“There are quite a few things in your story that don’t make sense, and a few of them are critical flaws. Until you fill in the gaps, I’ll just treat it as an unfortunate tale.”

  I looked up from my notebook and saw that Rafe was no longer in front of me—he was now sitting on the couch behind me. I had been so focused on listening and taking notes that I hadn’t even noticed when he left the table or sat down on the sofa, his face buried in his hands.

  Thinking back, his voice earlier had sounded unnaturally low. Rafe was my support now. I couldn’t let him waste his energy on self-blame. I took my notebook and sat beside him on the couch. As I tried to recall what to do, I was disheartened to realize I had never comforted or been comforted by anyone before—I had no idea what I was supposed to do.

  But Otto had been down a few times—once because it rained all day and he didn’t get to go for a walk. The rest of the time it was because he got bullied at the dog park and ended up chewing on a stick alone in a corner.

  Every time, I managed to cheer him up using the same method.

  “I believe every word you’ve said,” I said as I sat beside Rafe and slid my fingers into his slightly curly brown hair, gently massaging his scalp. “But there are still parts I can’t understand. First one’s about Otto.”

  Rafe let out a low, heavy sigh that hinted at confusion.

  “Otto was already your dog when you were ten. You’re twenty-six now, if I’m not mistaken. But Otto doesn’t look like a sixteen-year-old dog.”

  What I didn’t say was this: I didn’t believe a Labrador could live that long. Even just thinking of linking Otto with the word “death” made my heart twitch.

  “Because Otto was the first one I used my Skill on. He’s my anchor in this world. After the fiftieth time, we no longer needed to force the connection. Otto is half my life—he’ll only die when I do. Don’t ask me why—I don’t know. No one really knows how Skills work.”

  Rafe leaned back, as if revealing the deepest secret about his Skill had brought him a strange sense of ease. After a while, he suddenly chuckled, took out his phone, and snapped a picture of me.

  “You can’t see your own face right now. I’m saving this for a meme. You look fucking hilarious.”

  A moment later, I received the meme from him. My mouth was twisted as if I was about to bite his face off. Jealousy really does contort the features.

  “Haha, yeah, that’s pretty funny. I’ll give you five minutes to laugh it out. Then we’re back to business. Where’s the bathroom?” I smacked his head with the notebook. “I marked the questionable parts, with a little bit detail. You’re not obligated to answer any of them. Enjoy dude.”

  I had drunk too much beer and really needed to pee. I’d been in this place long enough to take two dumps. There was no bathroom in the private room, so I headed downstairs—and that’s when I ran into the bald guy behind the bar, holding a shotgun.

  “That was the best beef I’ve ever had. Thanks for the recommendation,” I said after using the bathroom and striking up a chat with the friendly barkeep. “Nothing dangerous happened around here lately?”

  The bald man chuckled. “Depends on what you consider dangerous, rookie. As far as I can tell, this sector’s been... let’s see—thirty-two hours and twenty-five minutes without a hunter casualty, no anomalies. I’d say it’s a good time.”

  How much was happening in this world that normal people didn’t know about? I gave him an awkward smile. I’m not good at coffee chat. “You seem to know Rafe. Are you two friends?”

  My naive question made the barkeep burst into laughter. “Of course. He’s a third-generation born into a clade. That’s a rare thing. I’ll say he’s a good kid too.”

  Third-generation hunter. His entire family’s deaths tied to Ainsworth clade, still serving them to this day. A spotless record. Rafe had stacked all the Ainsworth clade buffs. Given the chance, he could rise high. And I was sure he knew that better than anyone.

  If I’d known how deep his ties ran with Ainsworth, I would’ve phrased a lot of things differently.

  The bald man hadn’t lied about anything. So I went ahead and asked all the questions I’d always been curious about: Aside from selling Collections, where do hunters get their income? Can they lose control? What’s the worst-case scenario if someone overuses their Skill and the Path?

  He patiently answered all, without even a little lie.

