Chapter 10: The Decision

Felix was drowning. The sand had disappeared from beneath his feet, leaving nothing but an expense of open water as bottomless as it was dark. He kicked and struggled, clawing against fate, but his efforts were in vain. Whispers sounded from the water around him, and a voice, now familiar, hummed a threadless tune.

He clapped his hands over his ears. No, get out of my head, he commanded.

Come in, another voice, different from the singer, replied. The water welcomes you and my arms are waiting.

The arms of death.

Let me go! Felix tried to shout, but no sound came out. Bubbles issued from his mouth instead, carrying the last of the air in his lungs to the water's surface. Let me go… The water was filled with hands gripping his ankles, his calves, his shoulder-

"Ah!" Felix sat up and swung his arms wildly, smacking Sylvain squarely in the face.

"Ow...what the hell, man?" Sylvain whined, wiping his nose and checking for blood. He found none, but dabbed at his face again to make sure.

Felix took a moment to blink at Sylvain before he realized where he was-he'd been tangled in his bedsheets, and the only water around was in his metal water bottle on the nightstand. The humid air in the cottage was suffocating, so he pushed himself out of bed and staggered to the window, throwing it open and sticking his head out into the morning breeze.

Sylvain stopped grumbling and watched him gulp in the fresh air. A solemn expression replaced his look of wounded outrage. "...I guess you dream about him too, huh?" He shuffled his feet, choosing to keep his distance. His voice was soft, brotherly. "Shake it off. We're gonna find him."

"It's not…" Felix stopped and closed his eyes, reaching up to run his hands through his loose hair. "I'm sorry."

"Eh, what's new?" Sylvain laughed, back to his usual irreverence. "I came in to wake you up, anyway. You want breakfast or you gonna hang out the window all day?"

The rolling waves of the dream were still too fresh for Felix's stomach's comfort. He shook his head, taking another deep breath. "I'm gonna go for a run."

Usually Sylvain would ask to join in, but today he didn't; he simply nodded and pulled his phone out of his pocket. "I hope it shakes something loose in that brain of yours," he said, meandering out of the room.

Felix craned his neck to glimpse the phone screen as he went, catching sight of what looked like a camera app. Sylvain had been obsessed with whatever that game was for the past few days and had been playing nonstop. Clearly he wasn't being given enough work to do if he had time for nonsense. Felix could fix that.

—

Sand was Felix's favorite surface to run on because every run felt like a battle: the harder he pushed his feet, the harder the sand fought to slow him down. Felix did not care for team sports, but he dearly loved competition when his competitor was himself. As a child, his parents had put him and his big brother Glenn into many different activities-sports, archery, music lessons-and Glenn took to all of them like a bee to clover. Invariably, Felix lost interest in whatever Glenn excelled at. He wasn't interested in competing against his brother.

There were only two things that Glenn didn't care for: running and martial arts. Felix threw himself into both, rising through the ranks of his peers and distinguishing himself up to the Provincial level. What he liked best about both activities was how he could find his limits, self-reflect, strategize, and then systematically shatter those limits over and over again.

Looking back, Felix was now able to admit that he'd been terrified of never catching up to Glenn, of always being in his shadow, ashamed of what he lacked. He'd pursued archery many times, but every time he picked up a bow he saw Glenn's form, the way his arrows flew straight and tight, the joy in his father's face when Glenn won a meet...and his hands would shake so hard he could barely draw the string.

"My sons are unmatched," his father, Rodrigue would say at police dinner parties. "Everything they touch, they conquer. Neither one of them know what failure is." He'd laugh, mostly-empty liquor glass in hand.

Failure. Fraldariuses don't fail. Fraldariuses don't take the easy way out.

Yes, Felix liked running on sand because every time he took a step and overcame the challenge, he felt like he was where he should be, that he was doing enough, that he was enough. He would finish this 5k, then run a little further because...because he was a Fraldarius, and Fraldariuses strive for excellence.

His father would be proud.

Now that Glenn was-

Well.

It was up to Felix to bring the family pride, and he would without a doubt.

His parents had a scrapbook where they pasted snippets of news articles from every case Felix solved. It was full of faces; men, women, and children that had gone missing, or been murdered, or whose bodies had been found without identification. Most of the faces belonged to people long dead, but there were glittery stars on the few pages containing the cases of the people Felix had found alive, who were able to return to their families and restart their lives.

