You thought the story was over? Well, think again, it's just beginning! (insert here, a nasty laugh). Well yes, I wasn't going to leave you with a story where Stiles and Derek don't even exchange a kiss? I'm not that bad ( although ). Well, hold your breath anyway because it's going to take them at least another 200 chapters before they get there (just kidding, otherwise in 2593 we're still there and I won't live that long). Anyway. You wanted them: The adventures of Stiles in the service of Gaia finally arrive in our nearest bookstores (or almost).

So as not to lose you too much (because I know and you know and we know that this is my passion), I put here a little recap:

- Stiles dies in 2011 in Beacon Hills where he is buried etc.

- The next chapter takes place in 2020.

- So there is a good timeskip of 9 years that will be detailed (or not) in future chapters.

And because I don't want to spoil who is going to appear or not, I let you go read and tell me what you think. I tried not to make too much of a mystery and besides being Inspector Gadget, normally it's pretty easy to figure out who's who (one google search later, I'm just saying).

ENJOY

(and happy new year ?)

VIII : The Dance of Death

Perched on the roof of a building, the shadow was scanning the surroundings. The city below was still bathed in light, although with each passing minute, it was becoming less and less. With a fluid movement, the shadow glanced at the watch on its right wrist. It made a loud clicking sound, something between annoyance and boredom - probably both at the same time. When its arm finally fell back along its body, it was to let itself sit down on the stone of which was made the edge of the building. Its legs hung from now on in the emptiness, agitated that they were of a light swing, moving at a rhythm known of it only. The shadow appeared indifferent to the sight of the three hundred and fifty meters that separated its silhouette from the ground. A fall would have been more than fatal - probably not even leaving anything identifiable on its carcass, if it had even deigned to topple over the edge.

Sometimes, the figure was fidgeting, gesticulating on itself in order to remove from one of its pockets the latest smartphone on which its attention disappeared for about ten minutes. It's just to look at the time, it told itself. Undoubtedly, it would end up scrolling through the news feed of the various social networks it followed with the fervor of someone who probably had nothing better to do with her days. But that wasn't the case. Well, not always. Sometimes its day was so full that it barely had time to sit down and eat anything substantial. Sometimes it had so little to do that it spent its days and nights wandering around, or wrapped up in a thick blanket, with a laptop on its lap and some show on the screen. Today was not one of those days. There was no promise of rest on the horizon, not while it was on a mission. A mission that had been going on for several weeks, a mission that it very much hoped to complete before the day broke again. Until then, all it could do was wait. Wait for the sun to melt into the horizon until there was nothing left of it. Then and only then would her sister moon rise, bright and full.

"This is going to take forever," whined a voice behind its back. Why did I agree to go with you again?"

The shadow did not turn around. Not until the apparition came forward to touch its shoulder. There was no startle, no surprise on its face. The shadow simply tilted its head to the side, like an animal on the lookout, as if it could hear even the slightest movement of dust.

It wasn't, though.

The shadow finally moved. its hands dropped the smartphone into the space between its thighs, to sign something with its hands. In the darkness, it was hard to make out the meaning. Well, it should have been. It didn't seem to be a problem for the apparition, though. It rolled its eyes, waving its hands and fingers in a series of clumsy signs. That stretched to the shade whose legs always hung in the emptiness, a rocky laugh.

"You're an idiot," said the shadow, the sound of his voice echoing softly like an out-of-tune instrument.

The apparition took no offense. Instead, it came and sat down heavily next to what must have been its companion of fortune, unless it was a close friend? A more or less distant acquaintance? A mission partner? Who knows?

Silence settled, even if it only lasted a little while. Not so much because the newcomer felt the need to fill the conversation with distressing banality, but because it simply couldn't keep its mouth shut for more than a few moments. The shadow was used to it, to be honest. In fact, it didn't bother it at all, for the simple reason that the words that were spoken never reached it. It was as if its entire person had been locked up in a perfectly soundproof room. To hear it own thoughts (and those that dared to interfere with its head, from time to time) was one thing, to perceive the rest of the world, was another. It couldn't remember how it happened. Its oldest memory itself was a constant reminder that it had never been able to hear anything. Perhaps it was born that way. It wasn't something that had troubled it too much, not to the point of losing sleep, so it had never asked anyone who could give it an answer. It just wasn't interested. It had too much to do anyway to dwell on the subject. Besides, it had made a deal. It wasn't supposed to ask questions unrelated to the work it was supposed to be doing. It was fine with that.

