The third guy stopped making noise.
Just—stopped.
One second there was that wet rattling sound, like a clogged drain trying to work, and then nothing.
Ethan stood there with his hand still pressed against the man's chest. The vines were doing their thing—squeezing, pulsing, feeding—and his brain was trying very hard to file this under something that made sense.
Self-defense.
Accident.
Not murder.
Except the number floating in his vision said otherwise:
[LE: 184/500]
[+78 absorbed]
[Source: Human (Verdant-aligned)]
Absorbed.
Like he'd just drank the guy.
His stomach did that roller-coaster thing where it drops and doesn't come back up. Ethan stumbled backward—one step, two, three—waiting for the vomit.
It didn't come.
(Should've come. Normal people throw up after this.)
(But you're not normal anymore.)
His hands were shaking. Had been shaking since the first body dropped. Probably wouldn't stop for days. Or weeks. Or—
The forest was quiet.
Not peaceful-quiet. Wrong-quiet.
Like the trees were watching. Waiting to see if he'd run or just stand there staring at the corpses until more of them showed up.
Three bodies.
He'd killed three people in—what, fifteen minutes? Less?
Ethan looked at his hands. Dirt. Blood. Sap. He couldn't tell where one stopped and the others started. The green glow from his veins had faded but he could still feel it. Under his skin. Crawling around like it was looking for an exit.
Or looking for more.
No.
Not that.
His phone buzzed.
The sound cut through the silence like a car alarm at 3 AM. Ethan flinched—actually flinched—and pulled the phone out with fingers that didn't feel attached to his body anymore.
Unknown Number.
Of course it was.
He stared at the screen. Watched it buzz once. Twice. Three times.
His thumb hovered over the red button.
(Decline and what? Go back to your dorm? Pretend you didn't just kill three people with magic?)
The buzzing stopped.
Silence rushed back in.
Ethan exhaled. Didn't realize he'd been holding his breath.
The phone buzzed again.
Same number.
Whoever this was, they really wanted to talk.
He answered.
The screen lit up.
A woman's face filled the display. Mid-thirties, maybe. Asian features. Short black hair pulled back like she cut it herself in a bathroom mirror and didn't care how it looked. Dark eyes that had seen worse things than three corpses in the woods.
"Mr. Cross." Her voice was flat. Professional. Like she was calling about his student loan debt. "This is Mira Chen. Answer when I call."
Ethan's brain stuttered.
"I—what—"
"Mira Chen. Verdant Court, North American branch." She said it like he should know what that meant. "I've been tracking your LE signature for forty-eight hours. You need to move. Now."
Verdant Court.
Okay.
Cool.
No idea what that was.
"I don't—"
"Doesn't matter." Mira's eyes flicked to something off-screen. Back to him. "Thorne Industries has your location. Response team arrives in eighteen minutes. Stay there, you die. Simple math."
Eighteen minutes.
Ethan looked at the bodies. At the blood soaking into the dirt. At his hands.
"I killed—"
"Three Thornbound cultists. I know. Watched the whole thing." Mira's expression didn't change. "Sloppy, but you're alive. We'll work on efficiency later. Right now you run."
She said it like it was normal. Like killing three people and running from a corporation was just Tuesday.
"Where do I—"
"Concord, New Hampshire. Safehouse. Abandoned mill, east side, near the river." She paused. "You'll see the mark."
"What mark—"
"You'll know." Her tone didn't invite questions. "You have a car?"
Ethan nodded. Then realized she might not see that clearly. "Yeah. Parking lot. Back at—"
"Then move. Eighteen minutes is now sixteen." Mira's face got closer to the camera. "Don't stop. Don't go home. Don't call anyone. Especially not your mother."
His mom.
The thought hit him like cold water.
Mom.
She'd be calling soon. Maybe already had. She texted him every three hours when he didn't check in. What would she think when he just—
Disappeared?
For how long?
Days? Weeks?
(Forever?)
"Mr. Cross." Mira's voice sharpened. "Focus."
"Yeah. I'm—" He swallowed. Tasted copper. Always copper now. "I'm here."
"Good. Get to Concord. Survive eighteen hours. We handle the rest."
The screen went black.
Ethan stood there. Phone still pressed to his ear. Staring at his own reflection in the dark glass.
Eighteen hours.
He looked at the bodies again.
(Can't just leave them here.)
(Can't call the cops either.)
His LE had settled. 184/500. Not critical. Not comfortable.
The vines around the third guy's throat were already turning brown. Withering like they'd been dead for weeks instead of minutes.
The forest would take care of it.
That thought should've been horrifying.
Instead it just felt—
True.
Ethan turned.
Ran.
His car was still there. Parked at the trailhead with three other vehicles that probably belonged to hikers who had no idea what just happened half a mile into the woods.
(Or cultists.)
(Could be more cultists.)
He didn't check.
Just got in. Started the engine. Pulled out onto the two-lane highway heading north.
His hands shook on the wheel.
Concord was two hours away. Maybe ninety minutes if he sped.
(Eighteen hours, Mira said.)
(Until what?)
The green glow from his veins was gone but he could still feel it. Under his skin. In his chest. Like a second heartbeat that wasn't synced with the first one.
The Seed.
Still there.
Still growing.
Ethan glanced at the rearview mirror.
His eyes looked normal. Brown. Tired. Bloodshot.
But for just a second, when the headlights from the car behind him hit at the right angle—
Green.
He looked away.
Focused on the road.
Eighteen hours.
(You just killed three people.)
(You can survive eighteen hours.)
The thought tasted like copper.