“It’s stylish,” Kyle said, smirking at Bear as he adjusted the gauze across his shoulders. His teasing tone didn’t quite mask the worry in his eyes.

Bear, never one to take pity or humor easily, grunted. “It’s temporary. I’ll be healed and walking in a week. I don’t need a damn wheelchair.”

Kyle leaned closer, his voice playful but firm. “Well, I’m not swaddling you and carrying you around for a week, and you’re not staying in bed being miserable. So, either shut up or heal up, big guy.”

“Can we hold the chit-chat until we’re out of the hospital?” Suzi’s voice sliced through the banter like a scalpel. She glanced over her shoulder as they exited the medical pavilion. “It’s only been thirty-six hours. You’re lucky they’re not keeping you longer and poking around for more excuses to keep you under observation.”

Kyle waved toward a figure standing by the SUV. “There’s Alanna.”

The group converged by the truck, the air crisp and filled with the faint scent of antiseptic clinging to their clothes. Alanna gave Bear a sympathetic once-over. “Hey, Bear. How are you feeling?”

Bear’s deadpan humor hit like a hammer. “From the waist up, great. Waist down? Don’t feel a damn thing.”

Alanna winced, her concern genuine. “Sorry. That’s not… I’m just glad you’re still breathing. What did you want to show me?”

Kyle pulled open the SUV’s hatch, and yanked back a green tarp to expose the disassembled pieces of the android—twisted metal, scorched circuits, and ominous remnants of the chaos demon-possessed machine.

“Can the CIA run any cataloging or decryptions on this thing? Figure out where it came from?” Suzi asked, her voice edged with determination.

Alanna raised a brow, her professionalism tempered with a hint of amusement. “Sweetie, you’ve been watching too many spy movies. If there’s a serial number or an intact processor, I might trace it to the lab that made it. But if it got sold to a private buyer? Paper trail’s a whole other mess.”

Bear’s voice cut in, rough and deliberate. “We’re wasting time. Cain jumped and said, ‘Tao metananius porctucana de Roma.’ He’s in Rome. That’s where we’re headed next.”

“Wait.” Alanna raised both hands like a referee halting a fight. “Is this connected to the bombing in Rome yesterday morning?”

“Probably,” Bear muttered, his tone dismissive.

Suzi’s head snapped toward him. “We don’t know,” she countered, her voice louder and sharp enough to cut through his mumble.

Alanna’s gaze hardened, flicking between them. “I’ll see what I can find on this droid, but you two better be transparent. If you know something, I need to know. Capiche?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Kyle replied with a salute, his tone tinged with humor even though he hadn’t been addressed.

Suzi and Bear both gave her the assurances she demanded, though Suzi’s stomach tightened with unease.

Kyle loaded Bear and his wheelchair into the SUV while Suzi and Alanna carefully transferred the remnants of the android into Alanna’s trunk. Goodbyes were quick but cordial before they parted ways.

As Suzi settled into her car, Darcy’s voice pushed into her thoughts, brimming with impatience. “Can we go see Jo now?”

Suzi’s hands gripped the wheel as she responded aloud, her voice tinged with hesitation. “I’ve been thinking. Azrael said I wouldn’t be with you long. What if I tried to put you in Jo’s head? Like I put her in yours.”

Darcy’s response came swift and laced with incredulity. “It still blows my mind that you actually spoke with the Grim Reaper. That he touched your mind—and you’re still walking around. His very touch is supposed to mean death.” She paused, her tone turning resolute. “And no, I’d rather not be in Jo’s head. If something happens to her, I’d be powerless.”

Suzi sighed, her fingers tapping the wheel. “Maybe it’s his touch—or whatever connection he gave me—that lets me control the Ring of Eae now. I still can’t take it off, but at least I don’t have to read everyone I touch anymore. Still, you’re on borrowed time. Your body’s gone, and I love having you here, but I don’t need another personality in my head. Especially one that isn’t mine.”

