A/N: Hiii there! Gah, it was so long to wait two weeks to update. I'm overexcited, I just want to publish everything I've written but that wouldn't be very wise. (Patience has never been my best quality…) I'm currently writing the eleventh chapter so it's a bit unsettling to go back to the beginning of the story.

I'd like to thank all of you who read, reviewed, followed and favorited this story! Your support never fails to lift my mood, and you have no idea how happy it makes me to read your feedback. (I read every single review I get at least ten times, I swear…)

Special thanks to my sweet Basma K who advertised my story in her latest chapter! Thank you so, so much my sweet Basma! You're amazing and I love you so much. If any of you are looking for an amazing KilluaOC fic to read, (although I suppose my baby story might not be the most appropriate place to advertise an adult fic), her story is the right place to go! Her Killua is the best older Killua I've read and her OC is just so human, you'll read her and wonder if she's not talking about you somehow.

Anyway, I've talked enough now. On to the chapter!

Chapter 2: Foreboding

Wednesday, March 18th

8:02 P.M.

Looking through Maes's notes hadn't revealed anything groundbreaking.

It can't be that easy, she reminded herself while munching on her sandwich.

All she had learned was that Maes Maple was a twenty-two-year-old History and Geography major when he died. His notes were filled with dates and maps and figures and statistics, and all kinds of diagrams and charts popped out of his binder. It had been tedious to look through one semester and some more of History and Geography for Hana –they were usually some pretty chatty classes.

She had also learned a lot about the massive Southern Peace Auction attack seven years ago or the Chimera Ants War, which she had heard of from her mother and from the news. She had never read about them from a historical, social or political point of view, and her curiosity had begged to be quenched. She had tried to rush past the sentences but her eyes had just bumped on the words. And without being aware of it, she had gulped down paragraphs and paragraphs about the consequences on the national scale of the Auction's attack, the reinforcement measures taken by the country to prevent terrorism and theft, the political involvement of powerful countries in the Chimera Ants war and the geopolitical arguments they had later, when the war was over, to redistribute the land and redefine limits.

Of course, after wasting ten good minutes on that, she had gotten back to work. It was interesting but she didn't have time for that. And well, even if she did have time, she hadn't been hired to educate herself on the political involvement of hunters in modern issues. She had been hired to find out why Maes Maple had decided to go out on a cold Friday night to the drugstore, why he had bought a box of painkillers with his college doctor's prescription, and why he had sat on his kitchen floor to ingest the whole box. Just why.

And so far, the notes weren't telling her why.

Well, she had noticed a few subtle changes around the second semester's start, in January. Sloppier notes. A messier handwriting. The paragraphs were less long and the doodles had disappeared. After a few more pages –mid-January – the ladybugs were gone and scribbly circles had replaced them. Smudges of ink covered words and stained the pages here and there. The changes were gradual enough and could have a thousand and one explanations, but the circumstances called for thorough attention. It had given her an estimation of when his issues had started –early to mid-January. However, none of those were things Hana hadn't expected to find.

So, no surprise.

She would need to go to his apartment and turn it upside down for a few hours.

She just wondered if Maya had been sensitive to those changes. A part of her felt like she had, at least subconsciously, but had overlooked them –otherwise, she would have been more inclined to think her brother was hiding issues from her.

When she finished her sandwich, she washed her plate and grabbed a bowl, opened a can of cat food and poured it inside. The apartment would wait for tomorrow. For the time being, she had a stray cat to feed.

She took the bowl and exited her apartment, locking the door behind her. She took the elevator and went to the backyard.

She shivered when she was outside in the cold night breeze. She walked fast toward the spot she usually saw the cat at the basketball court. The fresh air was pleasant, awakening her senses. Making her so aware of everything around her –the grass licking her toes through her flip-flops, the crickets hidden in the trees, the laughs of people sharing drinks on their balconies. She breathed in the slight scent of sap and leaves wet with dew, of blooming flowers in spring and freshly cut grass.

The path ended to the stairs that led to the court. She climbed the stairs and opened the portal.

As she stepped on the court, she noticed she wasn't alone.

He was there, too.

Sitting on the bench, arms sprawled on the edge of the bench's back, his tousled white hair standing out in the dim light of the court lamps, the same air of boredom plastered on his face. He rose his eyes toward her when he heard her. Sharp, piercing blue eyes. Sizzling with intelligence.

There was a hint of surprise on his face when she arrived near him. Arched eyebrows, blinking eyes.

"Didn't think I'd see you again so soon," she announced as she slowed down.

"You woke up blessed today," he deadpanned.

She snorted and looked around. "Have you seen a cat around here? She's usually waiting for me at this time."

He pointed at the bush that grew on both sides of the fence, on his left, and she moved a bit closer to him to see what he was seeing. The cat was in the bush, staring at him with cautious, yet curious eyes. Big glowing green eyes stuck on him. "She's been doing that since I came. Forcing me in a staring contest."

"Oh wow. She rarely shows that much interest in people –unless they bring her food. I can't tell if she hates or loves you."

He shrugged. "As long as she doesn't try to bite me."

"She's too lazy for that," she assured. "There is only one way to catch her interest." She shook the bowl in front of her, and the cat meowed.

"Of course."

