Odaix stares at the letter in her hands. Orders, really. Orders in fancy lettering with a fancy signature at the bottom to make it official. A congratulations! You survived training, here’s your mentor for the next two years! She doesn’t want a mentor, or, at least, not this mentor. All it is, is a name. Mihr. No last name. No middle name. Not even a rank.

Not that he’d need a rank. Mihr was a synonym to Death. Some wild child that got drafted into the CME and then trampled over everyone on his rise to the top. Why they’d pair her with him made no sense. Odaix was middle level at best. She passed her tests, knew the procedures, knew the hows and whens; but she was nowhere near Mihr’s level.

Maybe he was the only one with black magic available? Or…

She doesn’t know. She couldn’t even guess. It made no sense. The words on the letter jumble together and mix around and spoke pure gibberish. The words said that she was to head to the Heisenworth Hospital. The hospital was another curious location, it wasn’t even one of the CME’s hospitals. Just some big human hospital up in the north.

One of the best, according to the newspapers. The best medical practitioners and human only in both clients and doctors. They didn’t even hire leeches since they pride themselves on how little magic actually rested inside of the hospital. Weird that they’d let a nephlim in now.

Inside of the hospital is nice and clean. The floors and walls were caked in this off white color with light blue chairs strewn about in a corner of the room. At the end of the hall is this grand desk, wooden and polished. It’s all smooth and professional looking, like something a rich man would have.

There’s a receptionist sitting at the desk, stacks of papers piled high around her. She’s pretty, in a severe, sharp manner. Her brown hair in a tight bun and makeup in a strict line and made up of natural colors. Not like Odaix, with freckles and hair dyed an off putting orange color and heterochromia.

“Uh, excuse me.” She quickly makes her way to the desk, boots clicking onto the tiled floor with every step. Odaix cringes at the echo that follows her, a sharp ticking noise that just gets worse the more it echoes.

The receptionist looks up, pale eyes blinking before, “Hello. What are you here for? Do you have an appointment?” Even her voice is sharp, professional. Maybe it was something she gained with age, but Odaix could never even dream of mimicking the woman. Instead she squeaks out,

“No! Uh, well, yes? Maybe? I’m here to meet a…” Odaix grabs the briefcase slung over her shoulder, rushing to unzip and file through just to find the bloody letter that she had in her hand a minute ago. She knew she shouldn’t have put it away. “I had it just a minute ago, just, just-“

“Are you the girl from the CME?” The receptionist is a life saver. Odaix jerks forward, giving a strong nod and quickly spouting off,

“Yes! Yes, I’m with the CME. I’m here for… Mihr?” Odaix offers her best smile. The receptionist just stares at her with a blank look. The receptionist drops her gaze, neatly picking up a folder before handing it over to Odaix.

“You’ll need to sign on the dotted line agreeing that he is released from our custody and any further treatment will need to be transferred to another hospital. And…” She flipped open the folder, nudging two sheets of paper towards Odaix and taps the one on the left. “this is saying that the CME will send a leech at no extra charge if we find ourselves with a breakout of the nephlim plague after your visit.”

“Er, yes. Of course.” Odaix scrambles through the briefcase, trying to see if a pen was anywhere amongst the mess. When she came up empty handed she gave an abashed grin over towards the receptionists. “Do you…you have a spare pen I could borrow?”

The receptionist is already holding a pen with a huge feather tied to it with rope. “Thanks. I’m usually not like this. Promise. Uhm…” Odaix skims over the paper, the pen spreading black pools around the thin line with sign here underneath it in cursive. “I don’t know if I’m the one that should be signing this? I’m not exactly... I’m kind of new to the CME.”

“It’s procedure. We just need a signature acknowledging someone was here from the CME.” The receptionist taps the paper again and Odaix dutifully signs it, mumbling a “If you’re sure…” as she scribbled her name across the paper.

