As soon as I entered the room, I scarcely had a moment to absorb the fragrance of home before being embraced. The impact almost pushed me back, but I regained my balance as Camille and Sienna crashed into me simultaneously.
"You're back!" Sienna's voice was muffled against my shoulder, her grip unrelenting. "Do you have any idea how worried we were?"
Camille was no better. She pressed a kiss against my cheek, then another, then one more for good measure. "We thought you were going to end up in another hospital, or worse—dead again."
I chuckled, a small, tired sound. "It'd take more than that to get rid of me."
They didn't seem convinced. Sienna held on like I might disappear if she let go, and Camille's usual teasing had a desperate edge. Eventually, Alexis stepped in, setting her bag down with a quiet sigh.
"Let him breathe, you two."
Sienna pulled back slightly, but her arms remained around my waist. Camille, on the other hand, merely leaned her forehead against my chest. "No. He almost died. He gets hugs and affection, and he's going to like it."
I smiled, the warmth of their concern finally settling in. "Alright. You win."
We went to the living room, and for the first time in what seemed like ages, I let myself to unwind. The atmosphere was saturated with gentle chatter, intermittent laughter, and the aroma of tea brewing on the countertop. Camille was curled up on my left, Sienna on my right, and Alexis sat close by, browsing through one of her research journals while obviously tuning in.
"So?" Sienna nudged me gently. "Are you okay? Really?"
"I'm alive," I answered, stretching out my sore limbs. "That's enough for now."
She frowned, but Camille was already shifting, poking at my side. "You look like hell. I should make you something to eat."
"I could use a good meal," I admitted, not realizing just how hungry I was until she mentioned it.
Camille shot up, a mission in her step, and Sienna followed after, determined to help. Alexis stayed behind, her eyes scanning me carefully. "You still haven't told them everything."
"Not yet," I admitted. "Let them have this."
She didn't push further, merely sighing before, kissing me on the forehead and settling back against the couch. "Fine. But don't wait too long."
The night passed in the comfort of familiar voices and soft touches. Dinner was warm, filling, and far better than whatever nutrient paste I'd been forced to endure in the past weeks. And as exhaustion crept in, we found ourselves retreating to my room, a tangled mess of limbs and warmth.
For the first time in a long time, I slept soundly.
Morning came slowly. The early light filtered in through the curtains, casting soft shadows against the walls. I stirred first, my senses gradually pulling me from sleep. The first thing I noticed was the warmth.
Sienna was curled up against me, her head tucked beneath my chin. Camille had sprawled out over the blankets, one arm thrown over my stomach. Alexis, despite her usual attempts at distance, was nestled against my other side, breathing steady and even.
I allowed myself a moment—just a moment—to take it in.
Then reality came knocking.
I exhaled softly, reaching for my burner phone. I needed Anthony's report on Giovanni and the others. But while waiting, I had something else to take care of.
The job notification was still waiting.
I opened it, and in an instant, the interface unfurled before me. My job portfolios glowed, listing every A-Rank and S-Rank job at my disposal. I scrolled through them, fingers hovering over various options. Some were familiar and the Boxing one was new.
I took my time, managing my skills, moving them to where needed. Then, when I was ready, I selected my next job.
A brief moment of silence followed.
Then, the world blurred.
The initial thing that caught my attention was the atmosphere—heavy with the aroma of coal and oil, mixed with the faint fragrance of burning wood in the distance. The second element was the noise—horseshoes clanging on cobblestone, voices shouting in the distance, and the subtle buzz of machinery far more primitive than what I was accustomed to.
I pushed myself upright, scanning my surroundings.
It was a town, but not one I recognized. The architecture was old, early 20th century by the look of it. Brick buildings with soot-streaked facades, narrow alleyways that twisted into darkened corridors. The people around me wore suspenders, long coats, and dresses that brushed against their ankles.
This was a familiar feeling. It was the exact same as when I got my boxing job. I would be brought to somewhere in my mind and I needed to accomplish a goal to get back.
I looked down at myself—older clothes, fitting the era. A long, dark coat. Sturdy boots. And in my pocket, a notebook.
The pages contained hurried notes, summaries of recent events, things I had apparently written down but had no memory of.
Then, suddenly—the alarms.
A sharp, wailing sound cut through the town, high-pitched and urgent. People around me froze for a brief second before chaos erupted.
"Bombers!" someone shouted.
Dark shapes filled the sky—planes, their designs crude but recognizable. Early 20th century bombers, looming like specters over the town.
And then, they released their payloads.
The first explosion struck somewhere in the distance, sending a column of smoke and fire into the air. The ground trembled beneath me. More followed in rapid succession. People screamed, running in every direction.
Smoke and dust filled the air, choking my lungs as I moved. The impact of every blast sent tremors through my bones. My vision blurred, my ears rang. I tried to focus, to assess, but without my skills—without my usual enhancements—I was blind.
I could barely keep track of my own movements, let alone everything happening around me.
Another explosion tore through a building to my right, sending debris cascading down. I ducked, barely avoiding the falling wreckage. The ground was uneven beneath me, strewn with rubble and bodies.
A sudden, searing light to my left.
I turned just in time to see the bomb strike the ground mere feet away.
Heat engulfed my side. The pressure wave hit me like a hammer, lifting me off my feet and throwing me backward. Pain—sharp, immediate—erupted along my left side.
I crashed into the ground, my vision swaying. Dust clouded the air, thick and suffocating. My ears rang so loudly I could barely process anything else.
I tried to push myself up.
But something was wrong.
I looked down at my left arm.
Or rather, where it should have been.
Blood pooled where my shoulder ended in ragged flesh, severed just below the joint. My fingers twitched—but they were gone. The realization came slowly, creeping into my mind like a cold whisper.
My left arm was gone.