A/N: Guys, I really am sorry that the pace for this chapter is slipping. I haven't had any time to write over the past few days. It's not that I don't want to, but I just really haven't had the time. Enjoy this chapter and thanks for your patience!

If you're wondering what I've been busy with, you can check out kck. st (slash)1Qnzwns. I've put my first novel up on Kickstarter. This is a project I've been working on for a very long time, and if any of you can spare the support, I would very much appreciate it! If not, passing on the link works just as well.

Review Responses:

fanficlove2014, thank you! I'm glad you liked it! Vayne and Morgan are a possibility, but as for Ophelia, you'll have to read and see.

What2do, thanks and no worries about Tumblr. I've been crazy busy as well.

Diana Raven, OH YES.

Keyworks Kid, one way or another, this will definitely bring some character development for Clark. And we appreciate the walking home thing, trust me~

Guest, I'm so sorry for the wait. I didn't intend to keep you waiting but, well…life. Hope you enjoy this chapter anyway, and thanks!

Disclaimer: I don't own Soul Eater.


CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The Maiden in the Water


Death City's water tower stood on the edge of town, standing sentinel over the city. Maka floated up towards it with a grim expression on her face, still dressed in her gown from the party earlier that night. She stood balanced carefully on Soul's scythe form, the wings formed by her Grigori Soul extending out past the blade as the two of them floated up towards the reservoir.

"This is where you lost her?" Soul asked, looking up at Maka.

Maka nodded, but didn't say anything more. She placed her hand over the earpiece in her ear, aware that Stein and Marie were close behind, and waited until they had reached the level of the platform on top of the tower. Soul hovered there while she stepped lightly onto the platform, then transformed back into human form in a flash of light, standing next to her.

She didn't say anything to him, still fighting the tight knot of dread and anger that sat tangled together in her chest as she stepped towards the door that led into the reservoir, open even though it was always closed during the off-hours. The sight of it brought with it a sort of final certainty that Maka had been hoping not to feel, and she walked towards it, her hand closed tight over her heart.

It was deathly quiet inside the reservoir. A pool of water sat in the darkened chamber, just a foot or so below the catwalk that the door opened onto. In that water, just on the surface, floated a girl.

Her eyes were closed, as if she were only sleeping. She was dressed all in white, golden hair streaming out behind her in the water, her arms and legs hanging limp below the surface.

Maka couldn't sense her soul.

She stepped forward and placed her hands on the railing, squeezing tightly. The metal was cool, biting into her palms. She grit her teeth, then loosened her grip, exhaling slowly.

Soul moved to her side.

"Maka?" he asked, his voice soft.

She breathed deep, her eyes on the girl floating in the water below her, on Ophelia. Maka tore her eyes away from the sight, turning towards Soul. "Call for reinforcements," she said, her voice hushed. It still echoed in the quiet inside the reservoir, a susurration that rebounded off the walls and washed back over her.

It was because of the quiet that she heard the clanging sound that followed, a sound like something landing lightly on the tower's roof. Her eyes narrowed and she cast her Soul Perception outward, her hand extended towards her partner.

"Soul!" she said.

Soul nodded, transforming in a flash of light. She felt the familiar weight of him beginning to settle into her palm and didn't wait until he had transformed fully, closing her fingers around him and dashing back out into the night air. She caught sight of a flash of black leaping from the water tower's rooftop, a swath of pink light forming beneath her to catch her in the air. Maka braced herself on Soul's handle, leaping onto it just as it finished forming, wings bursting into existence on either side of the blade as the two of them shot off after the Assassin.

Tears stung her eyes, but she clenched her fists, turning them into anger as she closed in on the Assassin's position. She let out a shout of rage, leaping off Soul the second the two of them were above the Assassin and grasping the scythe in both hands as she fell, slashing at the Assassin's head.

The Assassin shifted her weight to the side, the flat plane of pink light that she was standing on banking to the left like a hoverboard as Soul's scythe blade came slicing down. She raised her other hand, light pooling just over her wrist and forming a shield. The blade struck the light with a loud clang, the shock of impact reverberating through Soul's handle and pushing them back.