The receptionist gives a stilted smile before sliding the folder close, adding it to one of the many stacks around her and gesturing to a clipboard. “If you could, sign your name on the clipboard stating date, time, reason, who you are visiting and what room they are in. The room will be 483, fourth floor and you will be taking a right. Patient is under the name Mahsi Kannon.”

Odaix nods, writing down the words in the designated spot. She paused once she got to the name, “Mossy Cannon? I don’t- I’m here for a Mihr, not… Why would he be under that name?” What if this wasn’t the right person and she just signed the papers for some stranger? Or-

“We use the name on the birth certificate, not whatever pseudonym they come up with later in life. M-A-H-S-I,” The receptionist pauses waiting for Odaix’s hand to still before she continues, “K-A-N-N-O-N. Do you remember where the room was?”

“Er…” Odaix slides the pen closer to the receptionist before cringing, “I think the… third floor? To the right? Three eighty something?”

“483. Fourth floor, to the right. The stairs are to your left. Have a nice day.” The receptionist snatches back the pen, dropping it into a glass jar before looking back down at one of the folders opened before her. An obvious dismissal if Odaix ever saw one.

“Same to you.” Odaix is fairly certain the receptionist wasn’t even listening anymore. She scoops up her briefcase and heads up the stairs; mumbling 483, 483, to the right, 483 under her breath.

The fourth floor was a single hallway. Right next to the door to the stairs is this bright blue sign saying that rooms 450 to 499 was to the right and everything below 450 was to the left. Rather simple and easy to follow even if Odaix hadn’t been repeating to the right in her head like a broken record.

The room’s door is open, a small boy standing next to the empty bed. The boy is in a dressing gown, tubes connecting him to a group of bags dangling by a silver cane. She knocks softly on the wooden part of the door, clearing her throat before saying, “Um, excuse me. Are you… Mihr?”

The boy turns around, wide eyes set deep into his pale, hollow face. He stares at her for a second before tugging at the thin tubes around his nose. He’s a skinny thing, if he was Mihr, skinny and so, so small. Odaix honestly couldn’t see an officer in that small frame. If anything, he seemed like some doll with his pale skin, pink eyes, and styled brown hair.

Odaix just stands there, shifting on her feet as she waits. She refused to take a step into the room before confirmation that this was the right room. There was always a chance she was horribly wrong or misremembered the room number or that the receptionist just set her up for failure. All sorts of reasons for this to be some stranger and not Mihr.

The boy looks up, a frown on his thin lips before he speaks in the softest voice, “Yes, I am Mihr. Are you going to keep lurking outside the door like a creeper?”

Odaix blinks, startled at the soft voice before sputtering out, “Uh- yeah. Sure. I’m sorry? Did it come across creepy? I wasn’t sure if- Uhm.” She licks her lips, taking a step towards the boy before holding out her hand and saying, “I’m Odaix. Black magic, type possessor.”

Mihr’s eyes flicker to her hand before he raises one tiny, frail hand to grasp hers. His hand is cold, as if he was stuck in a freezer all day. “Mihr. White magic, type healer.”

Odaix takes a pause, squinting her eyes because- “And you’re in the… officer side of things? Shouldn’t you be a doctor?” That is one question, and then there is always the other one swirling in her head, such as why was she working with a white magic nephlim? Of all things, why would the CME pair opposing magics?

Mihr spares her a smile before saying, “Doctors kill people all the time too.” He drops her hand, going back to detangling himself from the machines in the room.

Odaix opens her mouth, words floating at the tip of her tongue before she swallows them down. Doctors don’t do it on purpose though. What a way to say the obvious. It’s not even the most pressing thought in her mind. She can still feel the phantom nausea and pain creeping up the back of her head. White magic was never a good thing, not for her.

“Why am I… why were we partnered together?” Mihr looks over at her as he plucks out the IV attached to his arm. He’s so… delicate looking. Arms like twigs and his fingers are long and skinny. He offers a shrug to her question before saying,

“Above my pay grade. Did they give you that briefcase?” He motions towards the case still clutched in Odaix’s hand. She’s quick to nod, pushing it towards his empty hand when he wiggles his fingers. “Have you looked through it at all?”

