It has taken hours. But finally, all that is left is to get rid of Constantin… Or… well… What remains of him, anyway. For the quadrillionst time this night, I kneel in front of my briefcase. And then I hear it. The fog horn.

"Eon?!" The moment it stops I hear Thomas calling my name from the second floor. I change my gloves for new ones before I head up the stairs into the entry hall.

"I heard it. The forecast didn't mention anything." I don't have to scream, the high walls and empty space carry my voice all up the stairs with no issue. And by the tone of my voice, Thomas realizes that he doesn't have to speak as loud as he just did for me to hear him.

"It really didn't. We won't make it back in time."

"Is the doc still with you?"

"Yes, he's still tending to Mrs. Lane, working through her state."

"Is there anyone else?"

"Besides his apprentice? I don't think so. The staff has been sent home early to not get in our way. It's just us."

Well, wonderful. This crime scene is the worst. Well, it's better than being caught outside by the horn but still. With a silent sigh I get to move, walking upstairs slowly. Then I turn, darting my eyes at the main door. I know there is someone out there keeping an eye on me. I don't care if they get to safety, but for some reason, I expected the door to open and for them to slip in. But it remains closed.

I know Thayer's elite is highly trained for every situation, whoever is out there will be fine, so I'm not worried about them at all. But something just rubbed me the wrong way the moment I realized that they might get into the mansion. Maybe they already did. Which is even worse than the main door opening and being directly confronted with their presence. Because if they got in another way, I have no way of knowing. I don't like not knowing for various reasons.

"Are you alright?" Thomas' voice snaps me out of my thoughts and I turn my head back to look at him, standing at the top of the staircase. I nod and finally catch up to him.

"Just wondering about the lack of forecast for the fog. It does make the situation a little more complicated."

Thomas shrugs, almost in an excusing manner, as if he's sorry for how things went down. It's not his fault. It's no one's fault.

"The forecast isn't always right. There wasn't a forecast the day I lost almost half of my lung capacity." I eye him up and down. We never spoke about it, but he knows that I know about his health issue. And now, I know why he got exposed to the black fog. I've been lucky so far. I can't remember the last time it caught me unprepared.

"We'll better make sure you don't lose the other half. I'll check the west wing, you east left." I really don't want to dilly-dally around. The only person who could tell us if all the windows were closed, all the curtains drawn, and all the doors secured is currently not really in a state in which she could answer any questions.

Thomas nods, before he nods down the stairs, "you'll deal with the ground floor and the vault area?"

"Of course. I'll get doc's apprentice to secure the first floor." I reassure him. I wouldn't send him near the crime scene. He didn't handle it well before, and despite my best efforts to clean up and get rid of everything, the one thing remaining is still a pile of gore. A pile of gore I can't get rid of right now. He nods and scurries away.

I lose no time and enter the living room straight ahead. "How's she doing?" I need to know so I can get an estimation of our situation, but as I expected the doc just shakes his head.

"I've walked her out of her shock but she is still dealing with the influence of an artifact. She won't be able to properly recover as long as she stays here. I need to move her-"

"Later." I cut him off, not to be rude, but because I know this man. He has the potential to risk it just to get her the distance and help she needs. And of the few reoccurring people in my work environment, the doctor is the last person I want to lose to the black fog. His skills have proven his worth time and time again, and if one good soul is remaining in this god-forsaken city, it's him.

Besides, his man would decapitate me without a second thought. This probably would lead Thayer to return the favor and decapitate him, which could potentially lead to a morbidly funny outcome, but since neither I nor the doc would be alive to witness it, it would be an absolute waste.

"Later." He affirms, then I look at his apprentice. "Ms. …?"

"Mrs. Blair," she fills me in. I didn't bother to address her before, serves me right to be met with her sharp tone.

"My apologies. Mrs. Blair, could you assist us in securing the mansion? The staff has been sent home early, there is no one else left and it seems like Mrs. Lane isn't capable of assisting us."

"I was about to ask. Which segment of the mansion should I attend to?" She has a quite melodic voice. Together with her appearance and the way she carries herself, I am certain: She's what little girls think of when they fantasize about the big theater stage and the spotlight. But here she is, the woman who could be the perfect idol for still dreaming children, a doctor's apprentice.

Honestly, a way better profession, morally speaking. But morality is seldom a contender for future professions.

"The first floor, if you don't mind." I nod toward her in appreciation as she gets up from the seat she has taken right next to Mrs. Lane.

"Don't mention it, it's not like I would magically survive the black fog. This is as much in my interest as it is in yours. Mr.?"

"Cleaner."

"Oh?"

I tilt my head in Mrs. Lane's direction, "She started it."