  “Kid, I was young once too. At your age, you might think you’re special, that destiny picked you to do something special, something great. But you really shouldn’t be making such heavy decisions without knowing a damn thing,” the barkeep said, face full of concern. “What Raphael did was extremely, extremely unethical. That little bastard. He used to be better than this.”

  I froze—and then it hit me.

  When Rafe approached me while I was still completely ignorant about hunters, it was no different from what the Ainsworth clade was doing—taking advantage of my naivety around wealth and power. It was information asymmetry, plain and simple.

  That’s the Ainsworth way, Rafe learn s all of these “baster” tricks from somewhere. You don’t eliminate a threat like that—you use it.

  “Sir, when you said ‘at your age,’ exactly how long have you been a hunter?”

  The barkeep’s smile vanished for one second. His grip on the shotgun tightened. I wasn’t sure if he was about to smack me with the barrel or just fill me with buckshot.

  “Kid, do you even know what you’re saying? After knowing that much more, you should know better now.”

  “I just know you’re a good man,” I said, taking two steps back—still within the range of the gun, but outside the reach of fists. “You don’t know Rafe through personal ties with him or his parents. You know him because of his identity—he’s a third-generation hunter for Ainsworth.”

  “I want to make a bold guess: You, too, come from a line that’s served Ainsworth, just like Rafe. You know exactly how they treat rookies who don’t know anything. If that’s true, and yet you still said all that to me—against your position—that means you don’t agree with their ways.”

  I lifted my skirt and showed him the crisscrossing scars on my thigh.

  “I came very close to dying. So I really, really don’t like things that might threaten my life……I mean Ainsworth, not your weapon. That’s not even a real threat to me now. I’m the sole survivor of the September 12 attack in David Jones in Sydney. Feel free to verify it.”

  The barkeep’s brows arched in surprise, deep creases forming on his shiny head. “I’ll be damned. You love guessing, huh? Then tell me—how do you know I wasn’t lying just now? What if I was baiting you? You know what you’d be facing right now?”

  “Base on a little lie-detector thing I made. Let me show you—don’t worry, please keep pointing the gun at me.” I reached into my vest, pulled out a slip of paper still warm from my body heat, and unfolded it for him.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  “During our entire conversation, it didn’t heat up—not one degree. That means you weren’t just telling the truth, you meant every word from the bottom of your heart.”

  “No way, this ain’t a Collection,” the barkeep said, lowering his gun. He held the slip up to the light, clicking his tongue in amazement. “What kind of new gadget is this?”

  “Just something I made with my Skill. The writing fades over time. You can keep it—or have someone try lying to you a few times. It works pretty well, saved my life once or twice.” I grabbed two cans of Sprite and a few napkins. “Call it thanks for the beef and your kindness.”

  I saw an opportunity—and I took it. That simple. Worst-case scenario, the guy goes and repeats everything word for word to the Ainsworth clade. That’s just a disgruntled hunter complaining about being tricked by their employer. I could say all this to anyone in Ainsworth and reasonably expect compensation.

  I had already shown my sincerity, ability, and value. Whatever happens next—would be interesting.

  “Sorry I took so long coming back. I had a bit of a chat with the boss. He’s really an honest man.” I shoved a can of Sprite and all the napkins into Rafe’s hands. “If you need to wipe your tears, be my guest.”

  Rafe looked like he was about to punch me in the face. “What the hell did you tell a stranger this time?”

  “Just complained a bit about how Ainsworth exploits people by keeping them in the dark. Gave him a sample of my Skill, that’s all.”

  Now Rafe looked like he really was about to cry. He yanked my ear and growled under his breath, “Are you fucking insane? Are you trying to get yourself killed? You wanna die, go ahead—but don’t drag me down with you, lunatic!”

  “Based on everything I currently know, Ainsworth clade has very questionable ethics,” I said, straightening up. “I needed more insurance. Taking a risk like that was the smallest price.”

  I quickly recounted the pleasant little conversation we’d just had. “He has several chances to test if I was lying—God knows what else he could dig up in such a huge clade. At the very least, I’ve made the waters murkier.”