“Kind of? I mean, not exactly? I’m not- they didn’t really tell me anything other than it was yours and I didn’t want to disrespect your privacy but… I looked for a pen? And I don’t really have any pockets so I put my orders in there too, I think? Is that-“

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not actually mine.” Mihr doesn’t even bother to look up at Odaix, interrupting her babbling with his monotone voice. He opens up the briefcase on the bed, flipping through each piece of paper. He pauses at one, his lips in a tight frown before he holds it out for Odaix. “I believe this is yours.”

It is, it’s the letter she was holding before she entered the hospital. The one saying Mihr was her mentor. Or, well she guesses the name would be Mahsi Kannon and not Mihr. The paper still says Mihr though, so maybe the hospital was a bit wrong on who they were treating. Maybe Mahsi was a cover name, something registered as a human so that the no nephlim rules wouldn’t apply.

But then, why would they need the paperwork for the leech cost? Or was it because Odaix was there? Then again, they were expecting the CME so they had to have known. But-

“We have a job.” Mihr’s voice is loud in the silent room. Odaix jumps, gaze leaving the paper to stare at the small frame. He’s sliding on a large fur coat that was sitting on the bed earlier, slender fingers doing up the buttons as he spoke.

“What-“

“Close by too.” Mihr picks up one of the folders in the case, carelessly flipping through the paper. “Local police found him. They managed to knock him out, so he’s just sitting somewhere for us. What kind of training did you get?”

“Officer. The same one you went through.” Odaix walks into the room, trying to take a peek at the papers in Mihr’s hands. Mihr gives a hum, pausing on one paper before saying,

“That designation letter of yours said I was to be your mentor didn’t it?” It’s a rhetorical question, Mihr only pauses enough for Odaix to think of a response before chopping it all to pieces. “If I told you to deal with him,” He taps the paper once. “would you be able to do it?”

Odaix stares at the upside down words for a second before she brings her gaze up to stare at Mihr. He doesn’t even look at her, eyes flickering from side to side as he read the page. “Our job is to restrain and eliminate nephlim threats. We would… take him to prison. The nephlim prison.”

“I don’t know what kind of prison they taught you about, but there’s no prison that lets nephlim inmates in.” Mihr still doesn’t even look up. It’s like he’s talking to air the entire time, making comments aloud to himself.

“There is one! It’s experimental but-“

“Our suspect is a rapist. They only send the minor, harmless nephlims there. This guy,” Another tap on the piece of paper. “is a black magic who manipulates the earth. Not very harmless is he?”

“That-“ Odaix freezes, the words turning sour in her mouth before she swallows them back down. During the training period they never really focused on what you do once the nephlim is caught and restrained. They focused on the how to catch one, how not to get harmed yourself, procedures to go through. Once you got the nephlim they simply said, eliminate or prison and then they’d drop it.

Odaix always figured it meant prison would be the option. It was all over the newspapers, the newest prison that’s specialized for nephlim criminals. Elimination was supposed to be a last resort, when no other option was available. Not whatever Mihr was suggesting.

“Wouldn’t that be what the CME decides? We’d be picking him up and bringing him in. We have to charge him and-“

Mihr drops the paper he was reading into her hands. He taps on the words at the bottom and reads, “Guilty. Sentenced to die.” The letters are large and formal. Overly strict and jet back with red boxes around them. Odaix pinches her lips together, sucking in the words that swirled around her mouth.

Mihr waits a second or two before he turns around and shuts the briefcase splayed out on the bed.

“Let’s go.” And he’s out, leaving Odaix to scramble behind him.

“What do you mean let’s go? Isn’t there-“

He cuts her off again with a snapped, “I mean just that. I am leaving.” He has the briefcase clutched in one hand as he determinedly marches towards the stairs. Even with his head start Odaix was quickly able to keep pace with the boy. His small legs could only carry him so far, and even though Odaix herself was rather short he was downright puny.

