Arthur stepped just slightly into the doorway, blocking her view into the house.
"If you're looking for Eli, he's not here."
Rika pouted. "Aww. That's a shame. I mean, I knew he'd try to hide somewhere after what happened last time, but I thought maybe, just maybe, he'd come running back to the one person he trusts."
She looked up at Arthur, her expression twisting into something more intense.
"That's you, isn't it?"
Arthur didn't answer.
Rika giggled, tapping the bat gently against her shoulder.
"I brought cookies," she said sweetly. "Store-bought, sorry. I didn't want to poison him. This time."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "That a joke?"
"Only if you think it is," she said, with a little wink.
The air thickened.
Arthur stood steady. "You should go."
Rika leaned closer.
"You know, Lucienne warned me you'd try to get in the way. She's always so serious. Controlling. Pretty, sure, but so boring. You're different, though."
She let her gaze linger a second too long. Arthur didn't like the way her voice shifted—how it dragged across syllables like she was savoring them.
"I bet you're the type who keeps things in neat little rows. Dull, safe, quiet."
She grinned.
"I'd love to mess that up."
Arthur didn't move. "You're done?"
"No," she said brightly. "But I'll leave."
She turned to go, then glanced back over her shoulder.
"Tell Eli I stopped by, okay? And tell him…" she paused, tilting her head like a doll on a string. "Tell him I forgive him. For now."
Then she walked down the porch, humming a sugar-sweet melody and spinning her bat in lazy circles as she vanished around the corner.Arthur waited until she was fully gone before locking the door—all three locks.
He turned back toward the hallway.
Eli stepped out, pale and wide-eyed.
"She found me already?"
"She brought cookies."
Eli groaned, dragging both hands through his hair. "God, I hate when she's calm. That's when she's planning."
Arthur leaned against the wall, folding his arms.
"She knew where I lived. That girl didn't find you, Eli. She's been tracking you since the day you left."
Eli didn't deny it.
Arthur looked at the door again.
"I think this is just the beginning."
The hours passed like heavy fog.
Arthur sat at the kitchen table, elbows resting beside a half-empty mug, eyes fixed on nothing. Eli lay stretched across the couch again, one arm over his face, his battered ribs wrapped tight with medical tape. Neither spoke much.
Every so often, Arthur would glance at the folded list on the table. The names stared back like ghosts waiting in the hallway.
Rika. Valeria. Noemi.
Lucienne had called them symptoms.
And now the symptoms were knocking on Arthur's door.
The tension had given way to fatigue—mental, emotional, the kind that seeped into the bones. They weren't in danger right this second, and that created a false comfort that both men tried not to lean too hard on.
"You ever think about just… leaving?" Eli muttered.
Arthur didn't look at him. "Every day."
"No, I mean now. Just driving off. No notes. No trail. Pick a place with no internet and no unstable women who think you like them."
Arthur cracked the barest hint of a grin. "That's quite specific and no, I love the internet so if I want a place, I want it with internet."
They lapsed into silence again.
Then—Eli's stomach growled, loud enough to startle both of them.
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "You planning to outrun danger on an empty gut?"
Eli sat up with a wince. "I'd kill for a sandwich."
Arthur stood and walked over to a cabinet. "You get soup. You can barely breathe."
"Soup's not food. It's disappointment in a bowl."
Arthur ignored him and pulled down two cans. Then, on impulse, he reached for the small tin box beside them—a black metal container with "Art's Snacks — Do Not Touch" scrawled on the lid in faded marker.
"Cookies," he said, holding it up.
Eli's eyes lit up. "Bless you."
Arthur set the box down. There was another box just beside it—the one Rika had left behind, with its bright pink ribbon and cartoon heart sticker still intact. Arthur grabbed it on impulse, chuckling.
"Let's compare cherry bomb's. Yours or the psycho's"
"Bet you mine has less explosive potential," Eli said.
Arthur popped open the lid—
PSSSHHHH!
A sudden, sharp hiss.
Then: a burst of dense pink smoke.
"WHAT THE HELL!!!" Arthur shouts in surprise.
It poured from the box in a violent whoosh, flooding the kitchen table in a thick, blinding cloud. Arthur staggered back, coughing hard, eyes stinging. Eli cursed, tripping over the coffee table as he stumbled toward the sink.
"WINDOW—OPEN THE DAMN WINDOW!" Arthur shouted, covering his mouth with a sleeve.
"I'M TRYING—SOMETHING'S IN MY EYES—"
Eli crashed into a chair, knocking it sideways. Arthur, blinking through the haze, grabbed a dishrag off the oven and tossed it toward Eli. Then he pulled his shirt over his nose and swung open the kitchen window.
The smoke was heavy, chemical, cloyingly sweet. Like sugar mixed with bleach. Arthur could feel it clawing down his throat.
After a few panicked seconds, the cloud began to disperse, carried out by the sudden rush of fresh air. The kitchen floor was littered with crumbs, ash, and a faint pink glitter that shimmered eerily in the light.