Ashe's face belonged on those starred pages. Felix pumped his legs faster as he rolled the case around in his mind for what must be the ten millionth time. Why? There were so many 'why's that Felix could not figure out. Why Garreg Mach? Was it truly coincidence? Why did he leave his flat that evening? If he was dead, where was his body? Where were the belongings he took with him? Why did all the clues point to dead ends or lead in conflicting directions?

Why, why, why couldn't Felix crack this puzzle?

He was failing, and that was unthinkable, unacceptable.

His legs were stinging now, and his lungs were aflame. He'd pushed too hard for a long-distance run and had burnt himself out.

Another failure.

A shameful, aching sort of anger overtook him as he doubled over, trying to catch his breath. What was he doing? And that damned humming…

He looked at the ocean to his left and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it aside and into the sand. His shoes came off next, then his socks, and he finally loosed his hair, shaking it out over his face. Perhaps the only way to chase his dreams out of his mind was to immerse himself in the sea and prove that it was only water, nothing else.

Barefoot, he waded in the shallows, slowing as the water moved up his legs to his hips and then to his chest. It was warm, and the rocking motion reminded him of trips he'd taken to the seaside as a child with his family. His mother would build sandcastles, his father would fall asleep in the sun, and he and Glenn would jump the waves, pretending that each one carried sharks desperate to swallow them whole.

When the water became deep enough, he flipped over and arched his back to float on the surface. When he closed his eyes he felt like a boat-a tugboat bobbing on the waves, towing a defunct battleship riddled with torpedo holes. If he forgot about the shoreline for a moment, he could almost believe that he was alone in an endless seascape, a hunk of bone and metal crossing the Morfisian Channel.

The ocean drained his stress bit by bit, and he could think clearly for the first time since he'd awoken.

So Ubert was a reformed petty criminal, huh? Surprising...or maybe not. Nothing and no one who seemed spotless truly was.

Shamir had been right when she'd said his record was lengthy, but his offenses were all along a similar vein: he had been a teenage thief and a truant besides. They had been expunged, Sylvain had explained, because of the life circumstances surrounding the crimes. Ubert and his siblings had been bounced from foster family to foster family after the death of their parents, and the foster system had done what the foster system did best, which was to pay irresponsible adults to neglect and abuse the children they were put in charge of.

Ubert started to steal in grade school, then he'd sell his stolen goods to pawn shops or local black market rings. After a while he joined a juvenile street gang that specialized in burglarizing middle-class homes for expensive electronics and jewelry. With the money he made from these activities, he kept his siblings in decent clothes and started saving for the day he could declare emancipation and take them all out of foster care.

During a custody change, one of his foster parents found the stash of savings he'd accumulated and confiscated every penny of it. This led to a verbal and then a physical fight, and the authorities had been called after the neighbors heard the screams of the younger kids. When the source of the money was investigated, Ubert's criminal activities were unearthed and all the secrets came to light.

Facing being tried as an adult, Ubert took a deal that guaranteed him immunity if he testified against his former gang members. The entire organization was uprooted, which worked in Ubert's favor, and upon reading Ubert's testimony the judge decided to expunge his crimes provided he complete a substantial amount of community service and stay in contact with a juvenile rehabilitation organization. Under Faerghusian law, Ashe Ubert was no longer considered a criminal, and his record was wiped clean.

During this process, one of the social workers in charge of the case felt her heart be moved, and after discussion with the rest of her family, adopted each and every one of the Ubert siblings. It was a nightmare turned fairytale...turned back into a nightmare.

Felix exhaled, feeling himself sink a little deeper in the water.

If Ubert was dead, his family would never awaken from that nightmare. Like with so many cases in the past, Felix couldn't fix that. What he could do, however, was bring them resolution if nothing else.

Find Ashe Ubert alive and return him to his family-that was the goal.

Find Ashe Ubert's body, hope it still has its heart, and allow the Uberts and Lonatos to lay him to rest in a place of their choosing-that was the only other alternative.

Determination grew in Felix's chest, curling around and absorbing the despair that had been festering like an infection. He only failed the moment he gave up; as long as he kept pushing, kept fighting...he would overcome. No matter what or how long it took.

Floating in the ocean, with the sun burning the patches of skin exposed to the air, Felix felt like Ubert was near, in spirit if not in body. He let his arms float out to his sides and swore a silent oath to Ubert, to the ocean, to the sun, to Sothis if she was listening: I will find you, Ashe Ubert.

He would find him and tell him how much his family missed him, even if he could only say the words to a pile of bones.