So while it neighbor indulged in an intensive verbiage session, it looked up at the stars, which slowly but surely began to appear in numbers. They were not shining brightly. Not with the light pollution of Las Vegas. It would have been too beautiful although obviously, the spectacle in itself was not hideous. The shadow had seen a lot of starry skies in the last few years. As much because most of the time, it had to wait until nightfall to carry out its missions, as because it liked the magical and mystical atmosphere of a night spent under a sky pricked with sparkling lights. It remembered then that it was only a dust being, among all the other dust particles. It was not, strictly speaking, at the top of the food chain on this strange earth. It would have been a lie to say such a thing. It may have been able to topple the building it was perched on with a flick of its wrist, but God knows there were things it couldn't name, lurking there in the darkness, capable of so much more. There was something cathartic about questioning itself from time to time.

When an elbow went into its ribs, the shadow escaped its thoughts. It inclined the head in the direction of its companion of fortune, detailing his face in search of the least micro-expression likely to give it an answer even before this one can come in the form of sign. In front of it, the man seemed ageless. Twenty years old? Thirty? Forty-five? It would have been quite unable to locate it exactly. He had an impressive mass of hair almost as dark as his skin. Dreadlocks escaped from the cluster gathered at the back of his head, falling on his shoulders in a scattered way and flowing in his back like a long quiet river. Its gaze lingered on a silver charm surrounding a rebellious lock. A bell was attached to it. The shadow wondered how the man had managed to stay alive for so long, given that discretion did not seem to be on his list of primary concerns. It shook Its head and looked up at the face of her interlocutor. The man's eyes were dark and highlighted with a bright red line. They returned an amused expression, there, between two movements of mocking eyebrows. The lips, full, deformed under a grimace and the shade had to extend the hand and to pinch the goatee of his teammate so that this one deigns to remain quiet.

"Keep moving and I'll rip your cow ring off," the shadow said.

The I'm-guessing-what's-going-on-in-your-head session had apparently just turned into I'm-making-make-myself-correct-without-giving-you-more-explanation-than-that.

"Do you really need to do this every time?" the man replied, stopping fidgeting.

The I'm-guessing-what's-going-on-in-your-head session had seemingly just turned into I'm-making-make-sure-you're-right-without-giving-you-more-explanation-than-that.

"Do you really need to do this every time?" the man replied, stopping fidgeting.

The shadow didn't need to hear him to be able to understand him. Its gaze was fixed on the lips of this friend of an evening - or of several. It was a notion which was to be revised, apparently -, cutting each movement, associating each of them, with a syllable. It shrugged.

"Do you really need to always fidget?" it asked instead.

"I'd like to point out that you're still particularly politically incorrect," the man retorted without really dwelling on the little dig.

When the shadow frowned, he sighed, and arranged his phrasing in a concise and less heady way:

"So much sass."

Or almost.

The shadow repressed a mocking smile.

"Besides, it's still not a cow ring. You know it, everyone knows it. Be nice for once. This is our last hunt after all."

"Thank God."

"So much insolence," the man repeated to no one in particular. "Mietek the insolence king."

He stopped moving when a pair of fingers lingered on his face. It was an uncomfortable experience. God knows this ageless fellow didn't like to be manhandled like that. But Mietek was a man - if not a shadow among shadows - of meticulous nature. He liked to be sure that everything was in order, before going off to God knows where to risk his life for God knows what. After all, there was no way one of them was going to pass out just because some people didn't like to go through the verification phase.

"Dude, seriously. I'm fine."

"That's what you said last time. Then you collapsed miserably on the floor, before you started vomiting gallons and gallons of blood. It lasted ten minutes. At least. And then you called me dad."

There was a short silence. Mietek knew exactly how to go about nailing the other man. He did it without worrying about his dignity.

"You said you would forget about that part. That you would erase it from your memory forever and ever," the tall black man accused him, taking care to articulate his words properly.

"I erased it so much from my memory that I still have scabs of that blood you puke, under the soles of my shoes, Sumar."

"Low blow, victory by K.O.," commented Sumar with his arms raised towards the heavens as if he hoped to receive the help of some god.

Nevertheless, he stopped fidgeting. Mietek was able to finish his checks. When he lingered a little too long on the left side of his friend's face, where the skin went from a bewitching caramel to a sudden beige, the latter pushed him away. His eyebrows were frowned and his face returned something wild.

"I didn't say anything," Mietek remarked before Sumar could even open his mouth.

