The tension in the room crackles like lightning about to strike. As unease settles, it feels like the very complexion of the affair has shifted, like a storm brewing on the horizon, its presence tangible but not yet unleashed. Before anyone can voice their concerns, the door to the bedroom swings open with a resounding thud, announcing Jacobson's dramatic entrance as he drags Vianney by the collar, his movements forceful.

With a sharp release, Jacobson tosses Vianney to the ground, the impact echoing the sudden shift in dynamic. The door then slams shut behind the heaving Jacobson, sealing the room in a tense intimacy.

"I need to go after Mrs. Late, but there's an itch I have to scratch," Jacobson growls, his voice stripped of its usual refinement and carrying a raw intensity.

Vianney grunts, picking himself up and setting himself on my bed. "Careful. My outfit is worth more than your entire establishment." He throws himself back on the bed, crosses his legs and folds his hands behind his head with an air of arrogance and entitlement. 

"Oh, I doubt that lad." Jacobson's response is swift and cutting.

"What is this?" Fermon demands, his posture defensive.

"I should be asking that question," I interject, bewildered by the sudden intrusion.

"Iris required a private audience with your father. It's not our place to interfere," Fermon explains.

"Oh? In a living room where my mother could walk in at any moment," I argue, sensing something amiss.

"Iris can look out for herself, human. I am more concerned about why this creature is acting so entitled yet he's got nothing to do with The Order." Alonov points a warning finger at The Jacobson.

"I am here to help, a favour to your lovely goddess you blindly worship when in fact, you don't know her motive behind this mission."

"And you know?" Vianney asks.

I watch Vianney, a sting in my chest surfacing with every flicker of an eyelid. With a resigned sigh and a roll of my eyes, I settle on the floor, folding my arms as I observe the tense exchange. The Erotes stand resolute, like bodyguards at a nightclub, both their arms folded and their facial expressions stern and vigilant as they observe Vianney. Echo readies her pen, poised for action like a predator ready to strike.

"I know for certain she has a deeper motive than just loneliness. Do you really think a goddess would go to such lengths just for love?" Jacobson's voice carries a hint of scepticism, prompting a thoughtful pause among the group.

"Spoken like a man who has never been in love," Vianney implores, his tone heavy with cynicism.

"All I'm saying is, it has been twenty-one unripe years. Why now?" Jacobson shifts his gaze toward me, his eyes carrying a weight of questioning that doesn't go unnoticed by Cain.

"You mean Kendi was meant to do Iris' bidding from the very beginning?" Cain asks, almost like a statement.

Jacobson shakes his head. "No! Initially, her father was supposed to undertake this mission when Iris first approached him. But what could he do, a drunk in a stupor that could otherwise convince him that none of this is real? Iris then was desperate, and a ripe love to lose could have been her motive for the Order but, grief ends. She would have dissolved the order instead of recruiting vigilantes like yourselves."

"So, you're implying that Iris coming to me was not a coincidence?" I ask, seeking clarification.

"Yes. She's after something, and she won't rest until she gets it," Jacobson asserts with a conviction that commands attention.

"Mh, I don't know. Your theory seems a bit farfetched."

"And I think you aren't being entirely honest with your friends, lad." Jacobson turns resolutely to face Vianney. "You do the bloody recruits as per the goddess' command, a job you're so painlessly good at. What's prickling my skin is, what is it you know that others don't and how'd you convince them to join The Order?"

"Tread carefully, Jac, or you might find yourself in deeper waters than you can handle," Vianney retorts, his tone bordering on arrogance.

"I just have a flustering itch I desperately need to scratch. If not, you can kiss goodbye to your sorry excuse of a mission. I'm as ghastly as your worst nightmare when I'm not satisfied."

"You seem to forget. This is not about you, Jac," Vianney says, shifting slightly on the bed. His eyes trail the ceiling before murderously falling onto Jacobson.

Jacobson checks the time and sniffs impatiently. "She's leaving. Imma need your reasons ASAP."

"And what good will that do, creature?" Echo chimes in, reflecting Fermon's scepticism.

"It might just scratch that itch under my skin. Medea is at large, without me..."

"You are as useless as a nun with a condom. What makes you think you'll find Medea now after several agonising failures?" Vianney sits up, interrupting Jacobson.

"Did we miss something?" Alonov's inquiry cuts through the tension.

"Perhaps a lovers' spat?" Fermon adds with a hint of humour.

Echo steps forward, offering a piece of paper to The Jacobson, who appears weary of Vianney's remarks.

