Maybe it was a good thing that her unfortunate illness had been discovered so soon. It certainly gave her plenty of time to goof off before it developed too much to allow for even that.

And still, to Myriam, it was far from a good thing. Because of this, she now had to spend her days isolated, with her only visitor being the person she hated most, bar maybe Adolf Hitler, Mussolini and James Cordon. Yes, the person who had discovered her affliction was also the one who had to visit her four times a day, bringing food and diagnosis. Not that she needed that last part. She could tell she was sick very well on her own, thank you very much. She certainly did not need a gangly skeleton of a man to come in and sniff her in order to know that her fever was worsening and that the hoarseness of her throat wasn’t about to go away.

If she could have made the choice herself, she would have suggested that someone simply leave the food in the waiting room, and then she could go get it herself. Or, better yet, she could buy her own food from the point shop rather than having to cram down the slop that the hospital called ‘food.’ But Kitty, speaking words her friend Mole had left him, actually explained their reasoning rather well—the slop was cheaper than the point shop. By far. He’d calculated it himself, so he knew this for a fact.

Still, there was no reason for Kitty to be bringing her fika every day at three. Sure, it was nice to get a cup of tea and a few cookies, but it was wholly unnecessary. She tried to tell him this, of course, but every time he entered the room she felt such a chill that she demanded he leave, lest she tested his supposed immortality herself. It was clear he was no sooner to enjoying her company, as he was quick to heed her demands. All for the better, she supposed.

Regardless, the days passed, and even though she made an effort to keep contact with her worried party members by sending them messages as often as the urge hit, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of loneliness creep up on her. A loneliness that only a single creature could relieve.

Her eyes fell on the clock.

<11:59:53

Day 1 097>

13:12:01:07>

Only a few seconds more, and…

<12:00:00

Day 1 099>

11:11:59:59>

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” she said. Something itched in her throat and she rubbed at it, trying to keep herself from coughing.

The door easily creaked open, and like always, like it has almost always been, she could barely see him. The room behind him was black as night and smelled suspiciously like copper and rot. He practically melded with the darkness, his small form hunched over a tray held in his eerily elongated hands and fingers. His face was the hardest to get a look at, but with some effort, she was able to focus her gaze where it should be. A pair of dark eyes met her, surrounded by eye whites so yellow they almost appeared cat-like, the whole thing set in a pair of dark holes. He stepped inside, closing the door with his foot.

Well in the light, he was somehow even less of an entity. He moved stiffly, almost like an animatronic, the oddly formed leopard skin creased around his body without form or grace. It almost looked as though he was nothing but bones under there, with the leopard skin unable to find any real grip, left to either constrain tightly around bony knots, or drape coldly over sheer flesh.

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If he’d been taller, even just a little bit, he would have been terrifying. Now, he was merely pathetic.

Silently, where she sat upright in bed, Myriam recalled what Mole had told her about him. That when he’d met him first, they had both been seventeen. Only teenagers. They had even been the same age when they joined the tutorial. It was amazing that he had survived this long. She’d seen many teenagers and kids who had joined, foolhardy and ready to make their mark on the world. Few had made it past the first five floors. For that reason, simply because she knew what he’d gone through, she wanted to pity him. She knew she should. Mole certainly did. And still… she couldn’t find it in her.

He had chosen this difficulty himself. He had chosen to join the tutorial himself. At no point did he have to do the things he’d done. And still, he had.

Simply for that, she could never forgive him. But that didn’t mean she could never engage with him.

As he approached her, all gangly and awkward, she said nothing. He put the tray on her lap, and then he stood there. She didn’t say anything. Normally, this was where she demanded he leave. But now, she said no such thing.

She turned her attention to the food. Some type of sticky gruel-like stew with bits of an indecipherable nature, alongside a roasted bluefruit and a bit of stale bread that would be sure to make her crack a tooth. She took a spoonful of the stew and brought it to her lips. Eugh. Foul.

Close by, Kitty continued watching her. She turned an eye to him. “Well?” she said. “Are you going to sit down?”

