A/N: Hi guys! How have you been? I almost forgot it was update day today (or well, I'm a day early, but that's because I want to update on March 30th for the next chapter). I have a lot on my mind lately (but not necessarily in a bad way). Also for those I owe replies to, I promise I'll get to them asap!

Anyway, on the news side, I finished writing both chapters 28 and 29. You're gonna love them lmao.

Also, you should check my profile page because the story got more lovely art! My good friend OooodlesOfNooodles drew the most adorable and pretty Hana (I FREAKED OUT ABOUT IT FOR LIKE HALF AN HOUR I LOVE IT SO MUCH!) AND a beautiful abstract art for the Whisper! *sheds tear* I'm so happy my homicidal son got fanart ;A; THANK YOU SO MUCH MY FRIEND! It means so much to me!

Also, I commissioned Bibinella (whose art I love) to draw Hana, and the result is fantastic! All the links are on my profile (you'll notice a little 'NEW!' next to anything, well, new). I've added links to all the excerpts for future chapters, too. Check it out if you want a preview.

Anyway, thank you all for your continuous support, your beautiful reviews (you reviewers rock my world), and thank you for 100 follows! God I'm so hyped! it made me so freaking happy! I wouldn't be there if it weren't for you guys :')

Now before you dig in, let me just put a slight warning: the chapter contains some explicit language, and some hot content (no, not smut lol). If that kind of stuff makes you uncomfortable, skip the end of the first scene (though I don't know how you're still reading this story if you don't like sex-related stuff).

Now dig in! And tell me what you think ;)


Chapter 27: Cleansed


9:02 A.M.

Lately, for Hana, there were three things that were worth waking up for: the sun, pancakes, and Killua.

It changed a lot from soot, blood, and smoke, which was what her previous night had consisted of. She was still thinking about David's death, about the building in Killua's example, and her inaction. And though Killua was right, there was always the lingering thought that perhaps she could have saved him.

But at least, there was no more guilt.

She was chewing on a mouthful of pancakes when Killua drew the curtain, letting a sliver of sunlight fall on the floor. It caught his eyes for a moment—during which they were pure crystal, shimmering with the translucence of sunlit ice.

(She could be so… uncharacteristically poetic when it came to him.)

"Here you go, your majesty," he said as he gestured to the modicum line of sun on the floor. "Your sun."

"This is what you call letting the sun in?"

He sat on the bed and took his plate full of pancakes. "You're gonna have plenty of sun to bath in later. Let me have my last moments of peace."

"You don't like the sun?"

"Please, I look like Jack Frost. I once nearly caused a car crash because I reflected the sun too much."

"Are you sure the driver wasn't just blinded by your hotness?"

He shrugged. "Could be," he agreed.

She giggled and reached for his hair, ruffling it softly. "You're exaggerating. You look like an angel in sunlight."

He blinked, pink tinting his cheeks. "That's cheesy," he said. And he smiled. "I like it."

She caressed his cheek. "Of course you do." She then resumed eating, taking another pancake from the plate in the middle of the tray and putting it on her own plate. She moved slightly, balancing the plate on her folded legs. "How did you know I liked breakfast in bed?"

"You mentioned it once."

"And you remembered," she mused.

"I actually listen to you when you talk," he deadpanned. "Incredible, right?"

"You like to pretend you're mean but you're so adorable, Killua."

"'Course I am." He glanced at the time. "You wanna go jogging after breakfast?" he asked.

She added more maple syrup to her pancake. "Depends. Will you be wearing the type of sports-tights that hug your ass?"

"Only if you're wearing the same."

"Okay, that's settled then. Nothing better than watching your ass to start the day."

"Not even pancakes."

She scrunched her nose. "I'll take your ass over pancakes anytime."

He laughed. "Highest of praise."

They kept chatting as they finished eating breakfast, lulled by the easy conversations and ridiculous jokes that animated their routines. Truth was, routine didn't feel so bad when it involved someone you loved—and whose ass was as uplifting as Killua's.

She helped him clean then. He removed the tray while she did the little dishes left, and he tidied up the kitchen. When he was done, she wrapped her arms around his waist and laughed against his lips, hands grabbing his backside while he nibbled on her lips.

And then, well, obviously, she led him back to the room to taste more of that raspberry jam on his lips, making the most of that moment with him before they had to go out.

"I can't believe there was a time when I couldn't kiss you," she said when they stopped making out.

"Technically, you always could."

"Shut up. You know I couldn't." She pressed her lips to his, lingering for a delicious moment, feeling the moment in its purest form. She sighed in pleasure, eyes still closed, lips brushing his. And she smiled. "I can't get used to it. It feels so good."

His hands snuck around her waist, grabbing her at the places that felt best—right on the hips, pressing delightfully. And he closed the small space between them, kissing her slowly, languidly. It was torturously intense, yet so delicate. Like everything he did—strength and grace and passion. "You're gonna have to get used to it," he said between two kisses. "'Cause I don't plan on stopping anytime soon."

She chuckled. "So much has changed between us—in the best way. I can kiss you," she said, brushing his lips, trailing his jaw, diving in his neck, brushing the hickey she had left there. Fingertips feeling every bump—jaw, clavicle, the stitch of his tee-shirt. "I can touch you in ways I couldn't. I can—" Her eyes bore into his, hypnotized by his gaze, by all the things she saw in it. Focus, expectation—hunger. "I can—" She stopped on his stomach, eyes stuck in his. And blinked. "… Okay, I don't know if I can touch your abs without dying yet."

He arched an eyebrow. "You still think you'd self-combust? Your hands were all over me yesterday. You never complained."

"I wasn't focused into… into the sensation!"

He shot her a cheeky look. "You wanna try?" She vivaciously nodded, which made him laugh. "Alright, ma'am," he breathed as he took off his shirt, put it aside on the bed, and plopped down on the pillow. His hand briefly gestured at himself while she devoured the ridges of his body. "Here you go. Feel free to experiment."

