"Oh! Oh!" Iz snapped her finger. "It's that—it's that government guy. Lluruma. He's funding everything for his… political agenda."

"I see," Geel said. He leaned back on his chair and propped his feet up, settling in for the long haul. "So the Great Lluruma is your culprit. And the murk bogs can assist his political agenda…" he waved his hand aimlessly in the air. "How?"

"It's… it's some kind of experiment. To demonstrate the feasibility of his new national order based on everyone forgetting everything. What happens if you pay a bunch of people to act out this freak show?"

"I see, I see. So Lluruma, with his bright political future ahead of him, wisely avoided the political backlash that would come from walking down the bridge to his nearest theatre and hiring an acting troupe for his strange experiment, instead choosing to hire a nationally reviled paramilitary mercenary group. And for… I'm still not clear exactly?"

"He needed—he needed a group with no ethics," Iz said.

"Ah, for the despicable crime of…" He trailed off and clicked his tongue. "Smoking? And then telling a few lies amongst ourselves? Yeah, still not clear on that part."

"I mean the village arson!" Iz said.

Geel snapped his fingers. "Of course! The village arson. Sorry, are you saying we did it? Or… Lluruma did it? And then he paid us to act out some memory-wiping pantomime thing because only a ruthless group of mercenaries would be so low as to go around acting. Truly astounding, it all just snaps together like two corner pieces of a jigsaw."

"I mean—not the village arson. I'm talking about his—you know, his controversies. He's… he's sketchy."

"It's not Lluruma," Shera said.

Iz didn't like hearing this, but it seemed that she didn't have anything more to say.

"Go ahead, Shera," Myra encouraged her.

She took a hesitant step forward.

"Myra. Y-you told me about the inconsistent salary forms you found d-down on the ground. If these extra payments are being paid through th-the same bookkeeping system that Geel uses for their salaries, then the extra payments must be going through him."

"Sure…" Iz said.

"So… the simplest ex-ex-explanation is that the money comes from G-Geel himself," she finally said.

Geel was entirely unreadable; he took the accusation with utter impassivity, but it was a pretty sharp contrast to how he had treated Iz. The only motion he made was to put a hand up, seemingly to stop Chrysji, who had been about to interrupt.

"Okay… so he's paying everybody to act like they're forgetting everything," Myra said. "But why?"

"The p-payment was secret, since it was done separately," Shera said. "So it must have been kept from at least some of the organization's members. But everybody in this room seems to be in on it, j-judging by their reactions." She looked around the room, making eye contact with anyone who was willing.

"You're making a lot of inferences," Chrysji said.

"T-true. It's not so much d-deduction. It just… it fits."

"If you know where you're going with this," Geel said, "then get to it."

"I was saying, it seems like m-most people are in on it. But not everybody." She looked at Iz. "You got one th-thing wrong." She looked at Myra, too, as if pleading with her one last time to see what she was getting at.

"Roc and Lukai weren't part of it," she said. "They weren't paid to pretend to forget about the village or the massacre investigation or whatnot. Maybe th-they were the only ones who weren't part of it. They're the victims."

"The victims…?"

"They lied about the fire," Iz said. "They were behind—"

"No. Forget about th-the fire. You met him, Myra. You remember what he was afraid of? He k-kept saying Geel had sent us. He k-kept saying Geel would cut his bridge down. You f-found his art projects on the ground. He didn't throw those over himself. And Roc, he was a prolific amateur astronomer, but you see him now, he can't even look at the sky, y-you've seen how he hunches over at night, like he c-can't look up from the ground. He's not doing that for the act. He's s-suffering."

She took a deep breath. "I c-can't know how this started, but I can guess. You were looking for a base for the murk bogs. You found the platform, and you found Roc and Lukai, maybe others, and they were… traumatized, they were probably using these old Unkmirean traditions to cope. And you… you decided to take it further. You made this stupid ritual with the fog, you tricked them into thinking there was some… memory magic, and you've been torturing them ever since."

Nobody would make eye contact with Shera now, save solely for Geel, who still stared straight ahead with barely even a blink visible behind his translucent shades. The other murk bogs found interest in the walls, or the boxes, or the maps. Anything but the girl in front of them.

"I don't know what's going on in their heads—some kind of…" She glanced quickly at Myra, then seemed embarrassed. "'Fake it 'til you make it' thing, making them feign forgetting until they really actually forget through the power of repression and s-self-deception… or if they're fully aware of what they're doing, but they're afraid to stop acting it out for some reason… but I kn-know Lukai was full of contradictions, one thing always stood out in particular. 'It's too easy to forget what I've forgotten.' He said that. He was obviously aware on some level, but it put him under so much stress that he committed suicide."