"Stop wasting your time. I'll..." Jacobson's voice falters briefly, refusing to continue reading the note. "I guess that settles it. You and you, with me," he adds, pointing at me and Cain before crumpling up the piece of paper and stuffing it into his breast pocket.

Before we can leave, Iris bursts into the room, her staff broken and a trickle of blood staining her lower lip. Despite her physical state, her expression is a mix of relief and conflict.

"I'm coming with you," she declares firmly.

"What happened to you?" Vianney asks her.

"Impatience. We need to go now. Valentine can't wait any longer."

Vianney gets up from the bed. "Well, the Jacobson seems to think love isn't your only motive, Iris."

"I don't care what he thinks, considering he gave away my best man for the job. How I wish love wasn't my only motive," Iris responds sharply.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Cain asks.

"Love is not enough!" she growls. "I wish it was," she adds, her voice brittle. "Now, can we go?"

"Thought you'd never ask," Jacobson quips, his demeanour shifting to action mode.

The passenger seat clicks fit once Cain settles beside me at the back of his car.

"You should drive," I say calmly as I cross my arms and sink deeper into the seat.

I've left my mother stress cooking in the kitchen, Joshua is hidden in my closet, a habitual instinct whenever my mother gets angry at Dad. I haven't seen Dad though. Not since we were dragged to my room.

"Jac won't let me."

"Jacobson, boy. We aren't acquaintances," the Jacobson corrects while he steers the car out of the compound.

"You've been awfully silent, Kendi," Cain observes.

I take a deep breath. "Without the mirage waters, how do you plan on hiding your identity to every Londoner we pass?" I ask the Jacobson, ignoring Cain's remark.

"We have our methods of protection, human. Our appearances are crafted to suit the perceptions of those who see us," he responds confidently, the car lurching forward as he manoeuvres through the city's bustling streets.

"Apologies for my driving skills. It's my first time," he adds.

"Quite comforting," Cain comments dryly.

"So, what's the plan now, after we apprehend Medea?" I ask.

"We'll demand the key from her. She won't surrender it easily, and that is why we needed Emfri, but since that's no longer an option, I might have a way to make the fight manageable," Iris explains.

The car abruptly swerves left, narrowly missing a turn, as Jacobson's driving skills are put to the test. The cold air seeps into the convertible through the drive, causing a chill to settle in. I curl up, folding my arms to preserve some warmth, while Iris remains composed, unaffected by the dropping temperature. Jacobson, seemingly unfazed, as if he's enjoying a sunny drive to the beach, continues to navigate the city with a cool and casual demeanour while Cain appears lost in his thoughts, his eyes following the passing buildings.

"You still haven't answered my question, Iris," I quiver, trying to hide the fact I'm cold.

"You. I have you," she states enigmatically, leaving me to ponder her words.

As I am about to ask for a little more information from her cryptic remark, the sudden stop of the car jolts me forward, causing my head to hit the headrest. A sharp itch follows, and I instinctively use my hand to ease it when blood colours my swarthy skin.

"I'm sorry. Again. She's here somewhere." Jacobson's apology is swift as he exits the car.

Iris follows suit, and they head into a parking garage of a huge building we've stopped in front of, leaving me to deal with the aftermath of Jacobson's horrid driving.

"Are you okay?" a concerned hand settles on my back. "You're bleeding." His voice carries genuine concern, a contrast to the lingering animosity between us.

"I know," I reply tersely, trying to brush Cain's hand off my back.

"Let me help you," Cain insists, his handkerchief extended in a gesture of goodwill.

"I'm fine!" I respond curtly, my irritation still simmering beneath the surface.

He extends his handkerchief once more, his expression displaying remorse as well as concern. I take it begrudgingly, my irritation still lingering, the fabric a tangible reminder of our strained relationship.

"A thank you may suffice." His tone softens, an attempt to bridge the gap between us.

"You aren't getting that from me." The bitterness of past hurts colour my words.

"How many times do I have to apologise? I was under pressure," he explains, attempting to mend the tension between us.

"We don't have time for this."

"Kendi, if I told them we were dating..."Cain starts, his voice trailing off with a hint of desperation and the weight of unspoken implications.

"Do you hear yourself? Maybe if you kept quiet I may forgive and forget. You don't need to keep justifying yourself," I respond, the pain of past hurts resurfacing.

As the moment lingers, my nostril clears slightly, allowing for a bit of relief. I could use a win today. I take a moment to dab away the remaining blood, my eyes widen in sudden horror before averting and staring at my hands on my lap. I hadn't realised the depth of my feelings until now.

"Don't I? It's been two years since we spoke without fighting," he remarks, his eyes searching for understanding.