Slowly, the cat moved toward Hana as she squatted. "There you go." She put the bowl on the floor, and the cat slowly moved to eat its content. Hana reached for the soft gray fur and caressed it, gentle and careful, lingering on the warm back. The cat let herself be caressed while she ate.

Hana smiled. "I get the illusion that she likes me when I give her food."

"She does seem to like you, though."

"You think?"

"I don't know. I don't speak cat. But her tail is up. I think it's supposed to mean she likes you."

"Oh." She ran the back of her fingers on the cat's head. "That would be awesome." She sneaked a look at him. He was staring at her with an undecipherable look. Something that could either be interpreted at a strange manifestation of interest, although tainted by boredom, or slight annoyance. She wasn't sure which it was. Or perhaps that was just his face. Some people were born with permanent dark circles under their eyes, and some others with permanent boredom on their face. Like a secondary state.

She stood up. "Can I sit?"

He removed his arm from the bench's back. "Go ahead."

She sat next to him and sighed. "You know, it's so rare to meet new people here. Most people I've met were too busy or unwilling to talk. Or cats. Or shy people I scared away with my awkward attempts to chat. I know very few people around my age in the area. So I'm glad we got to meet again."

"All that speech to state the obvious."

She rolled eyes, though she was smiling. "How are you liking the building? The community? The neighborhood?"

"It's cool. So far I've been invited twice to have tea. To welcome back "the new neighbor". I feel in my element, among all these soccer moms."

She chuckled. "Satisfies your cookie-craving, gossip-over-a-tea-junky self."

"Yeah, I'm having the time of my life. Listening to Margaret and Brigitte gossip about everyone in the building and complain about their kids and husbands. But not in a bad way. They're nice."

"Oh, those two. They are the only ones who care enough to welcome the new neighbors. They're so sneaky, though, it's adorable. Walking their dogs and gathering information to discuss over their tea. When they're not running everywhere to fetch their kids, that is. But they're genuinely kind. And generous. I think a fair percentage of my whole body fat is… due to them."

"I can imagine. Stay one hour with them and you have enough fat reserve for the whole winter. They gave me four boxes of cookies, because they had made more than necessary for a charity fair at their kids' school."

"The Mom Squad. Eat or bleed," she joked.

He snorted. "Dine or die."

"Swallows or gallows."

He glanced at her. "Nice," he said and smiled. A lovely sight, she thought. On a very handsome person. She peeled her eyes off him, focusing on the cat.

"The neighborhood altogether is lovely. Most people are relatively nice. Changes a lot from where I work."

"Oh?"

"I work at the Delexo hotel. As a bartender. I've had my fair deal of arguments with guys who think they are allowed to call me 'babe'. And my boss hates me."

"Why?"

"I'm not even sure. He told me the only reason he hired me was my "pretty face", not my skills. And I think that's the closest thing to a compliment he ever gave me."

He looked at her as if he were trying to understand what she meant. "So he's a jerk."

"Kind of. But at least he's not a sexist jerk, because he's rude to everyone, regardless of gender. I think he secretly prioritizes appearance over skills and only hires pretty people –you should see my coworkers." She stopped and looked at him, wondering if she could risk a compliment. "Be careful, if he sees you, he might want to hire you."

He smiled, pleasantly surprised. A beautiful smile. Soft and warm. "And you have good eyes."

She laughed. "You're welcome. You could come to the bar if you're around the hotel, someday. I'd give you my best drink for free. My Special. A gift for my new neighbor who isn't a cat or shy or unwilling to talk."

"Is that a sleek technique to get new customers or a smooth way to see me again?"

"Hmmm… A bit of both."

He shrugged, although he seemed to appreciate the attention. "I don't know. I'm busy. Perhaps if I wake up in an altruistic mood I might show up. To brighten up your day, you know."

She raised an eyebrow. "You're such a Saint. Saint─ well, I don't know your name."

"Killua."

"Killua," she repeated. His name tasted new in her mouth. Sharp and yet languid. A fitting name for a person like him. "I'm Hana. Or well, Hanaiko, but I like being called Hana, usually. That's how everyone calls me. Except in professional matters."

"Hana it is, then."

The cat had disappeared. "Anyway, I should go. I've invaded your quietness for long enough." She picked the bowl from the ground. The cat had skittered away, her green eyes peeking from the bush. "Don't hesitate to come at the bar, if you want a taste of heaven that matches a Saint like you."

A lazy smirk on his face, he nodded. "I'll remember."

"Good night, Killua," she said, eager to try saying his name again. To get used to it. A new name, a new acquaintance.

He returned her good night. She waved at him and left.

She realized later that she wasn't cold anymore.

Thursday, March 19th

9:02 A.M.

The mornings were chilly in Megamshill.

Killua shoved his hands in his pockets after checking the time. It was 9 A.M. and he had an hour to kill before his meeting with his new client. A woman whose husband, the influent mobster Eugene Priman, had disappeared a few months ago. He had read the reports she had sent him, but he hadn't started working on it. He needed to meet her in person, to learn more about her and her husband.

As he strolled in the main avenue, that lively avenue that people traveled around the world to see, with its fancy restaurants and its luxury shops, his gaze fell on the colossal Delexo hotel gate.