Mrs. Blair laughs at my dry remark, "I understand." And with that said, she passes by me and vanishes downstairs. I look at the doctor one last time, then I make my way to the west wing, checking every window on my way. Thankfully up till now, they are all closed, but to make sure I draw every single curtain and make sure they are fully closed. For once I can claim to possess something the rich do. These black, heavy curtains are made to keep the fog trapped if it ever happens to slip through a crack. They don't help if a window is left open, but they do their job well for what they've been made for.

The fabric is distributed to everyone regularly, though maintaining it till the next delivery hits can be tedious. I manage just fine, but the lower classes who can't afford to keep their homes secure and can't afford the additional money for the proper cleaning and cleansing processes for the curtains struggle. It's one of the reasons why so many are affected.

Just how big is this mansion really? I keep walking, checking left, right, and center. It seems like the staff had made sure that every window and door leading outside was securely shut, but there is no way to tell where Mrs. Lane may have been wandering around before we arrived. And judging the state she was in, it is likely that she didn't pay attention. She was so out of it, so unfazed by the crime scene and the death of her affair that I doubt she cared for anything else.

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It's a possibility that she wandered outside right into the black fog if she hadn't snapped out of it. Or opened all the windows upon the horn's sound. I prefer her in her current state, especially with the doctor present. She may still not be predictable for me or Thomas, but the doctor knows how to handle her situation. And there's his apprentice as well. We're good… We're fine. Right? Right.

It takes a while, not a long while, but still a while, before I find my way downstairs. I check the entry hall, which luckily leads absolutely nowhere besides downstairs to the vault, and upstairs to the first floor. This means the rooms beyond the staircase must only be accessible from the outside. Probably staff quarters or storage. If there's no direct way leading into the entry hall, it doesn't concern us.

I check over the vault door, with a sudden cold running down my spine. I know it is due to the artifacts stored behind this door, so I am glad to confirm that the vault door is firmly shut and locked. Then I continue to the right, down the hallway.

I stop in my tracks as I feel a draft. It's ever so slight, I could have missed it easily. There are countless doors on either side of this hallway, each door I passed I checked, so it must come from a room that still lays ahead of me. Finding this room suddenly takes priority. If I keep checking every door I may reach it too late.

I focus, trying to navigate this gush of air, following it. It accumulates at the end of the hallway which ends in a round room with a little fountain in its center and no other way leading out but the way I came from. The white marble walls are adorned with huge panels, framing off sections of the walls in blue and purple colors of different hues. It's marvelous.

As I look up, I realize that I must have arrived in one of the small towers. It's a completely open space till the very top, towering four stories high. Okay, more like three stories high, as I am technically in the basement. The tower is not covered by a proper roof but a painted glass dome.

It must be the sunroom, probably one of the oldest parts of this patchwork mansion. Back in the day when the second sun was still, well, a sun, this room would be filled with daylight from two angles, breaking through the painted glass of the dome and coloring the whole interior into beautifully dancing colors. I can't see the colors of the glass dome, so it's hard to tell, but going by the colors of the wall panels, it was probably a water-themed room. The glass dome would create the illusion of being underwater. Unless the Lanes' or an owner prior to the Lanes had the wall panels repainted blue. That's always an option.

But here's the thing. I feel… wind? It seems to circle in the center of the room, but there is no other way leading in or out of this room. Not on this floor, not on any other floor atop me. The tower is isolated from any other floor, with its only access via the basement. This means the wind must come from the opposite direction, finding its way into this empty space. Or the glass dome isn't properly secured. But given the fact that there's no door to close this room off, I doubt that's the case.

It would be a severe health hazard, guaranteeing that the fog could enter and spread through the whole basement, the entry hall, and gain access to the staircase on all floors. It would mean that the Lanes were cut off from every other floor of their home whenever the fog hits. And it hits often. Not to mention the damage the fog would cause to the walls and interior.

Even with a house packed full to the brim with staff, they wouldn't be able to keep it that clean and sterile with the frequency of the fog. So a broken roof is out of the question – from a purely logical point of view. I turn on my heels, now I'm in a rush. I almost break into a sprint, down the way I came, passing the vault door. And suddenly, I freeze. Right in front of the vault.

It's … it's…. The round, heavy vault door with several locks and mechanisms is wide open, almost inviting me to enter. I collect myself, turn my head to take a look inside. I try to resist; I try to move on. But I can't. And there, just a few steps into the room stands a figure. I hold my breath.

"Eon…"

I know this voice.

For a moment, this freezing tension keeps hold of me. It takes a moment for my thoughts to hurry back, for my shoulders to relax slightly. I pinch the bridge of my nose with two fingers, which doesn't help me to relax, but it helps to make my annoyance known.

