“Who are you?” the man asked, confusion clear in his voice, tinged with a hint of caution. His gaze faltered for a split second, as if trying to make sense of the figure standing before him, his muscles instinctively tensing in a defensive reflex.

But instead of answering, the gray-haired man just let out a low, dry laugh, dripping with disdain: “Knowing who I am...” he muttered, tilting his head slightly as if pondering the question himself. Then, casting a sidelong glance, he turned partially toward the other man, revealing a crooked, almost teasing smile: “Does that really matter to you?”

Hearing the gray-haired man's reply, he simply looked away, turning his attention back to his drink. For a few seconds, he sat in silence, staring into the amber liquid in his glass as if searching for some invisible answer there.

With a soft sigh and a barely noticeable smirk curling at the corner of his lips, he finally responded in a slow, lazy tone: “Honestly... not really”

With those words, he lifted the drink to his mouth and, without hesitation, tossed it back. The familiar burn spread down his throat, warming him as it went. But before he could savor the usual bitter aftertaste, something caught his eye: a small card lying discreetly on the table beside him.

Frowning and raising an eyebrow in suspicion, he glanced around the bar, looking for any sign of who might’ve left it there. But the space around him was empty. No one nearby. No suspicious movement.

Still trying to piece together what was going on, a soft noise reached his ears—the subtle sound of a door closing. A faint "click" almost drowned out by the background music and distant conversations. Instinctively, he turned toward the exit.

And that’s when he saw him, just for a split second: the gray-haired man, walking slowly out the door, calm and confident. As he stepped through the doorway, he placed an old hat on his head with a casual, almost rehearsed gesture.

Before disappearing completely, he threw a final line over his shoulder, his voice low, heavy with mystery, and laced with an odd kind of authority, like he was stating an undeniable truth: "I can imagine what’s running through your head... Let’s just say... I’ve got a story a lot like yours"

He paused briefly, as if weighing his words before continuing: "If you ever decide you want to make the ones who destroyed your family pay... give me a call"

With that, the gray-haired man turned and walked away, leaving him alone once again. The distant sound of the door closing echoed for a moment, like a lingering reminder that their brief encounter was over. All that remained on the table was a small card—the only concrete proof that any of it had even happened.

On it, there was a phone number and a name, written in a firm, careful hand. Slowly, almost hesitantly, the man picked up the card between his fingers, as if the weight of that small piece of paper was heavier than it seemed.

His lips moved in an almost inaudible whisper as he read the name aloud: “Graham Vickers...”

***

(POV – Emily Parker)

The last few days had been completely consumed by work for Emily. More specifically, she was focused on the new phase her role was about to reach. Naturally, Emily was still the one responsible for organizing everything and assigning tasks to the others—a job she had been handling masterfully for quite some time now.

Maybe it was because of that prior experience that she was doing so well now, even with the new demands. Deep down, the core of what she did hadn’t changed much... The real difference was the scale. This time, everything was happening on a much bigger level.

Lost in thought, surrounded by notes and scattered documents on her desk, Emily was suddenly pulled from her concentration by Laura’s voice. Laura entered the office with a worried tone: “Boss... what do we do about the press?” she asked, stopping near the door, hesitant.

“They’re saying they want to be part of the exhibition we’re about to hold. Claim it’s to spread the information to as many people as possible...”

Laura’s voice echoed through the room, breaking the silent tension that hung in the air. Slowly, Emily lifted her eyes, considering the new issue that had just landed on her plate.

Hearing those words, Emily let out a subtle sigh, suppressing the irritation rising inside her. With a slow, almost lazy motion, she leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms in a casual, almost dismissive way, like this was just another predictable performance.

Sure, at first glance, the media’s speech might sound “noble”—full of fancy words, fake solidarity, and manufactured outrage—but the bitter truth was far more unpleasant. Deep down, she knew it was nothing but cheap opportunism.

The country’s major news channels were acting like vultures, circling the tragedy, eager to snatch up any scrap of audience or scandal they could spin into ratings and profits.

With each new headline, with each shameless, sensationalist image they aired, it became more and more obvious that their real concern wasn’t the victims... it was the viewer numbers and the sponsors behind the cameras.

Still, Emily wasn’t exactly against the idea. If it was something that had to happen, she would at least make sure it happened on her terms. It wasn’t in her nature to just sit back and let the media do whatever they wanted. If this door was going to open, she’d make sure she controlled who walked through it.

With that practical, calculating mindset, she took a deep breath and spoke firmly: “Contact the channel with the lowest ratings right now. If we’re going to do this anyway, it might as well serve a purpose. Giving exposure to a small channel means we can have leverage over them later... negotiate terms if needed”

Her voice was calm but full of intention. In Emily’s eyes, even an unwanted situation could turn into a strategic advantage—if handled right.

