The next day.
Morning came without any warmth in it. The sky over Greyhaven hung pale and flat, the kind of gray that never quite commits to rain or sun — just sits there, unfinished.
A man in a black coat stood before forty-two coffins.
They were laid out in two rows, straight enough to hurt to look at, each one draped in white flowers. Last night's rain had left dark streaks across the wood, staining the grain like old bruises that never fully healed.
Aldric Marune stood at the front, head down.
He didn't move for a long time.
Death wasn't new to him. It came standard with the job, with the Bureau, with every year he'd spent doing this. But not like this. Never forty-three in a single day.
His jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists at his sides.
"I'm sorry." Barely a whisper, and it barely reached past his own mouth.
"This is my fault."
Even to his own ears, the apology sounded thin.
One coffin was smaller than the rest.
His eyes caught on it and stayed there longer than they should have. The flowers on that one hadn't dried yet.
He made himself look away.
"Rest in peace."
Behind him the crowd kept growing. Officers in dark uniforms stood in rows of their own, some staring straight at the coffins, others with their heads bowed under the weight of it.
Toward the back, civilians filled in the gaps — families, friends, people who'd lost someone and had nowhere else to put the grief.
Their voices came in fragments, low and shaking.
"I still can't believe it. Hands. Legs. Heads. How does something like that even happen?"
"That's not an accident. That's butchery."
"If it's this bad just hearing about it — what did it look like for the people who actually saw it happen?"
"How is anyone supposed to sleep again after this?"
Someone started crying, quiet at first, then not.
Then the cameras came. Light strobed across the courtyard as reporters pushed in for a better angle.
"Get him in frame," a cameraman muttered. "That's Aldric Marune. Investigation Head."
Another reporter, lower, sharper: "How is this man still holding his position after a body count like that?"
"Why hasn't he been removed?"
A third voice cut through, warning. "Keep it down. You don't want to find out what happens if the wrong person hears that."
The whispers kept moving anyway. Accusations always traveled faster than facts.
Aldric heard every word of it. Nothing on his face changed.
Then footsteps broke through the crowd, fast and unsteady.
An old woman shoved past the front row, hair a mess, eyes swollen red. She went straight for him.
"You did this," she screamed.
Her voice cracked halfway through, grief bleeding out through the anger.
Officers moved on instinct, grabbing her arms.
"Ma'am — please, step back."
"You're responsible for this!"
Her finger jabbed toward his chest.
"Let her go." His voice stayed low. Firm enough that the officers actually obeyed it.
They released her. She staggered the last few steps on her own, hands shaking.
"Because you failed—" her voice broke apart, "—my son is in a box."
"Say why you hesitated. Say it out loud!"
His eyes flicked — not to her. To the smaller coffin.
Just for a second. That was enough for her to catch it.
"Say you killed them!"
Her fist closed around the front of his coat.
"Say it to my face!"
His hand twitched up — like he meant to grab her wrist. He caught himself and let it fall back down. He didn't defend himself. He just stood there and took it.
"Why are you still standing here?" Her voice tore raw. "Do you feel anything at all?"
Her legs gave out from under her. She dropped to her knees, sobbing without any restraint left.
"Give him back to me. Please. Give me my son back."
The cameras kept firing, catching both of them now — Aldric standing, the old woman broken on the ground in front of him.
She looked up through the tears.
"You'll understand exactly how this feels one day. And that day's coming for you too."
Silence swallowed the space between them.
"...I know." His voice dropped lower than before.
"That's the problem."
His jaw tightened, muscle standing out along the line of it. For one second he looked like he might say something he'd been holding back for a long time.
He didn't.
"You don't need to wish that on me." A pause. "It's already coming."
She laughed — a broken, jagged sound with nothing behind it.
"You stand here apologizing." Her voice cracked further. "Does that fix anything?"
Quieter now. "Or does it just make you feel better?"
Nothing he could say would fix what was in front of him. So he said nothing at all. After a long moment, he turned and walked away.
Camera flashes lit up his face as he moved. Reporters surged forward, and his team closed ranks instantly, forming a wall between him and the crowd.
Nobody got past the line. Nobody tried twice.
The questions came all at once, loud and stacked on top of each other.
"Is it true an unidentified individual is behind this?"
"Is the government involved?"
"Sources say the attacker isn't human — is that confirmed?"
"They're calling it extraterrestrial —"
"Is the Earth in danger?"
"How many more people die before someone admits this is out of control?"
One reporter dropped his voice. "...they're pulling the footage."
A beat.
"...but some of it's still getting out."
"Every clip that surfaces — his face is blacked out."
"Does a department like that actually exist—one that investigates and monitors supernatural incidents?"
"This whole thing is a cover-up."
"Are civilians supposed to evacuate, or just wait?"
"How does the government answer for this?"
"Forty-three dead."
"And you're still running this?"
Aldric never once looked at a camera.
He didn't look back at the coffins. Didn't look back at the crowd.
Because if he did, he wasn't sure he'd make it out of that courtyard.
The questions kept coming. He and his team gave them nothing.
The reporters' voices blurred into a single ringing note in his ears — and that wasn't even the loudest thing in his head.
Are we actually responsible for this. Or was it my call that did it.
"Captain—!"
He didn't answer.
If I'd made that decision an hour earlier — would they still be breathing right now?
The guilt had pulled him so far under that he didn't register someone was calling his name until the second try.
"Captain!"
That one landed. He blinked, snapping back into his own body.
"Yeah." Quiet.
"Captain." A pause that told him this wasn't going to be good news. "...you need to see this."
Something shifted in his chest before the man even finished the sentence. Not from anything around him. Something further out.
"What is it?"
"Forty-two dead." His voice dropped low. "One survivor."
Aldric's eyes went cold, every trace of the funeral wiped clean off his face in an instant.
"If he knows anything—" A pause, heavier than the last one.
"—he's not leaving that room until he tells us everything."
The air shifted, subtle enough that no ordinary person in that courtyard would have caught it.
Aldric stopped walking. Not because of anything happening around him.
Somewhere else.
"...He's awake."
"Something's wrong."
✦ End of Chapter 28 — The Weight of Failure ✦