A hooded man ran wildly through the dim woodland, his steps uneven and desperate.
The crunch of decaying branches and leaves underfoot intertwined with his own heavy, ragged breathing.
He looked back in panic from time to time, terrified that someone might suddenly flash out from behind a tree.
When he turned his head forward again, confirming he was temporarily safe, a sole—
Black leather, magnifying rapidly in his vision with unquestionable force.
"Bang!"
A dull thud sounded.
The man didn't even have time to see the attacker's full appearance.
He only felt a sharp, numbing pain in the bridge of his nose as stars exploded before his eyes; with a scream, he fell backward, slamming heavily onto the leaf-strewn mud.
Wednesday landed lightly, her black skirt swirling out like bat wings before settling down again.
Expressionless, she was about to step forward to see exactly who this sneaky stalker was when she heard Victor's familiar voice, tinged with an eager, credit-seeking urgency, coming from behind her to the side:
"Wednesday, I see him! Watch me catch him!"
Wednesday's slender brows furrowed imperceptibly.
Catch who?
Hadn't the man in front of her, whom she had just floored with a kick, already lost the ability to move?
Just as the thought flashed by, she felt a force that wasn't small—but certainly wasn't gentle—slam into her from the side.
Caught off guard, Wednesday's foot tripped over a gnarled tree root. An exclamation choked in her throat as she was tackled onto the damp, soft grass.
"Victor!"
Wednesday didn't need to look to know who this reckless impact originated from.
Her voice was laced with ice shards; even on the ground, her posture maintained a strange restraint and calmness.
"Ha! Got you! Wednesday will definitely praise me!"
An excited and proud smile still hung on Victor's face, his arms still held in a hugging position.
It wasn't until he was completely pinned down that he saw who was beneath him. The smile instantly froze on his face, and his voice died in his throat:
"Uh... Wednesday?"
"Mm-hmm."
Lying flat on the grass, Wednesday looked directly up at Victor's face—which was now written all over with the words "I've messed up"—with an expression as calm as still water. Her tone was cold enough to freeze the surrounding air.
"Nicely done, Mr. Black. You are truly wonderful."
"I'm sorry! Wednesday! Are you okay?!"
Only then did Victor fully react, scrambling to prop himself up with his hands.
However, the woodland soil was slippery and covered in moss. His palms slipped, and instead of successfully getting up, he fell forward heavily once more, this time pinning Wednesday down without a gap between them.
A strong scent, carrying the warmth of sunlight and a faint hint of chocolate sweetness, instantly enveloped Wednesday.
She could even clearly feel Victor's heart racing with panic beneath his chest, as well as the scorching body temperature of a young boy radiating through the thin fabric of their clothes.
A very faint flush, which even she hadn't noticed, appeared on the edges of Wednesday's pale cheeks. She couldn't help but wonder: was this guy doing this on purpose?
"So—"
A voice thick with nasality, full of helplessness and exhaustion, sounded from the side, breaking the eerie and awkward atmosphere.
"You kicked me to the ground just so I could admire you and your boyfriend... deepening your relationship on the grass?"
Wednesday and Victor turned their heads simultaneously.
The man Wednesday had kicked down had already sat up, clutching his clearly swollen nose.
His hood had slipped off during the fall and his current movements, revealing a face they both recognized—
Slightly weathered, bearing the marks of long-term toil and travel; it was the former detective and Tyler's father, Mr. Donovan.
He looked at the two of them tumbled together like a human pyramid, his expression complex.
"Donovan?"
Victor cried out in surprise, finally rolling off Wednesday to the side. He scrambled to his feet and reached out a hand to pull Wednesday up.
Wednesday ignored Victor's outstretched hand and stood up with a lithe flip, her movements as fluid as a black cat ready to pounce.
She brushed the grass clippings and mud off her skirt, her gaze sharp as she looked at Donovan.
"You appeared sneakily near a murder scene and ran as soon as you saw me. Explain."
Donovan stood up by leaning against the rough bark, his fingers sinking deep into the cracks of the tree as if trying to draw a bit of strength from the old trunk.
"Karl Bradbury was my friend."
Donovan's voice was low, carrying a faint, imperceptible tremor.
"We were investigating a case together. That's why he was killed."
A flash of sorrow crossed his eyes; it was fleeting but undeniably real.
Unfortunately, Wednesday would not empathize with him.
She stood there, her black skirt perfectly still, her pale face showing no change in expression.
"I'm not going to play along with your tragic drama."
Wednesday's voice was cool and clear. Her meaning was obvious—get to the point.
Donovan shook his head with a bitter smile, realizing that any emotional display was futile in front of this girl.
"Bradbury discovered some things that might affect Outcasts. We were only just beginning to understand the situation."
"Is it related to what you told my Cousin-Aunt at the coffee shop?"
Victor interjected, his gaze moving back and forth between Wednesday and Donovan, trying to piece together the full picture.
Donovan hesitated for a moment, his eyes unconsciously scanning the surroundings:
"I don't know. There are just some associations. Perhaps you could..."
His words came to an abrupt halt.
Donovan's pupils contracted slightly, his gaze fixed on a dead branch in the distance.
Victor and Wednesday followed his gaze—
A one-eyed crow stood quietly on the branch, its white eye like a bottomless glass bead, watching them motionlessly.
"Forget it."
Donovan suddenly changed his tone, his shoulders slumping as if he had aged several years in an instant.
"Larissa was right. We can't get the children involved. This isn't something you can handle."
He shook his head and limped away in the direction opposite the crow, his footsteps rustling on the dry leaves as he gradually moved further away.
Victor watched Donovan disappear into the dense forest, then turned to Wednesday, his voice lowered:
"Wednesday, what do you think Donovan is investigating?"
He moved closer to Wednesday. Instead of directly grabbing her hand as he had before, he tentatively touched the back of her hand with his pinky finger.
His gaze was full of expectation, like a large dog waiting for a reward.
Wednesday didn't seem to notice Victor's cautious contact; her gaze remained on the direction where the crow had disappeared.
"I don't know, but he's clearly run into trouble."
She analyzed calmly, "He'll come looking for us soon. Put a few ghost shadow soldiers in his shadow just in case."
After speaking, Wednesday turned and walked toward the school.
Victor was stunned for a moment, lowering his head, unable to hide the disappointment on his face.
However, just as he was about to follow, a cold hand suddenly took his left hand.
Victor looked down, surprised to see that Wednesday was still looking straight ahead, as if the act of holding hands had nothing to do with her.
But that hand gripping his was undeniably real.
A silly smile climbed back onto Victor's face.
He quickened his pace to walk side-by-side with Wednesday, his fingers quietly adjusting their position to intertwine with hers.
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