Melissa, as it turned out, never went to school that day.
It was well within her right to do so, she reasoned as she wandered through the Saint Selena Cathedral halls—looking for anyone from the Blackthorn Security Company.
It had been rather foolish of her brother to trust her so easily—though, to be fair, Klein had always been a little oblivious when it came to social cues.
With how deeply he buried himself in books and history, Melissa could only assume he lived in a private dreamland of his own making.
It was at that moment, while she was asking several church members where she might find even one of them, that she noticed Sir Mitchell tucked into a corner swallowed by darkness.
If not for his highly questionable choice of clothing, she would never have spotted him from this angle.
Melissa brightened at the sight of him, though a thread of wariness still wound tightly through her thoughts.
It seemed there was truly no one else she could rely on for answers except the people involved in her brother's predicament.
Alright then.
After she thanked the nun who had graciously entertained her questions despite her busy schedule, Melissa reasoned that her growing suspicions were only natural.
Why would a 'Security Company' be so eager to accommodate her brother? Why would that man appear in Klein's room only hours before dawn?
Why else would Klein's 'new job' respond so quickly after his alleged attack? Why issue a response faster than any reasonable protocol?
The conclusion was growing harder to ignore.
They must have known something.
Melissa clenched her fist, gripping the charitable dress the church had given her so tightly that the fabric crumpled.
She supposed that staring at a bloodstained teenager was not something anyone wanted to deal with. They had even let her use their private bathroom.
Still, her hands continued to tingle from everything they had gone through, even though Klein's supposed wound had already vanished.
"What is happening?" Melissa heard Sir Mitchell whisper to the empty air as she drew closer. "Is Ince Zangwill really dead?"
She glanced around the hallways, mostly empty except for a few church staff and distant bystanders running about.
"... Sir Mitchell?" she called out hesitantly.
Sir Mitchell startled, eyes widening as he turned toward her. Had he been so distracted that he hadn't noticed her approaching?
Well, no matter.
It wasn't her business anyway. Sir Mitchell seemed the easily distracted type, a quality that reminded her faintly of her brother.
"Ah," Sir Mitchell said, composing himself. "Hello, Miss Moretti. You startled me."
He straightened his posture and lightly brushed off his clothes, which had remained spotless.
"Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked, leaning slightly forward. "There must be a reason you approached me, right?"
Melissa paused, weighing everything that had happened and considering what options remained.
Then her thoughts drifted to Klein.
Whatever he was entangled in, it was surely not good. She needed answers.
"I," she began, "I want to know the true nature of your job," she said, her voice steady and resolute.Leonard paused before answering, secretly satisfied with how events had unfolded. Most people, when confronted with the extraordinary, required time—sometimes an entire lifetime—to accept it.
Judging by her cautious yet expectant expression, Miss Moretti herself had never truly acknowledged the extraordinary as part of this world's natural order.
What stood out was how quickly she sought the truth. Such decisiveness was rare. It marked her as sensible, yes—but also faintly impetuous.
Leonard found himself wondering what she had witnessed to make her turn so abruptly. Suspicion alone was one thing, conviction was another. Miss Moretti had already crossed that line.
There was no hesitation in her gaze. Beneath the shroud of the ordinary, she was searching for something else entirely.
"True nature?" Leonard repeated dully, as if the phrase needed time to settle.
"It's a security company, Miss Moretti," he said after a brief pause. "Nothing more than that."
Just to be safe.
He cautioned inwardly. Perhaps he was jumping to conclusions again. Her words could have meant anything. Why immediately assume the supernatural?
That kind of thinking was narrow. More importantly, how could he be certain that this was what she was truly after?
It was probably nothing more than a coincidence.
Miss Moretti's face tightened as her fists clenched. She pressed her lips together, hesitation flickering across her features.
Then, as though she had finally resolved herself, she leaned closer—near enough to whisper.
"My brother had no wounds," she said softly. "Who else could know that, if not all of you?"
'Who else, if not the Blackthorn Security Company?'
The words carried a sharp, quiet accusation.
"I touched that wound with my own two hands." Her lips trembled as she spoke.
"My nightgown was soaked in red," she stressed. "You saw it, Sir Mitchell."
Miss Moretti's shoulders trembled as she folded inward, arms wrapping tightly around her elbows.
"And I wanted to know why," she said, her voice quivering despite her effort to steady it. "What has my brother gotten himself into? I needed to know."
