The next morning finds him at the hospital. He’s thankful that no one asks him to see a doctor while he’s here. Instead, he’s able to go straight to his mother’s room and settle down in a chair at her bedside. He sits there patiently, in silence, so that he doesn’t disturb her. He knows she’ll reprimand him for not waking her. They don’t get as much time as they want, after all.

Just as he’s about to leave, he can feel the fingers beneath his hand twitch. She stirs enough to give a hum. “Mm…Zye?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“I thought so.”

It breaks his heart listening to her; the little rushed breaths, the strained words, the shake of volume as she can’t muster enough strength to raise it any higher. The sadness is only second to the anger. Raw frustration that has his shoulders tense and stomach tight, curling in and knotting up.

“I won’t stay long. I just wanted to tell you I’ve gone to see Kass.”

A smile emerges and it lights up his world. She turns her hand over and squeezes at his fingers as best she can. “I’m…glad…”

The door opens and Dr. Len peeks in. “Zye? May I have a moment when you’re done?”

He gives a nod and stands. Zye lifts Lyra’s hand, kisses the back of it, then hugs her. “I promise I’ll come by in the morning. So get some rest, okay?”

She lets out a long breath and turns her head as if to watch him leave despite not being able to see. “I love you…be safe.”

“Love you, too, Mom.”

It takes so long to let go of her hand. So long to let her fingers slide off of his and for that small bit of warmth to vanish. He tucks the blanket back over her, making sure she’ll stay warm, then heads out into the hall.

Dr. Len gives him a weak smile. “Good to see you. How’s the new medicine working?”

“Fine. How’s she really doing?”

“She just needs rest. We expect a full recovery since she took so well to the new treatment. I’ll let you know personally if anything changes.”

“Thanks,” Zye murmurs and goes to slip past only for Dr. Len to turn to follow.

The doctor reaches out but stops short. “Zye…please don’t push yourself.”

“I’ll try.”

It’s the best answer he can give. There’s so much motion in his life that trying is all he can do. His heart is breaking every day he comes here. Every day she’s not getting any better, barely even stabilizing. He knows not to expect a fix, there is none.

Not that it stops him from wishing with all his heart that there was. He just wants the rain to stop and this permanent black cloud above his head to vanish. How much can one person possibly take?

His thoughts guide him out of the hospital and into the parking lot. Zye’s body moves on autopilot until he’s leaving. It’s only then that he forces himself to focus. Driving to work is quick and easy. It’s helped by the fact that he knows Soren is in and Daichi isn’t.

A quick message from a coworker this morning is all he needed.

Parking out front away from the door, he gets off and starts in. The helmet is something he holds close to his chest as he moves. His eyes remain focused and he doesn’t dare try to garner any attention from his coworkers. He’s not here for a pleasant visit or some idle chit-chat. Thankfully, no one cares to engage with him.

Another benefit to being tall and usually having a sour look on his face.

A knock on Soren’s door, a huff of a reply, and he’s inside with the door nudged shut. Zye doesn’t take a seat. It has Soren finally looking up at him. Fingers lace together beneath a raised chin with chilling eyes boring holes through Zye.

“How can I possibly thank you for finally appeasing Daichi so he’ll leave me alone?”

Meaning Daichi hasn’t calmed enough to talk to Soren about what happened.

“I’m not here about him.”

“Then pray tell, what are you here for? I’m a busy man and I don’t have time for bullshit.”

Zye takes a deep breath. “I want to put in my two-week notice.”

Soren’s expression falls. A sigh follows shortly after as he unfolds his hands, leans back in his chair with a squeak of springs, and gestures behind Zye. “I’d say I don’t care, leave today at that, but I have something I need you to take care of.”

“Meaning?”

“Neither Ali nor Kat are in today. They’re the only other people I trust with this delivery so I’ll make you a deal. Actually, consider it a favor since you’ve done so well here. Take the package and you can quit today.”

“Seriously?”

Soren glares at him. “Do I look like I’m joking? I need this done now. If you want out that bad I can have the paperwork done today.”

There’s no way he can say no. The ability to just leave and not have to deal with Daichi anymore? Getting away from him is Zye’s highest priority. He’s already tried before and gone back, he can’t do it again— can’t get sucked back into Daichi’s rhythm.

“I’ll do it.”

Soren reaches into the drawer of his desk and pulls out a small box. To Zye it doesn’t look like anything special. It’s wrapped in plain brown paper that helps it slide across the desktop. A moment later and Soren retrieves a slip of paper with an address on it and a name; Z. The script is prim and proper, as expected of Soren.

“Good. You don’t have to come back. Break it or steal it and you won’t be able to run far enough, understood? This is from me. A personal delivery.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Go and be quick about it.”

Zye doesn’t hesitate. The helmet fits back on as he steps up to the desk. He scoops up the box, paper, and leaves without a second thought. He’s acutely aware of the eyes staring holes into his back. Another thing he won’t miss.

Whatever he’s done to earn that type of look from Soren he’ll never know. Doesn’t care to either. Not when he has freedom just at his fingertips from this cold, hellish place. Although the strangeness of this final request is something else entirely. It’s not the first time he’s had such precious cargo.