"How… the fuck… did you get here?" I have to press every word to suppress how little I like the appearance of this absolute hindrance of a person.

"You mean here as in 'the mansion' or here as 'the vault'? It makes a difference; you know?" The amusement in his voice, this nonchalant smile that crosses his lips, as if he weren't aware of the situation and what this means for me. And the worst thing about it? He knows damn well. I'm not a violent person; on the contrary, I hate violence – but just now I really want to hit him. But I don't. I'm better than that.

"Why do I even bother to ask?" I resign. I can't change the situation, no matter how little I like it.

"Because you care."

"You wish."

"Well, I care. You're looking rough, Sunshine. Got in a fight with your man again? Oh, sorry, I believe you call it 'sex'," I can't help but throw an absolutely not amused gaze at him, just in time to catch him mumble under his breath, "though fight probably fits it better in my books."

"Since you’re here," I don't intend to answer him, "you may as well help get this place secured." The last thing I need is the Shadows' games. Our ways cross way too often, but this situation is different. The crime scene is not my usual clean-up job, Mrs. Lane's behavior isn't what I usually have to deal with, and on top of everything, there is a deadly fog approaching. Dealing with people like the Shadows – especially this particular one – is not something I can mentally afford right now.

He steps out of the vault; even has to lower his head to pass under the vault door. He's a tall man after all… I already feel my neck hurting from the need to permanently look up to meet his eyes. Then again, do I really want to look at that smug face more than absolutely necessary?

"I guess, since the vault is open now, it would benefit me to help out. You could have let me out, you know?"

"It's not like I was expecting you to camp out in there. You could have done a better job calling out to me, and not make it sound like I'm going insane here. And since when do you need help to get in and out of highly secured places anyway?"

"And here I thought you ignored me on purpose." He skips my question, which is only fair, I suppose. After all, he didn't need help in the end. However, I do wonder if he struggled to get back out.

"Don't get me wrong; had I known it was you I had done so."

"Same thing then! Rude."

I sigh, and just at this moment, I feel his heavy arm on my shoulder. It's not like this mountain wouldn't weigh a lot, no, he has to dump his weight on me while getting way too close – as always. I don't even try to escape it anymore. I tried in the past, and it's useless. This man is as physically touchy as they come, no need running from it. There is no escape.

"Honestly though, why exactly are you here? This whole scene is already straining enough." I'm not even curious anymore, I just want things to make sense at least once today. Is that too much to ask?

I get moving again, with this mountain of a man attached to my side with his arm resting around my shoulder like it's the most natural thing ever. And for him, it might be just that, a natural thing to do. I know I'm among his favorite people to bully – But even if I weren't, I don't think he would be any less touchy.

He works for the Shadows, or is the Shadows. They all are. As a group they don't have individual names, they act like a single entity, a hive mind, but they are just more or less ordinary people trying to survive. I imagine being a no-one among many just leads to more radiant personalities like his. The need to be different while belonging to something that's only known as a unity. Individuality in a group that only exists as one. At least, that's the explanation I came up with the more I had to deal with him and other Shadows. He's by far the most... present… personality of Shadows I met so far, but I can't say that the others aren't somehow very unique in their ways. They just aren't that loud, and certainly not that touchy.

But because of my self-found explanation, I can't really be angry, or mad, or… feel anything negative. If this is his way of existing as an individual, who am I to judge? I wish it wouldn't fall upon me to deal with it, but it is what it is.

"I can't share all my secrets with you." I can hear him smirk while talking, and in return, I stay silent. My energy to deal with this whole mansion and what it includes is dwindling by the minute. I don't have the mental capacity to push any further, and he notices.

"Sunshine?" He wants me to react, but all I can do is shake my head ever so slightly. I just want some peace and quiet. He stops, which makes me stop because there is no chance I could get away from his arm. He's directing our movement now, our pace, the direction we take, and he decides that now is the moment to stand still.

"We don't have time for this," I remind him. Luckily this side of the basement hallway has only a couple of doors we need to check. But I don't know if any of these doors lead to another hallway with more doors, so I really don't want to waste time right now. But he does, apparently, because he doesn't move.

"… Can we please get this mansion checked? I can't deal with anything else right now." His silence is pressuring me. I know what he wants, and he knows how to get it – under normal circumstances. But he has to realize that we're far away from normal circumstances. And after another second or two of staring me down silently, I hear him chuckle.

"Alright, Sunshine. But don't think I'll let this go" Finally, he starts to move again, just a tiny bit faster than before, slow enough for me to keep up, but fast enough to get this thing done.

"I won't."