The veiled woman remained by the window for a long time after Elias spoke, her figure unmoving, like a portrait painted directly onto the morning light, and for once she did not smile or laugh or tilt her head in that knowing way that made him uncomfortable.
Elias could feel her gaze even when he deliberately kept his back turned, his attention fixed on the mundane tasks in front of him—rinsing a cup, wiping the counter, aligning objects until everything sat exactly where it should—because normality, even artificial normality, was the only thing keeping his thoughts from spiraling.
"You are wondering," she finally said, her voice quieter than usual, stripped of its teasing edge, "why I did not tell you earlier."
Elias paused with the cloth in his hand, fingers tightening for a brief moment before he forced them to relax, his face remaining as flat and emotionless as ever, a mask that betrayed nothing even though his chest felt uncomfortably tight.
"You knew," he replied, not accusing her, not questioning her, simply stating a fact as if it had already been settled long ago.
"Yes," the veiled woman admitted, lowering her gaze, the long sleeves of her wedding dress brushing against the glass. "I knew she was part of it. From the beginning."
Elias exhaled slowly through his nose, the sound barely audible, and placed the umbrella carefully by the door as though it were nothing more than an ordinary object, despite the faint, restless pressure he could feel radiating from it even when closed.
"Then why," he asked, his voice calm to the point of indifference, "didn't you say anything."
She did not answer immediately, and when she finally did, there was hesitation woven into her words, the kind that came from someone who understood exactly how unreasonable their request truly was.
"Because I had already asked too much of you," she said softly. "You gave my son a proper funeral. You cleaned his body, buried him with respect, and let him leave without resentment clinging to his soul. That alone was more mercy than this world ever offered him."
Elias did not respond, though his grip on the umbrella tightened almost imperceptibly.
"I cannot leave yet," she continued, her voice trembling just slightly despite her composed posture. "The other children are still trapped. Their souls are bound inside the thing the cult worships, the monster that feeds on them little by little, and until that thing is destroyed, none of them can move on."
Elias closed his eyes briefly.
"So you want me to interfere," he said quietly, opening them again, his expression unchanged, though his thoughts were anything but. "You know I don't want to be involved."
She bowed her head. "I know."
Interfering meant being noticed. Being noticed meant losing the fragile balance he had just begun to build. And once that balance broke, there would be no going back to a quiet life, no way to pretend that he was just a funeral director minding his own business.
"You think I'm strong," Elias said after a moment, his tone steady. "But strength isn't safety. Strength only means attention."
He didn't wait for her reply.
He turned, picked up his umbrella, and stepped outside, telling himself that this conversation was over, that he had already drawn his line, that whatever happened next was no longer his responsibility.
The alley was narrow and dim, the walls damp from lingering moisture, trash bags stacked haphazardly against one side, the faint smell of rot mixing with the distant scent of breakfast from nearby homes.
Elias walked at an even pace, eyes lowered, mind deliberately unfocused, until the air around him changed in a way that made his steps slow despite himself. It wasn't dramatic at first. Just a pressure, subtle but wrong, as if the space itself had grown heavier.
Then the shadows began to move.
Dark, curly miasma seeped from the cracks between bricks, coiling upward like living smoke, thickening and twisting until it gathered into a single mass that pulsed and shuddered, responding to something unseen.
Elias stopped walking, his breath hitching just slightly as he stared at the thing forming in front of him.
"…You've got to be kidding me," he muttered.
Flesh knitted itself together with wet, nauseating sounds, bones snapping into place beneath skin that looked half-melted, half-forced, a mouth tearing open as if ripped apart from the inside, black fluid dripping between jagged teeth.
Eyes blinked into existence, unfocused and furious, all of them locking onto Elias at once.
His heart pounded violently in his chest.
His face did not move.
Inside, he was praying—not for victory, not for strength, but for one simple thing.
Please don't let me lose my mind.
He opened the umbrella.
The deep red canopy unfurled above him, its strange markings pulsing faintly as if alive, and the air vibrated with a sensation that was not quite sound but felt like a whisper crawling directly along his nerves.
Crimson butterflies erupted outward in a sudden storm, their wings sharp and gleaming as they sliced through the miasma, feeding greedily on the curse that held the monster together.
The creature shrieked, its body unraveling as though eaten from the inside, flesh collapsing into nothing as the butterflies consumed every trace of corruption until there was nothing left but silence and the faint echo of wings returning obediently to the umbrella.
Elias closed it slowly. He leaned against the wall, shoulders stiff, stomach twisting as nausea crept up his throat.
"…Great," he muttered.
The veiled bride stood at the entrance of the alley, staring at him, her expression unreadable.