Darcy’s voice softened, though her words remained sharp. “So what then? You excise me and send me off to the next realm? Azrael said we’re bound until death, and I’ve already died. That means you’re my exit ticket, right?”

“You’re asking me like I have the answers.” Suzi shook her head, the weight of uncertainty heavy in her chest. “Let’s check on Jo and figure it out from there.”

Inside the funeral home, Nick met her in the lobby, his demeanor strained but familiar. “Suzi, you don’t work here anymore. I need you to stop coming in unless it’s business-related.”

Her smile was faint, but her tone held its usual warmth. “Hi, Nick. I know. It’s just hard to walk away. I’ve spent nearly every day of the last three years here. Everyone here is family.”

Nick sighed, rubbing his temples. “You’ve got that meeting with the McGillicuddys on Monday about their trust. After that, I think it’s best we call it. Focus on… whatever it is you’re doing now.”

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“Jo is still running the Remodel Process,” Suzi countered. “I need to be here for that, at least until she’s a licensed mortician.”

Reluctantly, Nick relented. “Fine. But once it’s patented, sell it to whoever you want. We’re done being the guinea pigs.”

Suzi touched his arm lightly. “Thank you, Nick. And for keeping Jo and Doyle employed, even after everything.”

“Jo’s great. Doyle’s… well, we’ll see. He’s catatonic or something after that head injury. I’ve put him on medical leave, but that won’t last forever.” His scrutinizing gaze lingered on her, searching for answers she wouldn’t give.

Suzi contemplated the toes of her shoes, remembering the events that took place leading to Doyle’s head injury. “I hope he has a quick recovery. I need to help Jo, then I’ll get out of your hair.”

Nick stepped to the side and let her pass without another word.

Livi, Nick’s much younger wife, sat at the front desk throwing daggers with her eyes as Suzi passed.

“Jo? Do you want to get some lunch? Darcy won’t leave me alone until she gets to talk to you,” Suzi said once inside the embalming room.

“Hi, Suzi!” the excitable young lady squealed. “I’m almost done, so we can.” She paused and looked around, ensuring they were alone. “Um, Suzi?”

“Yes, Jo?” Suzi replied, distracted by the reconstruction in process—printing of a gentleman’s frontal, temporal, zygomatic, and maxilla bones.

“Is it odd for you that Darcy is in your head, and she and I have a romantic relationship?”

“It is a little bit, but as long as it never gets physical, I try giving you guys as much space as possible.”

“Is there nothing that can be done?” the girl asked.

“Do you want to try printing her a new body?” Suzi asked jokingly, realizing that, given the android they had just encountered, that possibility may not be far off.

* * * * *

Suzi’s hand trembled as she pushed open the hospital room door. Anticipation churned with dread, twisting her gut into knots. Could she even face him? Forgiveness wasn’t possible—not yet, maybe not ever. And the fairness of what she was about to do? That was a question she couldn’t afford to answer.

She stepped closer, her gaze locking on his face. The bandages did little to mask Doyle’s unblinking, empty brown eyes. Gone was the smarmy salesman’s grin, the crude jokes that used to drip from his mouth. This wasn’t the man she knew—this was a shell.

“Doyle? Can you hear me?” Her voice shook, wavering like her hands. The air in the room felt too thin, like it might collapse around her.

A nurse, elderly and calm as a still lake, entered the ward and looked up from her clipboard. “He’s responsive to stimuli, but non-communicative. Vegetative state, my dear.”

Suzi managed a nod, the words a dull thud in her chest. Vegetative. How fitting.

As the nurse moved on, Suzi knelt beside Doyle’s bed, her fingers curling around his cold, lifeless hand. Her confidence wavered, replaced by the heavy weight of guilt pressing at her throat.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. When she opened them again, she leaned in closer, holding his gaze. Or trying to. There was nothing in those eyes. No spark, no resistance. Just an empty void.

“Doyle,” she whispered, the sound of his name slipping into the silent space between them. She focused, forcing herself past the fear and disgust, into his mind—into his Guillermo.