"It healed, no need to dwell on it any more than necessary. It's a waste of time," he said before continuing, using sign language this time, "the moon is up, we shouldn't waste time."

Mietek sighed. The other man was right. He hated it when the other man was right. It left a strange feeling on the back of his tongue. Like a taste of ash, a taste...

I told you so.

... of deja vu. So rather than dwell on Sumar's strange wound, the man stood up, leaving his deadly perch, and not without forgetting the smartphone abandoned earlier on the cold stone. The device found the comfort of the bottom of a pocket and Mietek stretched for a short moment. Then he turned to face the void. In the light of the full, white moon, his skin appeared paler than ever, contrasted only by the myriad freckles scattered here and there. His orbs lingered on the lunar star before detaching themselves from it. It seemed to Sumar that that the lips of his companion moved, articulating words which he was not able to seize. He wondered if Mietek was the type to pray before a Great Adventure (it always sounded better than a Task Order, he had once thought) before remembering that he was not, not at all. He'd never seen him pray, after all. Not like humans did, anyway.

Mietek, meanwhile, unperturbed, spread his arms on either side of his body.

"May Aeolus bless our steps," he said.

And he toppled over into the void.

Sumar shook his head.

"He's such a show-off," he said to no one in particular.

Then he took a step forward and let gravity do the rest of the work.

There was no great crash, no screaming, no preposterous bloodshed as they hit the ground some three hundred meters below. The two bodies were in as good a shape as they had been before the big jump, and eventually the nearest homeless people wondered if they had just been struck by a collective hallucination, because two shady guys in battle gear - or something close to it - had just fallen out of the sky as simply as that. Worse, neither of them had died when they set foot on the ground, like, literally. Mietek had landed like some kind of superhero straight out of a famous movie franchise. Sumar had quickly followed him. With their hands in their pockets, neither of them had lingered on the small nighttime crowd - gamblers up to their necks in debt, last-minute brides and grooms, the usual drunks, students, the rest of the world. This was Las Vegas. A dragon would probably go unnoticed as everything that happened around here tended to be outside the norm.

"So," Sumar said. "Ready for a crazy night?"

Mietek paid no attention to him as he dashed towards the imposing building.

The Stratosphere Las Vegas was one of the main attractions of the city for well, its many attractions in addition to the casino, the hotel and everything else it housed.

In his back, his companion let out a deep sigh.

"You know," he said again and, he had to walk backwards to make sure the man at his side understood his every word, had to sign them; "we might as well have taken the exit on the roof. I mean it. Believe me, I love adrenaline rushes, and your tendency to unnecessarily put your life in danger makes you damn sexy and all, but hey, man? A jump from almost half a mile up? No. Nein. Not."

A smile stretched the lips of his interlocutor. There was something mischievous and playful about it, like a laugh held in hazelnut orbs.

"You're right, laugh. You know what they say, right? Who mess with the bull, get the ..."

Mietek raised his eyebrows. The other man couldn't go through with his little tirade. His feet were caught in a weed, and he nearly fell flat on his face. In front of his angry face, the man with the failing hearing could only sneer.

"Be careful where you walk," he signed before helping his partner to stand up.

"Really? Magic? Who are you and what did you do with Mr.-you-must-use-magic-with-parcimony-and-blah-blah? Jump three times on yourself, if a jinn has taken over your body."

The slap he received almost gently on the back of his head had the merit of silencing him. The falsely tearful look, Sumar signed traitor and you break my heart before deigning to regain a little of his seriousness when a third person had to clear his throat to call them both to order. Without breaking his smirk, Mietek bowed his head in apology while Sumar just looked up to the sky. Facing them, a middle-aged woman held a thick file against her chest. She was dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, her hair impeccably done. She gave Mietek the impression of a prima ballerina reconverted into a hotel mistress: all grace and elegance mixed with a coldness that could not be beaten. The expression on her face did not reflect anything. The man thought that a prison door would have been even more expressive, but then he rebuked himself: he was not there to judge people. He left that pleasure to Sumar in general. This last one, who, in his fist seemed to cough something that he didn't manage to grasp. God knows that if he had to open the bets, his choice would linger on a story of brooms in some foundation.

"You're late," the hostess noted.

"We had an appointment at twenty-one sharp and it's, oh, look at that. It's twenty-one past eight, no, nine, ten, eleven seconds."

A line of annoyance creased the woman's forehead. Mietek inserted as discreetly as he could, his elbow in the ribs of his friend.