She lifted her head, the demand in her voice no longer concealed. Her brown eyes burned.
"So," she pressed, "what is the true nature of your work, Sir Mitchell?"
For a little girl raised among gears and clockwork, who trusted logic, procedures, and step-by-step deductions, how could Melissa Moretti not seek the truth?
All her life, she had learned that every mechanism had a cause, every result a reason.
Family was no different.
That was her brother.
And he was a Fool.
What unexplainable trouble had her foolish brother stepped into—and more importantly, how could she help him? That was simply the nature of family.
And that was what love was—the hidden machinery that set everything in motion—
Miss Moretti bit her lip before adding, quietly yet firmly. "And I deserved to know."
Beneath Leonard's unreadable gaze, she repeated resolutely. "As his sister, I deserved to know."
Meeting her determined gaze, Leonard let out a quiet sigh. There was no need to delay it any longer. Besides, resorting to something as vile as erasing one person's memories would be redundant.
The Moretti siblings lived under the same roof, it was unlikely the supernatural could be concealed for long.
Unless, of course, Mr. Moretti had died.
The thought surfaced so suddenly that it startled him.
'But Klein Moretti hadn't,' Leonard quickly corrected himself. And with one mysterious incident tumbling after another, suspicion was only a reasonable development.
As Miss Moretti grew increasingly impatient with his silence, Leonard offered her a reassuring smile.
"Alright," he said.
"Come with me, Ma'am. Saint Selena Cathedral may be secure, but protocol dictates that such confidential matters be discussed away from unauthorized ears."
And as he gestured for her to follow, the Midnight Poet couldn't help but notice the subtle ease that settled into her shoulders. An immediate relief that had been absent only moments before.
Sir Mitchell led them into what could only be described as a meeting room. Empty chairs lined the walls, and a long table stretched across the center.
Melissa found it rather ordinary, so she set her curiosity aside and sank into one of the couches, obeying Sir Mitchell's gesture to sit.
She sat with her hands resting neatly on her knees, tense and alert.
Sir Mitchell paused, as if lost in thought, before shaking his head with a helpless smile. He then dragged over a spare chair and settled himself in front of her.
"Alright."
He began.
"I'm afraid I can't tell you much, Miss Moretti."
What?
Melissa opened her mouth to protest, but Sir Mitchell raised a hand to stop her.
The sixteen-year-old forced her lips shut, biting back the accusations that threatened to spill out.
"I'm still a low-ranking employee, I'm afraid and..."
He trailed off for a moment.
"My supervisor is tied up with other matters, so I can only share the basics," Sir Mitchell explained.
Melissa stayed silent, mulling over the other's words. She supposed it was to be expected. As long as she understood what her brother had gotten himself into, she wouldn't mind starting with just the basics.
Surely, they wouldn't leave her completely in the dark, right?
Well, she supposed that if it came to that, she would just have to find other organizations that operated like the so-called Blackthorn Security Company.
If one existed, there had to be others as well. It was only a matter of enough searching and persistent effort.
"Then," Melissa ventured, "what can you tell me, Sir Mitchell?"
There had to be something. Otherwise, why would he indulge her like this at all?
Sir Mitchell paused, studying her with a glint in his eye that could only be described as assessing.
Then he let out a deep sigh.
"Do you know Welch McGovern, Miss?" he asked instead.
"Welch McGovern?" she echoed blankly, wondering why the name had been brought up so suddenly.
Then she reconsidered.
"Perhaps," she said at last.
Melissa wasn't particularly familiar with most of Klein's school life, but she had often heard him mention the small circle of friends he spent his university days with.
Mr. McGovern had come up more than once—usually accompanied by Klein's mild discomfort at how closely the man followed the Moretti family's financial situation, and how readily he offered help.
Neither she nor her brother wished to be indebted to anyone to that extent. It was not pride so much as self-preservation, an instinctive need to guard one's dignity.
People rarely looked kindly on those who could only accept kindness. After all, what could they offer in return?
She had heard enough troubling stories about the wealthy taking advantage of the poor, often under the guise of generosity. She would never want that for her brother.
Perhaps she was overthinking it. Still, caution never hurt. It was not as though she had ever voiced these thoughts aloud, certainly not to Klein, beyond the few conversations they had about friends offering assistance.
To speak of such suspicions would be impolite, even if there were layers of truth to them. And in any case, Klein had never expressed any desire to accept money from his friend.