The silence was suffocating, stretching in every direction like a black ocean. “Doyle?” Her voice echoed, bouncing off the empty void. A faint whimper came back, haunting and small.

She found him—his self-image huddled in a dark corner, cowering like a child. His form was shrunken, fragile, trembling as if her very presence threatened to shatter him. Every time she tried to reach him, he retreated further.

“Are you sure about this?” Suzi asked, her voice trembling within the shared space. She wasn’t sure who she was asking—Darcy or herself.

“Yes,” Darcy’s voice echoed, resolute but tinged with something unreadable. “Leave me here.”

A lump rose in Suzi’s throat. She leaned in toward Doyle, gagging at the smell of antiseptic mingled with something more… human. The bile threatened to rise, but she pushed it down, forcing herself to place a trembling kiss on his lips. Her voice barely rose above a whisper, “Darcy,” she breathed, willing the consciousness across the chasm of their minds.

The shift was immediate and visceral. Suzi felt Darcy’s essence tear away from her, the sudden vacuum leaving her raw and hollow. The bond between them snapped, and the absence hit like a gut punch.

She leaned back, staring at Doyle’s face, waiting for something—anything. His eyes stayed glassy, unresponsive. No recognition. No spark.

“Good luck, salope,” Suzi muttered under her breath, her hand briefly brushing his shoulder before she turned and walked out.

* * * * *

The winter air hit her like a slap, biting and sharp. She pulled out her phone, her fingers trembling as she scrolled for the contact. The phone barely rang before a familiar, chipper voice answered.

“Sister Suzi! How is the season finding you?”

“Hi, Father Gil.” Her voice cracked, betraying the fragile state she was in. “I’m… okay. How are you?”

“The blessings are plentiful, my child! The birth of our Lord approaches—what more could one ask for?” There was genuine joy in his tone, so much so that Suzi almost felt bad for interrupting it. “What, pray tell, beacons your call today?”

“I need a favor,” Suzi said, her words cautious, careful. “You’re the only person in the Church I trust.”

“Of course. If it is within my ability, I will assist.”

She hesitated, inhaling sharply. “I want to make a donation to the church—a sizable one—but there’s a catch.”

His pause was so brief it was almost imperceptible. “Go on.”

“I want the Church to remove the Saint Joan of Arc exhibit. Permanently.”

There was a choking sound on the other end of the line, followed by a series of coughs.

“David?” Suzi pressed.

He cleared his throat, his voice a mix of shock and confusion. “May I ask why?”

“Because it’s a fabrication,” Suzi said bluntly. “The exhibit’s materials aren’t real. I don’t want to make this public, but I can prove it.”

“How could you possibly—?”

“Because I have the real Sword of St. Cathrin.” Her words hung in the air, heavy and undeniable.

Silence. Then, cautiously, “How did you come to possess such an artifact?”

Suzi exhaled. “It was part of a collection I inherited from a… friend. She cared deeply about that exhibit, but she’s gone now. I want to do this in her name.”

Father Gil’s tone softened. “I see. Suzi, I must tell you—I don’t have the authority to make such a decision. I’m just a parish priest at St. Matthew’s. Bishop Freely oversees the Holy Name Cathedral, and even he does not get to make that call.”

“I figured as much.” Suzi’s voice hardened. “But I want you to represent me. I’m willing to donate seven figures to make this happen.”

Another choking sound, followed by spluttering. “Seven—cough— My God, Suzi! Wow. Damn. Wow.” His tone shifted to incredulity. “How?”

“The inheritance,” Suzi said simply. “Look, I’m not trying to blackmail the Church. But if they refuse, I can prove their exhibit is fake, and I’m sure CNBC would jump at the story.”

His voice dropped to a whisper. “That’s a dangerous game, my child. Do you know what you’re doing?”

“Yes, Father. I do. Please, just make the calls and tell me what needs to happen.”

After a long pause, he sighed. “Very well, Suzi. I’ll be in touch. God bless you.”