—

He'd floated quite a ways down the shore during his session in the ocean, and when he waded from the water he looked around to find himself on a section of the public beach that had become busy with an morning mix of sun-seekers. His clothes had been left where he'd entered the water, but that was okay; the walk back would be pleasant and would allow him to dry off naturally.

Felix tanned well and didn't burn easily, so the sun didn't worry him as he walked. Older couples were heading for the boardwalk, having taken advantage of the relative cool of the early morning. Joggers holding leashes of panting dogs ran past, some nodding greetings and others focused on whatever was coming from their headphones. Parents carrying toddlers called warnings to their older children, reminding them to come back for sunscreen before going into the water. College-aged kids were nowhere to be seen; no doubt they were still hungover and asleep.

Life was going on just as it was meant to. The sights calmed Felix's heart, but he scanned each and every face as he passed, looking for something familiar, something suspicious...something.

Anything.

A flash of red hair out in the water brought Sylvain to mind, and he turned his head to follow the movement. After a moment, he squinted. Those stupid sunglasses…

"Detective!" Felix flinched, recognizing the voice. "Yoohoo, Detective!" The voice called again, and he turned to see a small group of women sitting on a blanket under an enormous beach umbrella. The call had come from Dorothea, who was waving her hand, beckoning him over.

Felix sighed, but trudged through the sand towards them. He didn't have time to socialize this morning-he hadn't eaten breakfast yet and he needed to look over the petty crime reports he'd requested from the Garreg Mach archives. If he was quick with his greeting, he could excuse himself and be back to the rental cottage by nine-thirty.

A thought flickered in his mind as he approached the blanket. If Dorothea was on the beach, then-

He looked up, right into the eyes of Annette, who looked as flustered as he felt. She was seated between Mercedes and Hilda, and both she and Bernadetta seemed to be fighting to hide behind Mercedes' back.

"Good morning, Detective," Dorothea said, waving his attention back to herself. She was wearing a bold black and cranberry bikini and sat in a way so as to put the outfit at its most advantageous. "What a delight to meet you outside of work! We were wondering if we'd see you around this morning. Sylvain said we might."

"I was-Sylvain?" Felix asked, wrinkling his brow and resisting Dorothea's efforts to make him look at her clothes. "When did you talk with him?"

"Few minutes ago. He's over there," Hilda replied, pointing towards the ocean with a hand holding a brightly colored bottle of juice. "Ingrid is teaching him and Claude how to surf."

Looking back at the ocean, Felix realized the redhead he'd seen really had been Sylvain. It was clear now, and when he looked harder he recognized Claude's dark hair beside him in the water. A blonde and turquoise figure in front of them was showing them where to grip the boards. When had Sylvain…?

"You didn't know?" Dorothea asked, surprised. "I thought you two were tighter than the two halves of an oyster shell."

Hilda took a noisy slurp from the bottle of juice. "No way," she said, saving Felix from answering. "It's weird to be too close to your coworkers."

The other girls squinted at Hilda. "You're literally on the beach with your coworkers at this moment," Dorothea reminded her.

"And you're drinking Annie's mango juice," Mercedes added. "That's an indirect kiss!"

Hilda looked at the bottle. "Oh. I thought this was Claude's. Sorry, Annie."

"It's, uh, it's fine! I have more in my bag." Annette chuckled, rejecting Hilda's attempts to hand the bottle back to her. The beaded bangles on her wrist rattled, mixing with the ocean sounds and the cries of the gulls circling overhead in search of cast-off food.

Mercedes shifted beside her, and the thick blue strap on Annette's left shoulder loosened and slid off. Her swim top was built such that the loose strap didn't really matter, but the movement caught Felix's attention and made him keenly aware of the stretch of now-bared skin stretching from her neck to her arm. "Oh no, Annie, your strap came off," Mercedes gasped. "Let me fix it for you!"

Annette yelped, reaching to make sure she was covered. "Ah!" She glanced up at Felix, then jerked her head away when she realized he was looking at her.

"Don't worry, Annie, your top didn't come down. The detective didn't see anything, right Detective?"

The heat of the day descended on Felix all at once like a flock of hungry seagulls, and he also looked away, trying to seem as if he hadn't noticed Annette's strap at all. "I-I don't know what you're talking about," he muttered. His hands were suddenly useless paddles taking up space at his side. He crossed his arms to have something to do with them, then uncrossed them when that felt even more awkward than before.

"See?" Mercy patted Annette's head and took the strap from her, but didn't fasten it immediately. "You have such nice skin, Annie. I'm a little jealous."