Confused by the sudden mention of Mr. McGovern, she supposed it might be attributed to the case they had discussed earlier in the carriage.
"May I ask why you brought up that name?" she asked politely. "You would not have mentioned him if it were not related to my brother."
Sir Mitchell's lips quirked upward as he leaned back, almost lax, crossing one leg over the other. "There is a connection," he confirmed.
"You see, Miss, Mr. McGovern has already, unfortunately, passed away."
Startled, Melissa could not suppress her immediate reaction. "What?"
Was that why Klein had seemed so down lately? What had happened? He had never told her. She could imagine it being distressing news, but surely he would not have kept something like this from her.
"Is he in danger?" she asked at once, even though she already suspected the answer.
Her brother had supposedly been attacked and survived, unharmed on the surface, even if the incident hinted at something supernatural.
But who could say what might happen later, tomorrow, or next week? Surely that could not be the end of it all.
"Not at the moment, Miss," Sir Mitchell said, trying to ease her concerns. "There is a reason he has been accepted into our company."
Melissa paused to process his words, then quickly sought clarification. "And that reason is to provide protection?" If that were true, it would answer one of her questions.
"Of course," Sir Mitchell confirmed. "Cases like these are extremely dangerous and unpredictable. We must take every precaution to minimize the risk to human lives."
Hearing this, Melissa felt a small flicker of relief, though she remained somewhat wary. At the very least, these people were providing a safe space for her brother to take refuge in.
Still.
Knowing that Klein's job was dangerous and potentially life-threatening only heightened her worries even further. How was she supposed to handle this, she thought bitterly.
Melissa would much rather have her brother safe and far away from all of it. That would certainly ease her mind.
"What happened to Mr. McGovern?" she asked hesitantly, suddenly noticing that Sir Mitchell seemed to be stretching the conversation longer than necessary.
"How does it connect to my brother?"
'How did he die?'
She didn't ask. It felt like an omen, or perhaps a premonition of something she couldn't comprehend.
That was precisely why she was trying to make sense of it—anything to ease the fear of the unknown.
Sir Mitchell smiled wryly. "Alongside Mr. Welch was Miss Naya," he began. "Officially, it was said to be suicide."
'So there were two?'
Melissa wondered, and she couldn't help but think that if her brother hadn't been so lucky, there would have been three. She might have woken up to find his corpse.
Not that it would have been much different from what had happened earlier, she thought dryly.
Melissa clenched her fists, still feeling the warmth of blood beneath her palms. She fiddled with her fingers, trying to push the thought away.
"Mr. Welch hit the wall with his head repeatedly, covering it with blood. Miss Naya drowned herself in a basin," Sir Mitchell explained, "and yes, she used the kind most commonly meant for washing your face."
"And why," Melissa asked, her throat dry, "why would they do that?"
Why would they kill themselves so suddenly, and at the same time, as Sir Mitchell seemed to suggest?
She tried to put herself in their place, but while she couldn't understand their situation, it seemed unlikely that they would have chosen to end their lives so soon after their graduation.
She thought of Klein's overjoyed expression. No, she couldn't understand it at all. Why would they commit suicide?
"It seemed," Melissa searched for the right words, "impossible, if I may say so."
"We believe so too, but the autopsy results and the situation at the scene rule out factors such as drugs or external forces," Sir Mitchell explained. "Mr. Welch and Miss Naya showed no signs of struggling."
"So it has something to do with the extraordinary then," Melissa concluded from the bone-chilling story. It didn't help that she could easily imagine her brother in their places.
The thought was far from comforting.
Sir Mitchell nodded slowly. "Yes, it was indeed something extraordinary, something that could even be called malevolent."
Melissa's hands were slick with sweat where she had kept them clasped together tensely.
"I see," she said simply, not knowing what else to say. How was one supposed to react to this? How frightening.
For someone raised among gears and clockwork, Melissa trusted logic, procedures, and step-by-step deductions. Now that she had part of the truth, how was she supposed to process it?
Every mechanism had a cause, every result a reason, but what could be reasonable about something extraordinary? Surely such a thing existed beyond the realm of logic and reason.
Who could have known that beyond machinery, there was something inexplicable working behind the scenes?
How much of life really hid behind closed doors? Had everything been a lie from the start?
She didn't know what to think at all.
(... She didn't know what to think at all...) Saint Selena Cathedral was strangely vacant, as though everyone had been drawn away elsewhere at the same time.
