The journey back to their flat on Liberty Street felt endless, but at last, they arrived. Standing by the door to their shared common room was Mrs. Nuñez, her eyes sparkling with relief as a warm grin spread across her face.

“I was worried about you two. I’m so glad everything turned out fine,” she said, opening the door to welcome them in. Each of them respectfully took her hand and touched it to their foreheads in turn.

“Sorry, Auntie. We’re heading straight to the city—we’ve got a funeral to attend,” Zane explained hurriedly, already heading upstairs with Raine following close behind. Eteri stayed behind, exchanging a glance with Mrs. Nuñez as they watched the pair ascend. “Another funeral this week?” she murmured in a concerned tone.

“Where exactly did those two go?” Mrs. Nuñez asked, her gaze shifting toward Eteri.

“Uh... to the province, Mrs. Nuñez. Probably to visit a friend,” Eteri replied, her tone casual.

“A friend?” Mrs. Nuñez repeated, her amazement evident. “Finally, those two are making new connections.”

Eteri offered a polite smile. “They’re good ones,” she said, nodding reassuringly.

“Oh, I nearly forgot. Did you and your friends have a nice time staying here last night?” Mrs. Nuñez asked.

“They… did,” Eteri replied, her cheeks flushing slightly. “I might have gotten carried away with work... again,” she admitted, scratching her head awkwardly.

“You’re just like Raine,” Mrs. Nuñez said with a knowing grin.

Eteri managed a faint smile and nodded. “About the payment—here it is,” she said, producing a pink envelope and handing it to the landlady.

“Oh, dear, you could’ve let the night be free for you. It was just one night, after all,” Mrs. Nuñez remarked, hesitating as she reached for the envelope.

“Go on, Mrs. Nuñez. You deserve it for your hospitality,” Eteri insisted, her smile warm. “Besides, my friends and I absolutely loved the cake you baked for us.”

“Oh, such a lovely child you are,” Mrs. Nuñez said with a warm smile. “Your friends left so early—what a shame they missed coffee time. Would you like to—”

“I’d love to, Mrs. Clara, but I’m attending the funeral as well,” Eteri interrupted gently. “And, unfortunately, I’ll need to return to the city soon for work.”

“I understand,” Mrs. Nuñez replied with a sigh. “I hope we’ll see each other again.”

࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

At the flat, Zane dashed straight to the bathroom, eager for a quick shower. Just as he pushed the door closed, a strange sensation prickled the back of his neck—the unsettling feeling of being watched.

“Raine?” he called out cautiously.

“Yes?” came Raine’s distracted reply from the living room. “I’m busy trying to find my things. They’ve cleaned the room, and now everything’s in disarray.”

Shaking off the unease, Zane locked the door and pulled off his grey shirt, tossing it into the hamper. He took a step toward the bath, only to freeze when a faint psst broke the silence. His brow furrowed, but he shrugged it off and unbuckled his belt.

Another psst. Then another, louder, as he moved closer to the bathtub. His hand hesitated over the tap.

“Raine, are you playing pranks on me?” Zane called out, irritation lacing his voice.

“What are you implying?!” Raine snapped back from the living room. “Why on earth would I do that while you’re in the bathroom?”

Unconvinced but unwilling to prolong the exchange, Zane turned on the shower, letting the water cascade over him as he ruffled his curly hair. He tilted his head back to rinse it, his gaze inadvertently drifting toward the ceiling. That’s when he noticed it—a strange reddish hue creeping along the walls above him.

Frowning, he narrowed his eyes. The colour seemed almost alive, pulsing faintly in the dim light. A low, savage growl rumbled from behind him, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Heart pounding, Zane turned his head cautiously to the right, scanning the bathroom with wide, searching eyes.

Nothing.

The mirror reflected only himself—wet hair, tense shoulders, and an expression caught between fear and disbelief.

Zane hastily scrubbed the soap over his body, the foamy bubbles quickly washed away by the stream of water cascading over him. His movements were hurried, driven more by an unsettling tension than any urgency to be on time.

As the shower rinsed the last traces of soap from his face, he stared blankly ahead, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. The ominous growl still lingered in his thoughts, but the bathroom remained eerily silent. Finally, he turned off the water, wrapped himself in a bathrobe, and stepped out.

Raine brushed past him, her towel slung over one arm and clothes in hand, her brows knitted in clear annoyance. She disappeared into her own bathroom without so much as a glance, the door shutting behind her.

Zane sighed and retreated to his bedroom, rummaging through his drawer for something to wear. As he pulled on a clean shirt, a high-pitched screech jolted him upright. The sound sliced through the quiet like nails dragged across a chalkboard. He froze, his ears straining for any further noise, but the flat remained unnervingly still.