She paused.

"And then Myra came along, and she haplessly got caught in this mad web you'd weaved, unaware entirely that it was there for someone else."

"I still don't understand," Myra said. "It fits the facts, but—but why?"

"Why?" Geel repeated, finally speaking up. There was a rise in his voice. "Why?" Just from the way he said it, with his barely suppressed cocksure grin, Myra knew at once he was guilty of everything he'd just been accused of. Guilty, yes, but not a man of guilt. He was, above all, proud. "Well, of course, it was for my next paper!"

Of…

Of course.

"I'm a scientist," he'd said.

"I'm a philosopher," he'd said.

"I wanted to see what would happen."

Geel stood up and leaned towards them, propping himself up over his desk. "I don't know what dirt you all have dug up on me—"

"We know all about the feral child," Myra said. "Iz's professor said they were just rumors, but now—"

"I confirm them all! Yes, I was the P.I. behind the feral child experiment. A smashing success, and that's not just my biased opinion. It's an objective fact. That paper has over 1000 citations. But you know what they say about academia. Publish or perish! One respectable paper just isn't enough to make it these days. I realized it was time to move on, so I packed it up and travelled the world, eyes open for my next project. With the feral child, I had asked a simple question: could I raise an empty husk of a person to be a high-functioning individual? A problem-solver with agency?"

'High functioning'?

"This time, I wanted to approach the problem from a different angle. I thought, what if I started with a talented individual, and carved away at them until—no, that's not right. I wanted to know if I could set their own intelligence towards the task of dismantling themselves! Could I do with just a little nudge, perhaps?"

"You call what you did a nudge?" Myra nearly shouted.

"It had to be up to them in the end. There really isn't anything in that fog, you know. I think it makes trees grow really large…? So it has to be up to them."

He tapped his fingers against the table. "So, yes, I invented the little ritual with the smoke. I just needed something dramatic. Whenever someone died, we'd go through the motions, though it wasn't always convenient to do it. I would have liked to go all the way, act like nobody from the organization ever died, that we had a 100% survival rate and have everybody go along with it… That would have felt clean. But sometimes there wouldn't be a body to chuck off, and I preferred to be consistent with the ritual."

"And Lukai—Lukai was a star at it. You know—he was so relieved, to have an excuse to avoid thinking about his traumatic experiences. He had to convince himself that this memory curse was real… but then, he had to keep playing along, or the whole edifice of self-deception would crumble… so yes, I could throw his little art projects off the edge, and he'd have to act like he'd never heard of them before!"

"Actually, it's very illuminating, what the stuttering girl quoted earlier. 'It's too easy to forget what he's forgotten,' or some such. Lukai and Roc, actually, are very good at remembering." He grinned, like a proud parent.

"And you—all of you, were on this." She scanned the room.

"Yes, I haven't decided. Should I put them as co-authors? I've always wanted to write one of those papers where the cover goes on for pages because there's so many names. They'll all be anonymous, probably, but I'd still list them out one by one. Just, 'Anonymous, Anonymous, Anonymous' for several pages—"

"You drove him to suicide!" Myra shouted.

"Yes. It was a real tragedy when he died, you know. All that work down the drain. And that just left Roc, and, well, listen, I love Roc, but he doesn't need my help, if you know what I mean? And then you three show up—and you—" He pointed at Myrabelle. "I could tell that you, in particular, were running from something, so I thought, why not?"

"You tried to make me your next experiment," Myra said, her mouth dry.

"Just so. I wanted to see if what I did to Lukai I could do to someone with no exposure to Unkmirean culture. So when that Benko guy showed up, I was sure it was my chance. I was ever so disappointed when you walked away. But that's the nature of science—you can't win every data point."

"Okay, fine. What the hell's going on today, then? I was confused how you manage to execute the memory wiping in Ralkenon, and I guess that… doesn't need explanation anymore, since it's all fake. So what the hell are you doing?"

His face stiffened. "How do you know anything about what we're planning tonight?"

"… Guesswork?"

"Well, the thing is—" He froze. He looked, for the first time in the conversation, somewhat anxious about the direction of the interrogation.

"Actually—can you all give us some privacy? I'd like to discuss this with the girls in private."

His underlings obeyed him without question. Nesr Wald, Chrysji, all the rest left without much of a word.

