Corin lay with his head pressed against the table. Blood seeped from beneath the mask, running from the nose slit. With a low groan, he pushed himself upright.
His eyes still curved in their unnatural smile as he wiped the blood from the mask.
"What was that for?" he asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.
Amanda exhaled slowly, her expression hardening.
"How many times have I told you to stop stealing. It is bad, Corin." She leaned closer, her voice dropping. "And especially from little girls."
Her eyes burned as she pressed a finger against his forehead.
"You. Do. Not. Do. Things. Like. That."
Corin tilted his head.
"Isn't it only bad if i get caught?"
Amanda pinched the bridge of her nose before snapping.
"No. It is always bad! So stop doing it, okay."
Corin stared at her for a moment.
"Okay."
He didn't fully understand, but he agreed anyways.
Her gaze shifted to the handkerchief.
"You are returning this to the girl you took it from. And you are apologizing." She met his eyes again and tapped his shoulder. "Now get to work."
She turned away, already walking toward the exit. "I am heading to bed."
At the door, she paused and glanced back, a faint smile crossing her face. "Be careful out there."
Corin watched her leave. Once the door closed, his gaze fell to the handkerchief on the table.
"Return it," he murmured.
The silk cloth looked expensive. That's why he had taken it. He didn't want to give it back, but he intended to return there regardless. The image of the blood soaked room surfaced in his mind.
He had to figure out what happened.
Setting the thought aside, he gathered his belongings and moved towards the counter to clock in.
After signing in, Corin and the others filed back into the snow.
The mountain loomed ahead, its massive cave entrance yawning open. Inside waited rows of lifts, fifteen in total, all descending into the depths. Each miner headed for the lift marked on their badge.
The process was smooth. Routine.
Corin stood beside two other men as the metal grate doors slid shut. A single bulb swayed overhead. The lift shuddered, light flickering, as it began its descent.
His workday had begun.
....
Two men sat side by side in a cramped, dark cave. One was broad and rough looking, brown hair hanging in unkempt strands. The other was smaller, leaner, with short blond hair and sharper features.
The blond man reached into his bag.
He pulled out a metal flask and raised it to his lips. Water trickled down his cheek, drinking deeply. The sharp clang of metal echoed through the cave.
Benjamin wiped his mouth and glanced at Mark.
"Is it really okay to let that guy do all the work?" he asked, nodding toward Corin swinging his pickaxe farther down the tunnel.
Mark grunted, eyes still closed.
"It is fine. He refuses breaks, even when you offer them." He opened one eye. "And he works for three."
He leaned back against the stone and shut his eyes again.
"So relax. We got lucky today."
Benjamin watched Corin.
"Does he ever get tired?"
Mark cracked one eye open again.
"That guy is a freak of nature." He scoffed. "He might look a bit scrawny because he is tall, but under that shirt he is solid muscle. On top of that, he is one of the gifted. All of them are superhuman, even the non combat ones."
He paused.
"I would not be surprised if he could work for two days straight without stopping."
"A gifted," Benjamin murmured.
"In his case, it is more like a curse," Mark replied. "I would not want that creepy mask stuck to my face."
Benjamin said nothing.
He kept watching Corin's back as the pickaxe rose and fell.
Hours pass.
The sun had already hidden itself behind the horizon and the moon peaked from behind the mountain.
A loud bell rung through the underground. Corin stopped mid swing and looked towards the sound. He slotted his pickaxe back on his hip and grabbed the lantern that stood behind him.
Benjamin jolted awake.
"Aaah!"
A sigh escaped his lips.
"Oh, it's just you."
Mark slowly opened his eyes, yawning. His voice raspy.
"What's all the fuss about?"
Corin stood before them, holding the lantern in one hand, a bag filled with coal in the other. His clothes and mask smothered black and grey by all kinds of dust.
"It's time to head back up."
He headed for the lift.
Benjamin and Mark hurried after him, boots scraping against stone as they caught up.
Just before stepping inside, Corin turned to face them.
"You're giving me forty percent of today's earnings."
"Wha—"
Benjamin started to protest, but Mark cut him off with a sharp look.
Mark nodded. "Fine."
Corin held his gaze a moment longer, then stepped into the battered lift. The other two followed. The rusted cage shuddered as it began its slow ascent.