"That thing," she said carefully, "was attached to the cafeteria woman. When she died, it sought the nearest living host."
Her gaze settled on him.
"You."
Elias sighed deeply, rubbing his temples. "So now I'm bait."
She hesitated before asking, "Are you… a hidden master?"
"No," Elias replied immediately, honestly.
With his blank face and emotionless tone, the denial sounded unconvincing, almost mocking.
The bride studied him in silence.
Elias sighed.
That was all he did when the handcuffs clicked shut around his wrists the next morning.
The sound was sharp, metallic, far too loud in the quiet funeral parlor. Two officers stood stiffly at the entrance, hands resting on their belts, eyes fixed on him with a mixture of caution and something closer to unease.
The same inspector from before was there—the one who had asked polite questions, who had looked at Elias as if trying to peel him apart layer by layer.
"Elias Graves," the inspector said, voice firm. "You are being detained for questioning in relation to a possible homicide."
Elias blinked once.
"Okay," he said calmly.
That seemed to unsettle them more than shouting would have.
The victim's name was Silvia Haley.
The cafeteria lady.
According to witnesses, Elias had been the last person seen entering her home that morning. According to neighbors, she had screamed. According to the report, her body had been found twisted in a way no ordinary human could explain, bones bent at impossible angles, eyes frozen in terror.
According to Elias, he hadn't killed her.
That part was true.
The police station smelled like disinfectant and old coffee. Elias was seated in a small interrogation room, hands resting loosely on the table, posture straight, expression blank. The overhead light buzzed faintly, casting harsh shadows across his face.
The bride ghost floated beside him.
She leaned close, veil brushing his shoulder, lips curved in a faint, satisfied smile.
"She deserved it," she whispered.
Elias did not react.
The inspector sat across from him, fingers tapping against a thick file. Another officer stood behind, arms crossed, watching Elias like one would watch a dangerous animal that hadn't yet decided to bare its teeth.
"Let's go over this again," the inspector said. "You visited Silvia Haley at approximately nine in the morning."
"Yes," Elias replied.
"You were alone."
"Yes."
"You entered her home."
"Yes."
"You stayed for nearly an hour."
Elias paused briefly. "I was offered tea."
The inspector's jaw tightened.
"And then you left," he continued. "Less than twenty minutes later, neighbors reported her corpse."
"I heard nothing," Elias said softly.
The inspector slammed his hand against the table.
"Do you think this is funny?" he snapped.
Elias flinched—just slightly. Not outwardly. Inside.
"No."
"You show no emotion. No fear. No shock. A woman died brutally, and you sit there like you're discussing the weather."
Elias looked at him. "I didn't kill her."
The inspector leaned forward, eyes sharp. "People like you always say that."
Behind him, the bride ghost laughed quietly.
The questioning dragged on.
They threatened him with charges, with indefinite detention, with psychological evaluation. They spoke of his past—his disownment, his reputation, the rumors surrounding him. They painted him as a cold, inhuman sociopath who hid behind politeness and a calm voice.
Elias listened.
He could not cry. He could not shout. This body refused to cooperate. Facial paralysis locked him into a neutral mask that only made everything worse.
Then—something change.
The air grew heavier.
Elias felt it before he saw it. A pressure, subtle but unmistakable, pressing against his chest, making his skin prickle.
The bride ghost stiffened.
The door opened.
A woman stepped inside.
She wore a black and gold uniform, tailored perfectly, insignia gleaming under the harsh light. Her long hair cascaded down her back, dark as night, and her eyes—
Crimson.
They gleamed unnaturally, sharp and alive, like a predator's gaze locking onto prey.
"Wow," she said cheerfully. "This place still smells like fear and bad coffee."
The officers froze.
"Y-you can't just—" the inspector started.
She walked past him and casually shoved him aside with one hand. He stumbled back into the wall, stunned.
"Relax," she said lazily. "Hunter Association business."
Her gaze swept the room before landing on the bride ghost.
She burst out laughing.
"Oh, this is rich," she said, pointing. "You've got a full-blown vengeful spirit sitting right next to you and you're interrogating the human?"
She turned to Elias then.
"What kind of monster are you, huh?" she asked brightly. "Keeping one of these around like an accessory."
Elias stared at her.
His fingers unconsciously brushed against the faint tattoo hidden beneath his sleeve—the mark of the umbrella.
This is bad, he thought.
Very bad.
Celestia Athlwein grinned wider, eyes shining.
"Well," she said, cracking her knuckles, "let's clear this up before the police ruin another perfectly interesting case."
And for the first time since transmigrating—
Elias realized running might no longer be an option.