"They're not going to be happy about that," Geel growled. "Now, talk. What do you know?"

"We know this… contract with the Unkmirean contract is a big deal for you. You're trying to get out of it so you can get a big payday—"

"No," Shera said.

"No?"

Even Geel looked confused.

"The mysterious caller never even gave you proof that they can pay. They will pay, of course… But you don't know that yet. Yet you've already made up your mind, h-haven't you?"

Until now, Myra would have called it impossible for Geel to look embarrassed.

"You sure are an insightful girl tonight, aren't you?"

"Your underlings are enthusiastic about the contract. Th-They won't be happy with you if you throw it away, not even for a bit of extra money. It's not impossible… you can keep various details secret from them. If you pay them all to keep playing along, they won't talk amongst themselves and put the pieces together. But it's a th-thin needle to thread, isn't it?"

"Too thin," Geel said.

"B-but you can't turn your back on the challenge, can you? If you can get the entire organization to turn on their self-interests… it would be your biggest accomplishment to date. And with Lukai dead, you're looking for your next big th-thing."

"That—that makes sense," Myra said, "but how does he think he can possibly accomplish it?"

"I don't know. But it must have to do with…" She looked pointedly in a certain direction.

"The volcano!" Geel exclaimed. "Yes, I was planning to use the volcano. We're going to climb up, and I'm going to set up the well. We'll dump the contract in. They won't think much of it, until—" He threw his hands out. "Bang! Once it blows its top and wipes Ralkenon off the face of Zyarth, it will have an entirely new level of impact."

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"You can't be serious," Iz said. "Just because the volcano blows—you think that's enough to make them forget 'for real'?"

"I can't know until I try! After all, I'm a scientist. I'm—"

"A philosopher. We get it."

"You get it! Yes! You understand. I just wish I had more time to prepare—I could have done much more with it."

"No," Myra whispered. "No, I don't understand. You drove someone to suicide. You killed an innocent person, and now you want to do it bigger and better? What are you getting from all of this?"

Geel sat back down. "'Getting from it?' Like, personally?"

"I—yeah?"

"Science requires objectivity," Geel said. "For the integrity of the research, it's imperative that I don't get personally attached to anything. So I'd say I don't get anything out of it."

"Okay," Myra sort of said, but the word didn't really come out.

She turned to leave.

"Myra," Iz reminded her.

"Oh." She looked back to Geel. He quirked an eyebrow. "Right."

God damn this.

"The group that Benkoten was with… you recognized them, didn't you?"

"The Sect Gazing Inward."

"Who are they?"

There was no incentive for him to answer, but she felt like he would, anyway.

"They're a strange group from the Ptolkeran Mountains. Were, I suppose. They were a bit of a legend in the underground psychology community. They have some… meditation practice. Does something to the brain, makes them really good at magic and multitasking. I tracked them down once. They sent me away, but I lost interest."

"Why?"

"How can I put this… I had an idea, when I went to see them. That they spend all this time meditating, changing the way that they think, sacrificing parts of themselves to obtain such intense focus, to obtain their power… You can see why I was interested."

"Ben…" Myra whispered.

The psychologist shook his head. "Whatever you're thinking, I can assure you it's not the case. When I eventually met them, I found nothing of the sort. They hardly change themselves at all… other than they become the sort of people who like to meditate. One of them told me they sacrificed a memory of, I quote, 'a particularly unpleasant train trip with a missed transfer.'"

"So what were they doing to themselves, if not… sharpening their mind, or whatever?"

Geel shrugged. "Search me. I told you, I lost interest. They wouldn't have divulged their secrets to me, anyway. Perhaps you can guess, but I don't have the temperament to sit around in a cave all day. I was not, as they say, cut out for membership."

"Can you tell me where their base is?"

He shrugged. "I don't see why not."

◆

It was a long walk from Geel's camp to the courtyard where the campus party took place. Myra was tired and wanted to teleport, but she didn't want to break the silence between the three of them. They just kept walking, communicating naught but through their anxious, too-quick footsteps. Should we go faster? Slow down? Should I go in front or hang back? Maybe it was just in Myra's head, but it seemed to be the conversation they were having wordlessly.

…

Hapless, huh. The word stuck in her head, though it wasn't wrong. She just didn't like Shera thinking of her that way.

They needed to discuss what to do the rest of the evening. Was there even a point in going to watch Geel's ritual at the volcano? The more important question was whether they wanted to be there when the mysterious caller showed up to pay Geel. On balance, it seemed overwhelmingly likely the mysterious caller was the other looper, a fact which urged caution.

