Gideon answered almost instantly.
"Ethan? You alive?"
Gideon's voice was quiet, but anxiety already trembled in it.
Ethan swallowed.
"She's alive, Flash."
The silence on the other end was short but very heavy.
"What did you say?"
"Maria is alive. Or… something like it. I don't know how, but I saw her with my own eyes."
"They're holding her in de Milieu's mansion."
"And,she's pregnant. It's only been a month, but the term looks like seven months already."
"It's noticeable."
Flash's voice cracked,for the first time Ethan heard him lose control.
"Wait… wait, repeat that."
"Pregnant? By who?"
"I don't know." Ethan closed his eyes and pressed a hand to his forehead.
"But Gérard… he kissed her. Right there, in front of me."
"I know it was a taunt,he was trying to make me snap and run straight to her."
"But the strange part is… she responded. She didn't resist."
"As if that was how it was supposed to be."
Bruno cut into the conversation; his voice was hoarse, furious, as though they were driving toward Ethan for nothing.
"What the hell, Ethan? You saw this with your own eyes?"
"Yes."
"And the container. Inside—six black capsules."
"I don't know what they are, but there's something in them."
"Like… clots of some kind of fog…"
Flash came back on.
"Who was there? Just Gérard and Corvin?"
"And her," Ethan added.
Bruno swore.
"What did they do to her? Is that even still her?"
"I don't know, Bruno." Ethan's voice wavered.
"She kissed him back. But… for a second her fingers clenched tighter. I think it's still her, but I saw her die with my own eyes…"
Gideon exhaled quietly.
"Ethan… are you sure it was her? Not a clone, not… something else?"
"I saw her eyes. I know her eyes. It's her."
Flash interrupted, sharp and businesslike:
"What else? Did they spot you?"
"Gérard looked straight at the window. It felt like he knew I was there. He didn't sense me because of the glycine,he knew something else…"
Bruno swore again.
"Son of a bitch."
"They're waiting for you."
"Maybe. But I think I'm going in…"
Gideon, softly:
"Ethan… come back. We'll figure it out together."
"You can't go in there alone…"
"No." Ethan's voice hardened.
"There's one more place."
"I have to check if my suspicions are right."
Flash again:
"Where are you headed?"
"The cemetery. Her grave."
When he finished, his voice was almost hollow, burned clean through like a field after a fire. The words ran dry, and only the roar of blood remained in his ears.
"Go back to base," he said quietly, almost a whisper.
"All of you…"
"You coming back?" Bruno asked sharply.
"Yes. As soon as I finish my business."
"Ethan…" Bruno began, but Ethan cut him off; his voice grew firmer even though everything inside was trembling:
"I'll come back."
The connection broke.
Ethan stood at the window a few more seconds, staring at the horizon where the sky was already beginning to fill with pale sunlight.
He turned and left the building.
The cemetery gate,wrought iron covered in rust and moss,creaked under his hand as he climbed over it. Wet gravel crunched under his boots, the sound lonely and sharp in the utter silence.
The smell of damp earth, wet stone, and wilted flowers was thick, almost tangible; it seeped into his nostrils, settled on his tongue like the taste of a grave.
Old, twisted trees around him moved in the light wind; their branches looked like the fingers of the dead, rustling leaves whispering like the voices of the gone.
He walked between the rows of graves without reading the names. He knew the way by heart,every turn, every slope, every stone that jutted slightly higher than the rest.
She used to read the inscriptions aloud, inventing stories about the people beneath them. "This one was probably a lovesick poet," she'd say, and laugh with that quiet, warm laugh that now echoed in his ears like mockery.
Here it was.
Maria's grave.
The slab was still new,black granite, glossy with dew, engraved: "Maria in our hearts."
The flowers had already wilted; petals browned and curled, the black ribbon on the wreath soaked dark and hung like a mourning flag.
The wind stirred it gently, almost tenderly, and Ethan felt a lump rise in his throat.
He stood.
For a long time.
Arms hanging at his sides, heavy, useless, as though all strength had drained from them along with hope.
Then he slowly dropped to his knees.
His fingers touched the stone.
The way her lips had felt the last time, when he thought it was goodbye.
"I'm sorry…" he breathed.
The word hung in the air, quiet, broken,like ice cracking underfoot. He didn't even know what exactly he was apologizing for.
He stood.
He took the shovel he had brought with him. His hands gripped the handle tightly.
The first strike was cautious, almost timid.
A dull thud.
The soil was soft; it had been dug recently. The blade sank easily, like a knife into butter, and clumps flew aside, landing with wet slaps.
Second strike,harder.
Third.
Fourth.
The shovel bit into the earth again and again.
Then his breathing grew heavier.
His movements sharper.
The blade struck wood.
A muffled sound, like a blow to the chest.
He froze.
His heart pounded so hard his vision darkened and his ears rang.
He threw the shovel aside; it landed with a wet smack in the mud.
He dropped to his knees in the hole.
He began clawing the earth from the lid with his hands,quickly, frantically,fingers sliding through dirt, over wet lacquer, nails scraping.
He tried to lift it.
"Damn it…"
It wouldn't budge. He was gasping again. He tried once more.
Harder.
Wood creaked with every pull.
The lid gave way and slowly opened.
Ethan froze for a moment.
One second.
Two.
Three.
Empty. Completely nothing. There was no body inside.