Getting to his bike he realizes one thing— he doesn’t have his phone. He recalls having it this morning when he messaged Kat about the schedule. Not wanting to dwell on it, Zye glances at the address and proceeds to head there. From what he remembers it’s not too far away. If he takes the back streets he should have this done in an hour at most. Can even get home and maybe catch a nap.

The sun is still high in the sky as he drives through the city. Although by the time he gets there and back home it should be evening. He spends his time pondering on dinner; should he pick something up or settle for what he has leftover.

The heat of the sun is something he’s grateful not to deal with when he takes that first side street. More trees begin to pop up between shops which gradually change to houses. However, the further he goes through this neighborhood the worse they get. More forgotten and dilapidated the closer he gets to his destination. Usually, only Chroma live in these areas yet this end of the neighborhood, in particular, seems abandoned.

For a destination, it certainly isn’t anything special. Nothing he would have expected for such an important delivery. It’s a worn-down house with grass growing up through the cracks in the driveway. The sight alone has him pulling up at the curb, not daring to go further.

The helmet is left on the seat. He grabs the package out of the compartment and begins up the driveway. He’s glad it’s still early enough that the sun is out. Not for long, but enough to deliver this and get on his way.

“Why’s it gotta be so damn creepy,” he mutters to himself as he reaches the porch.

The wooden steps creak and moan as he climbs them. No matter where he walks, noise is echoing out around him. It’s enough to drive him crazy. Although not as bad as the vines crawling along every inch of the porch. They’re so long and overgrown that one wrong move has them brushing against him.

Zye suppresses a chill and opens the screen door. Even though the only screen left is barely hanging off the frame. A sigh slips from him as he knocks on the door, unable to find a doorbell of any kind.

It takes a moment before a loud groan signals the door is inching open. Zye isn’t stupid. He takes a step back and keeps his keys in one hand, particularly with the hard ring between two fingers just in case. Yet, he’s surprised.

This “Z” isn’t some battle-hardened person with scars or a sour look on their face. There’s not a tattoo in sight or a dangerous pet at their side. Not even a weapon that they flaunt despite living…here. Z is just a slender girl with a long, tattered scarf that she keeps pulled up to her nose.

At least he assumes this is the client. He tries his best not to stare and instead shifts his weight from one foot to the other. It’s normal these days for people to have strange eye colors— even from birth. Still, her scarlet eyes have him feeling unsure and a little wary.

She’s not eccentric either. Not from the short, dark purple hair to the long bangs swept to the right of her face to her attire. Even her clothes are patched, ripped, and unraveling at the ends; shirt, pants, and the shawl over that. Long sleeves fold back as she lifts her arms to reveal dainty hands reaching out for the package.

“Who are you?”

Not a blink, a twitch, or a change in her stance. She can barely even meet his eyes at that rate.

“Z. My package, please?”

“Sure.”

She takes the box. The second it leaves his hands he’s turning around. Zye is far too eager to get the hell out of here. Every warning light is going off in his head, begging him to get back on the bike and haul ass. One step down and he stops.

“Um, sir?”

He glances over his shoulder. “Is there a problem?”

“Yes— I mean no. Well…” The yellowed porch light streaks over her face as she finally lifts her chin, meeting his eyes. “You should be careful. There’s death following you.”

“Whatever you say.”

He replies with a scoff but there’s no denying that the hair on his arms is standing on end. There’s a wealth of anxiety spawning inside of him. Zye skips a step to get off the porch as quickly as possible. Not that it does him much good. The second he reaches the bottom she’s right there grabbing at the back of his t-shirt.

She clutches the material, tugging on it. He shoots her a glare. “What now?”

There’s not a chance that she’s letting him go yet. She wouldn’t be wrong in assuming he’d make a break for it either. Having left the package by the door, she’s able to fish out a trinket from her pocket. It’s nothing special, just a strip of leather with a metal coin dangling from it.

At least, that’s what Zye assumes it is. Tangible money is a thing of the past and any found is quite literally a priceless piece of junk. No one wants it.

Zye glares a little harder at her, hoping she’ll release her hold. “The hell do I want with that?”

Z lets him go, but not without holding it out to him. “It’ll protect you. A blessed medallion keeps evil away.”

“Look, I don’t have time for this. I’m busy.”

He pushes her hand away and finally manages to take a few steps away.

“Your Mother says she’s sorry. That the least she can do is give you something to keep this death at bay.”

The mention of Lyra has anger surging through him. He spins on his heel, throwing an arm out in a wide arc. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Would you rather sneak up on me, my starlight? Or…so she says. And that she loves you. To be safe tonight.”

Zye’s eyes widen at the ease of the question followed by the shaky statement. For a second he can’t even breathe. There’s a part deep inside of him that believes the words that tumble from her lips. He won’t admit it. Not while he can barely stand not rushing off to throw up.

He takes a step back toward his motorcycle. There’s hesitation in her before she hurries to close the distance between them. She skids to a stop before him, grabs his hand, and places the coin against his palm. Just before she lets go she loops the strap around his wrist twice before clicking the little metal hooks together.

What surprises him the most is when she surges forward, wrapping her arms around his middle for the briefest of hugs. As quick as she’s there, she’s scurrying away to the safety of her abode. She doesn’t look back. She doesn’t utter another word. All he’s left with is the slam of her front door, the screen door’s frame giving a couple of bounces before closing, and the confusion bubbling up in the pit of his stomach.

Nothing is right about this.

What the hell was any of that?