…

Myra wondered what Iz was thinking. It would be easy for her to gloat—she had said over and over again, the murk bogs were liars. She would perfectly be entitled to gloat should she want to. Shera, too. Shera had come through more than either of them—it was hard to imagine Geel confessing without Shera nailing him square in the forehead.

In the end, he's just a vain researcher.

Above all, he wanted recognition.

And then, Iz—

Of course, the duel was coming up—her mind was probably on the duel. Iz had been extremely agitated by just about every aspect Myra had relayed to her about the duel from last time. She had decided, this time, that she would use a redirection rod. She wouldn't be faking it—it had been neat, last time, but it hadn't been effective. No, this time she would just set up a redirection rod, Prerarian Code be damned.

How will the princess react to actually losing for once?

God, her mind was all over the place.

It was when they passed the fountain that Shera finally broke the silence.

"Crabentok," she said. A random word out of nowhere.

"What?"

"I-I remembered," she said. "The name of the village. It was Crabentok."

◆

Hearing the music and the sounds of the crowd was a welcome relief. Myra was dying to just go to the party with her friends. Sure, the duel was coming up, but she had plenty of time to mingle in the crowd and relax, and she could attend openly this time, not needing to hide in the shadows. It was a good chance to reset her brain before what was undoubtedly going to be stressful.

And they'd solved a mystery. They'd made progress! It was something to celebrate. Really, she didn't need to justify anything to herself in the first place.

"Sherrra, I'm so proud of you." She wrapped her arms around the girl and kissed her twice on the temple. "I know we wouldn't have figured this out without you."

"Th-thanks."

"I knew you'd come through. Ever since you helped me figure out the timing with the Common Library, I've known you were a smart cookie to have around." She kissed her again in the middle of her forehead.

Cynthia chose that moment to notice them. From halfway across the field, her best friend managed to catch Myra's eye, and she waved enthusiastically. "Myra!" she shouted. "Are you gonna do couch wars?"

"Maybe!" Myra shouted back as Cynthia approached.

"Awesome! Nathan and Tazhin have a new strategy that involves stacking three cushions vertically. They've been boasting about how undefeatable they'll be all week."

"Oh, uhh…" Myra still didn't want to see Nathan. She looked around the courtyard but thankfully didn't see him nearby. They were probably off preparing. "Actually! I'm not really in the mood for couch wars," she lied. "Er, unless you wanna play, Shera?"

"Ah-hh, I'm not in the mood either… I don't really know the rules…"

"Whatdya wanna do? We could do the rock climbing, or go join the waterball game… We can do whatever you want!" It was only fair to let Shera pick.

"I-I'm not in the mood right now, Myra…"

"Or you know—we might have time to drag out a trampoline. What do you think?" She glanced at Cynthia, whose eyes brightened, her look knowing. "I mean, we don't really have time for… Well, maybe we can institute the midnight rule early, yeah? Yeah?"

She looked flummoxed by this suggestion. Wait, does she not know what the midnight rule is? "Shera, the midnight rule's where we—"

"I know what the midnight rule is," Shera said. She half-ripped herself out of Myra's arms. "C-Cynthia, can you—can you g-give us a minute."

"Sure…" she said, her look now very much unknowing. Meanwhile, Shera was dragging Myra by the sleeve to a secluded area.

"Are you t-taking th-this seriously?!" she snapped. "The mysteries, the t-time loop, any of it?"

"What?" Myra flinched. "I just wanna have fun for a few minutes."

"I'm not t-talking about—about now. I mean everything else. Lying about the memory fog. I trusted you."

"That was—I wasn't going to do it long."

"You still lied!"

"I was dealing with personal shit!"

"That's not an excuse to fucking lie! And now you're… screwing around with this duel. It's irresponsible. We have other things to do!"

"I can screw around a bit. I've got all the time in the world."

"R-really? What are you even going to do next loop? What are you going to do about Iz?"

Myra narrowed her eyes. "What do you even mean, 'about Iz'?"

"She's just going to go back to disbelieving you about the time loop, isn't she? Now that she's done disbelieving y-you about the memory fog."

"What? It's not—it's not like that."

"Isn't it? I don't know why you're f-friends with her. She hardly respects you."

It was such an awful thing to say from someone she liked so much, it was like ice-cold water in her face. "What the fuck are you talking about? Don't say that about my friend."

"I d-don't want to stay for the duel." She walked off. "Find me after."