His workday was over.
....
Fog filled his lungs as he breathed in the stale air of the Underground. Corin moved quickly through the streets, his auburn pants and shirt still stained black from coal dust. He had just stepped off the train.
He was in a hurry.
He needed to know.
His pace quickened, nearly breaking out into a run as he cut through the fog. Soon, a familiar building emerged from the haze.
Snow began to fall again as he stopped before the house.
The little girl's house.
Corin remained on the opposite side of the street, studying it carefully. The bricks. The window. The front door. The second story.
Everything appeared normal.
He scanned the surroundings. Fog and snow clouded the air, limiting visibility, but faint figures still moved along the street. Dim lights glowed behind distant windows.
Nothing seemed out of place.
After another look around, he crossed the street and approached the window. He leaned closer, trying to peer inside. The interior was dark, but visible enough. No strange mist. No distortion. Just an ordinary room.
Just as he looked up, the fog thickened.
It rolled inward, swallowing the far ends of the road. Darkness smothered the dim lights. Sound vanished.
The street fell silent.
His eyes widened. "Did it happen ag-"
A sharp hiss cut him off.
He blinked. Rubbed his eyes.
The fog had instantly thinned again. Lights flickered again. Figures moved in the distance as if nothing had changed.
Everything was normal, as if the previous second had been an illusion.
Corin looked around confused before turning his attention towards the sound.
In the alley beside the house stood the same black cat from this morning. Yellow eyes fixed on him. Its fur bristled as it let out another low growl before slipping back into the shadows.
Corin stood still, thoughts spiraling.
"Was it.. just a hallucination?"
He began walking, examining every detail of the street. The alley. The houses. The people. He even traced the same path to Butchery Jef and back again.
Nothing.
No distortion. No fog swallowing the world. No crying child.
For over an hour he wandered, searching for anything unusual.
Eventually, he found himself standing before the window again.
"Should I just break in?"
It would not be difficult. In his supposed hallucination, the door had been secured with nothing more than a sliding lock.
He glanced down the street. No one nearby.
Decision made, he approached the front door and calmly withdrew a few handmade lock picks from his pocket. Sliding a thin strip of metal between the door and frame, he worked carefully.
After a few seconds of subtle pressure and movement, the latch gave way.
The door opened.
Corin stepped inside and closed it softly behind him.
The interior was dark, but immediately different from before. Shoes lined the wall. Jackets hung neatly. Decorations adorned the shelves.
It felt lived in.
Nothing like the hollow, suffocating emptiness he remembered.
Corin moved forward silently.
Like a mouse.
A dead one at that.
He had to be silent.
It was dark inside but that didn't mean no one was present. Earlier in the hallway he saw shoes and jackets present.
It was still early evening. Too early for most to sleep.
But it was winter.
People retired sooner when the nights were long.
Corin moved carefully through the living space, scanning every corner. The layout matched what he remembered. A modest home, mostly one large room with stairs leading to the second floor.
Nothing felt wrong.
After checking the hallway, the living area, and the kitchen, his gaze settled on the staircase.
The place where it all unfolded.
The room upstairs.
Without hesitation he carefully ascended, arriving before the door.
Now he had to be really cautious. If anyone was home, it would be here. The little girl. The man. Perhaps both.
He crouched and tried to peer through the keyhole.
Too dark.
He reached for the doorknob and turned it slowly.
...
...
Click.
The door opened.
A dark room greeted him. A single window. A closet. A desk. A bed.
No blood, no dead bodies.
Just a child's bedroom.
His eyes fixed on the bed.
There lay a little girl, sleeping peacefully.
For a moment, another image overlaid reality. The same girl behind the desk. Head twisted unnaturally. Hollow eye sockets weeping blood.
Dismissing the thought, Corin stepped closer until he stood beside the bed.
The room seemed to grow darker. It was a scary sight. A tall figure in a pale mask, looming over a sleeping child.
He tilted his head.
Amanda's voice echoed faintly in his memory.
Slowly, he withdrew the silk handkerchief from his pocket and placed it beside the pillow.
Then he turned.
Without a sound, he left the room.
Moments later, he slipped out of the house and into the night.
"What a waste." He thought.
He had gained nothing from this trip.