Maka tightened her grip on the scythe as they began to fall, shifting her weight so that her feet rested lightly in the space where the blade met the handle. She pushed with her wavelength, and Soul responded without either of them having to exchange a word, the wings on either side of her flaring into greater brightness and propelling them into the air with a sudden burst of speed.

They clashed with the Assassin again as they zipped over the skyline of Death City, the moon shining light down on them with its grinning leer. This time, the Assassin was the one knocked back by the blow, nearly losing her footing on her shield of light as she teetered precariously over the streets. Maka didn't let up, moving in for the kill, and the Assassin retaliated, light flaring around the other woman as she rose up to meet Maka.

Electricity crackled around Maka as the light moved to encompass her, and her eyes widened as she felt the Assassin's wavelength start to well up within her, a vein of light extending from her soul to pool at the tips of her fingers.

"Maka!" Soul shouted, but Maka didn't need the warning. She pulled back and away as the Assassin's hand thrust through the air, stabbing through the space where Maka's head had been a moment prior.

The Assassin didn't turn to chase her, instead sinking down and putting on more speed as she made for the desert, shooting away from the city. Maka hung back for a moment, feeling out the lingering traces of wavelength in the air.

"Soul, that wavelength…" she began.

"Yeah." In his soul space, Soul was already moving, adjusting the cuffs of his pinstripe suit as he stood in front of the piano. "I know."

The wings on either side of her flapped gently, pushing her up higher in the sky and allowing her to see the Assassin, a bright streak against the horizon. Maka took only a moment to map out her trajectory, then placed both hands on the scythe handle, putting on a sudden burst of speed. She let out another shout of fury, tightening her grip on Soul's handle as she closed in on the Assassin.

The Assassin turned to meet her, and Maka saw a glimpse of gray eyes from behind the mask, dull and empty. In her Soul Perception, she saw the Assassin's soul flare again, that light pooling in her fingertips as she held up her hand, her fingers pointed at Maka's heart.

"Soul!" Maka said. "Now!"

Soul slammed his hands down onto the keys as she attacked, shouting with her. A single pure chord sounded from the piano, resonating through the link between them and pouring out into the world. The sound rang out around Maka, high and clear, and in the instant before the Assassin's hands touched her chest the light shattered, shards of white tinkling through the air between them.

Something woke up behind the Assassin's eyes, shock penetrating the fog that surrounded her in the instant before Soul's blade came down, slicing her open from shoulder to waist. Blood spattered against the desert floor, reflecting dully in the moonlight as the blow forced the Assassin back, resting limply on the plane of light beneath her. Maka loosened her grip on the handle by a fraction.

Then the light flared up around the Assassin again, pink light seeping into her wound and knitting flesh and sinew together, a line of light shining in the space where Soul's blade had cut as the Assassin raised her head.

She looked up at Soul and Maka from behind her mask, a look of bewilderment in her eyes before she put on a sudden burst of speed, disappearing into the night.


The water tower had been cordoned off in the aftermath, bright yellow tape with 'KEEP OUT' written on it in black letters crisscrossing over the area. Mifune stood at one end of the roped off area, looking out at the street with a grim expression on his face. His hands rested on the hilt of one of his swords, the point buried in the earth at his feet. Behind him, a tight knot of DWMA officials and medical staff huddled around Stein and Shelley, who were laying the girl down on a sheet between them. Mifune watched them out of the corner of his eye, then turned his attention back onto the street. The presence of the medical staff here was an afterthought. There was nothing more that could be done for the girl.

He watched as a pair of figures made their way up the road, one of them with red hair that had already mostly gone gray, the other young, blond, and wide-eyed. Mifune locked eyes with Spirit Albarn as the pair neared the taped-off barrier, the Death Scythe's expression equally grim. He had a hand on the boy's arm, not rough but firm enough that Clark wouldn't be able to get away.

