As soon as he stepped out of the infirmary, Ethan’s face twisted in frustration—because Royce was still waiting for him in the hallway.

“I already promised I wouldn’t tell anyone, so can you stop following me everywhere, Royce?”

Ethan was beginning to suspect that his newfound fame wasn’t just because of the discovery of Felix Hoang’s corpse—it was also partially thanks to Royce. Lately, Royce had been sticking to him like a shadow, following him almost everywhere. Perhaps he wanted to make sure no one else got the chance to interrogate Ethan the way Andrew The Detective had that morning.

“If you keep this up, you’re only making people more suspicious.”

“Suspicious of what, bro? I’m just walking back to our classroom.”

(Hmph, how slippery.)

Ethan recalled that moment when he had stood before Felix Hoang’s eerily blood-soaked body. Unlike a normal person, Royce hadn’t shown a shred of fear. Instead, he had casually pushed Ethan back to get a full-angle shot of the crime scene with his iPhone 16 Pro Max.

Then, with calculated precision, he had carefully placed his steps, ensuring he didn’t disturb any potential evidence. Once he reached the corpse, he had methodically captured close-up shots of every detail—the wounds on Felix Hoang’s body, every angle, every mark.

But the part that had truly sent shivers down Ethan’s spine was when Royce lifted the victim’s lips, closely inspecting his teeth while rapidly taking photos.

And yet, even that wasn’t as bizarre as what he did next. Royce had leaned in close to the gaping, torn throat—sniffing, inhaling deeply, as if trying to memorize a strange scent.

Beyond the overpowering stench of blood and the ever-present salty tang of the sea, there had been another scent—a faint, delicate floral fragrance. Though Ethan couldn’t quite identify what kind of flower it was, it had been distinct.

Realizing that Ethan had been observing his every move, Royce had straightened up and swiftly approached him. Raising a single finger to his lips, he had silently gestured:

“Shhh.”

The early morning September sunlight cast sharp shadows across Royce’s striking features, illuminating the almond-shaped pupils of his eyes—cat-like, predatory. Coupled with the seemingly friendly smile on his lips, the eerie contrast sent a wave of unease crashing over Ethan. His stomach churned, his limbs went weak, and he suddenly felt as though he were standing face-to-face with a dangerous predator.

Then, out of nowhere, darkness consumed everything.

The world faded.

The corpse, Royce, the blood-soaked alley—everything vanished into an abyss of black.

When Ethan came to in the middle of the night, he found himself lying in what seemed to be a private hospital room somewhere in town.

He had no idea how he had gotten there.

His breathing was heavy, his head pounding as if a hammer were being driven into his skull. His body burned with fever, yet he felt a bone-deep chill. Nights on the coast were far colder and damper than the scorching days—if one wasn’t used to it, it was easy to fall sick.

Curled up on the hospital bed, trembling beneath the thin hospital blanket, Ethan felt a wave of loneliness crash over him. He was far from home, sick, and alone, with no family to care for him. In this moment, all he wanted was to be back home.

(There’s nothing to be sad about. Toughen up.)

He told himself this, trying to push away the feeling. Slowly, he drifted back into a fitful, feverish sleep.

And in that haze, he dreamed—

A dream so vivid it felt real.

Someone had approached his bedside, gently pressing a small, warm hand against his burning forehead. Then, that person had climbed into the bed, slipping their slender arms around him from behind, their soft body molding against his back.

It felt so real.

The human brain was a fascinating thing, capable of replicating sensations in dreams so perfectly. Ethan could feel the warmth, could smell the intoxicating fragrance of lilies lingering in the air.

And then, he had heard—

A voice as pure and ethereal as an angel’s whispering in his ear:

“It was just a nightmare. Forget everything you saw this morning.”

The next morning, Ethan had dismissed it as nothing more than a fever-induced hallucination, a trick his exhausted mind had played on him.

But the scent of lilies still lingered in the air.

And judging by the way Royce twitched his nose ever so slightly the moment he stepped into the hospital room—before swiftly handling the discharge paperwork and taking Ethan back home—

It seemed like Ethan hadn’t been dreaming at all.