She blinked, widening her eyes—and ultimately grinned, of course. Obviously. She slowly, carefully drew one finger close to his stomach. Ever so slowly.

Then, she touched his abs. With the tip of her finger.

And she emitted a strangled noise, pretending to collapse on the bed after sputtering a mouthful of ungraceful noises. "Dead."

He burst out laughing. "Dammit! Warn me before you decide to be a moron!"

She laughed along as she repositioned herself—straddling him, his hips between her thighs. "Okay, I'm ready." She exhaled sharply.

"You can do it. I believe in you."

She scooted closer, laying her palm on his abs, relishing in the feeling of his skin under her hand. Warm, soft, but so firm. She traced the lines between his abs, memorizing the imprint of his muscles on her palm. "Where were you all my life," she said (to the abs).

"Don't ditch me for my abs."

"You heard something?" she asked (the abs). "Yeah, me neither."

He cupped her face and kissed her so good, tongue stroking hers in a spine-tingling moment, she forgot his abs and her name and pretty much everything until she realized, a nebulous brain and a bunch of fired-up hormones later, that his mouth wasn't on hers anymore. Her eyes fluttered open. "And now," he started, his hands still around her face, his thumb brushing her lower lip. "You heard something?"

She gave a dizzy smile. "I don't know. I'm not sure. I might need you to do more of that to be sure."

He chortled and happily obliged, kissing and kissing her again until she flopped on him and they couldn't stop laughing and making out.

(Her hands didn't leave his abs.)

At some point during their spontaneous making-out session, she briefly stopped kissing him to flash a wolfish smile. "Remember what I told you yesterday?"

"What?"

She took his hands, led them under her shirt. Her gaze never leaving his eyes as she moved, watching for the slightest reaction on his face, focused on the feel of his skin on her skin. Confusion faded into understanding—his hands on her waist—, understanding into desire—right under her breasts.

And then there was nothing but want. His breath picked up, hot on her mouth when she resumed kissing him. She let go of his hands, let him finish what she had started, and a jolt flashed through her when his palms were on her breasts, pressing and caressing and begging for more. He moaned softly against her mouth—deepened the kiss—hotter, harsher, reckless. An exhilarating jolt sliced through her, stirring aching pleasure as he grazed the tip of her breasts—slow circles, soft touch, hot hands, silk skin. Her brain shut down, nerves rewired to focus on the pleasure, cameos of light and feelings blurring her thoughts. The small flinches of her body when he caressed her. The sensual stroke of his thumb against the tip of her breasts. The toe-curling feel of his palms closing on her breasts, leaving her heady and a little drunk. Drunk with him, drunk with the things he did to her, drunk with the galvanizing pull that brought her desperately closer to him.

But never close enough.

She heard a small whimper at some point, then only realized it was hers when he stopped, breathless, and stared at her.

"Did you just whimper?" he asked.

It took her a few seconds to process the question. Part of her just wanted to bend and keep kissing him, kissing him dumb and senseless. But then, she understood his question. And her cheeks burned with embarrassment. "No," she lied. "Wasn't me."

"Who was it then?" he pressed—the question or her breasts, your pick.

"It was… Horny Hana. I'm not responsible for anything she says."

"I like her. Tell her to make more of that sexy noise for me."

She laughed—a hoarse, breathless laugh. "If you keep touching my boobs like that, you'll hear plenty of her."

He smirked—his thumb didn't stop, small circular movements around her nipples. Teasing her like he knew best. "Say, how loud are you in bed?"

More of that wolfish grin of hers. "Why don't you find out?"

"I wish," he said, and looked at the little clock on her bedside table. "But I have a meeting this afternoon. So we'll have to raincheck on that."

"It's not even 10 A.M.," she whined. "You need more than two hours to fuck me?"

She had a feeling he liked her choice of words—perhaps from the spark of desire in his eyes or the pressure of his hands. "I don't even know if a night will suffice. With all the things I want to do to you."

She squirmed—god, she liked those words. "I'm gonna warn you, I can't come more than twice in a row."

His hands moved from her breasts to her back as he settled. "That's why I need a night." His eyes peered deep in hers—blue was all she could see, all she wanted to see. "We fuck, we cuddle, we talk. And then we repeat."

She swallowed. Her heart was beating speed records. "Remind me to buy condoms," she fumbled, moving away from him, away from the bed and his embrace that begged her to do sinful things.

"Where you going?"

"Away from you and your sexiness. Since I'm not getting some now."

"That's mean," he pretended to whine. "No more kisses?"

She turned around, leaning on the doorframe. "Killua, I'm wet," she said in a matter-of-fact tone. "If I stay within a meter of your body, right now, without sleeping with you, my brain's gonna pour out of my ears and I'm gonna burst out of my panties."

He flashed white teeth at her. "I love when you talk like that. I like Horny Hana. Give me more of her."

"Fuck you," she hissed.

"That's kinda the point."

She huffed. "This is all your fault, giving me the best boob touch I've ever had and being hot and sweet and whatever. Idiot."

"You're in so deep Hana. Just like you'd like me to be."

She shut the door closed just as he was bursting out laughing, cheeks red both from the sudden intimacy and the frustration. She was burning—face, stomach, chest, breasts. And her hands, where she had touched him. Burning for more. She couldn't get enough of him.

She grabbed her toothbrush and squished a copious amount of toothpaste on it, hoping the bitterness would sting some sense in her deluded mind. The, she washed her face—with cold water, seeking the same effect the toothpaste was supposed to give.

Both failed. She was still aching to have him.

"You just got a text," he said loudly from the room as she wore her sports shorts.

"What does it say?"

"It's from Allan. He says Nightowl selected one more person for the Whisper's case. He doesn't say who."

… Well, that effectively washed through her heated thoughts. "Poor soul," she feigned to joke—but it came out as more of a sad complaint than an actual joke.