  “But—fuck—it’s just that your luck was off the charts this time. You guessed most of it right.” Rafe cracked open his drink. After a couple of gulps, his motions slowed, but the look in his eyes grew sharper. He stared at me like he was trying to extract a justifiable reason from the marrow of my bones—and then he found it.

  “Goodman really needed something like that. He’ll be coming up to find you soon. Shit, you’re a goddamn lucky genius, you know that?”

  “This isn’t luck,” I corrected him seriously. “This was the result of a calculated risk. So—what exactly do you mean by that?”

  “Goodman’s from my grandfather’s generation of hunters—looks younger than he is. His granddaughter disappeared last year during a Class Three Top Secret incident. Since then, he’s been trying to do something about it. I don’t know the details—that level is way above me. All I know is that Ainsworth clade has been actively stopping him from getting involved. At first, they just ordered him to stay out of it. Then last year, they pulled him from the field and assigned him to this bar. They cut his access, especially to Collections. What you don’t know is—when hunters use Collections around here, the exact item and its use are recorded. Skills aren’t.”

  “So when you say I was lucky, you mean I happened to offer him exactly what he needed—an unmonitored way to use Collection-like functions. Right?”

  Rafe flipped me off, then nodded—that time, he became the jealous one.

  “So… out of all those questions, which ones can you answer?” I took the notebook from his side and waved it. “These are all about your family.”

  Rafe took a deep breath and crushed the soda can in his hand. “I can’t answer any of them. Because I don’t know.”

  “You’re kidding. You don’t know what made your parents disappear from this world? Don’t know what roles they played in the clade? Don’t know if your sister’s still alive or a Resident? Don’t even know if extending the Lifeforge’s run time will get you answers?” I stared at Rafe like he was some kind of monster. “Honestly, I’d rather you just say you didn’t want me prying into your family.”

  “Those are Class Three secrets. You have no idea what that means... The origin of those incidents could theoretically spread without limit. Normal people have zero resistance. Each one causes at least twenty deaths—including hunters. Every such event is handled by the strongest clade in the area. So yeah, I’m not qualified to know what happened. Even if the ones who died were my parents.” Rafe met my gaze. “If you know nothing about the hunters’ world, don’t you act like you can judge it.”

  “Uh… sorry. I hope what I said didn’t hurt you, ugh, too bad.” I went back to rubbing his head to soothe his emotions—it had worked so far. “If you want to find out, I can ask Goodman. Not like I expect some guy living in a bar to help me dig into things that happened in China a decade ago.”

  There was a knock on the door.

  I raised an eyebrow. Rafe nodded and opened the door.

  The fact that I wasn’t immediately greeted by the barrel of a gun was honestly a relief. I had prepared to deal with firearms in the bathroom, with a note taped on my leg, but still—it was a good sign.

  I gave Goodman my friendliest smile. “What can I do for you, Mr. Goodman?”

  “Looks like you two are already friends. Name your price. I need something that can find people in Nowhere from here. And this thing—give me as many as you can make.” Goodman waved the slip of paper, now already faded with smudged writing. “I swear, you can charge whatever you want.”

  “Could you be more specific? Best case would be if you just told me how this thing works.” I rummaged through my bag for a small glass vial, a box cutter, and a dip pen. I reopened the pinprick from my earlier blood test and let a drop fall into the vial. “There’s a lot I want to know, a lot I want to do—like this man, for example.”

  It was a photo of me as a child, grinning dumbly in my father’s arms, holding a brand-new stuffed puppy.

  “Do you recognize him?”

  Goodman picked up my phone. The longer he looked at the photo, the wider his eyes grew.

  “Your father was a truly exceptional hunter. A legend in his time—he achieved something no one else ever had.” Goodman tossed the phone back to me. “Wait right here.”

  He returned in under a minute, carrying a brown envelope. He placed a stack of A4-sized, jagged-edged gray sheets on the table.

  “The best hunters deserve the best tools. It’s on the house.”