Sabrina couldn't help but glance back in surprise.
From that point on, aside from Xander in 102, the remaining Sentinels—though hardly easygoing—at least didn't try to frighten or toy with her again.
As she settled into the rhythm of her work, Sabrina gradually began to relax.
Until she reached the last cell on the first floor.
120.
She opened the hatch and slid in the folded clothes along with the note.
Before she could withdraw her hand, something brushed lightly across the back of it.
A hoarse, almost sickly male voice sighed in admiration.
"What delicate skin…"
The sensation of that unknown touch sent a chill racing down Sabrina's spine.
She instinctively jerked her hand back.
Startled, she fumbled—the tray clattered to the floor with a dull thud, and the back of her hand struck hard against the edge of the hatch.
She ignored the pain, her eyes darting anxiously toward the opening.
A pale hand emerged from within.
The skin was bloodless, veins and tendons standing out starkly beneath it.
"Oh dear, you hit it. Let me see," the voice continued, almost tenderly. "If it starts bleeding… that would be such a waste."
Sabrina's eyes widened.
A waste?
What did he mean by that?
The Sentinel in 120 leaned forward, one hand braced against the opening. Slightly bent at the waist, he peered at her through the hatch with eyes as pale and clear as a lake—yet filled with unsettling curiosity.
Slowly, his gaze dropped to the reddened skin on the back of her hand.
There was something intensely wrong about the way he looked at her.
A strange, eager fascination flickered beneath the surface.
Sabrina felt as if something cold and venomous had slithered over her skin wherever his gaze touched. Every hair on her body stood on end.
Seeing how frightened she was, he withdrew his hand.
Interest danced openly across his sharp, handsome features.
"So… a young girl."
"Young ones… I like them best."
Sabrina's expression stiffened.
He was smiling. His tone was even, gentle, almost friendly.
And yet, everything about him felt deeply, disturbingly wrong.
Even his words carried a hidden, unsettling weight.
She said nothing, and he simply kept staring.
Fixated.
Locked onto her clear, unguarded eyes.
"Such beautiful eyes," he murmured softly.
"They'd be perfect… preserved in a clean, transparent jar. Something to admire."
Whether he meant it or not—the words were enough to make her skin crawl.
Fortunately, among the lucid Sentinels, there were still some kind souls.
From nearby cells, voices called out, warning Sabrina not to pay attention to that lunatic.
Just shove the items in and leave.
At being called a lunatic, the man—Eugene Wayne—clicked his tongue in mild annoyance.
Under his intense, burning gaze, Sabrina bent down to pick up the fallen items.
Despite her fear, she carefully straightened the scattered clothes and note, placing them neatly back onto the tray.
Then, slowly, cautiously, she pushed it forward.
As Eugene reached out to take the tray, his arm suddenly tensed and he tried to yank her toward him.
Thankfully, Sabrina let go in time.
He paused, amused, lowering himself slightly as if to speak.
"You—"
Bang!
The hatch slammed shut with lightning speed.
Eugene froze, momentarily stunned—the door had nearly hit his nose.
Then, recalling the panic in her eyes, he let out a low chuckle.
After a moment, he glanced to the side.
A pitch-black crow stood there silently.
It had been the one to brush against Sabrina just now—his spirit companion.
Though the contact had lasted only an instant, that strange, indescribable sensation…
Eugene studied the bird.
"You felt it too, didn't you?"
The crow rolled its eyes in a distinctly human gesture, as if mocking him for stating the obvious.
Eugene's eyes narrowed slightly.
So he hadn't imagined it.
He turned, his gaze fixing on the glaring square of light from the window above.
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
The new one… was far more interesting than the last.