Downstairs, Damon carefully laid George's unconscious body onto the fresh bedding. The last of the blood-soaked sheets had vanished into Vincent's inventory, however the pungent scent of blood continued to linger.
'Let just hope they don't panic once they wake up...' Damon prayed silently.
After finishing his cleaning, Vincent changed into a fresh shirt, dark grey coat and trousers. He then stored his stained clothing away and retrieved a single scented candle.
"This should be enough..." Vincent said as he examined the dull red smear on the now bare wall. "It'll look like spilled wine in the dim light and this candle will mask the scent."
At that moment, footsteps sounded on the staircase.
"They're here," Damon glanced at Vincent as he moved closer to the door and said."Do you need me to help you restrain her and cast the spell?" After familiarizing himself with the chant , Damon had a general understanding of how to use the Mosynmonic spell.
"There's no need. I'll handle this myself, just hide behind the door." Vincent rubbed the back of his neck and said Solemnly.
Damon nodded slightly and said "Alright, but once this is over we need to discuss what happened a Winchester street." Walking closer to the wall, he rested his back against the surface in preparation for a possible struggle.
But suddenly...
Smack.
An abrupt sound reached his ears. What followed was the soft thud of someone's weight shifting as there body collapsed.
'What was that....?'Vincent and Damon exchanged a look of bewildered curiosity. As Damon stepped away from the wall , they watched cautiously as the door was pushed open.
Henry entered, supporting Harley's unconscious body with both hands. Her arm hung loosely over his shoulder, her head resting against him as if she'd simply fallen asleep during a walk.
"Henry? What happened?" Vincent asked, frowning at the sight.
"I... I wanted to avoid a struggle. She was getting too anxious, and I didn't want her to scream when she saw George like that." His gaze instinctively wondered around the room as he spoke.
"Does the spell work if she's already unconscious?" Henry asked, the edge of desperation creeping into his voice.
"I've never attempted a Mosynmonic application this way before. The spell usually requires a moment of consciousness for the subject's mind to anchor the intended memory block." Vincent contemplated the problem for a moment, then let out a slow breath. "But the Core is still open to influence. It should be fine. Put her on the bed next to George."
Henry gently laid Harley.
Watching his brother Silver light gathered at Vincent's fingertips, as he shaped the Mosynmonic sigil before lowering it to Harley's temples. The glow seeped into her skin like warm breath fading on a mirror.
As observed the ritual unfolding, Damon felt a cold knot settling in his stomach. This scene, this lie they were weaving… Something felt missing.
"This needs to be more convincing," Damon said.
Walking over to the bed, he then straightened the pillows, pulled the sheet just off its corner, and shifted George's right arm so it rested naturally near Harley's.
Following that, he grabbed the buttons of George's shirt and tore them open with a single, sharp motion. He then unbuckled the man's trousers, leaving them gaping open at the waist.
"There. That sells the idea of them being lovers perfectly." Stepping back, Damon admired his crude alterations in satisfaction. He then turned to Henry and said,"You should do the same to Harley's blouse and hair. It will sell the 'woke up after a night of passion' idea much better."
Henry stared at him, his eyes wide with horrified refusal. "No. Absolutely not," he snapped, his control finally breaking. "How... how can you be so casual about this?"
Damon paused, then answered with a subdued honesty. "I thought it over. Marco's last wish was to protect them and ensure we continue the mission to save Cecil." He gestured to the duo and continued. " A future where they're kept far from Specters… from us. If bending the truth secures that, then surely this is the correct path."
Upon hearing this, Henry fell silent, digesting his brother's brutal pragmatism. The logic was sound, but the morality of it seemed questionable.
Could anyone in this world truly avoid Specters…?
After a moment, Henry looked down at Harley, his face tight with anguish. He gently smoothed a strand of hair from her cheek, then deliberately tugged a seam on the side of her blouse, creating a plausible tear without exposing her.
"How did you clean the room so fast?" Henry asked, desperate to change the subject.
"Vincent drew the blood from the wood and walls using a water manipulation skill," Damon replied. "He compressed it all into a fist-sized sphere then stored that sphere with Marco's body, and the bloody sheets in his hidden inventory."
"I'm finished here." Vincent's hand dropped as the silver light faded entirely.
"I also cast a minor spell to wake them up in ten minutes. We need to leave."
With a somber mood settling between them, they stepped out of the brothel and embraced a steady grey down pour.
The rain fell in thick, sheets drumming a hollow rhythm on the cobblestones and turning the gutters into rushing streams. Around them, civilians cursed and yelped in surprise, lifting coats and newspapers over their heads as they scrambled for shelter in open storefronts.
"It's supposed to be the start of summer. Why is it raining like this?" Damon tilted his head up, looking at the leaden sky his brows deepened into a frown.
'The moods already depressing enough, now this is just cliché..'
Vincent didn't bother to dodge the rain. He let it soak into his hair and coat, his expression unreadable beneath the watery haze. "Some followers of the Goddess Olympia say heavy summer rain is a sign her weeping," he murmured. "A sign the natural order has been violated, and an innocence life was drowned in blood."
As he watched the people on the streets, Henry interjected with question,"Do you believe she's weeping for Marco?"
In response, Vincent lifted his gaze to the grey clouds then dawned a self depreciating smile and said, "I hope so, but he wasn't much of a believer of the Goddess either. Judging by the flow pattern… the rain likely started down south in Foshan City."
'A storm might be approaching,' Damon thought, the grim certainty a cold stone in his gut. A cold droplet traced a path down Damon's neck, but a deeper chill settled in his chest.
****
Foshan City, Xiangcao Pharmacy.
The rain was a relentless, grey curtain, washing the color from the world. It slammed against the pharmacy signboard in violent waves.
Inside, the elderly shopkeeper stood by the window with his hands folded behind his back, watching the storm with a tranquil, almost meditative expression as water streamed down the glass.
"Its getting really bad out there, perhaps I should close up for day" He shuffled toward the door, the bell giving a soft, resigned chime as he drew the bolt across.
Moving through the shop, he locked each glass-fronted cabinet, the jangle of keys echoing faintly in the quiet.
At last, he returned to his stool behind the counter, opened his ledger, and laid out the day's earnings. The rustle of notes and the steady scratch of his pen blended into the rhythm of the rain beyond the entrance.
Then--
Knock… knock…
A soft tapping broke the calm.
The shopkeeper lifted his head, his brow creasing faintly. Through the rain-beaded glass, he made out two silhouettes pressed beneath the narrow eaves. For a moment he squinted through the distorting sheet of water and was faintly able to discern the features of one of the silhouettes.
Then recognition struck, brightening his lined face with sudden warmth.
'Harvey? But why is he using the front entrance..?'
Knock… knock…
"Coming, coming!" Quelling his suspicions, The shopkeeper answered with enthusiasm.
He rose with surprising speed, hurried to the door, and wrestled the bolt free. As he swung the door open, a broad, welcoming smile spread across his face.
"You're back! Quickly now, come in out of the rain. Tell me, do you bring good news for the master?"