Kin didn't sleep.
Not really. He lay on the mattress with his eyes closed, listening to the building settle. Pipes groaned. The wind rattled the cracked window frame. Every sound made his muscles tighten. Every creak was a footstep. Every distant car was a convoy.
He kept seeing the general's head. The weight of it in his hand. The blood warm against his fingers. The eyes—still open, still looking at him.
I didn't do it, he told himself for the hundredth time. The System did. I was just… watching.
But his hands didn't believe him.
Around 8 AM, he gave up on pretending to sleep. He sat up, hugged his knees to his chest, and stared at the wall. The water stain shaped like a dead bird. He had named it Gerald three months ago, when he was drunk and lonely.
"Gerald," he whispered, "I think I killed a man."
Gerald didn't answer.
By 7 AM, the sun was up. Thin grey light filtered through the torn curtain. Kin's mouth tasted like rust and alcohol. His head throbbed. He needed water. He needed coffee.
He didn't move.
At 8:17 AM, the knock came.
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
Three sharp raps. Familiar. Lina.
Kin's stomach turned. What now? Did she figure it out? Is she here to kick me out? Call the police?
He dragged himself to the door and opened it.
Lina stood in the hallway, holding a plastic bag in one hand and a bundle of folded clothes in the other. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun—her business bun, the one she wore when she was about to be unpleasant. She had no makeup on, and without it, she looked younger, softer and human.
But her eyes were as sharp as ever.
She didn't wait for an invitation. She stepped past him into the apartment, her heels clicking on the bare floor.
"You look like death," she said, not looking at him. She set the bag and the clothes on his rickety wooden table—the one that wobbled if you breathed on it wrong.
Kin closed the door. "Good morning to you too."
"Don't 'good morning' me." She turned to face him, arms crossed. Her gaze swept over him—the tangled hair, the dark circles, the shirt he'd been wearing for two days. "Have you slept at all?"
"A little."
"Liar." She pulled a container from the plastic bag. Steam rose from it. Rice. Meat. Some kind of sauce that smelled like garlic and home. "Sit down. Eat."
Kin didn't move. "Why are you bringing me food?"
"Because you look like a stray dog I found in the alley, and I have a weakness for strays." She set the container on the table. "Sit. I'm not leaving until you eat something."
He hesitated. Then he sat on the edge of his mattress—there were no chairs—and stared at the food. Lina sat on the floor across from him, legs folded. That was new. She'd never sat on his floor before. She'd never stayed longer than it took to collect rent or deliver a complaint.
She pulled out a second container for herself. Rice and vegetables. She had chopsticks already in her hand.
"Eat," she said again, softer this time.
Kin picked up the container. The rice was warm. The meat was tender. He hadn't had a home-cooked meal in… he couldn't remember.
They ate in silence for a minute.
Then Lina said, "You saw them. The men in coats."
Kin's hand paused halfway to his mouth. "You knew they were coming?"
"I didn't know. I heard them talking to the neighbor downstairs. Then they knocked on my door." She chewed a piece of vegetable, swallowed. "They had a photo a blurry one, like from a security camera."
"What did you tell them?"
"I told them I didn't recognize the face." She looked at him. "I didn't. It was blurry. Could've been anyone."
"But you knew."
"I suspected." She set her container down. "You came home past midnight llooking like you'd run a marathon through a slaughterhouse. The timing was… convenient."
Kin's heart hammered. "I didn't—"
"Don't." Her voice was sharp. "Don't lie to me, Kin. I'm not stupid. I'm not a cop. I'm not going to report you." She leaned back against the wall. "But I need to know what I'm dealing with. Because those men—they will do anything ."
She pulled something out from her back pocket. A thick yellow envelope, creased in the middle. She held it up.
"Five thousand Spirit Nether," she said. "They didn't say it was a bribe. They said it was 'for your cooperation.' But we both know what it was."
Kin stared at the envelope. "What are you going to do with it?"
"I don't know yet." She tucked it back into her pocket. "I kept it because refusing would have made them suspicious. But I haven't spent a coin of it. I don't want blood money."
"It might not be blood money."
Lina laughed—a short, bitter sound. "Those men? The Quiet Commission? Everything they touch turns to blood." She looked at him, and for a moment, her mask slipped. "Do you know who they are?"
Kin shook his head.
"The Quiet Commission answers to no one. Not the police. Not the military. Not even the President, if the rumors are true. They investigate... irregular killings. Assassinations. The kind that can't be explained." Her voice dropped. "The kind where a general gets his head cut off in the middle of a crowded street, and no one sees the killer's face."
