Slamming shut behind them, the garden door shook as the sound echoed through the narrow hallway. Lucas walked forward, with Isabelle a few steps behind. Laughter, odd given the situation of the world, drifted from the front room. Once again, the annoyingly northern and unfamiliar male voice reached Lucas’s ear. The sound grated on his nerves like glass on a chalkboard.

  Lucas shifted his eyes from his nails, where he’d been picking at dirt, and noted a small icon pulsing at the edge of his vision. White. Insistent. The system notification he’d ignored during the fight now demanded attention, but he pushed it aside. Later.

  “I think I’m pretty close to a level up,” Isabelle muttered from behind.

  Lucas glanced over his shoulder. The girl met his gaze, and in it he caught satisfaction mixed with something else. Distrust. Still there, lingering like a bad taste. It irked him. He’d pressed her on it earlier. Hoped she’d open up, yet she had evaded, insisting they’d discuss it later. But what was there to discuss? She didn’t fully trust him after realising... something. She wouldn’t explain what. That alone told him all he needed to know.

  “How far are you from the hundredth step?” he asked.

  She brought a finger to her lips, tapping it once. “Two steps off. I’m so close. With a bit more time, I could have made it.” She paused. “I take it there’s something on step one hundred then?”

  Lucas opened his mouth. Then closed it.

  Should he explain what she’d find at the top? Should he continue aiding someone who clearly didn’t trust him—who, perhaps, wouldn’t ever, no matter what he did? They’d only been working together for maybe twenty-four hours, but still. It made no sense. They’d fought together. Almost died together. Shouldn’t the fact that he put his bloody neck on the line mean something?

  Before he could decide whether to withhold the information or let things unfold however they were going to, they stepped into the front room.

  His mother stood by the fireplace, one hand resting on the mantelpiece as she gazed at a cluster of framed photos. The small marble she often fiddled with sat near her fingertips. A man sat on their couch wearing black suit pants, a white shirt, with his tie loosened just enough to suggest casual comfort. Glasses perched on his nose.

  The laughter died down as Lucas and Isabelle entered, both adults turning toward them.

  In the corner, Apollo lifted his head and let out a low bark in greeting.

  “—and yeah, she didn’t talk to me for the rest of the week,” the man said, finishing what he was saying with a self-deprecating chuckle that sounded almost genuine. Lucas’s mother smiled, her fingers now tracing the marble’s smooth surface.

  “Of course she didn’t. You broke a two-hundred-pound Duronda vase. I don’t think I’d talk to you for an entire year.” She glanced back towards them, catching Lucas’s eye. “Oh, Lucas. This is our neighbour, Vincent. He came over earlier asking about—”

  “Resources. I heard,” Lucas finished.

  His mother raised a brow, as if to say, ‘watch yourself in front of the guest.’

  “Hello there,” Vincent said, ignorant of the warning Lucas had just received, his tone friendly enough, but something else sat underneath it. Cautiousness, maybe. Or calculation. Lucas wasn’t sure which. “I’m just a few doors down from you. I’m going around seeing how everyone’s doing, trying to figure out who needs what and what we can all do to help each other in this situation. At least until the authorities arrive.”

  The way he said that last part—Lucas’s instincts told him this man didn’t believe any help was coming. No, he was here scouting.

  “I also heard you’re planning a barbecue,” Lucas said.

  “Oh, nothing so grand.” Vincent fanned his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Just a little get-together between those people who ain’t got much. The meat’s going to go off anyway, so we might as well distribute what we can. Better than leaving it there to spoil and attract vermin.”

  He smiled. It was the type of smile that should have been disarming—warm, neighbourly—but instead it raised alarm bells in Lucas’s head. Something in the way his eyes didn’t quite match the curve of his mouth.

  “And you think that’s wise?” Lucas asked. “With those creatures running around?”

  “Oh, you mean the flameback wolves,” Vincent said the name so casually, it was as if he were discussing the weather. It was a clear sign that he’d spoken about them before with others, but with whom and how many?

  Lucas’s throat tightened. You didn’t know they were called flamebacks, or know any of the blight kin’s names, unless you’d defeated one and gotten the system notification. At least, that had been the case with him and Isabelle. Which meant Vincent had either killed one himself or been part of a group that had.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “Those creatures are actually quite easy to deal with, once you know how.” Vincent crossed his legs, tugging at his tie. “I even saw a group of cats take one down. What, three hours ago? I dare say they may be more of a threat if given time to grow.”

  He lingered on those words, his gaze drifting toward the window. Toward something Lucas couldn’t see from his angle.

  Lucas shifted, following the line of sight. Through the window, movement caught his attention. A mother and child—the same pair he’d seen yesterday, crying over the severed arm that had almost certainly belonged to the child’s father. The woman walked with purpose now, one hand gripping her daughter’s shoulder as they moved toward a neighbour’s house. Why was she going there? And did this have something to do with Vincent’s plans?

  His jaw tightened. The pieces didn’t fit together yet, but the outline was forming. Barbecue. Scouting. Resources. A man who knew how to kill flameback wolves and spoke about them like they were minor inconveniences.

  “I see,” Lucas said slowly. His gaze returned to Vincent, meeting those calculating eyes behind the glasses. “But there’s more than just the flameback wolves to worry about.”

