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“Who is this?”

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

As if four wasn't enough already.

A pair of dark emerald eyes met my own, piercing through a round pair of glass lenses as he evaluated me. The dark waves of his hair were neatly combed to the side, and his uniform—a neat vest and trousers both in muted colors—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 finally here,” Davis said as I felt him place his hand on my shoulder. Again, I had to physically 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 disinterest as his stoic eyes flickered over to me, lingering 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 toward the morgue with swift steps.

Davis glanced back at me, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry about him. Hendrik is the embalmer here, and more on the quieter side."

"It's fine. His manners don't bother me."

To be frank, his briefness was actually preferable.

"Sure, but the guy can still be a total ass,” Alfred remarked, earning him a light hit on the back of his head from Davis.

“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’?!”

“All right, 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 he scrambled for a quick excuse. “Well she’s—'

“I don’t have one.”

“Sorry?”

“Huh?”

Alfred and Francesca both 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 before clearing his throat. "Alfred."

"Yeah?"

"While she's here I want you to be her mentor and teach her the ropes around here."

“Sorry, what now?" he asked, snapping his eyes toward him. "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, a clear look of doubt in his. Even with no words, we both mutually agreed that this arrangement 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."

"Mr. 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 cut in, unable to stand all this noise and bickering. "And I assure you that I wouldn't be ‘following you around’ more than what is necessary.”

The three of them grew silent. Alfred stared blankly at me, rather taken aback but regardless, it was the truth. I didn't intend to stay here any longer than 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, quickly clasping his hands together with a relieved smile as he turned to me. He appeared a bit too happy about the arrangement, which I found rather unsettling. “How about I show you around now?”

"If you insist."

I could feel Alfred and Francesca's eyes boring into my back as I left the foyer and followed Davis into the hallway. It was narrow—almost claustrophobic—but still wide enough for two people to walk side by side. Every surface from the wooden floorboards to the fine, half-panel walls was clean enough, but being clean couldn't hide the marks and scratches littered along corners and edges.

We continued upward along the stairs when we entered a quaint living room with a kitchen nook on one side and a dining table on the other. It was small but functional. I'd seen something similar before among the wreckage of derelict buildings abandoned during the war. But those were nothing more than hollow shells of what they once were, certainly nothing ever this... homely.

It was uncomfortable.

Davis led me down 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. It's not much, but arguably better than the 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, then quickly filled my nostrils as I walked in.

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. Davis was very much 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 slight smile. “You must still be tired. How about you settle in and get some rest? I'll get Alfred to start mentoring you tomorrow.”

“Yes, Mr. Davis.”

“My room is just opposite yours, so if you need anything, just knock." He moved to close the door behind him, his hand barely an inch away from the handle when his eyebrows shot up. “Oh, and before I forget, I have something for you.”

What now?

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

"Here," he said, holding out a small object. It was that metal case that the soldier had given me. “Liz found it in your uniform and gave it to me.”

I was still for a moment before reaching out to take it from him. It was still stained with that soldier's dried blood and the metal felt cool 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.

I shook my head. “It’s just something another soldier gave me."

“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—begging for it all to stop. Another was begging for his life to stop. But it didn't. The gunfire continued, muffling their screams but that didn't stop them from yelling louder. All I wanted was to drain all those noises that bled into my ears.

But I couldn’t.

A pair of hands were wrapped around my throat. My head was pushed into a muddy puddle soaking 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, his 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 nor did the feeling of suffocation. It refused to, fighting to intrude into every ounce of my being.

Help...

I couldn’t breathe.