Kael didn't remember deciding to leave the motel that night. One second he was staring at his own reflection, watching the eyes that weren't quite his anymore, and the next he was already halfway across the city, boots cutting through puddles that reflected neon signs in fractured red and blue. The rain had picked up again, cold enough to sting, but he didn't feel it the way he used to. His body moved on autopilot, shoulders hunched against the wind, hands buried in pockets. The ledger was tucked under his arm like it belonged there.
The meeting spot was an alley behind the old Imperial Theater—boarded windows, graffiti crawling up the brick like veins, the faint smell of mold and old popcorn still clinging to the air. Erynn was already waiting, leaning against the wall with arms crossed. He wore the same borrowed body from before: mid-thirties, sharp features, dark cropped hair. The freelance Hunter whose life he'd quietly overwritten. Under the weak orange glow of a flickering streetlamp, he looked almost ordinary.
Kael stopped a few paces away. His arm extended on its own, offering the ledger like a child handing over homework. Erynn took it without hurry, flipping through the pages with long, careful fingers. Names, dates, payments, locations of handoffs. Forbidden texts changing hands like currency in the underground. He paused on one entry near the middle, thumb brushing over the ink.
"Lira Voss," he murmured. "No relation, sadly. But the birthday… exact match. Day, month, year. She's a one-star Hunter. Zoologist. Specializes in Nen-capable fauna. Keeps to herself. Cottage outside the preserve. No close contacts. Perfect."
Kael stood motionless, rain dripping from his hair into his eyes. Inside his skull the maggot shifted, warm and lazy, like a cat stretching in sunlight. The stubborn fragment of himself—the part that still remembered being Kael—tried to scream, tried to make his legs run, make his hands form fists. Nothing happened. The strings were deeper now. They didn't pull anymore; they simply were.
Erynn glanced up, catching the faint tremor in Kael's posture. "You're wondering why I don't send a worm after her directly. Why bother with the slow maggot route."
Kael's mouth opened. The voice that came out was his, but the cadence belonged to someone else. "She's cautious. High perception. Might detect the worm before it settles. Better to observe. Build trust. Then offer the pastry. Clean. Low risk."
Erynn's lips curved. "Exactly. You're learning fast." He stepped forward and placed a hand on Kael's shoulder. The contact sent a slow pulse of warmth down the threads buried in Kael's nerves. It felt good. Too good.
"The feedback is fading," Erynn continued softly. "You fought hard at first. Now you're settling in. Soon the line between you and me will blur completely. You'll stop noticing when you're acting on my orders. It'll just feel… natural."
Kael wanted to spit. Wanted to drive a knife into that calm, pale throat. Instead his head dipped in a small, obedient nod.
Erynn studied him for a long moment, then stepped back. "Tomorrow you approach her. Bring pastries. Same kind. Be friendly. Be Kael—the earnest young Hunter who just wants advice on rare beasts. She'll let you in. She always does with earnest people."
He turned to leave, coat swirling in the rain.
Kael called after him—his own voice this time, small and cracked. "What happens when there are too many of us?"
Erynn paused, half in shadow. "Then I become very, very careful," he said. "Or I become something more." He vanished around the corner.
Kael stood alone in the alley for a long time. Rain drummed on the ledger still clutched in his hand even though Erynn had already taken it. Eventually he opened his fingers and let the empty air fall.
He started walking back toward the motel. In his pocket, the Hunter license pressed against his hip like a bruise that refused to fade.