Rain suddenly began pouring so Xavier had to rush back to his apartment, only to find it empty. He didn't mind it because he didn't need distraction at this moment, and having girls around only brought him unspoken thoughts.
He locked the door, threw his keys on the counter, and dropped the package on the table.
For a moment, he just stood there, looking at it. The paper had soaked up a bit of rain, corners soft, edges curling slightly. He tore it open carefully, not because it was fragile, but because whatever was inside didn't deserve haste.
Under the wrapping sat a small black case, matte finish, no labels, no marks. He flipped the latch. The lid opened with that faint mechanical click that sounded too clean for something this dirty.
Inside were ten syringes. Each one filled with a clear, slightly viscous liquid that caught the light like glass. Neatly arranged, all identical. A thin chill slipped through him — not fear, but memory.
