Germaine takes my place with Aunt Julia as I head inside to get ready for the brunch. As I finish combing my hair and adjusting my tie in the mirror, the glass door slides open.

“We’ll be late if we don’t head down now,” Germaine announces. “Let’s go.”

We walk over to the Glass Palace, a venue only a few blocks from Hotel Denochs. Aunt Julia knows the way, so Germaine and I follow behind, taking in the scenery. Whenever I’ve been in Menocht before, it was always autumn. Now, in spring, I’m seeing a new side of the city. The Flower District is visible from the hotel, a relatively circular, flat hollow cradled by tall buildings. Its upper level has transformed into a garden just coming into bloom, foliage intermixing with stalls and shopfronts.

As I gaze on the vibrant surface, my thoughts stray to the dingy level hidden beneath the main thoroughfare. I shudder involuntarily, though Germaine doesn’t seem to notice. A part of me wants to go over, just to make sure there’s nothing sinister brewing below.

There’s nothing there, I tell myself. There’s no ginger in this Menocht. I would’ve noticed if there were infected people by now: detecting the infection’s gray-taint to vitality is a well-honed reflex.

We arrive at the restaurant's glassy facade, finding its front doors open to the cool breeze gusting off the Bay. While we queue to enter, Aunt Julia introduces us to yet more unfamiliar members of the family, though she seems distracted. I notice her eyes scanning over the people beyond the doors, probably looking for anything out of the ordinary.

Nothing unexpected happens during the brunch. We arrive, eat our fill, and leave. There were a few points when I thought Aunt Julia was going to out me as a practitioner; but each time, I noticed her giving me an appraising look before pivoting the conversation.

After double-checking the exterior of the building for any shady figures, I lead the three of us out of the heart of the city and into a residential neighborhood. We enter a small tea house, order a hot pot of tea, and begin to theorize about what group might have enmity with our family.

Aunt Julia outlines a number of possible organizations and individuals with the means and motive. I can tell from the length of her list that she is grasping at straws, speculating. No group seems particularly more likely than any others.

“I should talk to Marcus,” she mutters pensively. “I want you at the rehearsal dinner and Zebede’s party.”

“Too much trouble.” It’s not worth it for Aunt Julia to owe Adricaius a favor. “I can just lurk around. I have a lot of experience lurking,” I say, chuckling.

“This isn’t a joke,” Aunt Julia states firmly. “I want you with me.”

“I’m not joking: I think I can do more good without than within. It’s much easier for me to focus on foiling a plot when I don’t have to worry about socializing with the family. Besides, how would you justify yourself to Adricaius without telling him about my awakening?”

“I could just tell him,” Aunt Julia mutters.

Germaine nods. “You could probably tell the whole clan without risking a restart. It doesn’t seem like telling either of us has been a problem.”

I give her a pointed look. “You can’t know that for sure.”

“Aren’t you curious, Julian?”

I freeze. “About what, exactly?”

Aunt Julia sips her tea. “About how the family will react. You’re going to emerge from the loop eventually; the clan will find out about you.”

“They’ll find out when they find out.” I murmur. I’d rather not think about it: The Dunai-Adricaius-Fiorencia conglomerate won’t hesitate to take advantage of whatever influence I gain post-loop.

“It would be good practice,” Germaine says.

Aunt Julia meets my gaze for a solid second before sighing. “Fine. You can stay outside, if you think it’ll really be easier.”

“Much easier. If you really want, you can tell the family later, once we’re more sure of the purpose of this loop layer.”

“What about me?” Germaine asks, fiddling with a teaspoon. “Anything I can do to help?”

If this were outside of the loop, I’d sooner lock her in the hotel room than let her help investigate a shadowy group of practitioners. Germaine isn’t a practitioner, nor is she a trained officer of the law. If anything happened, it would be my fault for tangling her in a dangerous mess.

But now, when she’s giving me such an eager gaze?