“Do we need to check out? Or, are we going to the police? Do the police even have this…” She squints at the paper she’s holding trying to catch the culprit’s name, “Jaquin Atiqe? This was from days ago! If he’s so dangerous wouldn’t the police have lost him by now?”

Mihr gives a noncommittal hum before, “You ask too many questions.”

Odaix drowns in her words, biting her cheek to keep them all inside. The only thing she releases is a huff of annoyance, lagging behind the shorter boy. Mihr doesn’t even say anything, just pushes the door to the stairs open and walks down the pristine steps.

She focuses back on the report, skimming through the words and pausing at every other step to reorient herself with where her feet were being placed. It’s-

The entire paper really, it’s dreadful. It lists a name, victims, and possible dangers. Listing the strength of magic, how long the power seems to last. It’s all so clinical and technical. As if it wasn’t a person the report was tearing apart.

Jaquin’s crimes were listed in the lower half of the document, names dropped like cookie crumbs before it would skip on to something else. At the bottom of that is another name of the inspector and the witnesses.

It’s… awful. Everything about it read more like a horror story than an actual report. Names were dropped for the victims, but everything focused more on how the man used his magic. How he corrupted the world and bent it to his will.

They’re outside by the time Odaix finishes reading, the cold chill of winter merging with the creeping feeling rippling up Odaix’s spine. Mihr seems unfazed, not even pausing and Odaix can’t just sit in silence and think about the words she just read. It’s nightmare inducing and dark and she just can’t.

“Why would-“ She starts, the words bubbling out of her before she can reach out and pull them back into her stomach where they were fluttering about earlier. “His magic- What did they do.”

Mihr doesn’t even halter in his steps, small frame hunkering down against the wind as each step forced its way forward.

“What did they do? To catch him? What did-“ The report said blood loss made the suspects magic act out. That the earth crumbled underneath the man and crushed him and his victim. It doesn’t say what went off to begin with. Doesn’t say anything about the humans.

The victim died, fourth victim he had and the first victim to die. Her life was lost when the earth crumbled around the man. The report said it was something like a shield being enacted, but it went haywire. The location was never named, the wounds never named. Just the magic and the result.

Mihr said he was knocked out, not that the man was in a coma.

“He’s in a coma. Why can’t we-“

“It’s a waste of resources.” Mihr cuts her off in one heartless statement. Odaix chokes on her words. Forcing them down and staring at the paper sentencing the man to die. A horrible man, but a living, breathing human whose in a coma after unknown circumstances and he’s to die. To die, not to be put in a prison to spend the rest of his days, but to die.

It’d be better if he was conscious and not some crippled body. He was harmless now, paralyzed from the waist down with brain damage according to the report. In a coma for an undetermined amount of time, but he had brain activity. He was…

She didn’t know what he was. What made him human, she didn’t know those details. It wasn’t in the report. In the cold, clinical file depicting a sericla rapist and nothing else. He could have a family, a child. He was the son of a mother, a father. An awful, despicable human, but he was someone. He didn’t deserve to be shot like some rabid dog.

The fourth victim didn’t deserve to die either. It wasn’t even a rape according to the report. More of an assault, a robbery. She had a broken foot, but was fine. Would have been fine, but something- something happened and the earth around them broke and sucked them in. They called it quick sand in the report. Quick sand, but with solid rock.

“What about- Isn’t that police brutality? Isn’t that-“ Odaix rushes forward, grabbing at Mihr to get some kind of answer. It’s instantaneous how he jerks away and avoids her touch. He’s spinning on his heel and glaring at her.

“Don’t touch me.” The words are this cold hiss that strangles Odaix’s heart. Her hand hangs in the air, empty, before she snatches it back as if it dared to betray her.

“I’m sorry. But, why would we be killing him? There’s no reason to. He could…”

“He could what? Sit in a human facility for all of his time radiating the plague? Killing everybody else? Is his life worth more than the others? Maybe,” Mihr takes a pause, pale pink eyes staring up at Odaix before he lands the final blow, “if he wasn’t such a despicable human being he wouldn’t be dying in the next hour.”