He didn't seem to want to. He moved as if in a dream, his face frozen in an expression of fear.

"I've brought him," Spirit said, as if that wasn't immediately obvious. Mifune's eyes drifted from the Death Scythe to Clark.

"You're not doing him a kindness bringing him here," he said.

"He wanted to come," Spirit said.

The words seemed to jolt Clark out of whatever fugue state he was stuck in, because he looked up, looking around frantically as if he was still desperately waiting for things to start making sense.

"Oph—Ophelia—," he said. "Spi—Mr. Albarn said that she was—It's not true, isn't it? She—she's okay?"

Mifune didn't respond, instead lifting his sword out of the earth a fraction and tapping on the ground. The tape that barred their path pulled back, giving them enough space to pass through.

"Come on," said Spirit, nudging Clark gently but firmly through the makeshift doorway. The tape whizzed back into place once they were through, closing off the area. Mifune watched out of the corner of his eye as the pair of them took two steps, and then stopped as Clark took in the medical staff, the small body that lay on the sheet between them.

The color drained from his face. Before Spirit could stop him, Clark shrugged out of his hold, running at the group. He shoved his way past them, nearly knocking Shelley Stein over from where she was kneeling next to the body, and took up his place at the girl's side, grabbing hold of her hand and screaming at her as if he could rouse her like this.

"Ophelia!" he yelled, shaking her hand. Tears streamed down his face. "Hey, come on, this isn't funny, Ophelia. Wake up. Please. Ophelia. Wake up!"

The group of doctors and investigators stared down at him awkwardly, unsure what to do. Spirit raised his hand to the back of his neck as he watched the scene, letting out a weary sigh.

"What a mess…" he muttered under his breath.

Clark's words faded into incomprehensibility and became broken sobs as he held Ophelia's hand close to himself, rocking gently from where he was kneeling next to her body. Mifune watched him for a moment before looking back at Spirit.

"Shinigami-sama had strict orders."

"I know," said Spirit, holding a hand up towards him before running it through his hair. "Just—just give the kid a minute, okay?"

Mifune gave Spirit a skeptical glance, his eyes moving back to Clark, but he kept his criticisms to himself. Even if he had been inclined to share them, he wouldn't have been able to. Everyone's attention was drawn to a sudden change in air currents, to the meister who shot down from the sky like a rocket, standing on a winged-scythe.

Maka Evans leaped the last few feet to the ground, catching the scythe in her hands and using it to prop herself up as she leaned against it. She was breathing hard, face and gown streaked with dirt, but other than that seemed unharmed.

"Maka-chan?" Marie asked, getting up from where she was seated on a metal drum and turning towards her.

Maka shook her head, rage in her expression. "She got away," she said, gripping the scythe with both hands. She shifted her grip to one hand and knelt down suddenly, punching the ground with a cry of anger and enough force to form a small crater. "Dammit!"

There was a flash of light, and then Soul was in front of her, crouching down to help her up. Maka inhaled deeply, her fingers digging into the fabric of his suit jacket, then exhaled, getting to her feet. Some of the frenzy left her with that breath as she stood, but her eyes were still burning. She looked around, taking in the scene and frowning as they landed on Clark.

"Why is he here?" she asked, addressing the question to her father.

Spirit shrank back, holding a hand out as if to appease her. "Shinigami's orders—," he began.

"Clark didn't do anything wrong," said Maka, taking a step forward with narrowed eyes. Clark looked up at the sound of his name, watching her with tears still streaking his face.

"I—I believe you, Maka," said Spirit, "But—."

"We just need to ask him a few questions," said Stein, from the commotion around Ophelia. Mifune looked over. He had a hand on Clark's arm to stop him—Mifune noticed that the boy had been in the process of getting to his feet. "We know he didn't have anything to do with this, but he was the last person seen with her, and there are…other complications that we need to discuss."

