The trill of a phone woke him up. Con peeled his eyes open, trying to decide where his phone was. He groaned when he found the telltale glow coming from across the room. Dragging himself out of bed, Con stumbled across the room, fumbling as he picked the phone up.

He wiped at his eyes, squinting in an effort to make out the caller ID. What he saw made him swear under his breath.

Knowing it would just be worse if he ignored it, Con slid his thumb across the screen and held the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

There was a brief silence, then: "Were you asleep?" Con didn't even get the chance to answer before Mercy said, "It's like 4:30, Con. Are you okay? Are you feeling all right?"

"I—I'm fine," he said, rubbing at his gritty eyes. He pulled the phone away to look at the clock. "It's 3:30, Merce."

"Oh...yeah." She laughed. "Time difference. But still. You never take naps."

"Hm." He went back to the bed and flopped down, closing his eyes. "I was up early this morning."

Again, there was silence on the line. Con wondered if she was going to ask. He got his answer when she changed the subject.

"We just wanted to know how you're doing," she said, tone cheery. In the background, he heard a shrill voice yell something. Mercy laughed. "Anna wants to know if you smell like rotten eggs."

"I..." Con frowned, confused. "What?"

"She's been learning about volcanos and geysers and stuff," Mercy explained. "Here, hold on."

Con pulled the phone slightly away from his ear in anticipation. His niece's high voice made him cringe just a second later. "Hi, Uncle Con," she trilled. She giggled, the innocent sound making an answering smile tug at the corner of his mouth. "Hot springs smell like rotten eggs," she said proudly. "Because they have sulfur. Do you smell like rotten eggs now? Mama says you're having fun taking sulfur baths."

"Tons of fun," he said. He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "When I get back, I'll give your mom a big hug and she'll smell like rotten eggs, too."

Anna gave a shriek of delighted laughter. Con winced as the sound pierced his eardrum, but laughed at his niece's joy at the thought of her neat-freak mom being wrapped in a stinky hug.

"Will you feel better when you come back home, Uncle Con?" Anna asked. "Mama says you went away because you weren't feeling good, so I shouldn't be mad that you missed my basketball game. Did you miss it because you're sick?"

His eyes fluttered open and he stared at the ceiling, wondering how to answer that. Good as he'd become at it, Con didn't relish lying to his family—especially his nieces and nephews, whom he adored. But how did you explain to an eight-year-old that you were losing your mind because of something that had happened a year ago?

"Yeah," he said, his throat constricting. "Yeah, I was sick. I'm sorry about missing your game. Why don't you tell me about it?"

Con half-listened as Anna began to rattle off the highlights of her game and complain about how some of the girls still didn't know where they were supposed to go during certain plays. He gave enough of the appropriate responses at the appropriate moments that Anna was content, thinking she had his undivided attention.

He started when Anna gave a disappointed groan. "Mama says I have to let her talk to you."

Con let out a sigh, making sure it sounded just as disappointed. "We better do what your mom says, huh?"

"I guess," Anna muttered. Then she brightened. "When you come back, can we go ice-skating? The rinks are starting to open."

Con laughed. "Sure thing, kiddo. And I'll try not to miss anymore games this season."

"It's okay, Uncle Con," she said, her voice suddenly thick with worry. "I'm not mad at you! I want you to feel better. Being sick sucks."

"Yeah," he said. "It sure does."

"Love you, Uncle Con."

"I love you, too," he murmured, listening to the brief fumbling that came from Mercy taking the phone from her youngest.

"Hold on a sec, Con," she said. He heard the muffled thump of a door being closed. "Okay, I'm away from the gremlins. So how's it really going?"

"What do you mean, Merce?" he deadpanned. "I'm having a hell of a time."

That wasn't even really a lie. Between his weird run-ins with Taemin and the dead body, this had turned into a hell of a trip.

"Don't lie to your sister, Constantine," she said in her mom voice. "I know that you didn't want to go, but I stand by what I said. You needed a change of pace."

Con bit his tongue to prevent any snap retorts. Annoying as this all was, he knew Mercy was coming from a good place. She had been worried about him for a while, and Mercy was a fixer—if there was a problem, she wanted a solution. She was one of those people incapable of accepting that sometimes there just wasn't anything to be done.

So Con sighed and gave her the answer she was hoping for, because he knew it would make her feel better. "It's nicer than I thought. Barring the creepy photos everywhere, it's all really nice. They've got...great room service and the food is good."

Like it was responding to the mention of food, his stomach cramped with hunger. 

"And the springs?"

"I haven't had the chance yet," he said, trying to ignore the face of the dead girl floating in the black TV screen. Sweat broke out over his body and he lunged to the remote, turning the TV on to make the face disappear. "Mostly I've just been...catching up on sleep."

"Yeah?" Mercy asked, voice tinged with hopefulness. "That's good, right? I know you haven't been sleeping well."

Con frowned, picking at a loose thread on the coverlet. Now that he thought about it, he really had been sleeping more, if not better. Harder and longer than he had in a while, barring last night.

"Yeah, I think it's good," he said, moments before a massive yawn cracked his jaw.

Mercy laughed. "I'll let you go back to sleep. I just wanted to check in."

"Sure," Con mumbled, the phone clicking as Mercy hung up. The hollow pit in his stomach told him he definitely wasn't getting back to sleep.

Sitting up, Con peered down at his knee. It was ringed with mottled bruises, but wasn't massively swollen, nor did it hurt too much when he moved it. His wrist ached, but none of the pain was unmanageable.

Snagging the room service menu off the bedside table, Con called down and ordered a very early dinner. Or a really late lunch. He didn't know and he didn't care.

He was absolutely ravenous.

Con barely waited for the person who'd brought up his pizza to leave before he fell on it like a hyena. When there wasn't so much as a crust left, Con placed the empty tray just outside his door.

When he straightened, he found himself face to face with Ella. Or, well...kind of. She only came up to his shoulders, her head tilted back to look at him.

Her hair was in loose curls and she was dressed in a green sweater over a white, collared shirt and black jeans. She smiled at him, pink-glossed lips shiny in the hallway's light. "I was just coming to check on you."

Con glanced down the hall as discreetly as possible.

"Tae's not here, if that's what you're worried about." Ella gave him a knowing smile when he blanched. She twisted her fingers together, glancing down at the tray. "I was gonna see if you wanted to get something to eat, but it seems I'm a little late."

She took a step back, a blush highlighting her cheeks.

"Actually," Con hesitated, sure this was a bad idea but unable to stop himself, "I'm...still kind of hungry."

To his surprise, something dark flickered in Ella's eyes. It was gone as fast as it had come, and she smiled, tucking her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. "Really?" she asked, teasingly skeptical.

"I swear." As he spoke, Con realized it was true. His brows drew together. "Why am I so hungry?" he murmured, more to himself than Ella.

"Probably the shock from this morning," she answered anyway. "That takes a lot out of you." She hesitated, biting her lip in a way Con found distressingly attractive. "I...um...I was just thinking maybe we could go into town and eat there? Get away from here for a bit? I thought a little distance and distraction might help after this morning."

"That actually sounds pretty great," Con admitted, scrubbing a hand over the back of his head. It was either take Ella up on her offer, or spend the evening trying not to think about a dead girl. "I'll...meet you down in the lobby?"

"Sure."

She left with a parting smile and Con retreated into his room. As he got dressed—blessing Mercy for the extra clothes—Con wondered why he'd agreed to go. He shrugged on a heavy peacoat and swept his room key into his pocket before he headed downstairs.

Uncomfortable, Con realized he was starting to like both Parks more than he wanted to.