His eyes darted around the room, scanning for any signs of disturbance, but the walls appeared intact—no cracks, no damage, no source for the sound. Shaking his head, he reached for the doorknob to leave when something caught his eye.

The red envelope they got last time.

It sat on the small table by the door, glaring at him like a vivid scar against the otherwise mundane furnishings.

Zane tossed a wary glance at the red envelope before muttering, "Whatever you are, go away. You can't frighten me!" He stepped out of his bedroom, leaving the unsettling sight behind.

He ambled into the living room, glancing at the clock. Six in the morning. The faint glow of dawn seeped through the curtains, casting the room in a pale light. He dropped himself onto his favourite chair, the cushions moulding to his familiar weight, and pulled out his phone.

A notification blinked on the screen—a message from Sarah: How are you feeling?

He frowned, his thumbs quickly tapping a reply. I'm fine.

The response was swift, almost as though she'd been waiting. Are you sure?

Zane hesitated before typing, It's just that my vision seems to mess up with me. And sometimes, my head hurts.

He hit send and leaned back, staring at the faint reflection of himself on the dark television screen. It was a relief to confide in someone, but even as he waited for Sarah's reply, the tension from earlier lingered.

The aneurysm grows larger and larger as time goes by, based on your mother's condition before she… Sarah's message trailed off ominously.

“Well, it doesn't mean I will have the same condition as hers,” he muttered under his breath as he typed the response and sent it. The faint buzz of the phone in his hand felt heavy, like the echo of his thoughts.

"Besides," he whispered to himself, "I don't even have the money for the surgery."

His eyes wandered to the clock on the wall, the ticking reminding him of the fleeting time. His mind flashed back to the pink-clad lady who had appeared to him last month—her cryptic warning, her uncanny presence. If I don’t treat this damned illness, who will help my family survive? The thought gnawed at him.

“Let’s go,” Raine’s voice cut through his reverie, grounding him back to the present.

He glanced up, Raine waiting by the door with an expectant look. With a reluctant nod, he forced a smile and pushed himself up from the chair. Together, they stepped out of the flat and headed back to the waiting taxi.

“Who’s paying?” Raine asked, lingering by the door while the others had already settled in—the driver starting the engine, Eteri in the passenger seat, and Zane seated in the back.

“I’ll take care of it. No worries,” Eteri replied, flashing a reassuring smile. She turned to the driver and gave instructions. “To the funeral in San Mateo, sir.”

The journey was quiet, each one's mind has each own channel As they arrived at the funeral home, the somber atmosphere enveloped them. The air was heavy with grief, the scent of sampaguita garlands mingling with the waxy aroma of flickering candles.

Inside, a crowd had gathered, their subdued murmurs interspersed with the soft sound of weeping. Many clutched copies of a book titled Pamana, the first paranormal work penned by the deceased. Its title, which meant inheritance in Filipino, seemed fitting—a parting gift left behind.

Zane and Raine hung back, their white attire blending with the sea of mourners.

Raine leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper. “What’s your plan?” she asked, her gaze flicking between the detective inspector and his partner, Detective Sergeant Cruz.

DI Ferrer’s eyes scanned the crowd, his posture alert. “Watch for anything out of place,” he murmured.

Zane had just begun to sit beside them when a familiar voice sliced through the murmurs. “Raine? Zane? What a surprise to see you here.”

They turned to see Andrea Mercado, draped in a simple white dress and a lace shawl, looking every bit the grieving neighbour.

“Andrea,” Zane said, his tone neutral.

Andrea's smile faltered slightly, her eyes scanning them both. “I didn’t know you knew about Amara,” she remarked, her voice light, though her gaze lingered a fraction too long. “I can’t recall you ever mentioning her name.”

Raine offered a faint smile. “We don’t know her, ma’am. We’re here to support a colleague—Ms. Magallanes,” she replied, gesturing towards Eteri, who sat in front of them, her back turned, seemingly lost in her own thoughts.

“Ah, how thoughtful,” Andrea responded, her gaze drifting momentarily to Zane as he settled beside Raine. “Still, a bit unusual, don’t you think? Showing up for someone you’ve never met.”

Zane cleared his throat, his calm façade slipping into place. “We believe it’s important to show support. Funerals are about community, after all.”

Raine raised an eyebrow. “And you? Do you know her?”

“She’s part of our community back in the province,” Andrea answered.

The funeral service drew to a close, and the mourners began to rise, filing towards the exit. “Let’s go,” Detective Cruz instructed. “Onwards to Saint Paul Chapel.”

After walking to the nearby church for the ceremonies, they were finally ready to head to the cemetery.