The girl he had met again the night before – Hana – popped in his mind. So full of pep. With her buzzing energy and her strong presence, talking to him as if she had always known him –and talking a lot. He remembered her offer to gift him a free drink. He did have some time to waste before his meeting, too. He couldn't turn down a free cocktail, could he?

He went inside the hotel, asked the receptionist for the bar and followed her directions until he found it. He had expected to find very few people, but there was a decent amount of people scattered in the room.

He then saw her behind the counter. Dressed in a black tube skirt, a white shirt under a black halter vest, and a tie. She had tied her hair in a sophisticatedly messy bun, leaving a strand of hair down from her bangs.

She was drying a glass when she noticed him and greeted him with a big smile.

"Hey! I knew you'd come," she said as he reached the counter.

He sat on a stool. "I had some time to kill and I happened to be near the hotel. You promised me a free drink."

"You remembered."

"You think I'd forget?" he joked.

She crossed her arms, smirking. "Not any free drink, too. My Special."

He shrugged. "I'm curious about what makes it so special. Part of me believes you're just smug and exaggerated so I want to check on that," he said, not really bothered that he could come off as blunt. He had quickly realized she didn't get offended by that kind of things – and he didn't mean to sound rude. It seemed like it amused her.

"Wow. I'm so kind to offer you a free drink and that's how you treat me? How rude."

He smirked. "I'm so kind to grace you with my presence, so, we're even now."

She chuckled. "I won't say anything to that. I am glad you came," she said, her eyes stuck on the glass she had pulled from a row of glasses hanging above her. He seized this opportunity to study her features, and thought about what she had said the night before about her boss. And given that appearance was indeed a criterion to be hired, as she had theorized, he could definitely see why she had been hired. She was pretty. With big almond-shaped eyes and a perky nose, full lips and an oval face. Her features weren't sharp as his own were; it rather seemed like she had been drawn by a reassuring hand, with curves rather than angles, and warm colors –golden peach on her skin, spring green in her eyes, greige in her hair.

"You're examining me," she noted, her eyes still riveted on her concoction.

"I am," he admitted. "Shamelessly so."

She glanced at him, stopping what she was doing for a second. "I am ravishing, right?"

"Was that a rhetorical question?"

"No. Just a casual reminder of common sense." She poured something –vodka? – in the glass.

His eyes fell on the glass in her hands. "What's your Special made of?"

"Hmm. A lot of sweet things. Grapefruit among others. And vodka."

He arched his eyebrows. "Sounds like a deadly combo."

"It is. Trust me, I've tried all sorts of mixings with vodka and this one… is just perfect. Your taste buds will thank me for years."

"I'm having very high expectations for you, now," he affirmed, a small smile settling on his face. "You better be able to satisfy me or else I might not ever come again."

"Oh, believe me, you'll come again. That's the kind of drinks you can't have enough of."

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" he teased.

"Nah, that little vodka won't hurt. Unless you're the type to get all tipsy after a drop of alcohol, that is," she said, her tone indicating that she knew people like that.

He scoffed. "No, I can handle alcohol very well. And a lot of other things."

"And a lot of other things. That sounds mysterious. What kind of other things?" She reached to take a lemon quarter and hooked it on the glass's edge.

"… Just stuff. You know, the usual. Arsenic. Cyanide. Belladonna."

She raised an eyebrow, dubious and yet curious. "Interesting." She slid the glass to him. "Here, it's done. Have a taste of Heaven. It's not arsenic but it's pretty deadly."

He looked at the red base, the rosy top and the pulp swimming in the drink. He took a sip. It was very sweet and tangy, with a slightly bitter aftertaste due to the grapefruit. He could pinpoint some pomegranate syrup, too. It did taste really good. Like a tiny citrus explosion in a single glass. A shot of vodka and a gulp of sour fruits to shake his senses. Bitter grapefruit and sweet, soft pomegranate to soothe them after the slap.

"It's not bad."

"Not bad? You mean life-altering, right?" she argued.

"I don't know. I think I can't have a precise opinion yet." He paused, emptied the glass and breathed out as the hot wave coursed through his throat. "Give me another Special and I'll reconsider my answer."

She burst out laughing. "I think that says enough about how you liked it."

He gave a sly smile. "Bribe me and I'll say whatever you want."

"Not sure my boss would appreciate. He already hates me, so I'm about sure if I keep giving you free drinks he's gonna kick my ass –or at least attempt to."

"Nah, I'm kidding. I'll pay for it."

She grinned.

She took his empty glass and put it away while she prepared another drink. "You know, this is very strange, but you remind me so much of a cop in disguise. Or a detective," she changed the topic.

He blinked, taken aback. "A detective? Me?"

"Yeah. You have this… aura. You're so observant and… sharp."

He shrugged, a knowing look on his face. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. For all I know, you could be the cop in disguise. Acting like a bartender to gather information about people. Buttering it up with a lot of silly jokes and small talk to cover the spying and the prying."

"Bartender in the streets, officer in the sheets," she said in a low voice.

"See, just as I said."

"You could be right. That's a pretty strategic place to gather info after all. You know what kind of people come here at night."

He held her gaze. "I do."

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He reached for it and saw he had received a text.

From Gon.

'I bought these and thought of you. Gotta keep my luck game strong!' said the text, and it was coming with a picture of a golden Chocorobot. Killua smiled.