The light glinted off of Stein's glasses, the words delivered with the professor's usual flat inflection, but Mifune caught the way his grip tightened on Clark's arm, caught the look that Stein shot Clark from behind his glasses that basically amounted to: 'Shut up, cooperate, and keep your head down, and maybe we can help you.' Clark looked like he might argue, even opened his mouth to do it, but took a breath instead, clamping his lips shut together.

"We can have this discussion elsewhere," Mifune said, his sole contribution to the conversation as he looked meaningfully at the street in front of him. Maka scowled as she looked between her father and Stein, clearly not happy with the situation, but she gave him a stiff nod, her hands clenched tightly into fists.


"I don't even know what there is to discuss!" Vayne raged, pacing the length of the hallway in a blind fury. Rei nodded from his seat on the bench, too tired and too in shock to argue. He watched as Vayne passed him again, the collar of his dress shirt open and his vest in disarray as he gestured at the closed door. "Clark would never hurt Ophelia! He'd never help anyone hurt her!"

"It's a formality," Morgan said, letting out an exhausted sigh from where she was also seated on the long benches that lined the hallway, her back against the stone wall. "Clark was the last person to be seen with her."

"Because he was her date!" Vayne said. "Not—not—."

Vayne's outrage seemed to fade into the background as Rei sat there, white noise at the edge of his thoughts.

There were six of them scattered in various places around the hallway, Rei and Ayame, Vayne and Morgan, Cassie and Ethan. They were all still in their clothes from the ball, although Rei had taken off his tie a long time ago. They had lingered when Shinigami-sama had called the party short and told everyone to go home, had followed when his parents and his grandfather had escorted Clark back to the school. No one had told them not to, but they'd been stopped at the door.

Now there was nothing left to do but wait. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Rei wanted to sleep, as absurd as that sounded, but he knew there was no way he would be able to.

It still seemed so surreal to him. One of their classmates couldn't be dead. It was impossible.

And yet everywhere he looked, the evidence pointed to the contrary, leaving him feeling disconnected and numb, more exhausted than anything. He looked around and locked eyes with Morgan, seated on the bench with her bag in her lap and staring at nothing, at Cassie, standing against the wall with a worried expression on her face, at Ayame who was sitting next to him, propping up her head in her hand as she stared glumly at the closed door. Everything about this felt wrong.

They shouldn't have been sitting here in their rumpled finery while the DWMA investigated a murder and his parents interrogated one of his friends. They should have been back at Vayne and Clark's place, where Rei and Morgan would be suffering their way through the inevitable after-party while Ayame danced and laughed and joked around and Vayne prodded Clark for details of his date.

It was all wrong, wrong, wrong. This wasn't how any of this was supposed to go.

Which was why he didn't look up as the argument escalated, didn't turn to notice Vayne until he was stepping forward, until he had a hand around Ethan's dress shirt and was pressing him up against the wall. Rei stared, and the sight was enough to bring him back to reality, the veil around him shattering as he looked up at the two of them.

"What did you say?" Vayne asked, his voice low and dangerous. "I dare you to say it again."

"You don't need to get in my face about it," said Ethan, glaring at Vayne. He grabbed Vayne's hand with his own, twisting it slightly to pull it away from his shirt. "I just said it might be a possibility. People change all the time, and he was the last person seen with her. Who's to say he wasn't in league with this Assassin?"

Vayne tightened his grip on Ethan's shirt, his other hand clenching into a fist. Rei's eyes widened and he half-rose from his seat, ready to stop Vayne, but Cassie intervened before he could, stepping between them and holding her hands up on either side of her. There were tears in her eyes.

"Stop!" she said, "Just stop!"

The two of them blinked at her, wide-eyed. When she didn't move, Vayne released his grip on Ethan's shirt slowly, lowering his hands back to his side. Ethan scowled, adjusting his dress shirt without looking at Vayne.

"I'm just saying…" Ethan began.

"You don't need to," Vayne said, not looking at him. "You don't belong here anyway."

"Vayne!" Cassie said, sharply.

