'd seen her handle those men. Catching the glasses so sluggishly should have been impossible for someone who could see well.

Which meant she'd either predicted his action, or her Flaw allowed her to move with that kind of falsehood precision.

This put him in a difficult position. During their conversation yesterday, Aeliana had mentioned something about maybe being controlled by some force at night. Now that comment was starting to make sense.

Still, he kept his guard up. He wasn't about to take her words at face value. The person behind the Chaos Eaters had to be either incredibly powerful or deeply mysterious.

And more importantly, they'd need exceptional cunning to have evaded discovery for five years, brains that surpassed even his.

When he returned to the inn, the reality of his predicament washed over him again. The counter stood empty. Silas should've been there, but of course he wasn't.

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