"Arriving five minutes early to an appointment, it is to arrive late, " answer sternly the hostess before turning the heels.

She didn't stop to make sure she was followed and soon the two men had to start walking in order to keep up. Once again, without even paying attention to the presence or even, the attention of those she seemed to have summoned to this very place, resumed:

"There was another incident while you were too busy being on time," she snapped. "One of our doormen. A little over twenty. He appears like those before him who died: no trace whatsoever of a blow, of any violence. Nothing to suggest the presence of poison either, I personally made sure of that."

Sumar took the time to transcribe the words of the hostess for Mietek who, the frowned, exchanged a glance with his teammate. He did not even make the effort to roll his eyes when the black man articulated silently KGB with exorbited eyes and uselessly exaggerated expressions of wonder.

"That's the fourth body then," Sumar said. "It's no coincidence, we're sure of it now. Four dead, with no apparent injuries, unharmed at first glance, except for the fact, well, that they are dead. Definitely our specialty."

"Your speciality," the woman repeated in an emotionless voice.

"The strangeness, the weirdness, the unexplainable, all of it. There are some things in this world that are better for the common man to ignore, Mrs. Banks."

The man snorted.

"Do not take that tone with me, young man. This is Las Vegas we are talking about. I have seen more in my years in this city than you will see in a lifetime."

"I don't doubt that madam."

She had claimed to have detected no traces of poison after all. That was strange enough to be noted, wasn't it? What other kind of hotel would look for employees with such abilities?

Mrs. Banks didn't look up. Her gaze became even more penetrating when Mietek nudged her attention. Her hands waved quickly and Sumar shrugged in response.

"It seems to me that they were all men."

"Menof all ages and backgrounds," the hostess confirmed. "The first victim was a businessman nearly fifty years old. The second was one of our handymen, forty-two years old. The third was a simple family man, thirty-five years old and. Mr. Lloyd, our doorman, celebrated his twenty-eighth birthday three days ago."

"Ugh," Sumar nodded. "Any similarities?"

"Other than the fact that they are men? None. Nothing you see on those TV shows anyway."

"So our mysterious gentleman killer doesn't seem to be picky about taste."

"Gentleman?"

"Or lady, you have a point."

Mietek signed again. His face echoed the gravity of the situation: dark and ominous. Without Sumar having to play the interpreter, Mrs. Banks answered, slightly surprising both men:

"No. Not for our first victims anyway. Our businessman was a long-time divorcee, and our handyman, well. Nobody reported him missing. As for the family man, well, he was staying in our hotel with his wife and two daughters. As for young Mr. Lloyd, no girlfriends have come, once again, to mourn his disappearance."

"So," Sumar pivoted to his compere, "we have no leads. No possible nutjob going after cheating husbands or boyfriends, no sicko targeting only the white, rich man (he pivoted to the matron:) their financial statements?"

"Each of them seemed to make do with what they had."

"We're going to need a little more than that, Mrs. Banks," sighed Sumar.

The middle-aged woman ignored him.

"The businessman was doing well, even though he was just another employee, Mr. Fritz knew how to earn his money."

"How can you tell?" asked Sumar again as he exchanged another glance with a restless, not to say preoccupied, Mietek.

The word KGB was still on the lips of this man who was far too talkative for his own good, at least until Mrs. Banks became annoyed with the situation.

"Nothing like that," she hissed, sounding unduly offended. "I have been in this same business all my life. Do you think for one second that this hotel, these casinos, these attractions can run at full capacity without me? I inquire about all those who dare to enter my domain. Such is the charge that has been given to me and hear me well when I tell you that I would die before I became incompetent."

"You receive thousands of visitors a day, how..."

"I do not spend my days smiling foolishly and having fun with everything and anything. This is how you run a hotel. I suggest you learn from it, whoever or whatever you are."

"We're nothing less than freelance investigators, Mrs. Banks."

"Yes, right. I may be old, but not yet senile. Now, can we get back to the case? Even though my hierarchy has managed to nip it in the bud, the time I spend helping you play little detectives is time I'm not putting to good use in this hotel."

"Don't you have a life outside your host-aie, hey!"

"Enough," breathed Mietek, releasing the arm of his companion, of whom he had just, apparently, provided a bruise.

"Well, well. You can talk."

The youngest of the three bowed his head, silently apologizing.

"Of course," Sumar said in turn. "Who do you think he is?"

"A smartass who obviously delights in wasting my time. Why sign, when you could save me time by simply telling me what you need instead of using your... (his face turned to one of deep disdain) that clown as a spokesman?"

