Extinction was a humbling experience. That was what this whole epidemic really was. Extinction. Those with the means to escape the city went to the countryside to wait out the catastrophe, but most just stayed and waited to die. Miku continued to hand out sleeping solution to relieve some of our tension, but no one slept much anyway. As for my serum, it still laid in the corner of the garden with Gakupo's things. I decided to save it for when I began showing symptoms. That way I could drift off in peace, unlike my dear friend who awaited me in the ground. Yes, extinction was a humbling experience.

Yuka offered to give me room and board at her café, but I still wanted to live in the garden. She wasn't going to let me fend for myself now that all my money was gone, so I left with a job instead, not that business was booming or anything. It was more of a way to give me coins for bread without throwing pity in my face. I would have denied any wages, but like I said, extinction was a humbling experience.

One week after I laid Gakupo down in his eternal tomb, Toragay was encompassed in an unyielding fog. I could hardly see my feet trotting along the pavement. My mood for the past days was difficult to describe. Most of the time I was just existing, going through my new routine and trying to find something to do. I would think to myself that rebuilding the walls around my heart was a good thing; the walls would make me invincible. However, those walls would soon go crashing down when I remembered Miku's words from our last conversation.

"There is always a great number of people to lose, Mayu."

Still no news from Len.

As I trudged my way through the white on that bleak morning, I built my walls up again, brick by brick. I had already stopped at the bakery, but Yuka said she had something important to do and she didn't want any distractions. I never did find out what that "something" was.

So, off I went, into the morning, into the smell of rotting corpses, into the silent streets. Into my silent home. A name was sitting on the tip of my tongue as I closed the gate behind me. I swallowed it and waved my arms vainly to get rid of the fog that seeped its way into even here. Why am I not dead yet?

My answer was on the garden table. There, becoming damper by the second as it absorbed the moisture from the air, was laid out piece of spare parchment Miku had given me for my investigation. I still used them for investigation, but for a different kind. A more pressing issue. A way to prevent the disease.

All I had so far were things that it couldn't be. It couldn't have been transmitted by touch, since I was in contact with Gakupo plenty of times. It couldn't have been transmitted through the air, despite popular belief, since I spent nearly all my time outside and, correct me if I'm wrong, I was still breathing. It also couldn't have been transmitted sexually, since Yuka's parents hated each other and didn't have the energy to have affairs. I doubted their sex life was even existent, and then of course there was all the children.

What did this leave me with? Absolutely nothing. It was all so frustrating! What kind of shadow disease was this? Would all of us eventually just disappear? Would Toragay be a ghost city, only a sad annotation in a history book, an anomaly that would forever plague the curiosities of intelligent men and women for the rest of time? The most wondrous perplexity of all was the fact that I was alive, while every other homeless acquaintance and friend I knew had passed at the first sign of its insurgence.

What was different about me? I shoved my notes onto the dirt and began scouring the tea garden for answers. What did I have that other didn't? A few coins in a jar, a candle, three matches, a table, a chair, a mattress, a hairbrush, a bucket of drinking water. Rather, what didn't I have that others did? Others had a roof, others had warmth, others were normal! They got up, ate breakfast, greeted their spouse, greeted their children, went to work, cleaned the house, retrieved water from the town wells. They weren't chased away like we were. Like I was, I corrected myself.

My head snapped toward the water bucket. That water…it came from the well outside of the city. Gakupo and I always drew from that one. I had a theory.

Off I went, into the morning, into the smell of rotting corpses, into the silent streets. Farther into the dying city. Farther away from my home. My container of water sloshed at my side violently, like a tumultuous sea in the center of a ravenous storm. Soon, I was at a well sprouted up in the center of a tiny square, surrounded on all sides by uneven stones and thick silence. From what I had heard, every single person in the apartments around me had perished.

Plop. The bucket fell into the water far below. Taking a deep breath, I rolled up my sleeves and began drawing it back up with more difficulty than I would have liked to admit. On the brick of the well, I placed both buckets, mine and the city's, side by side. I closed my eyes to heighten my senses and poured a mouthful of water from my personal pail into my mouth. It was perfectly normal, albeit a but dirty. Then, with the same measure of care, I drank from the other bucket. It was…normal? No! No, there was something there, something I had tasted before, something bitter. What was it?

I spat it out onto the road and took a seat on the dirt to gather my bearings. Supposing the disease was in the water, it would take a while for it to show its effects. The weak would die first, such as the homeless, and those with money enough for wine and other drinks would be last. Yes, it would make sense. Every instance of the illness I had witnessed so far was gradual, and not one of them retrieved their water from the well I went to. The only obvious exception was Gakupo.

Onto my feet. I had to tell Miku.

Off I went, into the morning, into the smell of rotting corpses, into the silent streets. Silent, save for the pair of gentlemen huddled over, whispering, as they walked past me. Instinctively, I strained my ears to hear a small snippet of their conversation.

"This morning," one man said.

"Even the Kagamines aren't untouchable."

I stopped in my tracks and spun around toward them. "Excuse me!" I shouted.

They peered wearily over their shoulders.

"Excuse me, did you say a Kagamine died?"

After a questioning glance at the other, the man who first spoke answered, "Yes."

"Could you tell me, please, who was it?"

"The young daughter. Lady Rin Kagamine. Early this morning."

The air was knocked out of me, and I felt like I needed to take a seat again. No, there was someone else I had to now go to. Not Miku, not yet. First, I had to go to Len.