Klein couldn't help but feel uneasy at such a coincidence. Wasn't this too much? What was happening? Why did everything seem to be moving so fast?
He counted the days in his head. It had only been about three days, he thought with a weary sigh, and yet everything was already piling up.
'Klein's diary was still in the Gray Fog, right?' he thought, the memory surfacing out of nowhere. Should Zhou Mingrui take it back with him?
No—wait. That would be suspicious. If anyone asked, how could he explain retrieving the notebook from his apartment when he was supposed to be confined for recovery?
Then again.
Would anyone even care? Melissa had been here earlier. He could always say his sister had brought it for him.
Would the Nighthawks really be so attuned to anything out of the ordinary? Surely not, they couldn't be suspicious of everything, after all.
Still.
These people were far more experienced in this sort of matter than he could ever be, being a newcomer and all. Or was Zhou Mingrui overthinking again?
In the end, the diary was just an ordinary notebook, as Mr. Mitchell had said. They could not possibly find anything substantial in it.
But just to be safe, he should probably take it back once he returned to the apartment. There was nothing wrong with checking whether it was still there.
Zhou Mingrui didn't really know what had happened to it after the divination, so he should at least make sure it was still in one piece.
"Alright," he muttered to himself. "Now, how do I get back? Do I just envision the Gray Fog or something—"
Zhou Mingrui blinked.
A vast, mist-filled reality surrounded him.
Oh.
"And somehow, I'm here," he remarked, a little dryly.
"Huh."
Neat.
Zhou Mingrui was quickly distracted by what he was wearing. He hadn't really paid attention to his appearance the last time he'd been here, so it was a genuine surprise to see his modern-era clothes on his body.
Especially since, in reality, he had become Klein Moretti, who would normally be dressed in Victorian-style attire. He didn't quite know how to feel about it.
He wondered why. Surely there had to be a reason. Was it because, at his core, he still considered himself Zhou Mingrui, and that had shaped his appearance in the Gray Fog?
In that alternate universe, he had looked like Klein Moretti as well. Was the difference simply that he was aware of another Klein Moretti existing?
That, Zhou Mingrui thought dryly, was probably the most obvious difference between worlds.
How convenient, he decided, not really knowing what else to think. So he didn't.
Now, where exactly was that diary?
The good news was that Zhou Mingrui had found it.
The diary lay in front of The World's seat, resting innocently on the table as if it hadn't actually divined the end of an era or something.
Zhou Mingrui's lips twitched. He couldn't tell if they were trying to curve up or down, but he realized he didn't really care that much.
Since it looked fine, the Time Traveler just left it there and turned his attention to another notebook that had caught his eye—
Zhou Mingrui leafed through the familiar black hardcover, its pages inscribed in Ancient Feysac.
The Antigonus Family's Notebook, was it? He'd seen it before, in the memories of his alternate self. He was certain of it.
Suddenly, Old Neil's words came back to him.
"But it seems a very sturdy wall blocked my view."
"Ah," Zhou Mingrui said, dumbfounded.
After a moment, he asked himself.
"Is this considered theft?"
And if it was, then the Nighthawks weren't going to discover where this cursed notebook had ended up to.
Zhou Mingrui isn't sure whether he should pity them, so he chose not to dwell on it.
Still.
Why was the Antigonus Family's Notebook even at the Gray Fog, anyway?
It's not ominous at all.
Not in the slightest.
It really isn't. was before lunchtime when Mr. Mitchell escorted his sister into the church infirmary, much to Klein's surprise. It took little imagination to realize that Melissa hadn't gone to school that morning.
Klein rose so abruptly that a wave of dizziness nearly overtook him, terror constricting his chest—pure, unadulterated fear. If Melissa Moretti had approached Leonard Mitchell on her own, who knew what she might have said? Or what she might have learned? It could have been anything.
When Klein met Mr. Mitchell's gaze, the Nighthawk could only return it with a guilty look and a weary sigh.
"She was very adamant," the Midnight Poet said softly. "There really wasn't any other choice but to tell her."
Ah.
As if sensing the anguish of an older brother faced with the threat of his younger sister being in danger, Mr. Mitchell offered a reassuring look.
"I'll inform the Captain."
With that, he turned and departed, leaving the siblings alone to face one another, along with everything that lingered between them, unsaid.
Klein sank into the infirmary bed, his heart heavy, and tried to catch Melissa Moretti's eyes. His younger sister fidgeted nervously, her eyes darting around for no apparent reason. Perhaps it was the guilt of someone caught sneaking behind another's back, Klein mused.