Kin's mouth went dry.
"That was you," Lina said. Not a question.
He didn't answer.
She nodded slowly, like she'd expected the silence. "I thought so." She picked up her container and ate another bite. "I'm not going to ask why. I don't want to know. But I need you to understand something."
She set the container down and leaned forward. Her eyes were intense.
"If they come back—and they will—I can't protect you. I can only keep my mouth shut and hope they go away. That's it. That's all I can do."
"Why are you doing even that much?"
Lina's jaw tightened. She looked away. "Because you're not a bad person, Kin. You're an idiot. A drunk. A terrible tenant who pays late and smells like cheap whiskey. But you're not bad."
"You don't know that."
"I know enough." She looked back at him. "I've lived in this building for eight years. I've seen bad. The man who lived in your apartment before you? He used to beat his wife. I could hear her crying through the floor. I called the police three times."
Kin felt something cold settle in his chest.
"Then one day, she was gone. And he was gone. And the apartment was empty." Lina's voice was flat. "I don't know what happened to her. I don't want to know. But I cleaned blood off the bathroom wall."
She paused.
"You're not that man, Kin. You're just... lost. And maybe a little stupid." A ghost of a smile flickered across her lips—so fast Kin almost missed it. "But not bad."
He didn't know what to say. So he ate another bite of rice.
They sat in silence for a while. The morning light grew brighter. Dust motes danced in the air.
Then Lina did something strange.
She reached out and touched his hair.
Not a pat. Not a quick brush. She ran her fingers through it, slowly, from his forehead to the back of his head. Her nails grazed his scalp. The sensation was so unexpected—so intimate—that Kin forgot to breathe.
His whole body went still.
Lina's hand paused at the nape of his neck. Her fingers curled slightly, like she was holding him in place. Her eyes were distant. Sad. Like she was seeing someone else.
"You have his hair," she whispered. "My brother's. The same color. The same... mess."
Kin's throat tightened. "You never mentioned a brother."
"He died." Her voice cracked. "Five years ago. The Quiet Commission took him."
The room seemed to grow colder.
"He wasn't a killer," she said. "He was a journalist. He wrote about the wrong people. One day, men in coats came to his apartment. He was never seen again."
Her hand was still in his hair. Kin didn't move. He was afraid that if he moved, she would stop. And some part of him—some lonely, broken part—didn't want her to stop.
"I looked for him for two years," she continued. "Went to every office. Every morgue. Every prison. Nothing. He just... disappeared."
She pulled her hand back.
Kin felt the absence like a physical loss.
Lina's face hardened. The mask snapped back into place. She stood up abruptly, brushing off her pants like she'd touched something dirty.
"Eat your food," she said, her voice cold again. "Shower. Put on the clothes. And keep your head down."
She walked toward the door.
"Lina—"
She stopped. Didn't turn around.
"I'm sorry about your brother," Kin said.
She stood there for a long moment. Her shoulders were tense. Her hand was on the doorknob.
Then she looked back over her shoulder.
And smiled.
It was small. Brief. The kind of smile that might have been a goodbye, or a warning, or a prayer. Kin had never seen her smile before. Not once in the year he'd lived here. She was always frowning, always scowling, always strict.
He couldn't tell if this smile was genuine...
Or something else. Something malicious.
It was gone before he could decide. She opened the door and walked out.
The door clicked shut.
Kin sat there, the half-eaten container of rice in his lap, his hand slowly rising to touch his own hair.
Her warmth was still there. The ghost of her fingers.
What just happened?
[Lina Trust Level: +12%]
[New Status: Suspicious Protector – She is watching but not betraying. Yet.]
[Unusual physical contact detected. Motive: Grief? Loneliness? Manipulation?]
[Kin Status: Confused. Emotional vulnerability detected. Heart rate elevated.]
[Warning: Lina's behavior inconsistent with previous patterns. Proceed with caution.]
He looked at the bundle of clothes she'd brought. A simple grey shirt. Dark pants. Plain. Functional.
He looked at the plastic bag. There was a bar of soap inside. A towel. A cheap razor.
She thought of everything.
Kin set the rice aside and lay back on the mattress. He stared at the water stain on the ceiling.
Gerald, he thought, I think my landlady just touched my hair.
Gerald didn't have any advice.
[Next mission in: 62 hours, 30 minutes]
[Mental stability: 43% – Rest recommended.]
He closed his eyes.