I entered Madina. Reported. Collected points. The leader—Sania's father—thanked me. I watched Sania leave with him. Then I sat on a nearby bench.

  Hassan. I kept seeing his face.

  I spoke aloud, to no one: "I could have made it clean. I made it last."

  Flake rubbed against my ankle. I didn't read the pattern.

  I stopped. "Never mind."

  I stood up. Bought a water bottle from a store nearby.

  "You have resources at reception," Flake said. "Why buy?"

  "I don't feel like going back for them."

  I walked. Somewhere in my memory, my mother's voice—talking to some aunt in this city. My cousin. Could be a fighter now, I thought. Or dead. I didn't check.

  I found a holy well. Filled every container I had. For protocol. For weapon. For transaction. I filled them all.

  Then I drank from one. The water tasted like nothing.

  "I can't feel anything in you," Flake said. "Like you're dead inside."

  My hand tightened on the empty container. I said nothing.

  I found another bench. Took out my phone. Scrolled reports. Top team from Makkah took down a humanoid—first recorded kill. I calculated the date they listed. Deleted it. Put the phone away.

  Stood up. Walked back to reception.

  "Sir. My stored resources."

  ID. Bag.

  "Open the gate," I told the guard.

  He asked for ID. I showed him. Stepped out into the fog.

  "Check if they're human," I told Flake.

  He ran. Returned. Rubbed my leg: three times, pause, twice.

  Humanoids. Commander. Trap.

  "Don't let them die," I said.

  I didn't run. I walked toward the noises.

  Flake waited in cover. I saw them: two humanoids surrounding a small group, herding them toward a building. Above, movement. Someone commanding. A plan.

  The creatures saw each other. Screaming. Fighting over prey.

  The window opened. A bottle dropped. Holy water. The creatures burned, regenerating, damaged. Half the team rappelled down, severed heads, smashed parasites.

  I stayed silent. Walked toward them.

  They noticed me—Flake beside me, silhouette in fog. Weapons raised.

  The leader saw me walking. "Weapons down."

  I stopped. Their hands still on weapons.

  He stepped forward. "Hello. Are you human? Your name?"

  "Zero." Low voice.

  He extended his hand. I shook it.

  "Mazin. This is my team." He studied me. "What are you doing here?"

  "Wandering."

  "This is dangerous. You're just... walking around?"

  "Did you live in Sadiqabad? Before the Dajjal event?"

  His eyes widened. "Yes. How did you—"

  "I thought of that city. So I asked."

  He hesitated. "Okay." Then: "Your team doesn't look very polite." I glanced at their hands on their weapons.

  Mazin laughed. His hand found his sword hilt, index finger tapping. Nervous habit.

  Hassan's finger. The one that touched her hand. I saw it bend backward when I pressed the bandage.

  "Can we exchange numbers?"

  "Why?"

  "If her radius expands." I paused. "If I need someone who knew her."

  "Her radius?" Mazin asked.

  I didn't answer.

  He laughed, uncertain, and gave me his number anyway.

  I left.

  "He's from my school." I paused. "She was there too."

  I walked. The fog swallowed the city behind me.

  "He made those years bearable."