When she came out of the bathroom, dressed in black sports shorts and a pink tank top, he was still on the bed, browsing through his phone. "Go get prepared," she asked. "Get your sexiness away from my room."

He smirked. "I'll find you at the portal in fifteen minutes, okay?"

"Sure."

She leaned in for a kiss. Then, he was gone.

She had fifteen minutes to prepare herself for the sight of him in sports tights.

God help me.


Nothing could have prepared her. Nothing. Not even the angels with their heavenly choir could have matched that much beauty. She was a total fool to even think she could have been ready for such a glorious, eye-turning, life-changing, religious sight.

The sports tights were so close to his body, so damn close, they traced the line of every muscle. His thighs, his calves—his ass, dammit.

How could she even have considered she could have been prepared for that?

"So, I get you like the sight, hmm?"

She briefly met his eyes—then grinned a cheek-splitting grin as she stared some more. "Uh-huh. Very much so."

"Callipygian much?"

"Is there a word that's like, stronger than callipygian?"

He burst out laughing. "Wow. Now that's something I like to hear," he mused, beckoning her to walk with him.

"Now that's something I like to see."

"You've got a serious thing for my ass. Whenever we make out, I know your hands are gonna be in my back pockets."

"I like it here. It's nice."

"'Nice'?" he repeated, looking pointedly at her.

"… Okay, it's heavenly."

He seemed to like that answer more, judging from the satisfied, smug smile he proudly flashed. "Feels heavenly here too."

"You like it when I grab your ass?"

"It drives me a little crazy."

All she could imagine was grabbing his backside to pull him deeper. "Good to know," she said after a moment blinking the thought away. Focus, Hana. Cold water. Toothpaste. Cold Water. Toothpaste. His ass. Wait, no.

"What about during sex?" she blurted out, fumbling a little with the words. Not out of embarrassment—her mind was just going overdrive. "I mean, do you like it when… your partner grabs your ass during sex?"

His smirk was still hanging on his lips. He leaned close to her, lips brushing her ear, breath warm on her skin. "I love it."

Oh shit.

Her mouth stayed shut, locked in a sheepish and quite dumb smile. He was watching her—with a smug face, that much she was sure of—but she didn't know what to make of the mess in her head. 'I love it.'

So she started running. "Last one at the Jardins de L'Opéra does the dishes tonight!" she shouted. The last thing she saw was his shocked face, mouth gaping, right before he started running too.

"You little shit!" he shouted back, and she laughed, not slowing down the littlest bit.

"No nen or else you also do the laundry!"

"UGH. You're a cheater!"

She answered by picking the pace up. Killua was fast, incredibly so, but so was she. And without his nen to turn him into a physics-defying lightning-fueled speed beast… well, she could match his speed.

He caught up with her right as they passed in a quiet street, both avoiding the passersby on their race toward the park. At this point, they both took turns at taking the lead, each straining their forces to arrive first at the park like the big kids they were—the threat of the dishes, or worse, the laundry, was effective. And at last, with the wind slapping her face and biting her arms and running through her hair, she could think clearly. Air filled her lungs, washed through her whole body, purified her cells. Blood pulsed in her head, in her chest, in her neck as she ran faster and faster. She was high on this cleansing feeling. The liberating kind of high.

They didn't stop running. No car would stop them in their neighborhood—it was too far from the city center, and most people had already gone to work or were too old to drive. They ran by a few old women sitting on a bench, catching a whiff of their powdery perfume. They outran a dog too—who started barking at them and following them before his owner stopped him. But they didn't stop.

They only did when they reached the flourish gates of the Jardins de l'Opéra, grand and swirling and perhaps a little bit excessive.

This time, even Killua was tired. He hunched over, resting his hands on his thighs, while she arched her neck back, hands resting on her waist, gulping whatever air she could.

"You," he started, catching his breath, eyes glaring in hers. "You do the dishes tonight."

She exhaled through her mouth, stretching her back. "I arrived first."

"I did."

"I was in front of you."

"You had a head start."

"But you caught up with me."

"I wouldn't have had to if you hadn't cheated," he fought.

She offered a hand to help him get up. He took it as he stood straighter—and didn't let go. "You're such a sore loser, Killua."

"And you're a cheater."

"I still won."

He pouted. "Not fair."

She chuckled. "You know what? I have another plan," she started, walking on an empty path with him as they engulfed in the park.

"Do tell?"

"No dishes at all," she proposed. "We order food instead. What do you say?"

He smiled, considering the offer. "Sounds great."

"And then you sleep at my place."

His smile grew bigger. "Sounds even greater."

Then, they started jogging together. For real, this time. Both going at a decent pace but not overdoing themselves. They didn't talk much, instead focusing on their bodies and their muscles and the path in front of them. The grass-lined path with flowers and bushes and tall trees on either side of them, arranged in fancy patterns and beautiful sculptures. The Jardins de L'Opéra, as their name implied, used to be the gardens right next to the former opera house—now a museum—that had animated this neighborhood for long years. After the opera closed, relocated closer to the city center, the gardens were turned into a park, one of the most beautiful of the city. It was huge enough to afford three entrances, all of them in three different neighborhoods. With its vast spaces and colorful paths, it was the perfect place to stroll, picnic, or go jogging.

(And also to make out.)

They ran this way for half an hour, never slowing the pace but never accelerating either. Living through the peaceful, cleansing moment—the silence and the constant pace, the scent of dew-covered grass and rose bushes, the soft sun warming their skin. Little by little, her head was less cloggy, less crowded.

When they did stop, they walked together in a shadowy part of the park. The trees above them covered the sun, but sunlight broke through the foliage and drew flourish patterns on his face. She wanted to trace the patterns with her finger.

"Killua?" she finally called when she had caught her breath.

"Yeah?"

"What are you thinking about?"

He briefly looked at her. "What happened yesterday."