"No, Cass, you know what, maybe I don't," said Ethan, still not looking at Vayne. He scowled, turning to walk away. "I'm going home. Good night."

He turned, walking towards the exit. Cassie's eyes widened and she looked between him and the rest of them, momentarily torn.

"See what you did?" she asked Vayne, before hurrying to catch up with Ethan. "Ethan! Wait up…"

Rei watched them go, listening until their footsteps faded into the distance, before looking back at Vayne. He was standing in the hallway with a thumb hooked into the pocket of his vest, unapologetic. Ayame and Morgan watched him too, Vayne avoiding all of their gazes and keeping his eyes on the floor.

"Tch," he muttered under his breath, not looking up.


"I'm telling you," Clark said, rubbing at his eyes in exhaustion, his glasses closed in his other hand. "I don't know anything."

He wanted nothing more than to not be here. Everything about this felt surreal, like he was wandering in a nightmare. Ophelia couldn't be dead. He had seen her just a few hours ago. She couldn't be dead. If he had only walked her home…

Across the table from him, Maka-sensei shot her father a glare, as if Spirit Albarn was personally responsible for bringing him here in the first place. The other Death Scythe, Rei's father, stood with his back to the door, arms folded as he watched the proceedings. The only other person seated across from him was Stein, and the scientist had done nothing but look through his files for the entirely of the interrogation.

"We understand that, Clark, but we need to ask," said Spirit. "You were the last person to be seen with her. You have the same wavelength as her attacker. If there's anything you know—."

"I don't know anything!" said Clark, frustrated. "I don't know where I got my wavelength from, okay? I've always had it! I'm the only meister in my family—you can check. I don't know anything!"

"Are you sure?" Stein asked, speaking for the first time. He looked up at Clark from over his files, his expression unreadable behind his glasses. Clark paused, turning towards him. He noticed that the others did the same, every eye in the room fixing on Stein.

The professor went on as if he didn't notice, his eyes on Clark alone. "A wavelength like Maka's Anti-Magic Wavelength is uncommon but not unheard of," he said. "It crops up in a lot of meisters and weapons. The same can be said for Soul Perception. But a rare wavelength like your Paralyzing Wavelength is usually associated with a family line." He glanced back down at the folder he was looking through, Clark's own, and back up at him. "Are you sure you don't have any other relatives?"

"I don't…"

The full weight of Stein's words hit him and he paused, looking back at the table. Maka watched him with some concern as he seemed to double over, his eyes wide. No. It couldn't be. It couldn't be her. It was impossible.

"Clark?" she asked, half-rising out of her seat.

Clark didn't respond, wrapping his arms tightly around himself as he started to shake.


"Ethan!" Cassie yelled, jogging after him down the streets. Her heel caught in one of the cobbles and she tripped, nearly falling over, but she managed to right herself, shooting her shoe an offended look before continuing to chase him. Ethan walked for a few moments more before stopping beneath a streetlight, looking over at her.

She came to a stop, breathing hard, the DWMA still looming behind them. Cassie looked up at him, but she didn't recognize what she saw in his face. He seemed angry, distrustful, his eyes narrowed even as he turned towards her.

"Vayne didn't mean any harm," she said quickly. "He's just trying to protect his meister. You know how it is."

"I do," Ethan admitted, his eyes moving away from her. He shot the school a harsh look, then met her eyes again. "It's not Vayne I'm worried about."

Clark, Cassie realized. She paused to catch her breath, meeting Ethan's eye.

"Clark didn't do anything," she said. "He's not that kind of guy."

"Oh, come on, Cass, how do you know that?" asked Ethan. "He was the last person seen with her. People are already saying that she rejected him and he killed her over it."

"Well those people are wrong!" said Cassie, hotly. "Clark's my friend. He's on my team. You think I wouldn't have noticed something?"

"People turn all the time," said Ethan, frowning at her. "Even that Micah. You think all of his friends saw that coming?" Cassie bristled, drawing herself up to her full height. Ethan frowned, noticing that. "I don't want to fight over this," he said, turning away. "I just don't think you should hang around him anymore. He's dangerous. There's a reason he won't fight in the tournament, you know. They say he goes mad—."