"Oh, I'm sorry I couldn't move past the pain of hearing those words from someone I used to love," I retort, bitterness evident in my tone.

I can't believe I just said that. I have spent countless times thinking if why it hurt so much was because I had fallen in love, but then I'd sweep away the thought, convincing myself that nothing good ever comes from relationships. And we weren't in a relationship. More of a situation-ship, where my physical appearance was judged and made fun of.

He pauses for a moment. "You loved me?"

I sigh, weary of the emotional turmoil. "There are far more important things to take care of, Cain. Jump and let me out of the car," I deflect, unwilling to delve deeper into the complexities of our past.

It's dismissive, a defence mechanism I've honed to shield myself from painful truths and unresolved emotions.

"You never told me how you feel," he persists, his voice tinged with regret.

"You were ashamed of me."

"Believe me, I wasn't." Cain's defence is swift, his tone earnest.

Amidst the bustling city sounds, a loud crash echoes in the distance, accompanied by a cacophony of car horns blaring and distant chants. Yet, our focus remains unwavering on the tumultuous exchange unfolding between us.

"You think it was just the words?" I continue, my voice sagging with hurt and frustration. "You wouldn't let me hang out with you or sit with you in your house to watch a movie or something. You never once lowered the roof of this car whenever I rode with you. A meet at the park? A jog in the morning? You always kept your distance, Cain. I never once felt seen."

He shakes his head, visibly regretful. "I–I can explain."

"What can you possibly say that would make me feel like a human being?" I retort, my emotions raw. "Since my dad, I have been a shadow. I'm always uncertain, wearing clothes that cover every bit of my skin, my body. I grew my hair to hide the shape of my head. Because of you. Because of him."

"Kendi."

The distant chants now evolve into a symphony of hurried footsteps, their vibrations resonating with the intensity of our conversation.

"With Iris, with Vianney, I feel like a person. I have this adrenaline rushing through me that gives me the confidence you denied me. So no, I don't want to hear the fuck you have to say. Get me out."

Cain's expression shifts, torn between remorse and understanding. "My mother..."

"When are reasons your own, Beige?" I say, deliberately reminding him of how controlled his life has been. "We have a lot more to worry about than your mother's petulant reasons."

He exhales heavily, defeatedly, realising the gravity of the situation. Stepping out of the car, he opens the front door then folds the passenger seat to let me out. I drop his handkerchief on my way out, and when I bend to pick it up, the vibrations become even more intense.

"You're right. There are far more important things," Cain admits, his tone sombre, before taking my hand and helping me out of the car. 

As I step onto the pavement, a woman's voice pierces through the background noise. "There it is!" she shouts, pointing at the red car. We turn to see an army of people parading the streets, and that one gesture from the woman sends all of them towards us, their footsteps creating an earthquake-like rumble beneath our feet.

"Run!" Cain urges, his grip firm on my hand as we dart into the parking garage, panicked and baffled. Where did they all come from?

We find Jacobson and Iris struggling to operate the lift, Iris repeatedly pressing the two buttons by the lift.

"Why aren't you guys ahead yet? We need to go!" Cain implores impatiently, his eyes darting between the lift controls and the approaching mob.

"What's happening?" Jacobson inquires.

"We might have attracted a bit of attention," I explain breathlessly, my heart racing and for a moment recalling the time we were set for execution at Aphrodite's temple.

"Oh!" Iris and Jacobson reply in unison and unsurprised.

"Oh? Has this happened before?" Though impatient to get as far away from the mob as possible, I want to know why they are taking this so casually.

"Chasing fantasies, they call it. Since we don't belong to this world..."

"Come on!" Cain inadvertently interrupts, repeatedly pressing the up button. "How many times did you press these keys, damn it!"

"As I was saying," the Jacobson continues with a roll of his eyes and annoyingly calm, "people see what they want to see, everything in their head that's next to impossible."

"When were you planning to share that you are walking paragons of desire?" I confront.

"They are getting close! Open quickly!" Cain shouts at the lift, his impatience escalating.

"Yelling won't make it open faster, Athenian," Iris scolds, her voice calm but firm.

The lift doors slide open immediately after.

"I take back what I just said."

However, our respite is short-lived. A man manages to slip past the doors. In the chaos, I move to push him out, but Cain acts swiftly, pressing the close button before I can fully react. The man's shirt gets caught, and in the struggle, he advances towards Jacobson with threatening gestures and unintelligible words when he's suddenly pulled upward once the lift begins its ascent.