She fell silent. She remembered all too well the helplessness of the day before, watching people turn into charcoal as they screamed for help but being unable to help them. The bitter aftertaste of guilt lingered. Guilty of not taking the risks she should have taken to prevent more deaths. And the resignation. At her own powerlessness.

"I've been wanting to talk about that too," she admitted, perhaps a bit too cautiously. Her wounds still smarted. "The smokes bomb or whatever it was. That damned nen user."

He watched her from the corner of his eyes. Was it her silence that had triggered his concern? "Hmm." He narrowed his eyes. "We do need to sort some things about the smokes nen user. His abilities are far worse than I first thought."

"And his intentions," she furthered.

He nodded. "We know one thing about him: he has at least three abilities," he started, eyes focused in front of him.

"He can put a nen oath on people," she continued. "If those people break the oath, they self-combust and emit toxic smokes." She pictured the charred flesh of all those corpses the day before, black wood fuming with the curse smokes. She shuddered.

"Yeah." He frowned. "I remember, with Mulgrad, the smokes didn't fill the room. So one person breaking an oath wouldn't be enough to fill the entire ballroom. Either a bunch of people did, or the smokes guy has the ability to produce them without an oath."

"That's his second ability, then," she noted. "You said you saw a ball of smoke, right?"

"While we were dancing, yeah. I didn't see who launched it, only that it was there."

"So Smokey can drop smoke bomb of a sort. That's probably how he killed Ziam Torana and his family. He launches them, they explode, and whoever breathes them self-combusts and emits more of that smoke. And their range is dangerously… high."

He smiled a little. "Wondie, Smokey… you like giving ridiculous nicknames to bad guys, right?"

"Makes them less threatening. I'm not gonna say 'the smokes nen user' all the time, duh."

He shrugged. "Okay, Smokey it is, then." His face became serious. "Apart from the oath and the smoke bomb, there's one last ability, far worse than the others."

"The Bite," she said.

"Is that how you called it?"

"It looked like a bite," she argued, recalling the crawling noise texture on the hunter's chest. As if it were gnawing him.

"Fair enough. The Bite kills in a minute and a half. That's why David was counting; he felt he would die."

"And when he died, he self-combusted," she recalled. Chills clawed up her spine at the thought. "At least that's the constant thing about him: when you die from his curses, you self-combust and emit toxic smokes—to kill more people."

"Like an infection." He looked up, but wasn't seeing anything. "But unlike the Bite, the smokes don't necessarily kill you. I inhaled them and survived—I'm guessing there's a sort of time or quantity limit. Like, if you inhale the smokes for x seconds, you die. If you inhale x quantity of smoke, you die. Now, I don't know if they're correlated—could be both."

Her eyes darted to a chirping bird fumbling in a tree. Teal feathers shone on its wings. She widened her eyes. "Remember the card you got from Charybdis? They did say you hadn't inhaled the smokes for long enough. So I think it's more of a time limit. Quantity probably has a say in it too, but I don't know how. Perhaps the more you inhale the faster you die, or the more painful the death is. But as you said, it could be both, and Charybdis could be wrong."

"Nah, your theory stands. Charybdis knows much more about everything than we do. Besides, as soon as the hunters are cured, we'll know. As horrible as it is, it will help us gather more info about Smokey." He stopped walking. "There's something I can't quite figure, though."

She stopped too, turned toward him and, without thinking, took his hand. "What is it?"

He squeezed her hand. "I think Faem didn't do it. Or at least, he didn't plan it. Even if Smokey is in Faem's ranks, it wasn't Faem's decision to crash the party."

"His wife was endangered," she guessed. "And he would never endanger her."

"Yes. His fear was far too genuine to be an act." He cracked a bitter smile. "And his affection, too." He looked her in the eye. "But he confirmed what I had theorized: if you don't inhale it, you can't die. He kept asking her if she had inhaled it. And Olivia knows about his activities, or at least about Smokey's existence, because she knew she shouldn't breathe."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Do you think she knows who Smokey is?"

"I don't think so," he said, and they started walking again, hand in hand. "Faem wouldn't endanger her with that knowledge. Smokey obviously doesn't care about her wellbeing; he wouldn't hesitate to kill her if he thought his goals, whatever they are, could be compromised."

"Like if someone tortured his identity out of Olivia," she guessed.

"Exactly."

"Olivia probably doesn't know much about what he does, then."

"Or about the details," he corrected.

"You mean, like knowing he has a base somewhere but not knowing where? Or knowing Smokey exists without knowing who he is?"

"I think so. She knows what he does—but she doesn't know enough to be useful to any enemy of his. It dissuades people to attack her."

She huddled closer to him. "They seem to have a strangely healthy relationship," she mused.

"I thought so as well." He scoffed. "He's an asshole to everyone and a complete sweetheart to his wife."

"Nothing is entirely black or white," she said. "A hard-learned lesson."

He pressed his lips to her cheek. "It makes the world more interesting."

"He confuses me, though," she continued. "I don't know what to believe anymore. If Faem didn't plan to do that, then why did Smokey do it? Is it really Smokey who works under Faem, or Faem who works for Smokey?"

He exhaled. "Good point. At this point, it's hard to tell. When I talked to him, Faem didn't admit to anything, but he was defensive. As though he was endorsing the responsibility."

"Because he is behind Priman's death," she whispered.

"Exactly. The hierarchy between Faem and his smokes 'friend' is still blurry, but one thing is sure: they work together, and Faem planned Priman's death. Now we don't know if Smokey was acting on his own when he killed Ziam Torana, but we do know he was protecting Faem when he placed the oath on Mulgrad."

"And we know he's wildly unpredictable. What he did yesterday… I guess it was only for his own benefits."

Killua frowned. "Yeah. I think he was trying to kill two birds with one stone. Get rid of some people while observing hunters' abilities."

"Get rid of… the President's daughter," she guessed. "David said Zaynab had survived the attack, but was attacked later, by Smokey himself."