“I’m…” He looked down, and lo and behold, there was a chair next to him. Mole had called him many things, but a genius he was not. Still, he could follow simple instructions, so he took a seat, the goblin-sized chair looking only marginally less minuscule than when Plus trusted one enough to occupy it. The memory of the 150-kilo man crushing a tiny wooden chair beneath his girth was enough to bring a smile to her lips—one lost just as quickly by the foul taste of the food.

To distract herself from the food, she spoke to her unwanted attendant, saying, “So, how are things on the outside?”

“Good, I guess.”

“Bzzt, wrong answer. Tell me what’s actually going on. Like, is Mole seriously trying to be the mayor? Because, if he is, that’s dumb.” Her throat itched again, but she wasn’t quick enough to choke it with some water, so she was forced to cough, her body giving a painful spasm as she did. She downed some water to make it go away. “Ughh…”

“You okay?”

“You don’t care. Don’t pretend you do, it’s not going to buy any favors from me. Just tell me what’s going on.”

“Um, okay…” He said, looking towards the window as though he’d rather jump out of it than talk. “Moleman got enough people to fund remaking the cathedral into a ward, so we’re moving forward with that. He also made a few stricter rules for the city, like some selective quarantines, and he’s also re-establishing the curfew. I think I also heard him talking about getting new task forces to try to round up all the rats in the city.”

“Why’d you do it?”

“Why did I—” His brows fell over his eyes, creasing a wrinkle across his forehead. “Do what?”

“The heart-ripping thing. I know you didn’t do it for Mole’s sake—we both know he’d never approve of something like that.” Myriam sat up straighter, angling her body to face him. “So, why did you do it?”

She could see the thoughts moving through his brain. Bustling and fighting like plague-rats. Maybe he was afraid that she’d tell Mole whatever he told her. Maybe he was considering murdering her, simply for asking that question. But in the end, in the timeframe of only a single second, any such inhibitions drained away, alongside whatever trace hints of emotions his face had previously carried. “I just wanted to. I had to test out the skill, so I did.”

“I see,” Myriam said. She wasn’t surprised. She wasn’t even sad or angry. She knew that this was the case, and so, she accepted it mildly. And still, deep inside herself, a wretched bit of disgust slowly rose up, maybe urged by whatever it is she just ate. “Could you leave now?”

“Huh? Oh, okay.”

And like the proper puppy he was, he rose to leave.

“Wait,” she said, remembering something.

“What is it?”

“You don’t need to bring me fika,” she said. “I’m French. We don’t have a pathological need for afternoon tea like you do, so spend that time somewhere you’re needed. Like, at Mole’s side.” His face lit up. He was so easy to read. “However, I have one request.” She paused. “Whatever he does, whoever he talks to… report it to me.”

Kitty frowned deeply. “Why?”

And now it was time for her to be as honest as he’s been to her. “I’m worried about him,” she admitted. “He tends to get a bit carried away with his projects, and I’m afraid this might cause him to burn out.” She chuckled. “You know as well as I do that he’d rather bite off his own hand than ask for help with these types of things.”

Kitty’s expression mildened. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“In that case, we have a deal. In return, should you ever feel that he’s going too far…” She hesitated. Could she really trust Kitty with this? A serial-killing cannibal? Her eyes moved up and down his form, finally falling on his earnest, confused face. ‘If nothing else,’ she supposed, ‘he’ll do anything for Mole’s sake.’ She shook her head, and finally said, “You can use my name. Tell him, ‘Sully wouldn’t approve of that,’ or ‘Sully doesn’t like it when you round up and slaughter orphans,’ or something like that. I trust you’ll know when this is necessary.”

He blinked at her. Somehow, and she didn’t quite understand how, his expression came across as deeply innocent. “Um, yeah? Okay.”

Even stranger, despite sooner trusting a dragon, she felt like he fully comprehended the severity of the situation. Feeling a headache coming on, she leaned back in her bed. “Don’t let him become someone he isn’t.”

“Okay.”

Arms crossed, she watched him as he moved across the floor as silently as a lizard on ice, gliding into the room outside. Leaving her alone once more.

Alone in her silent room. Alone to consider whether she was right to trust him.

He was, after all, only a kid.