“Why don’t you stake out from further away. I can get you a telescope, and we can use quantum channeling to communicate if you see anything I miss.”

Aunt Julia looks like she wants to say something, but holds back, biting her lip.

—

Germaine Artemis Dunai

Germaine peered down at Ian from a distant overlook. The telescope he found was crafted by a talented Light practitioner, and through its lens his distant figure was visible, even in the dimming light. She reckoned it was quite expensive, the clarity of image much better than what she’d find on a typical lens.

She chuckled as she adjusted the eyepiece.

Given how quickly he acquired the scope, he probably stole it.

It was funny thinking of meek Ian stealing anything from anyone. Her brows furrowed at yet another reminder of how Ian had changed. She was still wrapping her head around the idea of Ian as a powerful decemancer. Recalling his story on the train about everything that had happened in the loop, she felt that he’d left a lot out...things he didn’t know how to put into words.

Germaine and Ian had been staking out the Bridoc Yacht Club since two hours before the rehearsal dinner. Aunt Julia had provided them with an attendance list, and over the course of the night she’d been keeping careful tally of who had, and hadn’t, shown up...and whether anyone uninvited had made an appearance. So far, so good: nothing suspicious had popped up. Though she had a quantum channel open between herself and Ian, the channel had been quiet aside from the occasional remark.

Laying hidden for the past few hours was testing Germaine’s patience. She’d been staring into the lens of the scope without moving for so long that her legs kept going numb, forcing her to subtly shift position. She figured that Ian likely had it worse, his body pressed under the balcony of the deck. He claimed that it was no trouble staying there half-buried in mulch and leaf clippings, but at the very least, Germaine figured that he must also be bored.

Is it wrong for me to wish someone would come to stir up trouble just to ease my boredom? She sighed and scratched her nose, then swatted at a mosquito buzzing by her ear.

Suddenly, she saw a dark streak pass by the yacht club’s side. It came from her direction, likely darting out from one of the bluffs bordering the coast. It would probably look invisible against the building’s dusk-lit grounds, but in the telescope’s monocle, it was impossible to miss.

“Ian,” Germaine whispered over the quantum channel. “Something’s come. Do you sense it?”

“I was just about to say something. Let’s observe for now.”

“Do you know where it is?” she asked, scanning the area. “I can’t see it anymore. Maybe it went inside.”

“Don’t worry; I’ve found it.”

“Where?”

“On the other side of the club from you.”

She didn’t bother asking how he knew the interloper’s location: He’d already made it quite clear that any deviations in Life or Death energy were easy for him to detect.

“Keep an eye out for anything,” Ian said, cutting out of the channel a moment later.

They waited silently for another hour. From Ian’s silence, it seemed like the mysterious shadow had stayed on the other side of the yacht club without doing anything. Since her brother hadn’t made any obvious moves, Germaine could only guess that the shadow was passively waiting, though for what, she had no idea.

After the arrival of the suspicious figure, Germaine felt her wavering attention shift back into gear. Something could happen any minute, and her entire body was on edge, poised to react.

Finally, she saw movement.

“I see something!” she exclaimed, re-opening the channel.

“Really?”

“It’s coming from behind the house, over the water. It’s a dark cloud...”

“I’m going to intercept it before it gets too close.” With that, he cut out, the channel closing before she could say anything else. She saw his dark-clothed figure dart out from under the yacht club, his movements akin to a marionette guided by powerful, invisible strings.

In the span of a few seconds, Ian was in the air, his form-fitting clothing rippling ever so slightly; covered by a plain black face mask, he looked more like a faceless puppet than a man. As he flew toward the dockside, Germaine saw a shadowy human figure flying behind him, its loose robes fluttering madly in the breeze. Ian moved his hand, and the figure sped up before eventually arriving next to him, as though yanked forward by a sturdy rope.

Off in the distance, the dark, formless smog loomed. After a minute of flying, Ian arrived at its general location. Germaine wondered what the dark smog looked like to her brother; without the scope, trying to see it from a distance was an exercise in futility. But even if it were close, she figured its dark translucence would be difficult to see clearly.