Dorothea leaned over to look. "You do! So smooth! It must be because you always wear sunscreen. Bernie, look!"

"Some people are just lucky," Hilda commented, also craning her neck to peer at Annette's shoulder. "Claude never wears sunscreen, and his skin is amazing. There's no justice in this world."

"I wear sunscreen religiously and I find new freckles every day," Mercedes lamented, Annette's strap still in hand. "Maybe I should try the brand you use, Annie. May I borrow it?"

"Fine! I'll give you anything you want, Mercy, just put my strap back on!" Annette's face was as red as a sunburn. "This is embarrassing!"

Mercedes chuckled as she tied the strap, and Dorothea smirked. "I don't know why you're getting so flustered, Annie. It's the beach; who cares about a little skin? The detective isn't even wearing a shirt."

Her words reminded Felix of his current state of undress, and when Annette's eyes guiltily flicked up to look at him, he wholeheartedly wished for the sand to open beneath his feet and drop him down into Shambhala. He hadn't even tied his hair back up; it hung down nearly to his shoulders, still wet with salt water. The trunks he'd worn for his run were old and had a ragged spot on the seat where he'd sat on a lake dock one year with Glenn and caught the fabric on a nail head-you could probably see his boxers through the hole and oh Sothis which boxers had he worn today? Surely he hadn't…

He had, hadn't he? He'd worn the pair Sylvain had given him two winters ago-the ones patterned with cartoon hotdogs. He hated those, which was why he only wore them for physical activity like running and swimming.

Which of the Saints had he offended so deeply that this happened to him? Mumbling something about getting back to work, he began backing away from the ladies on the blanket, keeping his front to them. The beach had been empty between the women and the ocean, so he was confident he wouldn't step on any wayward shell-hunting children until he could get far enough away it wouldn't matter if the hole in his trunks was big enough to show his boxers or not.

His back collided with something solid, and he stumbled a step. "Sorry…" he muttered, surprised and trying to side-step in a way that still concealed his rear end.

"Morning, Detective," the solid form said, mirth in its voice. "Hey! Sylvain! It's your partner!"

"FELIX!" Sylvain's voice called from the waterline. "Buddy! How was your run?"

Claude, the one into whom Felix had bumped, walked around him and made a face. "You alright?"

"I'm fine," Felix snapped, continuing to back up subtly. "I've got a lot of work to do, so if you'll excuse me-"

"What? What's wrong?" Sylvain jogged up, overhearing the conversation.

"Are you having stomach problems?" Claude peered at him. "There's a public bathroom up that way if you need it."

"No, I'm not having stomach problems, I-"

Sylvain frowned. "Still nauseated from this morning, bud? You look fine to me."

"No, he's walking like he shat himself," Claude said, lowering his voice. "Listen. If you shat yourself, I'll cover for you while you make a run for it. You'll owe me one, but it's fine."

"No! Get out of my face." When neither Claude nor Sylvain looked convinced, Felix sighed. Maybe telling them what they wanted to hear would be enough for them to let him leave. "Whatever. I'm a little dizzy, alright? Must be the heat. I'll be fine if I can go back to our house and get some water."

"No problem! We've got water over here!" Claude put a hand behind Felix's shoulders, pushing him towards the blanket again. "Sit down and cool off until you feel better."

Felix struggled, but he was hampered by not being able to turn around, so the combined efforts of Claude and Sylvain ended with him being forced back into the shade of the umbrella and plunked down between Hilda and Annette. "He's a little overheated," Sylvain explained, patting Felix's head. "Is it alright if he has some water?"

"Of course!" Annette dove for her bag, digging into the depths. "Um...I've got these, but…"

"This one looks the coldest," Mercedes said, picking one up and handing it to Felix.

Felix took it, unscrewing the cap and putting it to his lips. "Thanks…"

"Oh, my, but Annie already drank from that one. I hope you don't mind," Mercedes said, tilting her head and smiling with an overwhelming innocence. "Lucky you, Annie. Now the detective is kissing you indirectly."

Annette squawked and grabbed the water bottle from Felix's hands "Ah! Um, here! Drink this one instead!"

Mercedes watched, still smiling. "Isn't that Dorothea's?"

"I don't mind, Detective," Dorothea said, winking at him. "Kiss away."

Annette grabbed that bottle too, throwing it over her shoulder and out of reach. "Not that one, either! Ugh...don't we have any that haven't been opened?" She grabbed her bag again, shaking out the contents into her lap. "What about yours, Sylvain?"