He replied to Gon. 'Two golden Choborobots in a lifetime? That's unfair. Your luck game sure is strong. Lend me some?'

He stared at the screen as he sent his message. They had kept in contact after they had parted, five years ago, and regularly saw each other, sometimes even tagging along for some time before going their own ways. They mostly sent each other texts or funny photos and called each other as often as they could. One would think distance would have severed their bond, but none of that. They had grown even closer. Had grown up to open up and talk more easily. To sort out their issues and take care of them before they became a heavy tumor in the back of their mind, burdening them with uncertainty and bitterness.

Mostly, they had learned from their mistakes.

Killua promised himself he would call Gon once he had some free time. Gon often wandered in lost places where he barely had any network, so he would have to be lucky and catch him at the right time. Given that he had sent a picture –proof that he was surrounded by modern infrastructures, at least – that wasn't the case at this moment, but he could also depart anytime and decide to get lost in the 'asshole of the world', as Killua had often said.

His thoughts were interrupted by a glass put in front of him. "Here you go," she said.

He thanked her and started drinking. "You know, you could add bubbles to your Special."

"Bubbles?"

"Yeah. Some carbonated water, with the syrup. It would make it more…"

"Explosive?" she finished his sentence, and he nodded.

"Yeah. More explosive, and fizzy."

She stayed focused, staring at the glass, her arms crossed. "Wouldn't hurt to try. I'm all for improvements." Her lips quirked up in a smile. "You could be my guinea pig."

He smirked. "Sure." Then, he checked the time and noted his meeting was in half an hour. He emptied his still full glass in a long gulp, took in the alcohol's punch, the burning feel on his tongue soothed by the sweet syrup.

She was watching him with wide eyes, slight worry written on her face. "Please tell me you ate something this morning."

He got up and put some coins on the counter. "Don't worry about me. I'm great. And thanks for the drink. It was really good." He smiled, echoing their previous conversation.

She blinked. And grinned. "No problem. Come again whenever you want." She paused. "And please don't collapse on your way back."

He chuckled. The thought was too funny –he, Killua Zoaldyeck, who had endured grievous torture, collapsing because of a bit of vodka. "I won't. Remember: arsenic, cyanide, and belladonna. I'm tough."

"Alright. Bye, then!"

"Bye."

9:47 A.M.

Killua stood behind the huge portal of the Priman mansion. He pushed a button on the intercom and waited.

"Priman Mansion, I am the head butler Oscar, how could I help you?"

"I'm Killua Zoaldyeck. I have a meeting with Mrs. Kareha-Priman at 10 A.M."

"I understand. I will be waiting for you at the main entry gate to guide you to Mrs. Kareha-Priman. Thank you for your patience."

And the voice died. The portal automatically opened. Killua noticed cameras hidden here and there above the huge fence, in the trees and the bushes. He walked in, unfazed, taking a few glances at the numerous gadgets of security scattered around the place. He could have been impressed by so much security if he didn't come from a mansion on top of a 3,722-meter mountain, guarded by a T-rex-big dog trained to eat the intruders, kickass butlers and a 'garden' huge enough to host the next Jurassic Park. No need for cameras there. Intruders could come as they wished. Nobody said they could leave, though.

When he reached the marble stairs of the main gate, a young butler was standing outside.

He bowed. "Welcome, Mr. Zoaldyeck. Mrs. Kareha-Priman is waiting for you." he greeted and gestured Killua to follow him.

They walked in a long corridor filled with Renaissance paintings and vibrant tapestries until they reached a hall that led to various rooms. They climbed the stairs and the butler stopped in front of a large ornate door, bowed and opened it.

Killua nodded at him and whispered a 'thank you'. He entered the room, stared at the rows and rows of bookshelves extending in front of him with a mix of amazement and curiosity.

Arashi Kareha-Priman was sitting on a red velvet armchair beside a lacquered low table.

She stood up, smoothed her detailed fall-themed kimono, a soft smile on her face.

"Mr. Zoaldyeck," she greeted, offering a pristine smile. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you." She bowed, and he did like her, poised and respectful.

"The pleasure is mine, Madam."

"I have to thank you for accepting to study my request." She showed him an armchair identical to hers, and they sat down.

"Don't worry about that."

The door opened. The same butler who had brought Killua there – Oscar – appeared with a silver cart carrying cups, cookies and a teapot. He put their cups and saucers on the table and poured them some tea. When Mrs. Kareha-Priman thanked him, he disappeared.

"I thought discussing over tea and cookies would be more pleasant," she said as she put a strand of her long, straight black hair behind her ear.

She brought her cup to her lips. There was something delicate about her. Elegance that showed through her graceful movements. Measure, balance, order. But that wasn't all about her. There was sharpness in her eyes, in her cheekbones, in the curve of her eyebrows and the straight line of her nose. Something cutting, and something fierce. Wild but tamed. Silent but dangerous. Something like the whisper of fallen leaves when fall storms gathered their clouds.

Something that told him that Arashi Kareha-Priman was a lot more than she seemed.

The soft clinking noise of her cup interrupted his thoughts. When she put it down, her expression had hardened. Her black eyes were focused on her cup. She looked at him. "I shall give you all the information I have on the case. If I understood well, you may or may not choose to work on it after that, am I wrong?"