  “Ah, you mean the firecrows. And those boars—I’m not sure of their names yet.” Vincent’s tone remained cool, almost like a lecture breaking down a topic. “They are a different story. Whilst I haven’t fought them myself, you know of the...” He paused, fingers tapping against his knee. “Samantha.”

  Lucas raised an eyebrow.

  Vincent tilted his head. “No, that’s not what the kids call her.” He clicked his fingers as if searching for the name.

  “Are you talking about the bird lady?” Lucas’s mother said from the mantelpiece.

  “Yes, Hawk Lady.” Vincent smiled again, the expression not fully reaching his eyes. “Her. The system has granted her the ability to make use of her pets. She’s been doing a great deal of cleaning the skies, if I say so myself.”

  Vincent adjusted his tie again. His hand fell flat against the couch, fingers tapping a rhythm Lucas couldn’t decipher. What were these gestures for? Was he trying to act in a certain way that would make them feel at ease? Or—Lucas’s gaze slid to his mother—make her feel at ease, specifically?

  Several years had passed since his father had died. She’d spent most of her time working and watching videos on the internet. The few friends she had, she rarely hung out with. She would have occasional visits to Lucas’s auntie. But male attention? He wasn’t aware that she was even thinking about that.

  “But how can you say they’re so easy to deal with?” Isabelle spoke up from Lucas’s side.

  He’d almost forgotten she was there. Vincent had a way of taking up all the attention in the room. That realisation alone sent shivers through him.

  “These creatures have killed people,” Isabelle continued, her voice tight. “Murdered them.”

  Lucas gave her a sidelong glance. The memory surfaced—her father in the street, and the locket pressed into Lucas’s hand with blood-slick fingers. Even now, the memory stung, not just for what had happened, but because he’d gone so far to help her. Yet somehow, Isabelle didn’t see that as worthy enough of her trust.

  Then again, was returning a locket from her dead father something that should make someone easily trusted?

  Vincent regarded Isabelle for a moment. He seemed to mull something over, his expression shifting through calculations Lucas couldn’t read.

  “Whilst they caught us on the back foot initially—after all, they came out of nowhere—they are not as organised and deadly as you’d think. In large numbers, yes, they pose a problem. But, as I’m sure you two are aware...”

  Lucas blinked, the implication clear.

  Vincent had been watching them.

  The well-dressed man smiled. “Dealing with them in small groups, especially with the help of words, is quite easy. Wouldn’t you say?”

  Lucas’s chest tightened. This man was dangerous. If not in a physical sense, definitely in a calculated one. He’d been observing. Taking notes. Tracking who could fight and how well they managed it. The barbecue wasn’t about distributing meat before it spoiled. It was reconnaissance.

  Tension settled over the room like a wet, weighted blanket. Lucas tried to catch his mother’s attention, widening his eyes slightly, tilting his head toward Vincent in what he hoped was a clear signal. She didn’t notice. Her focus stayed fixed on their neighbour, one hand still absently rolling the marble across the mantelpiece.

  “You know, Vincent,” she said, “you’re looking remarkably well-dressed for everything that’s going on.”

  Vincent dismissed this with a casual wave. “Oh, force of habit. You know how it is—put on the uniform, feel ready for the day. Even if the day involves the apocalypse.” He chuckled, self-deprecating again.

  Lucas’s jaw clenched.

  “But I must ask,” Vincent said, leaning forward slightly, “you are the matriarch of this house. Why have you not taken up the mantle and made use of the system’s gifts?”

  That was a question Lucas had for his mother as well. But it wasn’t something he’d broach so bluntly.

  His mother stilled. Her hands stopped rolling the marble. She seemed to think for a moment, her lips pulling into a frown.

  “I just don’t think it’s the most important thing to do right now,” she said slowly. “There are other things that demand more attention in a situation like this. You pointed out as much yourself, after all.”

  Thankfully, her opinion of Vincent seemed to have cooled at that question. Lucas had been half-worried she’d become enraptured by him and would let something slip. After all, if Vincent found out that Lucas had collected more than just a few scraps and wolf parts, that could be a problem. If not now, then tomorrow. Or the day after.

  Things would get worse in situations like this. They always did. This was what people called: the calm before the storm.

  Lucas cleared his throat. “Where’s Roland, by the way, Mum?”

  She glanced at him, and relief flickered across her face at the change in topic. “He’s upstairs with Sasha. I told the two of them to have fun and just be… distracted, you know.”

  But Lucas picked up on the underlying meaning. They had both bedrooms filled with supplies. The most logical thing to do was to organise them. She’d probably set the two of them to exactly that task. They couldn’t very well say it with Vincent in the room, though.

  “Well, Vincent,” Lucas said, forcing out a smile that felt like pulling teeth. “We have things to do. If you don’t mind, would you vacate?”

  He tried to sound formal. It came out strained instead.

  Vincent turned to Lucas’s mother. She nodded. “I have some odd bits and bods to do. We’ll catch up.”

  Vincent smiled. It was oddly predatory—the expression was that of a hunter sizing up prey while pretending to be domesticated.

  “Well, I don’t wish to impose.” He pushed off the couch and nodded before stepping past Lucas and Isabelle, making his way toward the exit.

  Lucas watched him go, tension coiling in his shoulders.

  This man would be a problem.