Germaine could just barely see Ian make a sharp gesture; soon after, the smog compressed down into a ball before expanding out again, stretching like putty before seeming to shatter like glass. When the shards scattered, they fizzled into nothingness.

Ian finally turned toward the shadowy figure frozen beside him. He shook his head once, then paused for a moment, as though deep in thought.

“Germaine,” he said, opening up the channel. “What do we do with this thing?”

“Isn’t it a person?”

“No. It’s a...vessel. It was being controlled by someone, though now it’s harmless.”

“What was that black smog you just destroyed?”

“Oh, that? It was a soul swarm.”

“What’s that?”

“Nothing too complicated. Normally, people condense Death energy into soul gems, but as we saw with the blood array, raw energy can be used for other purposes. In this case, to empower and control swarms of insects.”

“Like mosquitos? You know, there have been a lot of those out tonight.”

“There are always mosquitos,” he said dismissively. “It’s probably nothing.”

Germaine looked behind, suddenly paranoid. “How would I know if it’s a normal mosquito or an evil mosquito?”

“Well...what would be the point of sending a mind-controlled mosquito to bite you?” he asked, laughing softly.

“I–”

Suddenly, she felt several points on her body begin to burn, as though pricked by flaming needles.

—

Germaine’s voice is suddenly filled with panic, her breathing coming through in rough bursts over the channel.

I feel my stomach sink. What happened?

Taking one last look in the direction from which the soul swarm came, I fly back over towards her hiding place, keeping well above the yacht club. The shadowy vessel next to me bounces along behind like a limp corpse, though it’s dark enough against the twilit sky that it should be practically invisible.

By the time I get close to Germaine, I can see numerous dark pinpoints on her skin where Death energy is funneling into her body. I grimace and yank the energy sources free, the sensation akin to uprooting weeds.

I touch down lightly on the ground, then walk over and support her kneeling, shivering form. I see rivulets of blood flowing from each of the decemantic mosquito bites.

“At least I’m wearing black,” she whispers, her voice hoarse.

“What?”

She turns her head to look at me. “It won’t stain my clothes,” she explains, gesturing to the blood. She pushes herself out of my arms and stands up, her legs shaky. “I’m fine, Ian. Thanks for the save.”

—

Germaine Artemis Dunai

Germaine couldn’t see Ian’s face behind his mask, not even his eyes: everything was covered. She hadn’t realized how unsettling it looked in the dark. She wondered how he could see her from behind the cloth, though perhaps the ability to sense vitality eliminated the need to use his eyes.

He tugged the mask down so that it hung like a bandana below his eyes, covering his nose and mouth. He gazed at her intensely, his brow furrowing.

“You have hat hair,” Germaine observed lightly.

I don't want him to worry about me.

“You should be feeling weak,” Ian said, his tone admonishing. “You lost a good deal of vitality just now.”

“I feel fine,” Germaine said, crossing her arms.

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying!” she protested.

He rolled his eyes. “Anyways, I think the rehearsal dinner is wrapping up. People inside are all gathering by the threshold to depart.”

Germaine angled herself toward the yacht club, its wood-and-brick form a solid half-mile away. Could he sense the people in the house from this far, or had he just sensed them on the way over?

“Don’t worry about me. Go and make sure no mosquitos attack them on the way out.”

“It’s barely been a minute, and you’re already cracking jokes,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Stay here; I’ll be back soon.”

He pushed off the ground lightly, though moved as though tossed by a powerful giant, disappearing into the gloom. Germaine turned back, then jumped in place with a start.

“Ian...” she murmured, trailing off. The captured vessel was standing at attention next to the telescope. Shadows swirled across its surface like oily flames, giving her the impression that it was constantly changing shape. As she inched closer to the telescope, the shadows writhed with greater intensity, seeming to grasp in her direction.

How was she supposed to use the telescope now?

“You forgot something...”