A pause, a breath and Mihr gives Odaix one last glare before turning and walking away. She stands there, the slicked muddiness of dirty snow under her feet and the air so much colder than it was minutes ago. The document, the godling awful report is crumbled up in her shaking hand and she just stands there. She doesn’t even dare to breathe.

How could someone even-

That was someone, living and breathing and alive. Mihr just admitted to homicide without even flinching. He didn’t even hesitate before throwing down the threat, the promise.

Odaix stands there, and if she just stayed there in the cold watching Mihr’s figure get smaller and smaller she probably would have lost him. She probably would be left all alone in Heisenworth; left to fend for herself. Would that count as running away? Abandoning her station of duty?

If she just watches and lets Mihr vanish, would that be disobeying the CME? It hasn’t even been a day. Well, it has. She left the training command a week ago, but this was the first day of her actually being active. It was a day and she’s already frozen in spot, watching her supposed mentor walk away to go commit cold blooded murder.

That’s what it was; the suspect, the victim was in a coma. Defenseless and unarmed, unable to run away or attack and Mihr was just going to stroll up and kill him. Or expect Odaix to do that. As if she could ever do such an atrocity.

That’s what the paper demanded though, what the CME ordered. It’s in bold letters at the bottom of the report with eye catching red entrapping the words. That’s what she was supposed to do. She was supposed to follow Mihr to the police, go to this defenseless man and just…

End his life.

Put a bullet in his head or a knife to his throat.

Sickness crawls under her skin, her stomach rejecting the very thought and her words suddenly disperse as if they never existed to begin with.

Mihr shrinks as he walks even further away. A mere speck in the snowy chaos of the city. Odaix chokes on her bitter tasting misgivings and takes one step forward. The paper stays crumbled in her hand, the atrocities written burning into her skin like a brand.

The second step is easier; heavier, but easier. Her feet drag less with every step, the heaviness stays, the dread growing but moving forward becomes easier. All she needs is to keep taking steps, following the footsteps of the much smaller man.

The police department is a few miles away. Her feet sting by the time Mihr turns into one of the buildings; the doors swing behind him and the boy vanishes. Odaix sprints, boot barely touching the muddy snow on the sidewalk as she rushes forward. She couldn’t-

Mihr could easily just get swept up and all she had was a piece of paper on Jaquin to find the senior officer again. Nothing concrete. No name. She didn’t even know what name Mihr was going to be giving the police department. He could Mahsi again, or someone else. He could-

He could-

He was staring at her actually. Pale eyes watching as she storms through the door. He has the briefcase open on the front desk, letting one of the policeman look through some of the folders. Mihr stares for a second before turning his head back towards the officer browsing through the documents.

Odaix’s lungs burn, feet sliding against the slick tile of the office as she scrambles her way towards the desk Mihr was crowding. They aren’t even talking, Odaix’s heaving breaths fill the silence as they skim through the papers. Mihr just stands there, patiently watching and not even nudging the officer to hurry.

When her lungs stop burning Odaix nudges closer to the table, trying to take a peek at the papers. The officer looked up, a scowl on his face as he snapped out, “What are you doing?”

Odaix recoils immediately, eyes wide and a hand in the air as she quickly spouted off the words beginning to bubble in her stomach again, “Sorry! I’m with- This is my case too and-“ She gestures frantically to Mihr who apparently takes some pity on her. The paper crumples further in her tight grasp.

“She’s with me for the Jaquin case.”

The officer still frowns, snapping the folder closed that he was holding, “That wasn’t the Jaquin case.”

“It’s another case. The thief hit a town close by so I was going to get the information needed to fill in the blanks.” Mihr even offers this small little smile, his voice perfectly polite. Chills crept up Odaix’s back and she forces herself to nod when the officer’s eyes skate over to her.

Another case? She hadn’t heard of any such thing. She didn’t even know where Jaquin’s case came from. The briefcase, obviously, but she didn’t know when Mihr was assigned it or who ordered it. It made her itch to browse through the briefcase he held by his skinny fingers.