"Hey!" scolded the dark-haired man. "I forbid you!"

"Like I care."

Mietek sighed. This was an evening that was taking a very strange turn. For a change, he thought, rolling his eyes. He addressed a silent prayer to the person who had sent him there, to this very place, in order to settle what had appeared to be a mystery of a supernatural nature. It was not part of his plans to have an argument with a woman older than his own grandmother.

"Enough," he said again.

He hardly raised his voice, nor did he modulate it to sound scary or even threatening. To tell the truth, it had been a mere whisper. And yet, both Mrs. Banks and Sumar had remained silent. The first out of surprise, the second out of habit. With his hands in his pockets, his companion had looked away in guilt. Sorry, he articulated silently. Then again, he let his usual carelessness come to cover his face.

For her part, Mrs. Banks had not let him out of her sight. She watched Mietek as a scientist would have watched a small green man in plain sight, on an experimental table. It was calculating, it was interested, it was sprinkled with a touch of fear. There was something about this young man that she couldn't identify. Far from letting herself be defeated for so little, the hostess cleared her throat.

"Never mind," she said after a short pause. "Like I was saying: Our handyman was not to be pitied in terms of salary. He was not earning millions, but he was paid far better than most people whose jobs are not considered 'nice' jobs are paid."

"Could anyone have wanted him dead? Whether it was for his salary or his personality?"

"Well, Mr. Winger wasn't necessarily a friendly face. But to want him dead... What do I know. There are people dying every day for far less. I doubt anyone would have killed him for his pay anyway."

"Why not? You just said that others die for very little."

"Because some of our employees make a lot more than Mr. Winger used to."

"Any idea why the victims were found here?"

"Aren't you the investigator?"

"Four victims who have nothing to do with each other, yet all find death at the Stratosphere Las Vegas for reasons unknown, two of whom are your employees."

Sumar huffed.

"That doesn't make any sense. Unless the building was cursed in some way or you built this empire on an ancient graveyard.."

Mrs. Banks allowed herself single laugh. A sound between mockery and annoyance.

"This is America, my dear. We move every day on the vestiges of a history older than our ancestors are. In my opinion, the country is a graveyard unto itself."

Sumar bowed his head, then sighed.

"All right. What about the father of the family? Mister Varez?"

"Valèz. Well, he, his wife and two daughters arrived on a Sunday. The father was found dead in his bed three days later. No signs of forced entry. "

"His wife?"

"Cleared of any involvement. She was not present at the time of the crime. Our cameras tracked her day and she and her daughters were busy window shopping. "

"So the only person who could have committed this murder, was not there."

" To all appearances, Monsieur Valéz was just another man. A few financial problems, but isn't that what most people go through?"

"So money wasn't the motive," the dark-haired man ignored her once more. "That leaves us... your doorman?"

"Lloyd. A fine lad from what I've seen of him. Polite, smiling, helpful. Never made a fuss, no scandals to his credit. Never even asked for a raise or days off. A truly impeccable element."

"Not one?"

"Not in the least."

"Am I the only one who finds this strange?" Sumar asked, pivoting slightly toward his teammate.

Mietek had become discreet again, all in silence and observation. He shrugged for all answers. That some people don't feel the need to ask for more days off than what was given didn't seem so strange to him. Maybe this Lloyd guy was just an unremarkable guy.

"People are never uneventful, you know that."

Mietek looked away. He was history-free. No past. He had only the words of a boss who was a little too calculating around the edges and the promise not to look for more as an anchor, as a past, as a background.

"If you say so."

"Are we done?" asked Mrs. Banks. "Even though watching you play detective is very entertaining, I have other, more pressing business to attend to."

"Don't you think the presence of four dead bodies in your workplace is a matter of urgency?"

"I don't have time for the dead sir...?"

"Just Sumar."

"Just Sumar sir. I have to deal with the living and believe it or not, they are the ones causing the most trouble. Besides, you're the... investigators, right? You don't expect me to chew up all the work for you, do you?"

"You bet."

"Thank you for your time Mrs. Banks," Mietek said, his voice sounding faintly like a broken instrument over and over.