"No, you are right." Although accepting to study the request in person was a strong warranty that he would work on it. But he didn't like making promises he couldn't keep, so he kept that last thought to himself. "Tell me everything you know, I'll listen. I will also take any document you have."

"Fine." She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, opened them again. "My husband, Eugene, disappeared six months ago, along with the former head butler, Gayan Juma. They were both heading to the mansion, after returning from the Southern Peace auction, when the car was attacked. No bodies were found. Nothing of value was stolen either –or at least that I'm aware of – so I was told it was most likely an act of vengeance from Mafia rivalry. Which would make sense, I suppose, since Eugene had been blackmailed by an Anonymous a few weeks before his disappearance."

Killua frowned. "Could I see the letter?"

"Of course." She got up and brought a binder. She took the letter.

He examined it. It was typed and sounded like some poor quality blackmailing. He could write better blackmail letters when he was just six. "Did he have any known rival?"

"The Montsiege family. They were openly rivals, as they were both collectors of prized masterpieces. But Eleanora Montsiege, the head of the family, denied that she had written that."

"And you believe her."

She nodded, looking him in the eye. "I do. Eleanora has always been very open about her vehemence. If she had wanted to harm him, she would definitely have signed with her own hand." She paused. "I think she might as well have come here herself to stab him."

"So a straightforward rival," he deduced.

"Very. Eleanora takes pride in that. She doesn't feel the need to hide because she believes her victory is assured anyway."

Killua refrained a scoff. He took a look at the letter again. "Well, the letter sounds like a very standard blackmailing letter. It could be anyone. Its author was probably aware of the situation between the two families and snatched this opportunity to strike. Of course, the possibility that the Montsiege family could be involved still stands, but I wouldn't bet on that. Especially if the head of the family is as you described her."

"So we have the same opinion about this issue."

"It seems like we do."

She fell silent. "I had hired a few detectives before you since I could not think of talking to the police –you know the Code of Silence in the Mafia." As he nodded, she kept going. "They were all killed, or greatly injured."

A spark of interest fused at her words, but he remained impassible. "And those who were injured? Did they tell you anything about what happened to them?"

"Nothing. They gave up on the case and refused to talk to me any longer."

Or were coerced not to talk to her any longer. "Were they hunters?"

"Some of them were. Crime hunters and blacklist hunters. They were injured, mostly. One was killed."

He crossed his legs. "So we have an aggressive opponent."

She tensed. "I couldn't withdraw that information from you. It has discouraged a lot of other people before you."

"That doesn't scare me." His last name alone had brought him more death threats than any aggressive anonymous killer ever would. From people who wanted to behead him and stuff his head to earn billions on the black market –and miserably failed – to dauntless wannabe Allies of Justice. And well, that was when people sick with vengeance weren't involved. He thought of Anita, the girl who had tried to kill him during the hunter exam, and wondered how many more Anitas would try to avenge the people he or his family had killed. "I'm more concerned about how solvable the issue is. Do you have any hint so far?"

"Very few. Apart from this letter, I have a single bullet, and the few reports the detectives got to write."

"What about the butler? Gayan Juma, if I remember well?"

"Nothing. Nothing that I know of."

He pondered the situation. "Yet."

She blinked, and there was hope in her eyes. "Would that mean…?"

He remained silent, lost in thought. His mind worked, twisted, buzzed with thoughts and speculations. Hypotheses flew and fought, ideas confronted and collapsed. He wrote scenarios of what could happen, what could have happened, what would happen. Every neuron was wrung to think harder, to filter his thoughts and organize them. He looked at her. "I might work on this issue. I need some time to decide, but I will call you back."

"I understand," she assured, but her features were already lighter. Relieved. Because she had probably heard that when Killua Zoaldyeck considered taking a case, he had already started working on it, had probably even started thinking of solutions.

And in a way, she was right.

Later on, they discussed a few more points, including the various reactions of influent mobsters. Eugene Priman's disappearance had sent a shockwave through the Mafia World, like a cold shower suddenly splashing them. He had been one of the most peaceful among them, more focused on his personal ambitions than on power itself. He was just known as this quiet Renaissance collector who had meddled with the underworld in order to replenish his collection, this curious traveler, this passionate reader who had based all his wealth on the paper industry to nourish all his interests. How he of all mobsters had been targeted was beyond understanding –and beyond Arashi Kareha-Priman's understanding. The Mafia was now afraid of a vendetta against all its community.

That, of course, was one of the many possibilities Killua had envisaged. But not his favorite one –a personal vendetta was more plausible to him. His intuition was prickling, and he trusted his intuition.

After their discussion, she gave him a few documents he would need –photos of the car, the exact address and pictures of the location of the impact, the previous detectives report, and the letter – as well as the little hints she had – the bullet among them.

She walked him herself to the entry gate, and he left the mansion with the binder.

During the whole time, he was toying with the bullet.

He knew where he would need to go.

4:30 P.M.

Hana's shift was soon coming to an end. Which was a good thing, since Aleon Dove had changed his usual schedule. He wasn't drinking wine in the dark corner of the bar anymore. Instead, he was taking a nap, in his own room.

And that gave her a great opportunity to make her move.

The bar was nearly empty. She was waiting for her coworker to come so she could leave. As much as she wanted to go, she couldn't leave the bar without any attendance. So she stayed and waited. Dried a few glasses to pass the time. Made mental lists of what she needed to do. Speculated about what she would find in Aleon's room. And planned, planned everything.

