As Isabella reached the front door, it swung open, and a woman immediately began yelling her name.

“Isabella!” the woman shouted, her voice filled with worry and frustration. She spoke in a language that Damian didn’t fully understand but recognized as being similar to Spanish—likely Portuguese.

“Isabella! Onde você esteve? Por que você sai quando a violência das gangues está piorando a cada dia?” the woman continued, her tone frantic.

Isabella groaned, rolling her eyes. “Mãe, I didn’t go far, okay? I didn’t even see any gangs. I was just around the neighborhood, doing some art. That’s all,” she said, trying to downplay the situation as she stepped inside.

Her mother wasn’t satisfied. Switching to English, she continued her scolding. “All these years, we prepared you for medical school, and now you want to be an artist? What a waste! You could have a safe, respectable life as a doctor, but instead, you’re out there where it's dangerous with all those gangs running around!”

Isabella sighed, exasperated. “Mãe, please. I’m not wasting anything. I just… I need to figure out what I want, okay? Medicine was dad and your dreams, not mine.”

Damian watched the exchange with mild interest, noting the tension between Isabella and her mother. This new information about Isabella's background could prove useful. It seemed she wanted a very different path than the one laid out for her—one that her parents clearly weren’t happy about her abandoning. Understanding the dynamics of her home life might give Damian the opening he needed to manipulate her or gain her trust.

Satisfied with what he had learned, Damian retreated into the shadows. He had the information he needed for now.

Trish zipped up her bag, her mind focused on finding Amanda. She knew time was of the essence, and she couldn’t afford any delays. As she turned to leave, she heard a rustling from behind. Cole, barely able to sit up from his hospital bed, looked at her with concern.

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"Trish... where are you going?" he asked, his voice strained but full of worry.

Trish’s expression softened as she approached his bedside. "Cole, you need to lay back down and focus on healing," she said gently, brushing a hand through his head. "I’m just going to pick up a few supplies. Same place as last time."

Cole’s brow furrowed, a mixture of determination and concern crossing his face. "Trish, I don’t think you should be going out alone. It’s dangerous out there," he said, trying to push himself further upright, though his strength was clearly fading.

Before Trish could respond, Zeke chimed in from the corner of the room, where he was lounging in a chair with his feet kicked up. "Brotha, ya gotta let her do her own thing, or she’s gonna leave you for bein’ too clingy," Zeke teased, his voice carrying a playful tone but laced with truth.

“Why don’t you get off your lazy ass and go with her?” asked Cole

“Well, someone’s gotta be here to keep you from frying the equipment and people. It's a hard job but I’m doing my best,” said Zeke sarcastically.

Trish chuckled, appreciating Zeke's attempt to lighten the mood. She leaned in and kissed Cole’s forehead. "Zeke’s right," she said with a reassuring smile. "I’ll be back before you know it. You just focus on getting better, okay?"

Cole reluctantly nodded, the worry still evident in his eyes. Trish handed him some medicine she had prepared, watching as he took it without protest. She could see how much it pained him to be stuck in that bed, unable to protect her or do anything about the chaos outside.

"Promise you’ll be careful?" Cole asked, his voice softening as he held her hand.

Trish squeezed his hand reassuringly. "I promise," she said, her tone firm but loving. She knew how much it meant to him, and she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him worrying.

Before leaving, Trish made her way to her room, where Elio lay still unconscious on the bed. She checked his vitals, relieved to see that his condition had improved. His conduit body was working quickly to detoxify the remnants of the drug that had nearly killed him. It wouldn’t be long before he woke up, but until then, she had to keep things in order.

In the corner of the room, she had a small workstation where she kept a sample of Sasha’s tar. The substance was as fascinating as it was dangerous. Trish had taken small pieces of the tar to test different medicines, trying to find a way to neutralize the residual drug it held. The tar was unlike anything she’d ever encountered—it seemed to replicate the drugs within itself, almost as if it were incorporating them into its own biological makeup rather than rejecting them as a foreign substance. It was a disturbing discovery, one that made her realize just how deep the corruption of Sasha's mind ran.

Trish carefully checked her notes, ensuring that all her observations were recorded before she stored the samples securely. She would need more time to fully understand the properties of the tar and how to counteract its effects, but that would have to wait.

With everything in place, she left the room, closing the door quietly behind her. She couldn’t shake the worry that lingered in her mind, but there was no time to dwell on it. Amanda was out there, possibly in danger, and Trish couldn’t just sit back and do nothing.

Making her way out of the hospital, Trish headed back to the medical supply store that she and Damian had taken over. For now, it was basically their home base where they could gather as needed to discuss things. Once the power and phone lines were cut they would need a place like this even more. Now she needed to go pick up the Dark Stalker, Damian's mutated creature, and use it to help find Amanda.