Damon and Phoebe were both unsure of what to do with Claire. Although the young girl seemed trustworthy, they still couldn't be certain. Deep down, Damon also didn't want someone as young as Claire—who still had so many other things to focus on in life—to suddenly get involved in the chaos he had started.
Perhaps in Claire's eyes, Damon appeared to be a hero for eliminating the wicked people in the world.
"So... can I see the tarot card you mentioned in your diary? Please?" Claire suddenly asked out of nowhere, catching Damon off guard.
Phoebe was also surprised and immediately shot Damon an annoyed glance.
Almost every piece of information about them was written in that diary—there seemed to be nothing left for them to hide.
And since Damon had nothing more to say—and didn't want all of them staying outside where someone might overhear their conversation—he decided to bring Claire and Phoebe to his small apartment instead.
Phoebe's face lit up with excitement—it was her first-time visiting Damon's apartment. However, she couldn't help but feel a bit annoyed as she glanced at Claire, thinking she should've been the only one invited. Still, she brushed the thought aside, happy with Damon's gesture.
Damon added that they might be hungry, and since he still had some supplies at home, he offered to cook for them. After all, this would be the first time he'd ever have guests over at his apartment.
"Yey!" Claire shouted excitedly, clearly overjoyed by what she heard from Damon.
Damon, on the other hand, didn't seem annoyed by Claire at all. In fact, he felt quite at ease with the young girl—it was as if her presence didn't weigh on him the way he thought it might.
As they were walking home together, Claire suddenly stopped in her tracks. Her expression shifted to a serious one.
"This is it… This is the place where it all began, right, Damon?" she said solemnly, her eyes fixed on the ground they were passing.
Damon's expression turned solemn as well, a mixture of pain, sorrow, and fear surfacing on his face.
Because this… this was the exact place where he first experienced death.
Claire knew this, because for days she had been rereading the diary Damon left behind. And according to her, this was the part that almost brought her to tears — she could feel the fear and sorrow Damon had written into every word.
No one came to help him.
He had no abilities to defend himself.
All he wanted that night… was to go home.
But what happened was something he never expected.
Even Phoebe fell silent, unable to say anything. The mood grew heavier when Claire suddenly asked a follow-up question.
"What does it feel like… to have already died once?"
Claire's voice was calm but serious as she looked straight at Damon.
Damon was caught off guard by the question, and when he glanced at Phoebe, he saw it too—
Her eyes were filled with fear and sorrow.
It was clear she was also having flashbacks of her own death.
Before the mood could grow any heavier in that place, Damon decided to cut Claire's line of questioning with a lighthearted joke.
"Well… to be honest, I was kind of relieved," he said with a half-smile.
"At that moment, I realized I wouldn't have to worry about paying bills, buying food, or—best of all—going to work every single day just to live a plain, ordinary life. Sounds fair, right?" he added with a soft chuckle.
His timing worked. Phoebe smiled faintly, and even Claire let out a small laugh at his dry humor.
Damon then followed up,
"But honestly… if those things hadn't happened, I'd probably still be stuck living a painfully boring life—while monsters like rapists and corrupt scum would still be roaming free. I don't regret putting an end to people like that."
"Don't worry, Damon. You can count on me—whatever plan you two come up with."
Claire's voice was calm, but her smile was confident and sincere.
Damon, however, couldn't help but wonder what kind of help someone as young as Claire could possibly offer in something as serious—and as criminal—as what they were involved in. After all, they were taking lives.
But Claire gave him a mysterious grin and said,
"Relax. I'll help in my own way. I'll tell you later—once I get a taste of whatever you're cooking in your little kingdom."
She laughed playfully, and the three of them continued walking together toward Damon's apartment.
A few more minutes of walking passed, and the three of them finally arrived at Damon's modest apartment.
"Alright, you two take it easy first. I'll go prepare something for us to eat," Damon said as he unlocked the door and led them inside.
He motioned for his two guests to rest on the small sofa while he turned on the TV, which automatically started playing the news.
Claire and Phoebe agreed and made themselves comfortable—well, at least Phoebe did. Claire, on the other hand, couldn't sit still. Instead of resting on the sofa, she wandered straight to Damon's bed and plopped herself down without hesitation.
Lying on her back, she began scanning every corner of the room with curious eyes, mentally comparing what she saw to the vivid descriptions she had memorized from Damon's diary.
…
Meanwhile, something was happening at Pasay City
…
A man with bloodshot eyes gasped desperately for air, struggling even to sit upright.
"Glenn… please, we'll leave you alone! I swear, none of us will ever bother or mess with you again—just please… I don't want to die!"
The man's voice trembled, thick with panic. He clutched his chest, his skin pale, and blood dripped from the corners of his mouth. Around him, his companions—friends, bullies, or fellow tormentors—lay lifeless, scattered like broken dolls, their faces twisted in agony.
Then came the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps.
Through the smoke and the metallic scent of blood, Glenn emerged—his eyes cold, his rage palpable. He was wrapped in a deep maroon cloak, its hem soaked in blood. Around one arm, bloodied cloth tightly coiled, still dripping red.
Though his face was bruised—proof that he had been beaten, maybe even tortured—it was everyone else who lay dead. Only Glenn remained standing.
He stepped closer to the last man trembling on the ground, towering over him like a specter of vengeance.
"I will kill all of you," Glenn growled, his voice steady, laced with fury.
"Every single one of you who humiliated me… who spat on my family's name. I will wipe you all out."
The last man whimpered, crawling backward in futility—because in Glenn's eyes, there was no mercy left.