"No, they're not," he said. "If it were a charm, they would have to be in constant proximity to the person applying it for it to keep going. That might be possible with one or two, but this wide a range, with this many people? Forget about it. Besides being ineffective, it's just plain ludicrous to try.

"Besides, what we're dealing with is no surface-level charm…it's much deeper." Cobra noted the uncomfortable fidgets in at least two of the others. Macbeth could hardly be bothered to twitch. "This is a soul-level problem, one I didn't give enough attention to yesterday, despite realizing so."

"And why would that be?" Macbeth asked. His tone on the edge of threatening. Cobra's face made a hard line.

"…Because I didn't think it was all that bad, at first." He tried to look Macbeth straight in his blood-red eyes as he continued. "It wasn't as if they were thinking about murdering people, or hurting themselves, or doing anything else that would qualify them for a night in a cell. They were just…still. Not even unhappy, that I could tell. They just…have no attachment to anyone anymore. For good or bad." He finally looked down on the ground, mumbling. "I had to experience that firsthand before it stuck, unfortunately."

Macbeth sniffed. "Is that why you made a heel turn and talked to Sorano this morning after bailing yesterday?"

Son of a–yes, they were sharing information now, but did he have to phrase it like that? Both women cocked an eyebrow at the mention of Sorano. Cobra would have forgiven him for the wording if not for that thin smile. He refrained from grinding his teeth into dust.

"Yes, I wanted to confirm some of my suspicions with Sorano. For the record, she acted the same way Minerva did yesterday, and she seemed much the same this morning." He heard the faint intake of breath from the two. Macbeth's eyes narrowed, and he appeared genuinely upset. "I asked her a few questions, specifically around memories I knew would normally get a rise out of her. She answered them all in perfect clarity, sometimes with hints of emotion, but mostly monotone."

"So at least memory is still intact…" Macbeth mumbled.

"Memory was never the problem. It was the emotions attached to them. Case in point, after I asked her all those questions, I asked her one last one.

"'What am I to you?'"