The hostess merely gave him a nod before turning on her heels. During their conversations, she had led them to the basement of the hotel where, until further notice, the bodies had been kept. Few, if not almost no one, had been informed of course. This was the way things worked in the world of the two strange oddballs that were Mietek and Sumar. The Big Boss always managed to get out of their way the curious, those who were not part of this even stranger world, populated by terrifying and murderous creatures. Mrs. Banks, without being aware of it, must have been in the good graces of the High Spheres to be thus entrusted with the responsibility of the whole mess. No wonder she greeted us rather curtly, thought Mietek. She must have a ton of work if what she says is true.

"This is so weird," Sumar mumbled suddenly.

Mietek raised his head back up to give him a curious look of inquisitiveness. His friend was quick to elaborate on his thoughts.

"I mean, except that the hotel seems to have its own morgue for reasons that are beyond me."

"There are a lot of visitors, I'm sure it's not that strange to have a dead person every now and then," the man signed.

"Sure. I just find it scary."

"The Great Sumarsverð, scared? We'll have seen it all."

"As always, monsieur is hilarious."

Smiling, Mietek walked past his friend to the refrigerated cabinets in which the bodies had been stored. He opened the first drawer, discovering a tall, if plump, man made pale by the lack of life itself and this, despite his tanned skin texture, with black, wavy hair.

"Sir. Valéz, I believe."

The other man nodded before rolling up his sleeves. On his skin, pale and studded with bran spots, were tattooed numerous symbols and other designs in a color palette as diverse as it was varied from the softest pink, to the darkest black. For a moment, Sumar thought he saw the thick silhouette of a creature moving behind the forest tattoo on his teammate's arms. When he blinked, the beast in question had disappeared so much that he wondered if he had just imagined it.

"I thought they had already autopsied the bodies?" he said as if to regain composure.

"I'm pretty sure it wasn't an Enhanced who did the autopsy. And even if it was, I'd rather be sure."

Sumar was amused by this. It was just like the house to trust only himself and his abilities.

"We're never better served than by ourselves eh."

"Right?"

The hours that passed were relatively calm and full of a light silence, despite the fright of the situation. Mietek, going from one corpse to another, made sure that no wound, injury or other had fallen through the cracks. He had to face the facts: the person who had been taking care of the bodies had done a good job. When he got rid once more of the protective gloves that he had to put on in order to be able to look inside and outside, it was to grab a pen that he found nestled inside his jacket which, earlier, had been left on the back of the chair on which his teammate had ended up falling asleep. This last one startled when he perceived in his personal space, the presence of the other man.

"So?" he asked, his hands awkwardly waving as he tried to transcribe his words into sign language. "Did you find anything?"

Mietek sighed heavily.

"No, it's exactly as the hostess told us: no sign of anything. Nothing, nada."

"Shit. Plan B on this one?"

"Hmm?"

"Using your super mojo to get us out of here?"

The man smiled disillusionedly.

"Oh, come on. Always the same people doing all the work around here, I guess."

He did his best not to see the scandalized look on the swarthy man's face. Eyes down on the sheet of paper he held between his fingers, Mietek went so far as to lean one of his buttocks against one of the refrigerated drawers so he could complete his notes. When he did, he slipped the paper between two of his fingers and let it ignite as if by magic. The flames and other embers died before they even touched the ground. Not a single ash was able to be discovered here and there after that.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I have a feeling we're not going to finish this mission anytime soon."

Mietek sighed.

"There's something that bothers me about all this stuff."

"You mean, beyond the deaths for no apparent reason and the pristine condition of the corpses?"

The man swept the remark aside with a wave of his hand.

"No. It's an impression. It's like déjà vu. I don't know. It's just that. It's weighing on me, but I can't figure out what it is. It's on the tip of my tongue. This case isn't just a ghoul stocking up, or a witch who decided to decimate a hotel's population piecemeal. It's more. I know it is. I feel it."

"Oh," Sumar gestured without knowing what to make of that particular piece of information."

He knew without having had the right to the detailed grand tour as well as the guided tour, that Mietek was a mystery in himself. They were two diametrically opposed beings and this, not only because one was human (more or less) and that the other was only a tool, he too talkative, Mietek delivering information only in drops. He was carefree and always quick to play little tricks here and there, Mietek too serious, too concerned, too hard on himself. And yet, he could not remove himself from the head that the boy could only be more. More than that, more than his chains, more than the promises he had made. He could see it when his irises were lost in the contemplation of the other being, he could see it when the smiles the other man held back, exploded into a myriad of sparks and laughter deep in his eyes. It was frustrating. Mietek was a frustrating man. And yet, Gods know he wouldn't have traded his place with anyone else for all the gold in the world. He liked, if not loved, the young Servant of Gaia too much for that.