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“Who's this?”

My eyes snapped to the source of that voice, and I was suddenly aware that there was now a fifth person in the room.

As if four wasn't enough already.

A pair of dark green eyes met my own, piercing through a pair of round, glass lenses as he evaluated me. The dark waves of his hair were neatly combed to the side, and his uniform—a vest and trousers in a muted brown colour—gave the impression of someone trying to maintain an air of professionalism.

And that would've been the case, if not for the blood stain on his sleeve and the scent of flesh reeking off of him.

“Hendrik! You’re also here,” Davis said as I felt him place his hand lightly on my shoulder. Again, I had to refrain from immediately pushing him off. “I was just introducing everyone to this young lady over here.”

“I see. I heard some ruckus in here and thought it might’ve been another customer, but it seems I was wrong," he said with a tone of disinterest as his stoic eyes flickered over to me, lingering on me for a moment. “I’m going to be in the morgue if you need me. I have some unfinished work to do.”

Without sparing another glance in my direction, Hendrik turned around and left the room. My gaze lingered on his back as he disappeared towards the morgue.

Davis glanced back at me, rubbing the back of his neck after that tense encounter. "Sorry about him. Hendrik is the embalmer here, and more on the quiet side."

"You don't need to apologise, his manner doesn't bother me."

To be frank, his briefness was preferable actually.

"Sure, but the guy can still be a total ass,” Alfred remarked, earning him a light hit against the back of his head from Davis who gave him an unimpressed look.

“What he means to say is that Hendrik takes a little time to warm up to people.”

“Hey! What was that for?”

“Oh calm down, I was holding back on you.”

Alfred shot him a look of complete bafflement as he rubbed the spot where he'd just been smacked. “Where the hell did you ‘hold back’?!”

“Alright, that’s enough from you two. You shouldn't be arguing in front of our guest,” Francesca interjected with a disapproving look. She let out a heavy sigh before turning back to me with a warm smile. "I don't think you've told us your name yet."

A flicker of panic flashed in Davis’ eyes as his mind scrambled for a quick excuse. “Well she’s—”

“I don’t have one.”

“Sorry?”

“Huh?”

Alfred and Francesca stared at me with wide eyes, blinking with confusion, but I just repeated myself. “I don’t have a name.”

“Edwin, what does she mean by that?”

"Look, Fran, she doesn't really have a name."

"How could she not have a name?" she questioned, crossing her arms as she sent him a hard look. “Just where did you find this girl?”

“It’s hard to explain, she has some... certain circumstances,” he said vaguely, averting his eyes and clearing his throat before shifting his focus to Alfred. "Alfred, while she's here I want you to be her mentor and teach her the ropes around here."

“Sorry, what now? Why do you want me to do it?"

“Did you think I’d ask Hendrik instead?"

"Well, no, but—"

"To be honest, I thought you'd be best for the job. And since you're closer in age to her than I am, I was also hoping you'd both get along."

Alfred and I locked eyes with a look of doubt in his. Even with no words, we both mutually agreed this agreement would likely end rather poorly.

“Look, I don’t need a kid following me around.”

“Stop calling her a kid, and she’s more than capable—”

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Even if she is, I have better problems than being a mentor."

"Mister Alfred, there is no need for you to consider me your 'problem' and make me your concern. It would be inconvenient to both of us if you did," I interjected, growing weary of all this noise and arguing. "And I assure you that I wouldn't be ‘following you around’ more than what is necessary.”

The three of them grew silent at my words, and Alfred particular was quite taken aback. I could practically see the thoughts churning in his brain at my words, but regardless, it was the truth.

I didn't intend to stay here any longer than what was necessary, and if letting that man become my 'mentor' was preferable to the situation, then so be it.

“Fine, I’ll do it,” he relented with a heavy sigh, "and quit that whole 'mister' thing."

“Yes, sir.”

“Hey, didn’t I just—”

“Great!” Davis said and clasped his hands together with a relieved smile. He appeared far too happy about this arrangement as he turned to face me. “How about I show you around now?”

"If you insist."

I could feel Alfred and Francesca's gazes still lingering on my back as I left them in the foyer and followed him through the inner hallway. It was narrow, just wide enough for two people to walk side by side. And while the interior itself was sufficiently clean, with everything from the wooden floorboards to the half-wall panelling relatively spotless, there were several marks and scratches littered in the corners and edges.

Davis led me up the stairs where we entered a quaint living area with a kitchen nook on one side and a dining table on the other.

I'd seen something similar before in the wreckages of derelict buildings abandoned during the war that were nothing more than hollow shells of what they once were, but nothing ever this... homely.

It was uncomfortable.

I turned away from the room and continued following Davis as he walked down towards an even smaller hallway with only a few doors running along it.

"This room was mostly used for storage before, but I cleaned it up for you while you were recovering. It's not much, but arguably better than those trenches."

He pushed open a door on the right, revealing a small room inside. It was barren, to say the least, and furnished with little more than a bed, desk, closet and bookcase. Dust still lingered on most surfaces and infested the air inside.

Frankly, it was essentially a glorified box with four dry walls and a single window above the desk that overlooked the rest of the city.

He was right, it wasn’t much, but, everything was clean. There was no mud, rain, or blood. And most importantly, it was quiet.

That would be enough.

“So, what do you think?” he asked, his eyes following me as I took in the room.

“It's satisfactory.”

“That’s the best I’m going to get from you, isn't it?” he asked with a small smile. “But, you must still be tired. How about you settle in and get some rest? I'll get Alfred to start mentoring you tomorrow.”

“Yes, Mister Davis.”

“My room is just opposite yours, so if you need anything, just knock,” he said, moving to close the door behind me, but before he could grab the handle, his eyebrows shot up. “Oh, and before I forget, I have something for you.”

He did?

I narrowed my eyes as he reached into his pocket, rummaging around for a moment before pulling something.

"Here, he said, holding out a small object. My eyes widened slightly as I saw it was the small metal case that the soldier had given me. “Liz found it in your uniform and gave it to me.”

I reached my hand towards it, taking it from him. The case was still stained with that soldier's blood and the metal felt cold against my fingers. When I opened the lid, I saw his lighter and earplugs were still inside.

“Is it something important to you?” he asked, eyeing me curiously as I couldn't tear my gaze away from it.

“It’s just something another soldier gave me,” I told him bluntly.

“Was he important to you then?”

“No, he’s dead now.”

—

There was something unforgettable about the smell of death.

That stench of rot mixed with raw blood reeked off both the dead and living on the battlefield. After six years, that smell had branded itself into my mind.

An explosion went off. The bang left a ringing in my ears that blurred into pained cries not too far off from me. Someone was begging for it all to stop. Another was begging for his life to stop. But, the gunfires continued, muffling their screams. I wanted my ears to obscure all those noises that bled into my hearing.

But I couldn’t.

There were hands wrapped around my throat. My head was being pushed into a puddle of mud soaking into my blood-stained uniform. A soldier hovered over me, his thumbs digging deeper into my neck. The rapid-fire hail of bullets continued around me, the sound echoing into an indistinguishable mess.

“Why won’t you die, damn it!” he yelled, spit splattering into my face as his fingers tightened around me.

Stop.

There was another explosion. Closer that time. Dirt from the ground sprayed onto us, but that didn’t stop him. He kept his hand strained around my neck like a noose.

Stop.

The screams continued as every noise around me persisted mercilessly. His fingers stopped any air from entering or leaving my body. All I could do was close my eyes and try to block out the images I wanted to so desperately clean from every crevice of my mind.

But that noise wouldn’t leave. It refused to, fighting to intrude into every ounce of my being.

I couldn’t breathe.