The slow, rhythmic tolling of the church bell resonated through the early morning air as mourners followed in silent procession behind the hearse. The only sound, apart from the somber footsteps, was the faint, melancholic music drifting from the vehicle. Ahead, the hearse moved at a crawl, its presence heavy in the quiet street.

“Do you still think it’s suicide?” Raine whispered to the inspector.

“That’s what the current police report suggests,” he replied.

Sergeant Cruz, walking ahead, glanced back. “Sizes 37 and 38 should be here somewhere,” she said.

Raine’s eyes narrowed as she observed Andrea walking alongside the old woman she had spoken to earlier. A young lady soon joined them, and the trio continued their quiet conversation.

“Look at Andrea and her group,” Raine murmured to Zane. “She’s wearing size 38, and that other lady she’s talking to might be a 37.”

They arrived at the cemetery, the atmosphere heavy with grief. The funeral home staff gently lowered the coffin into the grave, their movements deliberate and respectful. The mourners gathered around, each throwing a handful of white flowers onto the casket.

Raine's eyes remained fixed on Andrea, who stood at the edge of the gathering, slightly apart from the others. Her arms were folded tightly, and her eyes flickered uneasily over the crowd. She leaned in, whispering something to the old woman beside her, who responded with a nod.

Raine leaned closer to Zane, her voice low. "Look at her. Andrea’s acting like she doesn’t want to be here. Doesn't that seem odd?"

Zane’s gaze followed hers, but he merely shrugged, his tone softening as he looked back at Raine. "She’s grieving, Raine. Not everyone shows it the same way."

Raine's frown deepened as she watched Andrea. "Look at her now—fidgeting, whispering, and glancing over her shoulder. My hunch says she’s the one we’re looking for, the one with size 38."

Zane shifted uncomfortably, his gaze still fixed on Andrea, who was now speaking to the young lady who had approached earlier.

"That’s just a hunch, Raine. Not your usual deductive reasoning. A lot of people wear size 38 shoes. And... do you really think she'd do something like that? You’ve worked with her for a long time."

Raine's gaze didn't waver from Andrea as she absorbed Zane's explanation. "I don’t know," she said. "But there’s something off about her. Acting like this… we can’t just ignore it because she’s, what, easy on the eyes?"

Zane shot her a brief glance but didn’t reply, his focus remaining on Andrea, who had given the young lady a thoughtful pat on the shoulder. The gesture seemed innocent enough, but Raine’s instincts told her otherwise.

"They said Mrs. Betty was the only one Amara was close with," Raine pressed again, her eyes narrowing. "Who are those two mysterious people, then?"

Zane sighed, shifting his stance. "They mentioned Ms. Turner’s a novelist. That’s why some of these people, not from the village, are here, grieving harder than those who actually knew Amara. Maybe they’re fans." He hesitated, then added, "And Ms. Mercado, you know her field. She’s into Philippine cultures—could be that Amara consulted her for something along those lines."

Raine took a slow breath, nodding. She met Zane’s gaze and offered a brief smile. “You might be right, Mr. Nuñez. I’ll leave the interview to you.”

DS Cruz frowned, her voice dropping. “What?”

“Mr. Nuñez and Ms. Mercado are acquainted,” Raine explained in a whisper. “If Ms. Mercado holds those size 38 trainers, and that woman with her is someone she knows well, she might open up more quickly.”

“I’ll leave it to you,” DI Ferrer said, his tone steady.

“Seriously?” DS Cruz raised an eyebrow, scepticism clear in her voice.

“But wear an earpiece,” DI Ferrer added, “so we can hear everything.”

Raine nodded. “Take her somewhere for a meal, make it casual. Conduct the interview without her realising it’s one.”

Zane’s expression softened, an unfamiliar feeling settling over him. “Got it,” he replied.

࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

As evening settled in, dinner was set for seven. Zane readied himself while Raine reheated the lumpia the Suarezes had gifted them. She plated it on the table and sat at the kitchen counter, waiting.

"Why don’t you at least have one?" Raine asked, helping herself to some lumpia.

"I’ll be eating out. I—"

"Oh, come on. I can't finish all this. It'll go to waste, even if I give Mrs. Nuñez the rest," she urged.

Zane rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips. Shaking his head, he relented and sat at the counter. "Cheers," he muttered, and they both took a bite.

"By the way," Raine said, pulling something from her pocket and revealing a skin-coloured earpiece, which she handed to Zane. He took it with a nod. "Sorry if I ruined your first date night with her."

Zane paused, the earpiece now in his left ear. "No. No need to apologize," he replied, taking another bite of lumpia. "You actually made it one of the best nights I've had in the city."

Raine glanced away, pouring cold water into her glass. "Well, eat up what you can," she said with a grin. "You've got your date to catch. Go get that lady's heart." She took a sip of water, her smile stretching wider.