"He wanted to get rid of her, that's certain. She and David were the only ones with the Bite."

"You think she knew something compromising?"

He exhaled. "I don't know. If it's something about Faem, then you, Elias and I are also in danger. But Smokey hasn't tried to personally attack us yet, so either he's saving us for later or Zaynab knew something more important. Perhaps something about Smokey himself."

"Something that even her father didn't know," she added.

"Possibly, since he let Saif live. And the other 'benefit' was to observe the abilities of all those top agents. Saif, Allan, Lenaic, your mom. Even Nightowl, if I remember well, used his ability. Imagine the knowledge he could gather just from watching all these hunters' abilities from up close. That's more knowledge than any hacker hunter could ever gather on the Hunter Website."

She scoffed. "That's evil but pretty smart," she mumbled. "So all these deaths were just… diversion, in the end."

"Pretty much. He needed confusion to act, a situation bad enough to force all hunters to cooperate. Perhaps he was even trying to destroy documents, who knows what burnt in that hellhole. Until the experts enlighten us, we don't know that."

She sighed. "This is even more of a mess than I first thought. So now, we need to know who Smokey is?"

"Yeah, and what's his link to Faem, his implication in Priman's death. And his link to the comb. Because for all we know, Faem isn't the one who wants that comb; Smokey could be. We can't just assume anything, but we gotta keep that in mind. And we gotta to be careful, who we trust our info with."

"About that," she started, searching his eyes. "Should we tell Saif, about Mulgrad?"

Killua focused. "I don't know. I think we should keep it to ourselves. Even if Saif means well…"

"The attacker doesn't, and could be around him."

"Exactly."

"So you too think that," she said under her breath. "That he was still among us."

"Yeah. Only guests or hunters were allowed in, so he was either of them. Rogue hunters like those who work in the Phantom Troup would have been noticed."

"And he knew how to blend in and avoid being found," she added. "It's not reassuring but it makes a whole lot of sense. Just as Gayan said, the 'enemy' has a reach in the HCDS itself."

"Except it's more like the HCDS has a tumor and that tumor has a reach in the Mafia itself, through Faem," he mused.

She nodded. "So we keep silent, about what we know."

"Yeah, at least until we have a solid lead. Saif could help us, but it will be hard to get to him without spreading the word in the HCDS. If he entrusts what we tell him to the wrong person, it all goes down. And there's always the doubt too—what if Saif is the culprit? Horrible and unrealistic, but we can't assume anything."

"It's a terrible situation," she said. Then, she tightened her grip on his hand. "You think Charybdis and Scylla are in the same situation we are? They know things they can't say, lest they endanger themselves, so they remain anonymous to help us?"

"Perhaps. With someone as dangerous as this guy around, I wouldn't flaunt what I know of him either."

"Hana?" a familiar voice called.

Startled out of her bubble with Killua, Hana turned around, meeting curious but excited brown eyes. She took in the small person—wild black curls strung in a ponytail, sun-kissed skin, sharp eyebrows… and the ever-present self-proclaimed 'bitchy' smile. "Noor?"

"Oh my God!" Noor exclaimed, hands on her hips. "I'm glad I got out of bed today!"

Hana laughed, pulling Noor into a hug. "I've missed you!"

"Same here, girl!" When she broke the hug, Noor stared at Killua with a curious face. "Sorry, I think I interrupted."

"No problem. I'm Killua," he introduced, taking her hand.

"I'm Noor."

"She's a friend of mine," Hana explained.

"We were students together at the HCDS," Noor furthered. "We survived hell back there."

"More like, we caused hell back there," Hana corrected.

Noor giggled—that was her thing, the little 'I didn't do it' cheeky giggle. "That works too."

"That doesn't even surprise me," Killua said. His phone rang at this moment, and he briefly excused himself to answer it."

Noor watched him walk away. "It's a bit intimidating to be surrounded by people as tall as you two. I feel like I'm in Giant Land."

"You're the tiny one," Hana argued.

She grinned. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"We went jogging together. The weather was nice and we kinda needed to… free our heads."

"I know what you're talking about," Noor said with a sigh. "I also needed to free my mind. Illy almost threw me out because I was being too annoying."

Hana snorted. She could so picture Ilvana do that. "I wonder how she bears with you, honestly."

"You're one to talk!"

Killua came back. He gently touched Hana's arm. "I gotta go. This guy asked if I could do meet him half an hour sooner, and it's actually more convenient for me." He looked at Noor. "Besides, looks like you've got a lot to catch up on."

She grinned. "Okay. I'll see you tonight then."

"Okay." He quickly kissed her goodbye. Then, to Noor: "And you, we'll have more time to properly meet another time. You'll be seeing me a lot anyway," he said with a little smirk—it was so satisfying to hear him say that.

"I can't wait!" Noor replied, eyes shining with the anticipation of all the questions she could ask Hana— 'who's that boy?' 'did he just kiss you?' 'why do you drool when you look at him?' and the like.

He left then. As soon as he was out of sight, Noor grabbed Hana's arm. "Let's walk a bit. You've got a looooot to tell me." She flashed her trademark 'little minx' smile. "I heard you were at the HCDS party!" she dropped. "Or like, before hell unleashed on it," she muttered.

"Who told you?"

"Ophee did. She saw you dancing with Allan. She sounded happy."

Hana blinked at the words. "Ophelia? I didn't even see her."

"She left soon enough—just stayed long enough to show Nightowl she had come. She was lucky as hell, considering what happened next." Noor sighed. "Ilvana nearly panicked when we saw on the news that half the HCDS had burnt. All she could imagine was me among the corpses."

Hana exhaled. "Can't blame her there. It was quite… wild, to say the least. I had no idea what was happening until it was over."

"Well, whoever did that reached his goal. The whole HCDS is paralyzed; people are still in shock. The President…"

"I know," she breathed. "Zaynab died."