The officer’s gaze is back on Mihr as he addresses the smaller boy, “We don’t have much on the actual incident. The owner didn’t want to file a report. He was scared of what it might mean for the thief.”

“All information would be greatly appreciated. If you could, lead us to Jaquin’s room and I will pick up all of the paperwork when we leave.” Mihr reaches for the folder that after a moment’s hesitation, the officer released the folder for Mihr’s fragile fingers to grab.

“He’s in a secure room so we will need to confiscate all your personal belonging during the duration of the visit. You are here as a healer to be able to question him in the future correct?” The man doesn’t even wait for Mihr’s response before he’s digging in one of the drawers for a form of some kind. He shoots a wary glance over at Odaix and adds, “Security says we can only let one person in the room at a time.”

“She’s with me to supply her magic whilst I heal the patient’s brain.” Mihr offers another smile, response curt and to the point. The officer looks like he’s going to argue before swallowing down the words and instead sliding the form in front of Mihr and pointing at certain parts.

“Sign here and here. This is to claim that the Heisenworth Police will not be held responsible if anything goes wrong with the healing process and that the CME claim full responsibility. This is saying that we are not held responsible if the patient acts out in aggression once he’s healed and that the Heisenworth Police are actually against this entire procedure.”

Mihr gifts a sardonic chuckle, signing the spots indicated before looking back up at the officer, “The CME will take all responsibility for Jaquin. Is there anything else?”

The officer takes the form, skimming over everything before sliding it over to the side of the desk. He grabs a bin and orders, “All personal belongings here and if you give me a minute I will escort you to the room.”

Odaix doesn’t actually have anything to drop in the bin, offering a timid smile as she waves the bin away. Mihr only puts the briefcase in the bin. The officer squints at them before taking the bin and putting it next to the form. He holds up a finger before ducking around a corner in the office.

Odaix bites her lip, staring at Mihr with words bubbling and bubbling inside her stomach. Questions swirling in her mind about the other case, about why he said he was a healer after all but admitting that Jaquin was a dead man walking. Or sleeping seeing as he was in a coma. Why he said she was supplier of magic. How would that even work? She only knew of leeches being able to use other’s magics, not healers.

Mihr only spares her a glance, this cold withering one that lasts all of a second before he’s back to this softly smiling persona he showed off to the officer. Nothing threatening, he’s all soft and pretty with his pale colors and small frame. He’s delicate is what he is, wrapped up in a large fur coat with baggy pants.

The officer doesn’t take that long, holding jangling keys as he walks around the desk. “Follow me.”

Mihr doesn’t even hesitate, falling into step behind the officer as Odaix takes a halting step forward. She gives a brief glance at the briefcase before following the other two. The officer is already talking, his voice loud and echoing in the halls.

“Why would the CME try to resuscitate a criminal? I thought you guys were more heartless than that. That’s what the rumors are anyways.”

“Bad reputation from an age when healers weren’t as good as they are now. Not enough knowledge to fix things, so whenever we tried things would go sour.” Mihr still sounds polite, even chipper.

“So what, you’re some amazing healer? That can heal a broken mind?” The officer scoffs, “Must be nice to think that.”

“Something like that.” Mihr says it like it is a secret. As if he knows something no one else in the room does. Odaix has an itch she knows what the secret is. This uncomfortable knowing itch. Her stomach drops, sourness and bile rising as she takes every step closer to their destination.

She remembers doctors kill people too.

It’s not a good thing to remember as she heads to Jaquin’s room. She has a thought, for a split second that she was wrong when they asked for a healer. Mihr didn’t even have a weapon on him, he was relatively harmless really. There was-

It was a thought that just kept crawling up her spine. Something cold and awful, its fingers tickling across her skin.

“Here we go.” The officer stuffs a key into a lock, turning and then the door slides open. “It’s the one at the end of the hall. We had to seclude him since he’s a nephlim. Couldn’t risk anyone dying on us for him.”

Mihr gives a hum, “Makes sense. It won’t be long.”

