For the most part, the house remained quiet the entire day. Charon left me to rest, but returned to check my wounds every few hours. He made note of the fading bruises and the pinkish lines of healing scratches. The bite from the Viper was sore, and when he touched it the right way, it stung. Even that, though, hurt a little less with each check. I’d kept to myself as much as possible and waited until Charon left the house to venture out and explore any time the walls of my room seemed to close in around me again. The last thing I wanted was to listen to him complain about a trail of footprints I wasn’t convinced I’d left. No matter, in his absence, I wandered through the house. I abandoned the ridiculously long pants after tripping over them twice in my room. It wasn’t as if anyone was around to see me strolling through in nothing but an oversized t-shirt and my underwear. I stepped into the hall and looked around. Besides the four bedrooms upstairs, there was a small laundry room next to my door. Every item inside had a label and sat in perfect position on the shelves, arranged by size, color, and function. It was the pinnacle of meticulous organization. For as upset as Charon was about the idea of dirt in the house, this made sense.

Downstairs was simple enough. There was a dining room with a chandelier so clean that the dangling crystals sparkled like diamonds. It was a room intended for aesthetics more than functionality. The foyer was empty aside from an attractive chair in the corner and boxy shelves with unmarked wicker bins. They too were likely for show rather than use. The modest living room was at the end of the hall with two couches and a couple of bookshelves, but not much else. Opposite it was the kitchen, where there was an island counter with a white marble top. The rest of the kitchen matched and not a single item sat out, aside from a decorative bowl of red apples. There was a door on the far side and I’d thought it might be a pantry. When I opened it, I found the door led to what once was a garage. They repurposed it for storage. Like the rest of the house, everything had a place. It was clean, and I believed what Charon had said about living in a barn. He would find a way to keep the filth out.

Tall storage units stood in rows like a locked library. I ran my fingers over the dark matte cabinets. They kept each one shut tight as if they held a valuable secret. I wondered what was in them. My curiosity piqued as I turned the corner and spotted a stack of familiar crates, identical to the ones Alin had. I lifted the lid of the top box and peered inside. In neat rows, there were cleaning supplies organized by size. I frowned, disappointed by the findings. I lifted the box and checked another. 94% isopropyl alcohol, disinfecting wipes, non-latex gloves, and varying-sized bottles of foam wash. Great, more cleaning supplies. I was starting to worry about Charon. These weren’t standard cleaning supplies, either. They were commercial and hospital-grade. I closed the boxes up and re-stacked them, careful to place them as they were when I’d come in. Cleanliness was more important to him than I realized.

Leaving the converted garage, I peeked out of every window I passed. There was a large field behind the house. I’d already admired that on more than one occasion. With a quiet hum, I made my way through the hall toward the front door and to the stairs. On either side of the house, there were a few trees. On the far left, removed from the rest of the house, there was what looked like a stable. I figured it was the one Charon mentioned. In the front, there was a street and a crossroads. And so many houses. Rows upon rows of houses with people on the porches and the front lawns. There were people everywhere; people walking down the street and bustling about without a care. It seemed to be a town untouched by the Razen. As much as I wanted to continue exploring and admiring all the livelihood, I was too tired. My injuries were still healing, but it didn’t take much for me to fatigue. I thought it had something to do with the intrusive thoughts more so than the actual recovery. I would have liked to stop the creeping vines of doubt and uncertainty from twisting around and strangling every happy moment of peace I had, but there was no escaping them. It was on the days when I was alone that it was the worst. I couldn’t go far, too weak to do much more than explore the house and nap between the short stints. I spent more time than I would have liked alone with my thoughts. They were growing darker and dizzier with each day as they bred into greater chaos.

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If I wasn’t dwelling on the things I didn’t understand, I was daydreaming about seeing Roya again, and Sig and Ezra. Even seeing Stuart would have been nice. Makaria would have an entire earful for me, scolding me for making her worry. I could almost hear it, and I could see her dragging back her hair in frustration. I missed them so much… And when I wasn’t sulking, my mind wandered off to the miserable things haunting my dreams. Sometimes I woke in a cold sweat, my skin tingling from the very memory of the fires I escaped. Then I could see him again, Milo standing there horror-stricken, while I wasn’t… while I was frozen in surreal awe. Sure, it was unsettling, but it was beautiful, too. I wondered how the Razen, with such raw power, hadn’t yet taken the city.

I returned to my room and shut the door, quiet as if I might disturb someone even though no one else was in the house. Mindless in stride, I went to my bed, threw back the blankets, and climbed in. Wrapping myself in the warmth of the covers, I nestled into my pillows. They smelled the same as when I first woke, light and inviting. My eyes grew heavy, and my mind was fast-wandering. I was fortunate to have met Charon. If I hadn’t, I’d be dead in the cabin. He was one of the few good things to come from Sussen. As my blinking slowed, I found it harder and harder to remember what we talked about that day. It was distant and blurred by time. And Milo made it a point to cut our conversations short at every turn. It was as if he didn’t want me getting too close to Charon. He was so protective and jealous over nothing. Of course, Milo was always overprotective. I was reckless and headstrong and constantly getting hurt or in trouble. He had no choice but to keep me close. Waves of doubt lapped against my tiring thoughts as visions of a beautiful white steed intruded and pushed away any lingering uncertainties about myself, about Milo, about anything. The horse plodded over, its silver shine enveloped me, but then it continued to an old, broken fence and crooked tree. How lovely it was, standing in the shade. I remembered that horse, and how it crunched on green under-ripe apples. Whatever became of it? Milo never said, but then again, I’d never asked. Maybe it ran off. I yawned and settled deeper into the blankets. The fog in my head cleared slower than the bruises speckling my shoulders, jaw, arms, and legs, but no matter how much it dispelled, it managed to remain as thick as the scars forming from the bites I’d earned by saving my friends. At least I could sleep knowing they were safe, and I was alive, even if only for a while longer.