Instinctively, I tear his shirt and he falls to the floor just in time before he's minced in front of us. With anger surging inside me, I raise my fist to strike him unconscious, but Iris' shout cuts through the air, "I got it!" before striking him hard with the ball tip of her staff, rendering him unconscious with a single blow, defusing the immediate threat.

"Well, never heard of a bag of success before," the Jacobson says amidst the heavy breathing.

"I thought you've never been to earth," I put forth.

"No, I said, no one's ever asked me to look for Medea on earth," he clarifies.

"So, you've never considered it?" Iris probes further.

"My particulars on earth are far from 'think before you act' or in any matter, think at all. I come here to grind and give humans their moment of high. I love what comes after."

"What?" I ask.

"Withdrawal."

The lift pings once we reach the fifth floor. "Oh, goody. We are here," the Jacobson says.

The doors slide open, revealing a swarm of people trying to enter the elevator. We all fall back, creating a distance between us and the hungry people trying to claim their dreams. It is almost pathetic, but I'm sure if I was on their side of things, I'd go as crazy as them. They are squeezed into one another, all stretching their hands out and wailing like zombies after brains. One girl is at the centre, screaming something incomprehensible as she looks at Iris. She looks younger than me if not my age. 

"You've got to be joking!" Cain seethes.

"Help me!" I call out to Iris, and together we bend our knees to lift the unconscious man from the floor.

"Cain, get ready to close the doors," I instruct.

Iris and I manoeuvre the man back and forth before propelling him into the crowd like a bowling ball. However, he falls near the doorway, and the obstruction caused by the people trying to enter prevents the doors from closing.

"I got it!" Jacobson declares, his tone determined.

With a grunt, Jacobson hoists the man from the floor and hurls him with remarkable strength, sending the crowd sprawling and allowing the lift doors to close just in time.

"Nice thought, though. Which floor?" he acknowledges then asks, calm despite the chaos.

"Eighteenth," Cain says through gritted teeth.

"Thanks, boy."

Cain exhales sharply. "Oh, you're welcome. You know what else I am happy to help with? You in catching my mother over a stupid theory she's a sorceress."

"Ah, then thanks again, Cain," Jacobson responds wryly, his tone carrying a hint of amusement.

He huffs. "Really? And what do you plan on doing to her? What if she's not Medea?"

"I'd say we trust my instincts, and my instincts are rarely wrong," Jacobson asserts confidently, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Here's the plan. One of you will approach her first, giving me time to assess the situation with my olfactory senses. Since she's not human..."

"Probably," Cain interrupts.

Jacobson scoffs amused before continuing, "...she'll likely be on edge and ready to flee at the first sign of danger. These humans will grasp at any opportunity to fulfil their fantasies, and we can use that to our advantage, buying us enough time to capture her and bring her back to Dry Bones."

"How easy," Cain voices with a touch of scepticism.

"I wouldn't be throwing tantrums if I were you, Athenian. Or in your case, attempt to. One way or another you'll have to confront pain. Seems you aren't quite familiar with the vocabulary," Iris chides in.

"It's my mother you're talking about!" Cain protests.

"Love. Isn't it ironic, how painful it can be?" Iris giggles. "I mean, look at you two, Jac with his unrequited feelings for Vianney, and me, going through all this trouble because of love."

The lift emits a low growl as we begin to reach the second-numbered floors.

"Your mother loves you deeply, perhaps too much to see you embroiled in feelings she doesn't approve of, especially for a Corinthian," Iris continues. "But life is not a silver spoon or a silver platter. It is a series of challenges, hardships, and moments of pain that shape us. You may have hurt Kendi, but you don't fully comprehend the depth of that pain because you've never experienced it yourself. So, stop complaining about mere suspicions of your mother being a blood-drinking sorceress. The reality could be far more complicated and painful."

I smile, feeling reassured by Iris' support. However, our moment of relief is short-lived as the lift suddenly stops, plunging us into darkness as the lights flicker off.

"What happened?" Jacobson's voice cuts through the heavy atmosphere.

A heavy thud reverberates from above, causing the metallic box to shake violently, prompting us to brace ourselves against the walls.

"I think they've commandeered the lift," I say, my voice tense with concern.

"What floor were we on?" Jacobson asks, his tone remaining impressively nonchalant despite the situation.

"Fourteenth," Cain replies curtly, his eyes scanning the lift controls.

"Then we'll have to climb the rest if we can get these doors to open."

"Our problem isn't just the doors. Soon, we will suffocate in here when they manage to breach the hatch above." Cain's a realist.

The lift lurches downward slightly as more thuds echo from above.

"Then we better get these doors open before they do."