"I already drank it all," Sylvain replied. "I could-oh, Ingrid's calling us. Gotta go. Come on, Claude. Let me know when you make it back!" He yelled over his shoulder at Felix as he jogged away.

"I don't need water that badly," Felix said, resisting the urge to make rude gestures at Sylvain's back.

"You do look a little red. You aren't feverish, are you?" Dorothea reached a hand out to feel Felix's forehead.

Annette leaned over and slapped her hand away. "He's overheated, not sick. Ugh, fine! Just drink this one! I-I don't want it back!" She shoved her water bottle in Felix's hands.

Silence ensued as the girls watched Felix open the bottle and put it to his lips. Feeling as if he were doing something lewd, he sipped from it. The water was cool-cool and refreshing. "...thanks," he mumbled, taking another drink.

"It's no big deal," Annette responded, looking away so he couldn't see her face. "Drink up and go home before you get heat stroke."

Felix was going to have a stroke, yes, but not from the sun. He tipped the bottle up, draining its contents as quickly as he could. The faster he drank it, the faster he could leave.

Hilda, who'd put a stick of gum in her mouth during the argument over water bottles, blew a bubble and popped it noisily. "You guys are unbelievable."

"I'm leaving," Felix said, having finished the bottle.

"Oh, wasn't there something you wanted to ask him, Annie?" Dorothea asked as Felix stood.

Annette blinked, then gasped. "Right! Um...Detective, er, Felix...what did you decide you wanted to do next out of that guide I gave you?" She reached into the pile of things she'd dumped out of her bag and pulled the guide out, holding it up.

The guide! Felix had looked through it briefly, then forgotten about it entirely. He said nothing, trying to remember what he had seen in its pages.

"...you did look through it, right?" Annette frowned. "It's okay if you didn't! Actually, it's, um, probably better if you didn't! I'm a horrible tour guide for making you decide where we go. You don't have time to do stupid things like that. Don't worry about it! I'm sorry! I'll decide!"

Her guilty expression hurt Sylvain's chest. "No, of course I looked through it," he replied, sitting again, snatching the guide out of her hand, and opening it. "It wasn't a problem."

"Really?" Her face brightened.

No, not really.

Felix thumbed through the pages, searching feverishly for something to choose. What was that one thing he'd seen? "Give me a minute."

Hilda, smirking beside him, blew another bubble and burst it with a pop. She knew. Felix ignored her. Where was that page? It had been towards the end… "Here," he said, laying the book down and pointing at a page triumphantly. "There's a contest here at this festival. Says the winners' reward is an all-you-can-eat at an Almyran steakhouse."

"Scavenger hunt...the King and Queen will win a three course…" She read aloud, stopping suddenly. "The Firefly Festival? You want to go to the Firefly Festival?"

"That's right," Felix said, nodding. Festivals were good; they usually had food.

"You want to go to the Firefly Festival..." Annette repeated, eyes wide, "...with me?"

"Why not? You're my tour guide, aren't you?"

Annette read the page again, avoiding the eyes of her friends. "I mean, yes, but...um…"

"What? You don't like it? Pick something else, then," Felix said, more sharply than he'd meant to. He was starting to feel like he'd done something wrong and was wishing again that he could just make a sprint for the cottage. "It doesn't matter to me."

"Of course it matters." Dorothea said. "If that's what the detective wants to do, Annie, then that's what you should do."

"I don't even know if I'm working on that day-"

Mercedes reached over, shutting the guide with a thump. "Not to worry, Annie. If you are, I'll take your shift. And if I'm working that day, too, I'm sure we can talk to Manuela. Don't let that stop you!"

"I heard the Firefly Festival is, like, so fun," Hilda added. "Bring me back a souvenir. Something expensive."

Something like pressure was building, and Annette finally succumbed to it. "R-right. Well, that's what we'll do, then. You better be ready to win, Detective, 'cause I'm going to bring my A game!"

"Please," Felix replied, standing again and starting to back away again. "I don't lose."

Though he spoke out of complete earnestness, Hilda cringed as if he'd said something embarrassing. He started to awkwardly qualify his statement, but stopped when he saw Annette's face, which was glowing with admiration and confidence.

She clenched her fists and nodded, as if she'd thought he was cool.

She'd thought he was...cool?

His back hit something solid again. "Walk forwards like a normal person and you won't run into people," Sylvain admonished.

"I thought you were back in the ocean," Felix replied irritably as Sylvain sidestepped him on his way to the umbrella.