"What, you don't want to stick around to see Violet Penrilla?" Surely she'd want to stick around for the duke's daughter she found so attractive, right? Shera looked back in confusion, then continued on her way.

Myra watched numbly as she went.

What the hell? 'Screwing around'?

I'm just trying to stay sane in this god damn hell hole I'm in!

"Hey, Myra."

"Heh?" She turned around to see Zirphilia approaching her. "Heywhatsup?"

"Is Shera okay? My mind was in the game, but I thought I saw her leave looking upset." She was asking earnestly, not in an accusatory way.

"Um… She'll be fine soon." Wait, not like that. "Not like that—I mean, you don't know what I'm talking about."

Zirphilia looked increasingly concerned.

"We've just been working on this… thing… and she thinks I haven't been taking it seriously."

"Oh. Yeah, I can see that. I'll go see if she wants to play waterball."

"Ah… Yeah, okay." Should I… "I think I'm gonna go find Iz."

"You can join too!" she said cheerfully, walking off in the same direction Shera had gone.

It took a minute to find Iz; the girl had slithered off as soon as they'd arrived. She seemed off in her own head, practicing hand movements in what must have been rehearsal for the duel. Myra was hesitant to disturb her, so she went rock climbing for a bit. It had been so long since she'd been to the party, the route had slipped out of her mind, and she had to work it out again.

Aurora and Sky were nearby; she considered talking to them, but she hadn't interacted with them at all this loop. She could at least thank Aurora for help with the phone, but then again, it had been Iz who'd talked to her this loop.

Time ticked down, until it was out.

"Hey, I know you."

◆

There weren't any surprises in the lead-up. Iz didn't experiment; she just demanded the pendant, and the princess was furious about it. Violet acted like she didn't even know them—the only tell being her pointed inability to look at either of them. Her eyes flickered around furiously, like she was looking for something, looking anywhere, at literally anyone at all, other than Myra or Iz.

"Are there any objections to the terms?"

"I have no objections."

"I have no objections."

"Then let us enjoy a fair fight, and may the best mage win. 3… 2… 1… Begin."

The fight started mostly the same. Despite having all the notes from the last loop, Iz screwed up the early part of the fight in mostly the same ways as before. She was weak in the initial exchange and failed to force the princess to teleport. Thus, she brought in the lava marbles, and there was a tense back-and-forth for around a minute—basically an eternity in duel terms.

If anything, Iz was maybe a little more reckless than before. She knew that she was on a timer—the princess would already be charging her lightning.

In fact—maybe it was her imagination—she felt she could already feel it in the atmosphere, her hairs standing on end. Maybe Iz could feel it, too.

It wasn't all bad. Despite multiple very close calls that could have ended the match instantly, Iz was pushing the princess to act faster and more reckless herself.

And when she finally pulled it off, when she got the princess to teleport—

It worked perfectly. The princess vanished and reappeared just outside the border of the match, looking shocked at the fact.

… And that was it. Once you were out of bounds, that was pretty much it. You lost. Honestly, it was practically anti-climactic.

"… Oh," Violet said. "Victory goes to Isad—"

Iz was knocked backwards out of nowhere. She screamed in pain and clutched her stomach as she hit the ground.

The princess spat on the ground. "I don't know what the fuck you just pulled, but it sure as hell wasn't Preranian!"

"Hey!" Myra ran forward without thinking about it. "You can't fucking assault someone after the match!"

"Rotten little cheater—"

"The match is—"

Iz, who was struggling on the ground, reached into her inner robe pocket and pulled out something Myra had just about forgotten she was carrying, a standard-issue murk bogs hand pistol.

Sitting up slightly, she pointed it right at the princess. She never pulled the trigger—something knocked it out of her hand, along with a grotesque amount of blood. She screamed again—Myra ran towards her. She took control of her marbles to do who-knew-what. Violet Penrilla got to Isadora first and—

Violet put a sharp heel on Isadora's shoulder. It looked like she was about to either force her back to the ground or stab her. Myra tried to grab the duke's daughter by the shoulder, but her hands struck a barrier just centimeters away. A fist drove straight into her cheek, with a furious, "GET YOUR HANDS OFF HER," to go with it. It was a voice she heard through ringing ears as she hit the ground.

"I will rip your spine out through your cunt if you so much lay a fucking finger on my Violet, you filthy peasant—"

The princess tried to kick her again, and Myra summoned a wind out of having fuck-all-else to do that didn't involve lava marbles. Both of them were stopped because a very complex barrier arose, a barrier that separated the four participants in the altercation. After it seemed to hold for a couple of seconds, Myra carefully sat up from where she'd fallen to the ground. The princess was panting, her face red with fury, but with no one in reach, she seemed to be calming down.