Hearing Emily’s words, Laura just nodded silently, absorbing every syllable carefully. After a brief moment, her gaze lit up with genuine curiosity, and she asked, her tone a mix of doubt and fascination: “But, boss... how can you be so sure the channel we pick will actually grow just from showing anomalies? I mean... I can’t really say the anomalies we’ll be showing seem like the kind of thing that could level a whole city or anything”

After speaking, Laura furrowed her brow slightly, clearly trying to piece together the reasoning behind Emily’s confidence.

When Laura heard Laura’s words, Emily gave a subtle smile at the corner of her lips—a gesture full of silent understanding. She shared that same conviction, which was exactly why she’d decided to expose the [Angel of Death] and the others standing by her side. Beings who, despite having almost human forms, carried within them an entirely different essence—capable of sparking both fascination and unease at once.

Emily knew the audience would be irresistibly drawn to these mysterious figures—after all, curiosity is an intrinsic trait of human nature. In the end, any channel that captured those images would surely experience a surge in viewers.

Moreover, considering we’re dealing with beings practically unknown to most of humanity, the impact would be inevitably huge.

Imagine the reaction similar to a channel recording a UFO sighting for the first time—a rare, astonishing event that would attract millions of viewers worldwide.

Any channel managing to capture such a discovery firsthand would see its audience skyrocket, quickly climbing to the top of the platform charts.

With that thought firmly in mind, a subtle, enigmatic smile appeared at the corner of Emily’s lips. Her eyes sparkled with quiet confidence as she said calmly and assuredly: “Just trust me. I know exactly what I’m doing”

Although Laura still wasn’t entirely sure where her boss got so much confidence from, in the end, she simply accepted it, allowing a calm smile to form on her lips. Deep down, Laura didn’t believe Emily was lying—far from it.

She knew very well how clever and smart her boss was; Emily had surely thought something solid through to be so sure of herself. However, despite trusting her, a small spark of curiosity lingered within Laura.

With a curious tone and a hint of concern, Laura leaned forward and asked: “By the way, are you sure it’s really a good idea to put the [Angel of Death] and her sisters on display? I mean... you know how she is, right? The [Angel of Death] has a pretty worrying track record of just disappearing from the containment room when we least expect it”

Hearing the question, Emily found it valid—after all, it wasn’t the first time she’d been asked exactly that. At first, the [Angel of Death]’s “escapes” caused true chaos in the facility, putting everyone on high alert.

Various containment methods had been tested, from advanced technological barriers to extreme security protocols, but somehow, inexplicably, she always managed to get away. Over time, though, Emily gave up trying to contain her.

The presence of the [Angel of Death] became so constant and silent, almost like a familiar shadow roaming the hallways frequented by staff and scientists, that her figure was gradually ignored, almost as if she were part of the place’s routine.

Or rather, Emily had lost count of how many times she’d seen staff offering sweets or petting the [Angel of Death]. Despite being an anomaly with lethal powers, still wrapped in mysteries and far from having her true nature understood, it was impossible to deny that by then, the [Angel of Death] had almost become a mascot.

A silent refuge to ease the crushing tension, especially among the scientists—those who, day after day, had to deal with truly hostile anomalies that showed no signs of hiding their threat. For them, the presence of the [Angel of Death] was like an unexpected truce, a rare breath amidst the constant chaos.

Of course, Emily was fully aware that ordinary civilians would probably panic completely if the said anomaly escaped her cell—a place that, theoretically, should be secure—and suddenly appeared out of nowhere right in front of them. It was a natural reaction. After all, the very name they’d given her, [Angel of Death], carried with it a weight of fear and danger.

However, since Emily began establishing contact with her—even if quite limited—something curious happened. Gradually, Emily realized the [Angel of Death] was actually surprisingly gentle. There was an almost incomprehensible calmness in her behavior. She listened carefully to everything said, obeyed without resistance, and never showed unprovoked aggression.

Over time, both Emily and the rest of the facility’s team came to see her differently. No longer as a latent threat locked behind layers of security... but as a strangely friendly anomaly, easy to get along with and—perhaps most importantly—someone who, in moments of crisis, could be a powerful ally.

***

(POV – Protagonist)

Suddenly, while watching Nekra interact with her dolls moving strangely fluid thanks to her anomalous ability, and Nyara timidly holding the hem of my loose shirt with a curious look, I felt a slight itch in my nose.

Instinctively, I furrowed my brow and raised an eyebrow, trying to hide the discomfort. Althea, nearby and seemingly attentive to any slight change in me, immediately noticed and, without hesitation, moved a little closer and asked with a light tone of curiosity: “Sis, what’s wrong? Why do you look so bothered?” Althea asked, tilting her head slightly while her big eyes, shining with curiosity, focused on me attentively.

Not knowing exactly how to answer, I just shrugged, trying to look as casual as possible before saying: “I’m not sure... my nose just started itching out of nowhere” I brought my hand up and rubbed it distractedly: “Maybe someone’s talking about me... or something like that”

I spoke casually, not giving much importance to it, but Althea’s next question somehow sounded... strange, especially coming from her.

“Oh! I know what that is!” she suddenly exclaimed, a radiant smile lighting up her face: “That’s one of those superstitions humans like to come up with, right?”