Then, as if finally making a decision, he reached out and pulled her close. He didn't know why—maybe it was some lingering brotherly instinct left by the original owner of the body. And so Klein Moretti held Melissa Moretti tightly, fear and worry quickening his pulse.
He wondered if he was overdoing it, but thoughts of The Fool and the original Klein Moretti made him tense with anxiety. What Fate might befall Benson and Melissa Moretti? The thought alone sent shivers down his spine, no matter how irritational or undeserved it was.
Melissa hugged him back just as tightly, burrowing into his shoulder as if his presence alone could shield her from the world.
Klein Moretti's skin tingled, a sensation that refused to settle.
Zhou Mingrui fought to regain his balance, resisting the pull of an identity crisis. The writhing mass of worms and maggots were unnecessary, but at least for now, they seemed contained.
It took some time, but they eventually released each other. Klein Moretti couldn't help but glance away from Melissa Moretti's red-rimmed eyes. After a moment, he gathered his thoughts and spoke.
"So... what did you learn?" he asked, careful but probing.
Melissa hesitated before answering. "They didn't tell me much," she admitted. "Just about the Welch McGovern case... and that it was caused by something supernatural."
She paused again, reconsidering. "... Sir Mitchell said I'm not qualified to know anything beyond that."
Klein lampooned silently in his mind. 'Well, at least Sir Mitchell is sensible enough about that.'
Then, silence fell between them. What were they supposed to talk about after that? What came next?
Klein quickly realized that neither of them knew. He caught the awkward stiffness in Melissa's expression and felt the weight of the quiet pressing down on his chest.
"What do we tell Benson?" Klein blurted out before the silence could swallow him whole. The words slipped out impulsively, and only after did he pause, letting their meaning settle.
"Can we even tell him?" he added, more as a rhetorical thought than a real question—he already knew the answer.
Things like this were never meant for ordinary people. Klein would have preferred for both of them to remain far away from such matters. Yet now that Melissa Moretti had already been dragged in, was it truly unreasonable to hope—however faintly—that Benson Moretti wouldn't be next?
"... Sir Mitchell made me sign a confidentiality agreement," Melissa admitted after a long pause.
She fell silent afterward, letting the unspoken words linger between them.
Klein sighed.
Figures.
Not quite sure what else to do, the siblings passed the time with light gossip. A few nuns stopped by occasionally to check on him, each staying only a few minutes. Klein took the chance to gently coax a bit of information out of them.
Apparently, the Nighthawks had informed the church that he had fainted from the shock of the attack and that they suspected a few broken ribs, which explained the bandages. Still, there was supposedly nothing to worry about, since he looked perfectly fine and in good health.
After spending half an hour chatting with the staff about the police and their questionable approach to medical care—as one nun remarked, true professionals would never simply wrap up suspected broken ribs—the Moretti siblings once again found themselves alone together.
"It really is a miracle you didn't end up with a wound," Melissa commented, poking at Klein's unbandaged chest. "It's honestly shocking how that even happened in the first place."
After a few more pokes, Klein gently swatted her hand away. The smile on his lips looked more like a grimace. "Maybe because it is?" he offered weakly. "A miracle, I mean."
"Praise the Goddess," Melissa replied out of habit, something faint and unreadable threading through her voice. "You're very lucky... to have been blessed."
She smiled then, softer this time. "Hopefully, that's the last time."
Not knowing what else to say, Klein gently patted her head, as if the gesture could speak all the words he'd left unsaid.
"Ah," Melissa said after a stretch of silence, as if she had just realized something. "Should I go back?" she asked, genuine concern in her voice. "Your place is still a crime scene, and I'm worried about what Benson might see when he comes back tomorrow."
She peeked down the hallway, and Klein followed her gaze, instinctively searching for any sign that the Nighthawks had returned. It had been a while already—dusk was creeping in.
It didn't sit right with him to let Melissa return to the apartment alone. She was still only sixteen—what if something happened to her on the way? Maybe he could try negotiating with the church staff, ask if she could stay here with him for the night.
Though, he thought silently.
Klein watched someone nearby break into a coughing fit, his brow twitching despite himself as a chill crept up his spine. Melissa was still young—if she stayed here any longer, she might fall ill instead. This room... it wasn't exactly a safe place for one's health.
Klein sighed.
"Best to wait for now," he decided. "The company should know what to do."
Probably.