Eli, on the floor, coughed out a laugh. "She booby-trapped the cookies."
Arthur leaned against the counter, glaring at the open box.
"She gas bombed us."
Eli coughed again. "It was probably a love letter in powder form."
Arthur stared. "That is not comforting."
They both sat down—slowly, shakily.
After a moment, Arthur muttered, "We really should've thought more about opening the box."
Eli wheezed. "I think she's marking territory."
Arthur glanced again at the door.
"Or she's preparing something."
The smoke was gone, but its effects lingered.
Arthur cleared his throat for the third time in a minute, the scratchy, syrupy aftertaste of whatever was in Rika's "gift" clinging to the back of his mouth like cotton candy dust and regret.
Eli sat on the floor, knees pulled up, hacking into a damp dish towel.
"God," he wheezed. "Feels like I inhaled a goddamn lollipop."
"My eyes feel like they're coated in powdered sugar," Arthur muttered, rubbing one with the edge of his sleeve. "Did she weaponize candy?"
Eli gagged. "I think I tasted bubblegum. Why would someone put bubblegum in tear gas?"
"Because she's insane," Arthur answered, walking to the sink for water.
"Next time we get a box from her," Eli said, gasping between words, "let's just… not open it."
Arthur filled two glasses, handed one off, then leaned against the counter.
"Or anything from any one of these girls"
They both sat in silence, sipping water, blinking through the aftereffects of the glitter-smoke trap.
"I think my lungs are sticky," Eli said, voice hoarse. "Do you hear that buzzing sound or is that just me?"
"I hear it," Arthur said.
They both stopped.
The buzzing… was a little too real.
And then—
A soft giggle.
High-pitched. Sweet.
Behind them.
Arthur and Eli turned slowly—like a glitching security cam—to the kitchen window.
And there she was.
Rika.
Halfway through the window, crouched like some twisted mix of squirrel and ballerina. One hand inside on the windowsill, the other gripping her dented pink bat. Her head tilted at an unnatural angle. Eyes gleaming.
Her grin was too wide to be innocent.
"Hi boys," she whispered. "Did you like my cookies?"
Arthur let out a noise somewhere between a gasp and a dying microwave.
Eli's glass hit the floor.
They both screamed.
High.
Panicked.
In sync.
Like two horror movie victims who forgot they were supposed to be the main characters.
Arthur lunged backward into the fridge. Eli crawled across the floor like a kicked dog. Rika blinked slowly, expression calm—like this was a normal, polite visit and not a home invasion via open window.
"You left the window open," she said softly, climbing down into the kitchen like a jungle cat in Mary Janes. "That's basically an invitation."
Arthur fumbled for anything—anything—resembling a weapon. His hand landed on a ladle.
Not his proudest moment.
Eli grabbed a couch pillow.
Rika stood fully upright now, bat resting on her shoulder. Her sweater was speckled with glitter. She looked like a homicidal kindergarten teacher after arts and crafts.
She glanced between them.
"I just thought…" she twirled the bat once, "we could have a nice talk. Like old times."
Arthur and Eli didn't speak.
Didn't breathe.
Rika smiled again.
"You are glad to see me… right?"
Rika moved like she belonged there.
She strolled past the table, brushing her fingers across the surface like a proud homeowner giving a guest the tour. Her eyes flicked around the kitchen with the idle curiosity of someone cataloging everything she might want to keep later.
Arthur didn't lower the ladle. Despite being useless against a bat, it felt like a very stupid umbrella in a lightning storm.
Eli sat frozen on the couch, mouth dry, hands pressed into the cushions. He didn't look at her. He didn't speak. And for a moment, that silence held.
Then Rika smiled wider and walked toward him.
"I missed you, y'know?" she said cheerfully. "I mean, I knew you were out there. You're so good at leaving things behind. Like an empty wrapper. Or your feelings."
Eli still said nothing.
Arthur stepped between them. "Alright. That's enough."
Rika blinked at him—like she'd just remembered he was there.
"Oh, right! Artie." She beamed. "It's so sweet how you're protecting him. From your file it says you were the quiet type. Like, stoic and brooding with those big sad eyes. I like that. It's… classic."
Arthur didn't respond. Face in total shock and obviously weirded out
They had never spoken more than five words before today. But Rika acted like they went way back—like she'd rehearsed this moment in her head a thousand times.
"Did Eli ever tell you about Paris?" she asked suddenly. "We didn't go, but we talked about it. He said he'd take me there one day. Eiffel Tower, holding hands, matching sweaters. I had this whole moodboard—"
Arthur glanced at Eli.
Eli still didn't speak. Didn't move.
That was the mistake.
Rika's smile faltered.
Something flickered in her eyes. Sharp. Broken.
"You're not talking to me."
Eli exhaled shakily, eyes still fixed forward.
"You're ignoring me," she said again—voice quieter now.
Arthur stepped forward. "Rika, back off—"
She moved.
"DON'T IGNORE ME!!!"
The pink bat came down in a blur.
Arthur raised the ladle.
CLANG.