"I forgot my sunglasses." Sylvain stopped, backed up a few steps, and looked Felix up and down. "Hey! You're wearing the hotdog boxers I got you!" Ignoring Felix's protests, he called towards the girls, pointing at Felix's butt. "I got him these! You need new shorts, man. Chicks don't dig guys who look like they shop at the wood chipper warehouse."

More than new shorts, Felix needed a new friend, because he was about to murder this one. He dared not look at Annette; seeing her reaction would surely haunt him forever.

"See you back home!" Sylvain called as he walked away.

As he walked, Felix wondered how much he'd have to pay Claude to create an 'accident' that involved a large seashell going as far up Sylvain's rectum as possible. He could dip into his retirement if he had to.

—

Felix paused outside the door of the bar, his hand falling away from the handle and fishing in his pocket instead. He pulled out his carton of cigarettes and shook one out, moving aside to stand out of the way of the bar's entrance. The tip of the lit cigarette glowed in the dusk, and smoke curled from the tip, as thick as the salty mist on the beaches at night.

He was doing what he had to, he reminded himself again. Making deals with demons was part and parcel of police work. What did it matter if some information was leaked when a man's life was at stake? Sure, Captain Edelgard would have his head if she found out, but he was already on her shit list.

It would be harder for Captain Boar to save him this time, though. He'd likely used his only emergency salvation card on the business with the journal. Any further misaction on the Province's part would be elevated to the chief. Felix was on exceptionally good terms with Chief Charon, but even she wouldn't turn a blind eye to this sort of thing.

Why had the Boar saved him the first time, anyway? It wasn't in his character. He took a drag of the cigarette and exhaled heavily. Truthfully, this was a large part of why he was here; he wanted the glance behind the curtain that this woman had promised.

If the Boar had changed, so had Felix, it seemed. He'd become interminably selfish.

His father wouldn't approve. Neither would Glenn.

What does your opinion matter now? He asked Glenn silently, tilting his head back to watch the smoke from his cigarette spiral up and dissipate into nothing.

We're all cigarette smoke, he thought, the pressure in his chest not only from the tobacco. Glenn, his father, Sylvain, Annette, the Boar-even he himself was just like smoke. No matter how high they rose, they were destined to fade into meaninglessness: a thousand shreds of memory and moments that in time even the stars would forget.

If Ashe Ubert was dead, Felix wondered what went through his mind in his final moments. Did he know just how few people would even realize that his life had come to its tragic, premature end? Did he ever imagine that the one searching for his bones would seriously consider not following a lead just because it could jeopardize his career? Would knowing that have made it easier or harder to die?

Or maybe all he'd felt at the end was fear.

Thinking this way made it easier for Felix to stub out his cigarette and reach for the door handle once more. If he was going to have regrets, he knew which ones he'd choose.

—

"Yes!" Sylvain punched the air with the hand not holding his phone. "Take that, two percent spawn rate." He sat down on the park bench behind him, tapping at his phone's screen. He'd caught his third Bergliez Shorthair, and this one was wearing aviator goggles, which boosted his cat cat score by twenty percent.

A little icon of two cats high-fiving appeared on the top right of the screen, and when Sylvain touched it, the screen blinked into a list of usernames with a search bar. "Add friends, add friends," Sylvain muttered, scrolling through. "Aha! Now...what? It lets me see the friends system at level nine but I have to be level ten to add friends without a local connection? This stupid-ugh. What a crappy system."

Catching the Bergliez bumped him up a considerable amount, so it wouldn't take more than a couple of days to catch enough cats to reach level ten. If he continued to wake up early, he could hit the hot spots at the surf shop before the kids got to them. If he could catch two more Ordelians, he could upgrade his main cat enough to buy a deluxe feather toy and become the Kitty King of the Bottle Beach cat stop.

Though the 'add friends' button was unusable, Sylvain tapped the search bar and found that he could still search by phone number or username. He pulled a scrap of paper out of his pocket and entered the number written on it into the search bar.

The world around him faded away as he tapped 'go'. An animation of a jogging cat appeared for a moment, then a name blinked up on the screen.

His heart skittered, then pounded furiously, blood pulsing in his ears. Ubert_the_Knight was the username associated with Ashe Ubert's cell phone number. It had been a long shot-the girls at The Merrow had said they'd all deleted their accounts-but Sylvain had figured it was worth a shot. Maybe, just maybe, he thought, Ubert hadn't deleted his account with the rest of them.

He couldn't see his location because they weren't friends yet, but he'd been right.

Beside Ashe's username a little green phrase was blinking: Player Online.