Myra stood up, slowly. "Isadora needs medical help," she said. The barrier, which was holding the peace, was also preventing anyone from getting to Iz. "Let—let Cynthia through."

She rubbed her own cheek. It stung. She noticed Violet's face was wet. Was she crying? What the fuck was she crying about?

"Just fucking go," Myra said.

"Vi," the princess said. "Adjudicate."

"Oh, uh—uhhh." She wiped a hand across her face. She seemed caught off guard by her own emotional display as anyone else. "Uh—she cheated, I think. There's a redirection rod over, over there." She gestured towards the nearby dorm building.

"Good. Let's go, then." They teleported out, and the barrier disappeared. Left behind, the princess's handmaid looked upon the scene with a thousand-yard stare.

And then, as if it had been waiting for the princess to be out of the way, there was something else. A loud bang and a thud, and a shout, and a scream.

And Myra was sure the last was Shera's.

"MYRABELLE!"

Shera was struggling while a tall figure stood behind her, holding a hand over her mouth. The figure took a step forward, forcing Shera along, fighting to keep her under control.

"Did—"

Each word sounded painful, strained and supported by a hard breath that itself seemed to be strenuous exercise. His skin was raw all over. His head was bandaged, and it was oddly shaped, like a chunk had been taken out. Two weeks' worth of scraggy facial hair had sprouted up on his normally clean face, and there were yet more bandages around his chest.

"—you—"

There was a sling over his shoulder that he seemed to be ignoring entirely, using his arm instead to hold Shera by the neck, ready to throw away his body, so determined he was, possessed of only one objective.

"—FORGET—"

Shera's feet scraped against the ground. With one hand, she tried to physically pull the arm off, with the other, she was struggling to cast something, though her staff was nowhere to be seen. The assailant, meanwhile, continued to inch forward.

"—about ME?"

"Y-you can't do anything to me," Myra said quickly. Lava marble lava marble lava marble lava marble—

"I'm not—fighting you this time!" He found enough in him to laugh, the abuse to his body be damned. "I'm going to—negotiate—with you. You're going to—surrender."

"Ben, what the fuck are you doing?" The aghast voice was the high-pitched one belonging to Nathan.

"I'm sorry, Nathan—I need you to—not get involved."

"This—this is a joke, right?"

Several objects flew in Ben's direction. Myra didn't know who had fired them off, but Nathan was hardly the only one standing aghast. Each and every one was deflected—he didn't break a sweat.

Nathan said something else, but Ben—probably Ben—had done something to dampen the sound. It was probably Ben, because she could still hear him loud and clear.

"Myrabelle—Here's what's going to happen. You're going to—surrender."

Oh god oh god oh god what do I do?

"I'm going to inject you—with the drugs. For—for neuroalchemical reasons—I need to keep you awake through it."

Is this the end? We were going to go to the event hall and look at the stars and maybe spy on the culprit at the murk bogs—

"You're going to—to remain—alive—through the whole thing."

She quickly started scanning for her options. There were a lot of people present, but he seemed confident enough, and projectiles continued to bounce off him like plastic balls off concrete.

"You can—kill yourself, I get it."

There was a barrier around Myrabelle; she didn't know what it had gotten there. Cynthia was trying to get through it, and Iz was being attended to by someone else.

Who else is there? Aurora? She was talented. There were a lot of talented people, though, and most of them right now seemed to be proving out the bystander effect. And Violet (wait when the fuck did she return?) was looking on with her mouth half-open, eyes still visibly puffy. Myra reached out, again, to her lava marbles for comfort. They were still there, always there, always the exit option.

"I still don't know—what you did last time."

Someone had sent up a distress signal, Myra thought. There had been a bright light in her peripheral vision. They were probably waiting for the authorities… but it was fair to say Ben had a plan for them.

She started to bring in the lava marble.

"But you—have to understand—"

Or—was it fair, though? He didn't entirely seem in his right mind.

"If you don't do what I say—"

No. No, I can't take a chance on that. I can't—I can't risk it. I need to—

"There's a good—four hours—left."

In the next moment, he had a tool in his hand, which looked like a potato-peeler or similar utensil, which he held against Shera's neck. She panicked, fruitlessly trying to elbow him with no leverage.

"Four hours, with nothing you can do when—you're dead. Unless you—"

◆

Loop 16

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.