The officer quirked a brow before saying, “Take however long you need. Wouldn’t want to make a rush out of a delicate job.”

“There’s nothing to worry about.” Mihr flashes another smile, stepping into the hallway and heading to the room designated as Jaquin. Odaix pauses at the mouth of the hallway; the officer gives her a frown and-

It’d be so easy to just say something. To do something. It’s- Something bad was going to happen. The atrocity written on the report was going to happen right in front of her and she could say something. Tell the officer that this was a mistake. That everything was a lie and that Jaquin was not going to be healed.

She could show the officer the crumpled piece of paper in her hand with the red letters dictating death.

She could be wrong.

Mihr could be a healer with some dark sense of humor. She could have misunderstood what the orders said.

She could be wrong.

Odaix takes a step forward, away from the officer and follows Mihr, not a word escaping her. Her throat is constricted, not even allowing air to be pulled in and she she just walks in after Mihr.

The officer shuts the door behind her and just like that, her fate is sealed with the click of a door.

Air eludes her every step.

Her stomach burns as if acid is being dribbled into it.

She could be wrong.

The chill that consumes her spine says she isn’t.

The walk lasts hours. It lasts seconds. It lasts… an eternity. Odaix doesn’t even see Mihr open the door to Jaquin’s room. The hallway is short, but her heart keeps beating in her ears and Mihr keeps walking and walking. It was like the door never came closer until it was too late. Until they were both already in the cell Jaquin was shoved in.

The hospital was white and clean. Jaquin’s cell is gray and moldy. Tiny with tiles misplaced everywhere. It seems darker almost, from everywhere else in the building. Darker and colder, and Odaix could almost feel a breeze that couldn’t possibly exist.

The acid drips down, burning more and more with every step Mihr takes to the center of the room. To the cold cot with white sheets and a small screen next to it displaying a little green line.

There’s a startling beep, loud and echoing and all the breath leaves Odaix the second she hears it.

Mihr stops at the head of the bed, cocking his head to the side.

“What- what are we here for?” Odaix finds the words under the acid. Little holes ripped into each one but still intact and a whole.

“You read the report. Jaquin here is found guilty of rape and assault on four persons using the plague to his advantage.” Mihr isn’t even smiling, his voice no longer sugary sweet and instead cold like ice.

Odaix chokes, a glance back to the door- to her chance. She could be wrong.

Mihr reaches out.

The machine beeps, the green line darting up, then back down. Then up, down.

Mihr’s hand touches the man’s forehead. He brushes hair away from the pale forehead before dropping his hand. “Brains are… difficult. Not many people can work with them. It’s like…” There’s a humming noise before Mihr tacks on, “if someone were to get cut in half. They would die. No matter what kind of healer they have. If someone got shot in the head, they would die. Magic can only do so much.”

Mihr glances up, pale eyes staring right into Odaix’s soul. “Does that mean- He’d never wake up? Even with magic?” She could be wrong.

The machine beeps.

The man’s chest rises and falls.

“It means that despite our best efforts, his brain melted itself.” Mihr taps at the man’s skull and then takes a step back.

The machine beeps.

The line falls.

The man makes one gasping noise and Odaix thinks, maybe, maybe-

There’s silence, suffocating silence. No green line on the screen anymore, instead it merges with the black. The man’s chest doesn’t even move. Mihr watches with uncaring eyes and Odaix-

Mihr was a healer.

Doctors kill people too.

Mihr was a healer.

The machine makes this horrifying sound, like a screech. It’s like a soul is being ripped away from its home. A death that arrives too early.

Footsteps are racing into the hallway, voices shouting code red, code red.

Mihr was a healer.

The second they barge in Mihr acts out, a flurry of hands and he’s looking up with this stricken face. “The magic was too much. His brain melted once I tried-“

His nickname was Death.

They ignore him, yelling orders, but it’s too late. It’s too late.

Odaix can’t breathe, oxygen turning into the very acid that burned away her insides with every step.

She could be wrong.

She wasn’t.