The day before, she had somehow managed to get a list of all the people who had come to the bar –fortunately, there weren't too many – especially those around the time Aleon had woken up, but she hadn't found any link between them. Nor had she found anything interesting about those people. Most were people who often came to the bar, and yet Aleon had never reacted to their presence. So in short, there still wasn't any explanation or possible solution to Aleon's sudden panic.

Her coworker arrived on time, brooding and cold as usual. They exchanged a few brief words. Before she could leave, a notification popped up on the bar's interactive screen, a system the hotel had set up so their clients could request whatever they wanted without moving from their rooms.

"What is it?" she asked as her coworker opened the notification. Feigning to not know what it was about, even though she was its cause.

"Room 73 in the VIP area is requesting someone from the bar," he replied, his voice weary even though he had barely arrived.

"Oh, I can take care of that before I leave," she suggested, and his face lit up.

"Really? That would be really cool."

"Yeah, don't worry."

He thanked her one last time and she went to the VIP area.

Hacking the notification system had been pretty easy, and simulating a request from Aleon Dove's room had given her a good reason to wander in the corridors without seeming suspicious –the hotel was fraught with cameras. Aleon himself wouldn't even remember submitting the notification if he were asked anything.

She refrained a smirk. That was too easy.

She made her way in the VIP area, conscious of the cameras at every corner, and stopped in front of Aleon's room. She straightened her shirt and acted as though she was knocking the door, waited a few seconds and opened the door. All for the cameras.

As soon as she was inside, she quickly closed the door. Aleon slept with the lights on, which wasn't all that surprising since he seemed paranoid lately. He was sleeping on his bed, on his stomach, legs and arms sprawled across the blanket.

She stayed near the door and examined the room, looking for any device that could register her presence. There was a camera hidden on top of the curtain rod. She wasn't in its range, but she would need to deactivate it in order to go anywhere near him. The camera's range didn't include the whole room; it was directed on Aleon only.

That, too, wasn't much of a surprise.

She moved quietly to the living-room area of the suite, checking for a computer storing the footage taken by the camera. There was none, but there was a cabinet big enough to contain one, with a lock. Raising an eyebrow, she swiftly walked to the cabinet and examined the lock. She could pick it, deactivate the cameras, and then look for the key to lock it back again once she could go near Aleon. There was a big chance he kept the key on him, or close enough.

She proceeded as planned. The cabinet opened without creaking. A computer sat inside, its cables coursing behind the planks. Apparently, hiding plug sockets in cabinets was a thing, and it was useful.

She checked on Aleon. He was still sound asleep. She started working on the computer. Soon enough, the camera was deactivated, and she closed the cabinet –just in case. Now, she needed to work fast so that the time lapse wouldn't be noticed on a fast-forward.

She fished in her pocket and extracted a few gadgets.

First, the microphones.

Small, sparkling, perfect for blending in with the other small, sparkling marbles decorating the edge of the windows. She moved to the first window, removed one of the glittering stones and glued the microphone in its place. She slid back the tiny strong glue in her pocket, along with the stone. She repeated the action of the other windows in the room, quick and efficient.

Second, the radar.

No matter what state he was in, Aleon Dove always wore the same cufflinks on all his blazers: silver circles with his initials in an elegant cursive font. She wasn't sure if he would notice one of them being entirely changed, but she didn't want to risk it. That was why she had requested a good friend of hers to make an exact replica of it. With a small cylinder-shaped radar painted in silver.

She opened the first drawer of the nightstand, took the box with Aleon's cufflinks, and replaced one of them with the replica. Carefully, she slid back the box in the drawer and closed it.

And breathed out.

She was done.

Or so she thought.

A good thing Hana had had to learn in her young career was that things didn't always go as planned. Hell, things rarely went as planned. Dealing with humans meant dealing with uncertainty, and dealing with uncertainty meant… a lot of thwarted plans.

This time was no exception.

Aleon jolted upright with a sharp intake of breath. Panting. Cursing.

Startled, Hana immediately slid under the bed, trying to steady her heartbeats as she regained her calm. He hadn't seen her. Or at least, she hoped so. What would she do if he saw her under the bed? What would she say? 'Oh, hi there! I was testing the floor! Very comfortable down there! Feel free to join me!'

Aleon moved on the bed, and she saw his legs as he stood up.

Had he felt her presence?

She quietly exhaled and observed him from her spot. He was pacing in the room. Agitated.

"He's here. He's here," he repeated, his words drowned by his erratic breath.

He?

She narrowed her eyes. Aleon was panicking. That was the second time in two days. That was too much. Who did he fear? Whose presence did he feel? Why did he fear it that much?

"Dammit," he swore and sat on the bed, his feet a few inches from Hana's face. Then he stood again and walked to the living room. She couldn't hear him, but she heard him move something on the floor – a marble slab? She sucked in a breath. Then, he moved again. Walked. Toward the cabinet.

No.

No, no, no. He couldn't open the cabinet. He couldn't open it. She had to reactivate the camera and lock the cabinet before going out. If he saw she had picked the lock, if he saw the camera had been switched off, he would go crazy. She couldn't let that happen.