"Clark's not a killer, Ethan," said Cassie, clenching her hands into fists. Hot tears stung her eyes, memories she'd rather repress beginning to bubble up to the surface. "I would know."

"Oh yeah?" Ethan asked. "How would you know?"

"I've known killers," said Cassie, her voice hard. Her eyes narrowed at him, and she felt something in herself recede, pulling away. "Clark's not one of them."

Ethan fell silent, staring at her. Cassie watched him like she was watching a stranger.

"Cass…" he said, extending a hand out towards her.

"Stop, just stop!" Cassie said, blinking tears out of her eyes. They trickled down her cheeks, falling to the ground. "I don't want to hear it, Ethan. Just—just go away!"

"I'm just trying to help you," said Ethan, taking a step forward. Cassie took a step back instinctively, her eyes widening as she backed away with him.

"I said go."

"Cass—."

His hand landed on her arm, unleashing a flood of memories. Cassie froze, her eyes wide with terror as everything she would rather forget crashed down on her at once.

"Don't touch me!" she yelled, injecting power behind the words.

Ethan stumbled back as if something had reached out and flung him bodily away from her, holding his hand up as though it had been burned. He stared at her in shock from where she stood in the street, and Cassie looked around with wide eyes, suddenly feeling very small.

Ethan opened his mouth to speak. Before he could, Cassie turned, running headlong down the street.


She didn't stop running until she reached her apartment, kicking her shoes off when they became a nuisance and running barefoot. The apartment was empty, and she slammed the door behind her, running into her room and curling up against the wall. Her hands were shaking, her fingers gripped tightly around herself. She could still taste the power on her tongue, could still see the look of shock and fear in Ethan's eyes as he was thrown back, as she compelled him to move back.

Her body shook, her mind taking her back into another time.

Blood.

She could smell the blood, could hear the screams coming from the room outside, could hear the gunshots. Her hands covered her ears, her body shaking. She wanted to run. She wanted to be anywhere but here, but the Don had told her not to move, so she didn't move. She knew better than that. She sat there, shaking, until it was quiet, until the last echoes of the gunfire faded away.

Until there was a man standing in front of her, holding a sword that dripped with blood.

She stared up at him, frozen in fear. His eyes were cold as he looked at her, his long hair falling around his face, and she thought she was going to die. She honestly believed she was going to die. Blood dripped from his sword and her mouth opened, a last ditch effort to plead for her life, but no words came out.

And then he surprised her. He dropped the sword, sticking it point first into the ground behind him as he walked up to her, crouching in front of her.

"…What's your name?" he asked, his eyes meeting hers.

Her tongue stumbled over the syllables, the only name she had needed since her mother died. "…Index," she said.

The man frowned, his eyes narrowing. His voice was gruff, but not unkind.

"Your real name," he said.

It came to her from a place half-forgotten, a place barely remembered, a place that seemed almost like a dream.

"…Cassandra…"

Cassandra Crane blinked as the memory passed, staring at her room like she didn't recognize it. She sat there a moment longer as the last traces of the memory left her, then slowly drew herself to her feet, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand and patting life back into her face as she took inventory of herself. Her eyes moved over the clock, taking note of how much time had passed. Almost half an hour. She had run herself ragged, and there were scrapes on her feet, but she was here, in her apartment in Death City. She was safe.

She had friends, and her friends needed her now. She had spent entirely too long neglecting them.

Cassie took a deep breath, forcing the memories back into the far corner of her mind. She picked her headphones up off the desk and slipped them around her neck, running her fingers over the curve of them for reassurance before looking back at the door.

Her phone buzzed, a text from Ethan. She ignored it.

Cassie walked towards the door, her expression resolute, and stepped out into her apartment hallway. The door to Morgan's room was open, telling her that her partner was home.

Her partner. Her meister. Her friend.