"Yeah. I didn't know her that well, but it's still hard. She's one of the only hunters who died."

"There aren't a lot of hunter casualties?" Hana asked.

"Nope. Most casualties were 'normal' guests. But a lot of hunters were wounded."

"Do you know if they're gonna make it?"

"I've heard some medics say they'll live—but they're in a lot of pain. Some of them can't even move."

"How sweet," Hana mumbled.

"Yeah, way to end the week. But anyway, girl. Girl. I missed you. You and your stupid jokes. Ophee and Allan too. And so many more people."

"I never considered anyone would miss me," Hana argued.

"The HCDS has a lot of assholes but a lot of people really cared about you. Remember Jackson? Jackson King?"

She pictured the tall man with his dark umber skin, shaved head, and ever-present smirk. "Nobody could forget Jack."

"Every time he sees me, he asks how you are," she informed while Hana widened her eyes. "And Valencie? From our training classes when we were apprentices?"

"Valencie hated me!" Hana argued. "All she did was criticize me when we trained together."

"Believe it or not, she never trained with us again after you were gone. I heard her tell the Fighting Techniques teacher you were the only one she liked fighting with."

Hana looked away. "I didn't know."

"Now you do. There will always be people who hate you or make fun of you, but do they matter? We miss you, people you barely suspect. Ana and Vivi, constantly remembering the lame puns you used to make to make them laugh, when they were new and shy. Ayen was bragging to his buddies last time about knowing you, when they were talking about you being at the party. And even Tala, she told Ophee and me that she missed having you as a student."

A shy smile was all Hana could manage. "I really had no idea…"

"Because you're not looking," Noor said with a smile.

Without thinking, Hana pulled Noor into a hug. "Thank you so much, Noor."

Noor hugged her back—all the while laughing. "You're crushing me with your boobs!"

Hana pulled back with a blush and a laugh. "Oops. Sorry. I forget you're so tiny, sometimes."

"I'm not complaining," Noor joked. "Don't tell my girlfriend though."

Hana burst out laughing. "Speaking of which, how's Ilvana?"

"She's okay. She's either painting of spitting on my boss."

Hana frowned. "Your boss?"

"I'm working directly under Emre Nightowl. It's supposed to be a promotion but people speak to me as if they were giving me their condolences."

"I hope he won't lash out on you for skipping the party," Hana worried.

Noor let out a bitter laugh. "He can't lash out at me more than he has already."

"What did he do?" she asked, fear coating her voice.

But Noor didn't say anything for a long moment. "He assigned me the Whisper's case," she finally revealed.

The words punched Hana in the throat. Allan's text—it all made sense. "Is he fucking crazy?!"

"It was either that or searching for a serial rapist," Noor whispered, eyes full of hurt. "And I can't deal with rapists. You know that."

"The monster," Hana hissed. "He did it on purpose."

"I know," Noor laughed weakly. "He needs strong hunters apparently. To make a search team and catch the Whisper."

They walked on, gazes fixated on their path. "You'll be working with him and Allan."

"Yeah. I try to tell myself at least I'll learn a lot. I've always looked up to Allan. And for all his coldness, Nightowl is a good agent."

"Still, the Whisper…" She shuddered at the thought.

Noor shrugged. "He's a criminal like any other. Or at least that's what I try to tell myself. So far all we do is gather evidence while Nightowl works on building a team." She lowered her voice. "I also think Allan knows who's the survivor."

Hana's throat tightened. "The survivor?"

"The person who survived the Whisper's curse."

Hana's blood froze in her veins at the words. Noor knew Hana had failed to chase the Whisper, and she like everyone thought Hana had left because of the failure—which wasn't entirely wrong. But since Hana's stay in the quarantine sector had been kept a secret, very few hunters knew that she hadn't failed while chasing him; she had confronted him. And survived his curse. Apart from Allan, and perhaps a few higher-ups, the only person who knew Hana had caught the Whisper was Feri.

And now he was dead.

"I heard it was confidential," Hana tried a reply, working on a neutral expression.

"Hmm. So they say. I've heard some people say it was unfair, that the survivor should help with the investigation." She scoffed. "As if it were easy. Searching for the criminal who destroyed you. Thinking about them all the time. Being forced to stay face to face with your trauma. They think it's fucking easy."

A lump lodged in Hana's throat. Those words, even if they weren't knowingly meant at her, moved her deep. And she knew what it meant for Noor.

"If the survivor's identity was important, it would have been revealed," Hana disclosed cautiously. "I don't think the HCDS would keep something that important a secret if they couldn't afford to."

"I think so too. That's why it pisses me off when I hear assholes judging the survivor."

"People judge because they don't know. And they assume everyone is like them," Hana started, thinking of how to word this confusing jumble in her head. Of words and feelings, of everything she wanted to say. "They forget everyone has gone through some hardship, that everyone has… feelings, emotions. And reasons." She exhaled soundly. "It's always simple when it's not about them."

"Yeah. Judging is simple. Using their fucking brain and compassion; that's not easy." She sighed in annoyance. They found a bench in a quiet area and sat down. "Can we talk about something funny? People give me migraines."

Hana tapped her thighs. "Fill me in on the gossip! It's one of the things I miss the most!"

Noor rubbed her hands together. "Okay baby, sit back 'cause you're in for a wild ride." She blasted her trademark mischievous grin. "First things first: Ophee and Tala are dating."

"Oh my God."

"I know, right? I had this reaction too. I had no idea Tala was into girls! And for real, Ophee? Ophee is a fucking bomb!"

"She's so beautiful, it was intimidating," Hana mused, picturing her teenage self fumbling around the beautiful woman. She would long to be like Ophelia. Feminine and womanly and powerful, with that air of constant defiance that never left her perfect face. Ophelia wasn't gawky or lanky like Hana used to be, uncomfortable in her changing body that never looked the way she wanted it to.