Before he reached the cabinet, she deftly lurched out of her hiding spot, silent as a cat. In a split second, she had crashed the edge of her hand on his nape, right where she knew she could make him faint without killing him, and he had collapsed in her arms. She allowed herself to breathe. Slowly, she slid an arm beneath his knees, and the other arm supported his upper body. She carried him to his bed. As she lay him on his bed, she remembered the slab he had moved and walked to the place the noise had come from. The slab was still open. And underneath it, a key. He didn't hide it near him, as she had first thought.

Relieved, she hurried back to the cabinet and reactivated the camera. She closed the cabinet, locked it, and put the key back under the marble slab.

When she finished making sure she had erased all evidence of her visit, she exited the room.

Now, all that was left to do for Aleon was listening, watching, and waiting.

5:45 P.M.

Maes lived in a student residence close to the University.

Hana looked at her phone, where she had written the address, and looked up at her surroundings. She was walking on a pedestrian street in the campus, among the residences and the various study-related buildings. There were the Chemistry department and the Mathematics department, and a huge building that was the Mechanical Engineering department, and so much more.

She met a few students on her way, and some of them were around her age. A lot of them were on their way to the library, and she caught a few conversations about 'asshole teachers' and 'fucking hard exams' and laughs and jokes.

Her thoughts drifted to what she would have done if she hadn't decided to drop school to take the hunter exam. Perhaps she'd have been there, studying math or science and joining countless clubs and partying all night before holidays. Her dark circles would have been from sleepless exam cramming instead of sleepless criminal cases cramming.

Did she regret anything, though?

No. She liked her life as it was. It wasn't perfect –whose life was? – but it was there and she had what she wanted. She wanted more, always more, but she was on her way to growing and getting better and improving.

Just like those college students, she had her ambitions.

She stopped in front of Maes's residence. She flashed the badge on the door and opened it, climbed to the third floor and stopped in front of a door with Maes's name on it.

She unlocked it.

The room smelled of dust and humidity. The air felt damp and heavy. Maya had told her she hadn't cleaned it yet because she was afraid of washing away an evidence. Hana slowly walked inside, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. The shutters were closed and almost no light filtered through the window, except a faint glow coming from the very top of the window. She opened the shutters and then the window, enjoying the fresh March air.

She stepped back, looked at the wide desk below the window, the bar in front of the kitchen, the bed against the wall and the plywood closet near the entrance door. The furniture was rather simple, something she'd have expected to find in any student's room. She did notice, though, a ladybug-shaped clock on top of the bed, and smiled a little.

As she swiveled, she realized the apartment was small enough for her to easily project her En through it. Which meant she could use Sae.

She flexed her fingers, and a gun conjured in her hand. She squeezed her fingers around the cold grip, feeling a surge of power through her. The gun's weight in her hand made her more confident. As if she were stronger, better.

And she was.

A bluish transparent screen appeared next to her.

Which mode would you like to use?

1. S

2. A

3. E

Her hand hovered near the screen, and she finally pressed her index on the second option.

Analyzer mode activated.

Please choose an available version below.

A row of squares extended below the question, but only three of them were glowing –a gun, a long wristband, and a hand. The others were dull and empty, like locked objects in video games that required a higher level to be unlocked. She clicked on the wristband square, and her gun divided itself into tiny pieces and moved around her wrist. The pieces reattached in a tight bracelet around her wrist and up to half her forearm. A small scanner through which she could focus her nen sat on top of the bracelet.

Analyzer 2.0 activated.

She stared at the object around her arm, checking for any apparent flaw. She had spent four years thoroughly developing Sae, her nen ability. She was fourteen when she had started thinking of its concept, a year after she passed the hunter exam and learned nen. And still, it wasn't perfect, wasn't even over. There was still a lot to improve, a lot of functionalities to add, a lot of possibilities to explore –hence the dull squares, her way to concretize her room for improvement. She dreamed that someday, all the squares would be full and glowing. It would probably take her years, even decades, but it would happen. She swore on that.

She took a step back, extended her arm in front of her, her fist clenched. The fingers of her other hand glided over the screen, swift and fast from habit. She chose the range, the power, the intensity, and pretty much filtered through every option she had added in Sae. As she did so, the scanner switched on.

She took a deep breath. Enhanced her nen into Ren. Extended her Ren into En. Focused her Gyo into the scanner. And scanned. The first half of the room, then the second. A few lines of analysis irregularly buffered on the screen.

Scan completed.

She lowered her arm and glanced at the screen, scrolling up to gather the information. Her eyes stopped on a particular line.

Percentage of aura concentration estimated at:

below 1%.

She narrowed her eyes. The percentage was low, but not low enough to her. Her scanner only found traces of awakened nen, which meant that the percentage should have been zero for an average non nen-user. It either meant that a nen user had been there and had somehow left traces of nen, or that Maes had unknowingly awakened his aura through some kind of activity, and that his aura had rubbed off on his work.

And that wasn't exactly the kind of things she'd expected to find in a college student's room.

Questions rushed through her. She started looking through Maes's room. Thoroughly so. Everywhere. Beneath the mattress and between the books and inside the pillows. She opened every cabinet, scanned every book, every binder and every lidded bowl to find anything that could be a trace of nen.

