Marcia once again tried with all her strength to reach out her hand.
"Good," the woman said, watching her. "Three minutes after you made the emergency call, my team and I arrived at the scene. By then, the entire monastery was already engulfed in flames. We quickly located and neutralized Headmistress Elma, who had already succumbed to infection, but firefighting isn't exactly our specialty.
"Although the fire brigade from Taney City set out immediately, the mountain road delayed them—there was simply no way to save the building. But you don't need to worry too much. Before the fire consumed the monastery, my colleagues and I had already evacuated all the children from their dormitories. So this time, the casualties caused by the aberration weren't too severe."
Marcia's breathing grew rapid. A surge of dread and confusion rose within her—
What about Jamie, locked inside the isolation room?
Did they find him? Did they save him?
But she couldn't speak. She couldn't make a sound.
"I'll come visit you again in a while," the woman said, reaching out to gently pat Marcia's head. "My name is Cynthia Mason, leader of Unit 403 under the AHgA organization—the Anti-Homogenization Agency. It's nice to meet you."
---
A month later, Marcia was discharged from the hospital.
Throughout that month, each day began just like it had in Saint Annie Monastery—she woke early, as always. But this time, she no longer had to rush out of bed to ring the morning bell.
Most of the time, she lay blindfolded on her hospital bed, alone, quietly feeling the pain in her body fade away bit by bit.
Marcia often found herself lost in memories. At times, she even felt uncertain—perhaps what had happened that night wasn't real at all. Maybe it had only been a nightmare. Maybe, when she finally woke up, everything would return to how it once was.
It wasn't until two weeks later, when Cynthia came to visit her again, that Marcia could finally see nothing but had regained her ability to speak.
That day, Cynthia brought her an invitation letter—an offer for Marcia to join her organization.
"Aberration hunters?" Marcia asked doubtfully. "You mean… me?"
Cynthia laughed. "It's been ages since anyone's called us that! No wonder—must be that old-fashioned monastic way of speaking. 'Aberration hunters' was a term people used centuries ago."
"Then what do people call you now?" Marcia asked, tracing her fingers across the embossed letters on the envelope—'AHgA'. "What does that stand for?"
"AHgA," Cynthia said quickly, "stands for Anti-Homogenization Agent—it refers to individuals among humankind who can, through their innate abilities, resist infection from aberration disease. Because the full name is such a mouthful, and because the abbreviation includes 'Hg'—the chemical symbol for mercury—people often call us informally the 'Mercury Needles.'
"Maybe you've heard the name somewhere before?"
"Mercury Needles…" Marcia repeated softly.
The name stirred a faint sense of familiarity within her.
Cynthia looked at Marcia and continued,
"You can think of this identity as a kind of talent. There are 1.9 billion people alive in the world today—but there are only about 4,000 Mercury Needles. In other words, the chance of becoming one is about one in a million.
"On the night we eliminated that aberration, we already suspected that there might be a gifted child inside Saint Annie Monastery. That creature showed mild symptoms of poisoning—most likely because it had come into contact with, or ingested, the blood of a Mercury Needle.
"Although you were seriously injured, the aberration spores inside your body completely metabolized on their own within the first week. In other words, you're like us—you'll never be infected by the aberration disease, Miss Marcia."
Marcia's voice was calm. "There must be some kind of mistake."
Cynthia chuckled softly, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "No mistake. Even though the aberration disease isn't as rampant as it was ten or fifteen years ago, we're still desperate for new members. So—would you like to join us?"
Marcia, still blindfolded, furrowed her brows and gave no reply.
"Of course, this is an important decision," Cynthia said with an easy laugh. "I'll give you some time to think about it, all right? It's a dangerous line of work, but the good news is—you can apply for retirement at twenty-five. Although, in most cases—"
"Miss Cynthia?" Marcia turned her head slightly toward the direction of her voice. "May I ask you a few questions?"
"Go ahead."
"Behind the main cathedral of Saint Annie Monastery," Marcia began, "there's a row of old houses. On the second floor, in the northernmost room, there's a confinement cell. The night it happened, a fourteen-year-old boy with black hair was locked inside. Is he safe?"
Cynthia paused. "I don't recall. Let me ask around."
She stood up, walked into the corridor, and made a phone call. When she came back, Marcia immediately turned her head toward her.
"Well?"
Cynthia hesitated for a moment. "Two bad news, one good. Which do you want first?"
Marcia's face went pale. "...The bad news."
"The search team did consider the possibility of someone being left behind," Cynthia explained. "So they went through every building in the monastery—even the basement. But aside from you, they didn't find anyone else."
Marcia's breathing quickened. A sting rose in her nose; her eyes began to redden beneath the bandages.
"And the good news," Cynthia continued, "according to the local security division, only two bodies were found at the scene—an elderly woman and a child. I believe you know who they were."
Marcia froze for a moment.
Yes—she knew.
It was poor Sister Eloise and little Florence.
"No third body?"
"None."
"…And the other bad news?"
Cynthia looked directly at Marcia's bandaged eyes.
"It's not exactly news—more of a deduction. When we arrived, the aberration was hiding inside the confessional behind the main cathedral. That's… quite close to the confinement room you mentioned."
Under Cynthia's explanation, Marcia finally understood what she meant—
During the three minutes before the Mercury Needles arrived, Jamie had most likely been attacked.
The fact that no body was found could mean many things, but the most probable explanation was that he might have fallen into the rushing river beneath the cliff where Saint Annie Monastery stood—a place where it would be nearly impossible to recover any remains.
"Don't lose hope," Cynthia said softly. "He might still be alive. If you can tell us more about that boy, we can help search the Severn Mountain area."
…
That was what Cynthia had said back then.
Now, more than half a month had passed since that night.
Marcia had heard nothing—no trace, no sign—of Jamie.
The fire had devoured almost all the evidence of that night, and no one knew what had become of him.
By now, Marcia's wounds had completely healed. She was dressed in the clothes Cynthia had brought her, sitting alone in the hospital corridor, waiting for Cynthia to pick her up.
Cynthia had promised to take her back to the site of the incident today.
And Marcia had promised that by the end of the day, she would give her answer—
her answer about whether or not she would join the Mercury Needles.
(End of Chapter)