(… Okay, perhaps she also used to have a baby crush on her. Just a tiny baby crush.)

Noor made a non-committal noise. "Ophee made me realize I was gay."

Hana laughed. "Seriously? I didn't know."

"Please, everyone at some point had a crush on Ophee. Doesn't matter if you're into girls or not, she'll do the little sexy smirk and you'll liquefy."

"Fair enough." Hana snorted. "One day, she asked me what time it was and I panicked and said 'yes'. And when she laughed I panicked some more and said 'Thursday'."

Noor giggled. "One day she came into the training room to give some documents to Kenshiro, and he got a hard on while she was talking to him."

"Oh my God. Poor him."

"His friends still make fun of him for that. But I felt really bad because if I had a dick you can be sure I'd have been hard too."

"I don't know how she does it."

"I don't know either," Noor admitted. "Other gossip: Tala is replacing Zhu to teach the martial arts class. And she's pretty kickass at it."

"The new apprentices won't know what it's like to be randomly smacked by their teacher."

"You should always be ready!" Noor imitated the growling voice of their old teacher Zhu. "Danger doesn't warn when it comes to bite your ass!"

"Danger is one kinky motherfucker!" Hana exclaimed, joining in on the imitation of their teacher. "Always be ready to strike!"

They laughed together. "Oh boy. He was one hell of a phenomenon. One day, he told me that if I didn't stop being so unpleasant, I'd never find a husband. And I told him I was gay, and he was like 'and so what? You're never gonna find a wife either if all you do is complain! Get your ass back up and go train!'"

Hana laughed. "This is the most Zhu thing I have ever heard. Why did he get replaced by the way?"

"Not sure. Some rumors say he pissed off a ranked agent. Others said he was just better fitted for his new role—coach at the gym."

"Zhu is no coach. He doesn't count, or encourage you; he straight up beats you up."

Noor turned a dramatic face toward her. "Life fucks you up," she imitated Zhu.

"So will I if you don't fight," Hana finished the proud motto of their teacher.

More laughs. "Next on the HCDS Gossips Newsline," Noor announced, bouncing her leg. She told Hana about the many adventures of Ayen, who had been attributed the Lousiest Flirt award by a girl he had been courting for a few months. She laughed as she recounted the story of how his friends had dared him to steal Nightowl's trusted gun—and how his attempt failed as he ran into Nightowl himself, pretended to be doing extra hours, and received a lecture on how to improve his lies. Her eyes shone when she listed all the gifts her friends had gotten her to help her settle in her new apartment with Ilvana.

"It's bigger than the old one," she explained, gesturing with her arms. "Illy has all the space to paint! The walls are all white and naked; Illy has planned to do their painting herself."

"Your entire apartment has become her new canvas," Hana mused, picturing what an entire apartment filled with Ilvana's psychedelic art would look like. Bliss, probably.

"Yeah, exactly." Her cheeks reddened as she grinned, her eyes dazzling with excitement. "It'll be our little home. And it'll look exactly like us. Illy told me she'll let me help her paint the bedroom."

Hana chuckled. "That's so sweet."

"Yeah it is, if you forget what she said next. 'That way I'll be the only one seeing your ugly drawings.'"

"Savage," Hana replied with a snort. "She says that but she's probably just gonna paint nudes of you on your bedroom walls."

Noor giggled. "Why have a painting when she has the live model for her? She's had all time to draw me anyway. Her sketchbooks are filled with me, it's embarrassing," she exclaimed, slapping her own cheeks.

She's adorable, Hana thought with a smile. "You're so in love, it's gross."

"Hey, it's all your fault so don't complain. You're the one who introduced us."

"I accidentally made you meet the love of your life," Hana mused, staring at her hands, thinking of the peaceful blue of Killua's eyes that morning. Half-closed, hazy, sleepy. The little spark when his tired smile reached his eyes. His long eyelashes curling so gracefully, hooding his gaze.

"Speaking of whiiiiich," Noor started, lips curling in a cheeky smile.

"Uh-oh."

"Don't 'uh-oh' me! Who was that boy? Your boyfriend?"

"Killua?" Hana asked sweetly, blinking with faked innocence.

"I don't buy the innocent look," Noor said. "It's the first time I actually see you with a guy."

"The hell's that supposed to mean?"

"That it seems strangely serious," Noor admitted. "I mean, you're seeing a guy outside his bedroom? I'm shook."

Hana gaped. "Hey! I haven't even slept with him yet. Not in that sense, at least…"

Noor whistled. "I feel the disappointment in your voice. You totally wish you could ride him."

"You crude little thing."

"You crude not-little thing," Noor shot back. "He sounds nice, at least."

A small smile brushed Hana's lips. Feather-light like his fingertips, when he caressed her cheek before cupping her face and kissing her. "He's adorable," she breathed. "I—I'm lucky to have met him."

Noor's wide eyes were staring at her. "Oh wow. You're in love."

Hana shrugged, her cheeks warming up. "I might be."

"Gross."

"I don't wanna hear that from you," Hana huffed as Noor laughed.

A bell sound tinged from Hana's phone. 'lunch?' was all the message said, and it was from Thomas. If she hadn't had her share of his one-word questions standing for actual invitations, after all these years of friendship, she'd never have decrypted that he was inviting her for lunch. "Noor, I gotta go," she said after typing a quick reply. "Tom is inviting me for lunch."

"Sweet. I gotta go too. Illy will sulk if I'm late for lunch." She got up and straightened her skirt. "Say hi to Tom and June for me." She grinned. "And ask June to show you what he and I have been doing. You won't regret it."

Hana wiggled her eyebrows. "I feel this has something to do with music."

Noor tilted her head one side, then the other. "Perhaps, perhaps not." She gave Hana a hug. "I'll see you," she said then. She cast one last cheeky grin then before finishing her sentence. "You and your cute boyfriend."


"What were you thinking?! What the fuck was going through your head?"