But there was nothing. The percentage was too low for her scanner to tell her where exactly it was concentrated. She only knew that it was in the half where the desk and the bed and the closet were because in the other half alone the percentage was zero, but that wasn't enough. If she could find what object was responsible for the nen, then perhaps her scanner could give her a more precise percentage.

Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. Twenty. Twenty-five.

After half an hour of painstaking search, she stood up in the middle of the room, hands on her hips and dust on her cheeks, and bit her lips. Nothing. She had found nothing.

She pushed her hair away from her forehead and sighed. She thought again of all the things she had turned upside down and all the drawers she had pulled and how none of those had given her any satisfaction. No positive result.

Could it be that her scanner had been wrong?

No. That wasn't possible. Sae still had a lot of flaws, but it had never been wrong about detecting nen.

Far from being demotivated, Hana stared at the furniture before her. An idea hit her. She moved toward the desk and opened the drawer, stripping it of all its content. She gave a small tap on the wooden base of the drawer and tried to remove it. If Maes really had something to hide, then he might as well have found secret compartments that nobody knew of. Not even his sister. Especially not his sister. But as the base of the drawer didn't budge, she put all the things she had removed back into it and closed it. She moved to the second drawer, then the third, but the result was the same.

Which only left one option: the closet. She took the piles of clothes inside and put them on the bed. When she gave a small tap on the wooden back wall of the closet, it sounded hollow. With a small flashlight, she sought for holes or hidden traps or anything that could hint a hidden compartment. The closet was black, so it was hard to find any shadow. But it was in smooth plywood, so if she tried to touch the surface, she might find something. She put the flashlight away and slid her hands on the back wall, focused on every bump her fingertips ran on.

Her right index stopped on something. A tiny, imperceptible gap. She ran her finger down the gap, realized it kept going in a long line. She grinned, content with that small win.

Since her nails weren't thin enough to insert in the line, took a small knife from her boot and traced the line with the blade, enlarging the tiny gap in the back wall. When it was big enough, she stuck the blade on the top part of the line, shoved it inside, and bent it sideways. A big plank came away. She grabbed it and pulled. Its lack of resistance showed it had been removed before, which confirmed her suspicions. She put the plank against the closet and looked inside the compartment.

A dusty sketchbook lay there, along with a few small books, a large laptop in its bag and a binder placed vertically.

She took them and immediately scanned the laptop, the books and the binder, which didn't give anything. That only left the sketchbook.

She frowned. Determined.

And scanned the sketchbook.

Percentage of aura concentration estimated at:

0.82 %.

Relief flooded her. But it was short-lived because it was soon replaced by loads of questions.

Whose nen was it? There was no doubt to her that these objects were Maes's. The books were borrowed from the library and Maes's name was the last one in the list of people who had borrowed them. Unless someone had hidden them there, but there was no sense to that. That person would need to have constant access to his room, and nobody had come there since Maya last did.

Those were Maes's belongings.

She turned her attention toward the objects, hoping to find answers in them.

The books were small guides on what depression, schizophrenia, and other mental illnesses were. She often saw those kinds of books in the psychological and medical sections of bookshops, and in her father's office. She recognized one of them as a book he had recommended to a patient, written by one of his colleagues. They covered the biggest points about mental illnesses and were usually more reliable than internet websites –or so she had been told.

She took the binder and skimmed through prescriptions of antidepressants given by psychiatrists, along with various medication names that she only recognized from their name but didn't know what they were used for, and post-its for meetings with therapists.

Something twitched inside her chest.

She imagined Maes borrowing those books at the library, reading them frantically to know if the symptoms applied to him. She imagined him secretly meeting with doctors, desperate to make his issues go away. She imagined him trying his best not to let it show when he was with his sister. She imagined all these and more, and the knot in her chest tightened. What had happened to turn his life upside down in just a few weeks? A boy who had everything, suddenly trampled to death by issues bigger than he was within a few weeks. No wonder Maya went crazy over his death. And now, even though Hana had the proof he had issues, the question of why these issues had started lingered.

Questions, so many questions.

Finally, she eyed the sketchbook. She took it, dusting its rough cover.

A shiver ran down her spine. There was something unsettling about the sketchbook. Something almost eerie, with the grim smudges on the front page and the dark spots of ink splattered here and there. A foreboding seized her, urging her to stop.

She opened it nonetheless.

And quickly understood the bad feeling she had had.

The bad, and very familiar feeling.

A/N: So here you go! That was a slightly shorter chapter, but I hope you still liked it. And sorry for the tinyyyy cliffie. Truth is, I love ending chapters with cliffhangers. (feel free to throw tomatoes at me)

Oh, you see that quote here? "Apparently, hiding plug sockets in cabinets was a thing, and it was useful"? That's actually something I saw in my apartment and it got me so confused I decided to use it for the story. It's not so convenient to keep the closet open to plug in my latop charger, but I guess Aleon found a better use for it! Also, it took me months to realize that 1.2 was not, in fact, below 1...

What did you think about the chapter? About the introduction to Hana's nen ability? About the Hanallua interactions? I'm curious to see your feedback! I love every single review I get, they make me feel like my work is worthwhile. (Picture a bunch of hearts here, since Fanfiction won't let me express my love.)

Anyway, sorry for rambling. I'm so excited and so eager to show you what I've written.

Thanks for reading and see you in two weeks! I love you all!