Cassie walked towards that open door.

Morgan was standing in front of her desk, holding something in her hands. A violet witch's hat that Cassie had only seen once, raven feathers poking out of the band around the cone. She clutched it in her hands tightly, her grip white-knuckled, and then she set it down on her desk, turning to face her room's long mirror. Cassie watched from the doorway as Morgan fogged the mirror with her breath, watched as she drew out the numbers with a shaking hand.

42-42-56…

She paused on the last number, her finger quivering. Cassie watched as Morgan remained frozen there for a second, her finger hovering over the glass, conflict and fear written all over her face. And then she saw something break inside her partner, saw Morgan withdraw back into herself, pulling her hand back and clutching it tight to her chest. She doubled over, falling to her knees, and began to sob, rocking back and forth from where she knelt in front of the mirror.

Cassie walked over to her solemnly, kneeling down beside her. She pulled Morgan into her arms and smoothed her hair back from her face, let her partner lean against her, whispered comforting words in her ear as Morgan sobbed and wept, her shoulders shaking.


Professor Franken Stein was not a sentimental man. He was used to death, to dealing with it, and to studying the dead. Even so, that didn't mean he enjoyed the task of having to autopsy a student, especially when he already knew what he would find. Still, he knew he couldn't put it off for much longer, so after dismissing Clark and having him sent back home, he walked past the dispensary, past DWMA's most-traversed hallways, down deeper into the maze of stone that lay beneath the school, towards the morgue.

Stein paused in the doorway, frowning as he studied the scene in front of him.

It was cold when he entered the room, but then again, the morgue was always cold, locked even deeper beneath the school than the dungeons, where even the light would not reach. No one ever spent much time in here if they could help it, not even the other members of the medical staff, so Stein was used to coming here and finding himself completely alone.

He wasn't. The figure of a young woman lay slumped over the desk in the corner, the dim light reflecting off of her silvery white hair. She was still wearing her dress from that evening, an off-white dress just a shade darker than Ophelia's and a sensible pair of white pumps. Her shoulders rose and fell slowly as she breathed.

Stein walked slowly up to the desk. Shelley was asleep, her face turned away from him. Her cheeks were red and puffy, as if she had been crying, but the folder that lay tucked under her arm was written in a clear precise hand. His eyes moved over the label she had attached to it.

Autopsy Report – Ophelia S.

Stein frowned at her, then reached forward, carefully prying the report out of her grip. His lab coat settled over her shoulders as he picked the report up off the table, thumbing through it quietly as he walked away.

Behind him, Shelley murmured something in her sleep, hands moving up to clutch the coat around herself.


Their apartment felt hollow to him as he walked through the door, the light dimmer than usual, the shadows more pronounced. Ayame followed him into the living room, the both of them moving like ghosts. Rei let his eyes move over the apartment, over the mess the two of them had made trying to leave for the ball on time, over the half-drunk cup of tea still sitting on the coffee table and the dishes in the sink.

It seemed unbelievable to him that they had been living a normal life here just a few hours ago. He almost didn't recognize the place anymore.

Ayame looked around, dismay in her eyes. She turned to face him, and she seemed duller somehow, more washed out. More tired. He didn't think anything could ever dull Ayame.

"I'm going to bed," he said, his voice flat as he walked past her towards the stairs. "See you tomorrow."

She stopped him, catching him by the arm. Rei paused, too tired to protest as he turned towards her. Ayame let out a breath and seemed to sink into him, wrapping his arm around her waist and collapsing into his chest.

Rei froze in place at the nearness and the warmth and the weight of her, staring down at the top of her head. His eyes widened, her touch drawing him back into reality for half a moment as he looked down at her uncertainly.

"Ayame…?" he asked.

"Stay," she whispered, the words coming out all in a breath. "Just…stay."

She sighed into his chest, closing her eyes.

Rei hesitated, then slowly brought his other arm up, wrapping it around her back and holding her there as he rested his chin on top of her head, the two of them sinking into silence together.