He was seething. Beside himself. And yet so helpless. Seized by so many contradicting emotions, so many of which had plagued his existence since he had pledged to help his friend. He didn't even remember how the words were out. One moment he had watched him enter the room, the other he was yelling at him and shaking with explosive anger. The type that boils and presses and begs for an exit through your mouth or your fist. The type that gnaws you inside and sits there in your chest, in your throat, a fist of wrath choking you.

"Calm down, Erik," his friend said. Sauntering quietly in the room as if he hadn't nearly killed Olivia the day before. "You're too aggressive."

"Too aggressive? Too aggressive?! How the fuck am I supposed to react? You almost killed her! Did you think one second that she could have died back there before you… you threw hell at our faces?"

"I didn't mean it that way. It had to be done. You know it. You're just demonizing me again."

Erik pursed his lips. His fist was trembling, pulsing with all the things he had repressed that demanded release. "I'm calling you out on your own shit. That's what I'm doing. And you—you're doing the whole 'you make me out to be the bad guy' thing again. Instead of actually listening to me and owning to your shit."

His friend's face remained impassive. He was so calm—so stern. As if this didn't mean a thing to him. "You know very damn well I'd never want to hurt you. Am I not the one who took you out before you died? What happened was—"

"What? An accident? You accidentally endangered my wife? You couldn't save her like you saved me? Or warn me?!"

"It was not my intention. She's not my responsibility. You should have watched over her instead of letting that Zoaldyeck boy distract you."

"If I had known you were planning to crash the party, I'd have watched over her," Erik calmly argued, containing his anger the best he could.

"I don't have to run everything by you. You should know, by now."

"Know what?! Tell me, Malzi! What the fuck should I know?! That you never talk to me before throwing those sick plans of yours? Like when you killed Ziam?!"

"Don't say his name," Malzi hissed, eyes flaring anger.

"Why?! You're gonna tell me you feel an ounce of regret for, for killing my best friend?! Because his existence inconvenienced you?!"

"Don't talk as if you knew anything!" Malzi shouted, and Erik fell silent. Appalled, but also terrified. "You know what Ziam did."

"He did nothing," Erik risked. "You were taking out your hatred for your father on him."

"STOP TALKING!"

Erik stopped talking. He stopped arguing. He even stopped thinking. His mind was going overdrive but no coherent thought came out of the messy jumble in his head. Nothing except his powerlessness. Because no matter what he said, how much he cried, how angry he got, nothing would change. Nothing except the frustration that built up in his chest, that he tried so hard to ignore.

"Stop speaking as if I did all that to hurt you," Malzi then said, walking closer to Erik. "I would never want to hurt you. After all I sacrificed for you? All I did to protect you? I saved you from your father. Hell, I'd do it again, if it meant leaving you safe."

You threw me to the dogs, that's what you did, Erik thought. You threw me into that world because it was convenient for you.

And I let you.

Erik's breathing was ragged. His chest heaved, his eyes searched for anything to hold his wild gaze. His hands quivered with a tremor that eventually reached his whole arms. He leaned against his desk, wrapping his arms around himself to calm the shaking. The words were still shivering in him, all the things he had never said.

But he didn't speak them.

"You only ever remember the good times," Erik tried, but he knew he had lost the battle. Once more. He always did.

Malzi placed his hands on each side of Erik's arms. "Because that's all that matters." He tilted his head, searching for Erik's gaze. "Erik, you're like a little brother to me. I didn't mean to scare you, yesterday."

And of course, of course Erik bought that. The whole 'you're like a little brother to me', Malzi's favorite saving line. The one thing he could say every time and Erik would always surrender, always grow soft and mild, always submit to him.

Because deep down, through all the horrible things Malzi had done, all the times he had robbed something dear to Erik, all the fights and all the misery he had put Erik through, Erik couldn't stop loving him. He always came back to him. He always desperately sought his presence, no matter how much it weighed on him or how much he tried to avoid it, to distance himself from it. And Erik knew it, deep down in his soul, he would never stop helping Malzi. No matter what he had to do, who he had to kill, what he had to steal, who he had to lose.

He was the only family he had.


A/N: Dun dun dun! Could this be the real villain of the story? You'll see if you keep reading this story. Because I know. Of course I know B)

That chapter was really fun to write. The conversation between Hana and Noor was completely spontaneous. For those who don't remember, Noor's girlfriend, Ilvana, is the artist who drew nude paintings of Hana. She has a tiny flashback in chapter 10. (Also… yeah, there a detail about Hana that I don't know if you caught ;) )

My favorite scenes to write were the sexy scene and the Malzi/Faem fight. For different reasons. What were your favorite moments? I can't wait to read your thoughts! It makes me so happy to read your reviews! Reviews are the best two-minute-recipe to make an author happy and motivate them. It takes hours and hours to produce that kind of content, so tell yourself when you review that you're supporting days' worth of work, and it's very rewarding for us authors.

Next chapter is called Young and it features Thomas and June! It was about time I brought back my babies. See a preview below (that isn't the excerpt available on my blog btw).

Until then, I'll see you in two weeks!

Bye!


So she watched him while he started preparing the food. From time to time, she would give him advice on how to peel his potatoes—"Oh my God, just how the hell do you think you're peeling that poor potato? End its suffering!"—or comment on the way he grated them—"Just tell me you have better stamina than that when you give handjobs," a comment that made June hold his sides laughing while Thomas bit his lips in an attempt not to do like him.

Then, Hana took the wheel herself. She took the cheese and grated it as Thomas watched, dutifully taking notes while she turned a big square of cheddar into confetti in no time.

"Go on Hana," June said, sneaking behind his boyfriend to kiss him on the neck. "Show him how to give proper handjobs. I'm begging you."

"Yeah, show him what I'll do to him with that grate if he keeps being so rude," Thomas had fired back with his trademark death glare.

After which she laughed and June promptly escaped, wincing at the threat.