“This building's clear; she’s not here either,”  I sigh as I step out of her old recording studio. We found her hotel room the morning after our prairie dog showdown. It was long since empty, but had numerous clues on other places she could be. Apparently, Marcy was a kind of child prodigy violinist. Upon seeing her violin, Will talked for hours about how good she was and insisted we take it with us. It’s been four days since we arrived in the city. I've been reminded countless times why we usually stick to more rural areas.  The amount of Glyphs here is overwhelming, and we’ve had more close calls in these last few days than we have in the last year. Each day that goes by increases my resolve that Marcy is long gone. I only hope that when we find her body, it's in one piece.

“Ok, let’s head to a grocery store and see if there's anything left to eat,”  Will responds with a lot more optimism than I can return. He’s like this every time we are about to find one of our loved ones dead. Cheery and hopeful up until the moment he lays eyes on the decaying body. Sometimes I wish he’d face reality a bit earlier; maybe then the letdown wouldn’t hit him so harshly. But his attitude is good for both of us. I would have curled in a ball and died a long time ago if it weren’t for that Happy-go-Lucky attitude of his. So I find myself hoping Marcy is alive, despite my near-certainty she’s not.

“Wow, this place is run through.” Will whistles as we walk through the nearly empty shelves of the nearest Family Mart. Yet another reason we prefer the countryside is that there is more game to hunt and more leftovers in the stores. “We are going to starve to death in this place,” I respond, not needing to look to know Will is giving me a disapproving look. He doesn’t like it when I’m negative, which in our situation is fair. The world is negative enough; he doesn’t need my wailing to drag us down even more. I’m forced to stumble to stay upright as Will lops his arm and body weight around my shoulder.

“Come on now, Ethan, that is no way to talk about the home of your sister-in-l…” He's cut off by my hand clamped over his mouth. He gives me a playful quirk of his eyebrow, but it falls when he realizes I am not smiling. My head is turned towards the window. I swear I saw something, someone. Standing there just a moment ago, staring at us. But now all I see is light rain beginning to fall upon the pavement. “What is it?” He asks sternly, one of his hands gently removing mine from his lips. “I thought I…” I pause and stare a bit harder, but there is nothing. “No, um, never mind. I’m just being paranoid,”  I mumble with a frown. Will’s grip on my hand tightens almost painfully before he lets it go. “Ethan, your intuition is never wrong.” He huffs softly as he runs a hand through his hair and walks out of the shop to go investigate. I follow, then stiffen just outside the store.

“Ethan, do you hear that?” Will whispers. How could I not? The sound of a violin steadily grows around us. I can see the hope light up in Will’s eyes despite the growing pit in my stomach. This doesn’t feel right. Something about this is wrong, but if it were my sister playing the violin just a few buildings away from us, I would do anything to get to her. Will looks over at me with a smile so bright it crumbles the doubt inside me. It’s just my imagination. I’m just hungry. “Let’s go get Marcy,” I trill with a playful coo as I sprint after Will in the sound’s direction.

“Mr. Illia, wake up!” My head jerks upright as a student stands before me at my desk. When did I fall asleep? Fuck, my head feels awful. I’ve got a splitting headache, and I feel seconds away from spilling my lunch. That’s right, I went out with the other 9th-grade teachers last night. God, I haven’t drank that much in years. “I really gotta pee, man,” The student calls out again as I rub my head and lean back in my chair to look at the young boy. “Ok Thomas, just don’t take too long,” I huff, trying to rifle through my notes on today's lecture. Right, I had the kids do morning reflections, and now we are going to go over some poetry from the dark romanticism era. Maybe I should just call for a sub. I feel like if I stand from my desk I might puke. The kids would never let me live that down. But, I feel an odd sense of relief and… longing, like I’m forgetting something important. Oh shoot, I hope I closed my garage… or maybe I forgot to turn off the stove? I’m so screwed if my house burns down. Well, the 30-year mortgage is already screwing me, so…