Beneath Pan’s pillow, an alarm beeped. She came awake, reached her hand under her head, and found the alarm where only she would hear it. Pan shut it off. She laid for a second. Her eyes drooped. Then, she hopped out of bed and got dressed. She took her spray paint and left the Complex.

Pan traveled the night in a haze. She felt like a dreamer, moving a foreign body, a person that belonged to someone else.

At the late hour, only twinkling festival lights remained on. No one drove the streets. No one walked, and no spirits roamed. Pan passed a couple of houses with lights. Inside, she spied insomniacs watching late night television or standing around the kitchen wondering what they were doing with their lives. Pan wondered the same.

She arrived at the Solmart. The box shaped building stretched up and across, looking simple yet gargantuan. Solmart sold everything and had a store in each major city. It wanted to open stores in the country where the majority of the population lived, but no one would let it. Politicians had to keep as many Scaldin lives out of Solmart’s grasp as they could. Pan didn’t mind Solmart. Sure, it had mediocre art supplies, but it also had weird things that no one else sold, like glue filled with glitter and slime. Back when Pan had the time to get bored, Solmart was good for some afternoon fun. Now that she found herself unbelievably busy, Solmart would be just right for her graffiti.

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Pan shook her can of spray paint. She needed this message to spur the murderer into action, but she couldn’t just write come find me. Goodness knew they already strived for such an outcome. She needed to get the murder’s attention, not everyone else’s.

Pan blinked weary eyes. She shook the can one more time. The can hissed its color onto Solmart’s concrete exterior, and Pan wrote the message: I am a reaper, but who has taken the others? Underneath that, she added: FEAR HER.

Pan took a chance. She guessed the murderer was a she. Celin encountered a woman, so Pan knew at least one reaper died at a woman’s hand. Now, the murderer would think Pan knew something – if the murderer proved to a be a woman. If the murderers happened to be a bunch of old arcanes in some retirement home, they might start laughing their heads off, wondering just how clueless these new young arcanes could be.

Pan shook her head. She needed sleep. She needed to get home. She took one last look at the Solmart, turned, and ran. She ran past the insomniacs. Some had found sleep. Others continued in the same activities. Pan ran through the spiritless streets. She passed the quiet houses where every vehicle and every person rested. She ran past the twinkling lights that heralded springtime. Like a dreamer, Pan climbed the steps to the Arcane’s Complex. She trotted to her room, laid down, and slept.