The ladle bent in half like soft aluminum. Arthur's arms rattled with the force.
She turned on him with frightening speed.
"You're get in the way!" she screamed, batting again.
Arthur ducked, grabbed a stool, shoved it between them. Rika snarled and shoved back, wild now—grip on the bat white-knuckled and shaking.
Eli moved—finally. He bolted from the couch, stumbling past the hallway.
"NO!" Rika shrieked. "Don't you run from me!"
She whipped around and gave chase, knocking over a lamp and sending the bat clattering against the doorframe as she tore after him.
Eli scrambled, but his ribs slowed him down. She was too fast.
Arthur didn't think—he just moved.
He lunged after her and grabbed her from behind, arms wrapping tight around her shoulders.
"Let—go—of—ME!"
She thrashed like a cat in a trap, screaming, biting, throwing elbows. The bat slipped from her grip and clattered across the floor.
Arthur held tight.
"RUN!" he shouted.
Eli didn't hesitate. He limped to the front door, threw it open, and vanished into the street.
Rika screamed his name. It was raw, animal, wounded. Arthur felt it in his bones.
She suddenly went limp in his arms, breathing ragged.
For a second, he thought it was over.
Then she turned her head slowly and whispered—
"You shouldn't have touched me, Artie."
And Arthur realized:
She wasn't crying.
She was smiling.
She didn't struggle anymore.
Arthur's arms were still locked around her from behind, but Rika had gone utterly still—no more screaming, no more twisting. Just quiet breathing.
And that smile.
That terrible, calm little smile.
Arthur slowly loosened his grip, ready to react if she lunged again. But she didn't move. Not even a flinch. Just tilted her head slightly, letting her rose-gold pigtails sway like pendulums.
"I knew you were a protector," she said softly, dreamily, like she was talking in her sleep. "The type to always step in. Always being the shield."
Arthur's voice was low. "You need to leave, Rika."
"I wasn't going to hurt him," she said, in that same lullaby tone. "I was going to remind him. Remind him that I was first. The first to love him. The first to see him. The only one who never left."
Her fingers twitched.
Arthur didn't miss it. He stepped back slowly, inch by inch, keeping himself between her and the bat that still lay on the floor.
Rika turned around.
Face flushed.
Eyes wide.
Smile... sweet.
But behind the sweetness, something else stirred. Something molten and fractured.
"You don't get it, do you?" she whispered. "None of you do. You think I'm just some crazy girl with a weapon and a crush. Like I'm a problem to solve."
Arthur didn't say a word.
"I wasn't like this before him," she said. "I was soft. Quiet. Forgettable. But then Eli noticed me. He made me real. And then he left."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
Her breathing grew uneven.
"But not this time," she said, voice dropping into a whisper. "Not when he has people like you helping him lie. Run. Hide."
Arthur watched her closely.
She wasn't talking to him. Not really. She was talking to the story in her head.
"I didn't want it to be like this," she murmured. "But he doesn't understand love unless it hurts."
Rika then bites Arthur's arm causing him to let go of her.
Arthur took a step toward the counter, inching closer to the second weapon he'd spotted—an old cast iron pan.
Rika didn't move.
She just watched.
"You know what I like about you, Arthur?"
she said suddenly, voice now chipper again.
"You're so solid. Like a wall. A good wall. You hold things up. Keep the chaos out."
She walked slowly toward the middle of the kitchen, not quite threatening—yet.
"But walls don't choose sides. They're not supposed to."
She bent down slowly.
Arthur tensed.
But instead of going for the bat, she picked up the box—the same black cookie tin he'd left on the counter earlier.
She looked at it like it was a puzzle.
Then—smiled.
"Lucienne called me a symptom," she said. "But she's wrong. I'm the cure. He needs me."
Her voice cracked slightly.
"And if I can't have him, no one should."
Arthur reached the pan.
Gripped the handle.
"Rika," he said. "You're not thinking straight."
"I never think straight," she said brightly. "That's the fun part."
Suddenly—her hand darted for the bat.
Arthur moved.
The pan slammed down on the counter between them just as Rika's fingers wrapped around the handle of her weapon. She reeled back, startled, and Arthur used the moment to grab the bat and kick it under the fridge.
She hissed. Not yelled—hissed, like an animal denied its meal.
For one long second, they just stared at each other.
Then, suddenly… she stepped back.
Raised both hands.
And giggled.
"Well," she said, backing toward the window, "this was fun."
Arthur didn't follow. Not yet.
"I'll find him again, you know. You can't stop it. He needs me."
"Rika—"
"I left you a present," she said, eyes gleaming. "Under your pillow."
Then she crawled—yes, crawled—back out the open kitchen window, vanished into the fading afternoon light like some gleeful phantom, and was gone.
Arthur waited several beats before moving again.
Then exhaled shakily, locked the window, and ran upstairs.
He lifted the pillow on his bed.
There, sitting perfectly centered, was a single sugar cookie.
Shaped like a heart.
Iced with the words:
"Told you I'd find him."