"Enid..." Victor's voice dragged out long and sweet, with a hint of wheedling. "Share one with me... just one! I want to taste what that legendary 'flavor of happiness' feels like..."
Seeing Victor like this, Enid couldn't help but laugh. Her cheeks reddened slightly as she picked up a piece of fudge. She hesitated for a moment, then held it up to his mouth.
"Here, for you."
Victor opened his mouth happily to accept it, the tip of his tongue inadvertently brushing lightly against Enid's fingertip.
Enid felt like she'd been struck by a weak electric current. She jerked her hand back, her face exploding into a blush instantly.
Victor seemed completely oblivious, squinting as he savored the candy, mumbling his review: "Mmm... a bit too sweet... but not bad... By the way, Wednesday, what exactly did you find..."
His question was ignored by Wednesday once again.
Wednesday likewise ignored Xavier's greeting and pressed the call bell on the counter.
Tyler came out of the back kitchen almost instantly, his movements so fast they betrayed a hint of imperceptible nervousness.
"This is unfair," Victor immediately whispered a complaint to Enid, his tone filled with genuine grievance. "Why does he hide when he sees me, but appear instantly for Wednesday? I look much friendlier than Wednesday!"
"Uh... Victor," Enid asked carefully, with a touch of sympathy, "did you... or Venom, do something to him?"
"How could that be!" Victor widened his eyes, looking innocent and wrongly accused. "Venom and I are very friendly! Last time Venom even politely asked him if he could have a tiny taste of him. We even said 'please'!"
Enid silently shrank her neck, her face reading I knew it. "Okay... case closed."
On the other side, Wednesday had already pulled out a map of Jericho and spread it on the counter, her voice flat: "Joseph Crackstone's old meeting house. Exact location."
Tyler swallowed nervously, his finger trembling slightly as it traced over the map, finally landing deep in a dense forest: "H-here. It's basically just foundations and some rubble now. Very remote, hard to find..."
Wednesday briskly rolled up the map, stuffed it back into her bag, and turned to leave without any hesitation.
"Hey! Wednesday!" Victor hurriedly grabbed the untouched dessert piled high with cream from the table and chased after her. "Don't walk so fast! Eat some dessert first to relax? Replenish some sugar, then we'll have energy to go together later!"
Wednesday's steps didn't pause in the slightest. Her voice was thrown back coldly, like a block of ice hitting the ground: "Unnecessary. I will go alone. You two, continue your date."
This sentence was like a magic spell.
Enid's face turned beet red instantly. The little deer in her heart began ramming the walls frantically, almost letting out a whimper of happiness! She cheered wildly for Wednesday inside: Best sister! God-tier assist! I love you!
Meanwhile, the smile on Victor's face froze and died instantly. Those eyes that usually danced with manic light widened in disbelief, as if hearing news more terrifying than "global chocolate production halted."
He practically leaped to the door, blocking Wednesday's path abruptly. His voice pitched up due to shock and urgency, even cracking slightly:
"Are you joking?! After hearing my analysis last night—that the Plague Doctors' likely target is you! That Joseph Crackstone, dead for hundreds of years, might be waiting to be resurrected!—you're telling me now that you want to go alone deep into the pitch-black, godforsaken forest to find some damn broken meeting house?!"
He waved his arms as if conducting an invisible, catastrophic symphony:
"You are practically planting every flag for 'first to die' in a horror movie with your own hands! And setting yourself up with tragic BGM! Are you afraid those lurking guys won't find a perfect, isolated target, Wednesday?!"
Wednesday looked at Victor. Her black pupils held not a ripple, only a cold chill sufficient to freeze the air.
"Analysis?" she repeated, her voice light as a feather yet sharp as a blade. "You mean your fragmented, unsubstantiated drunken babble from last night, built on alcohol-soaked delusions?"
Her gaze swept over Victor's cheeks, slightly flushed from urgency, and the corner of her mouth curled into a faint sneer.
"Thank you for your 'concern', Mr. Black. But my actions do not need to be based on your 'maybes' and 'guesses'. Even less do they require a 'consultant' who cannot even control his own emotions and relies on alcohol and a symbiote to escape reality, dictating terms."
This sentence was like a poison-dipped dagger, stabbing precisely into the corner Victor least wanted touched.
Victor's face went white instantly. A look of stung pain flashed through his usually bright eyes, but was immediately covered by surging anger and anxiety.
"Oh! Yeah! I'm crazy! I rely on alcohol and Venom!" He took a fierce step forward, almost touching Wednesday, his voice rising sharply, carrying the rasp of a wounded beast.
"But that's because I've fucking seen what those 'Beaks' do in the lab with my own eyes! I can smell them! That cold, rotting, inhumane smell of 'science'!"
His fingers unconsciously gripped his own arm tight, knuckles turning white.
"And you! You only know how to clutch your psychic visions. You think that bit of cold logic and a few torn drawings can deal with them?! They are not the kind of opponent who follows 'rules' like you imagine! They are..."
"What they are has nothing to do with you," Wednesday interrupted him coldly, unmoved.
"What has your 'personal experience' brought you besides PTSD and a pile of fears that need external numbing to suppress? Loss of control? Madness? Or this—"
Her gaze swept over his hand, trembling slightly from agitation. "—useless, emotional overreaction?"
"I'm overreacting?!" Victor sounded like he heard the biggest joke in the world. He flung his hand out, letting out a short, sharp laugh.
"Yes! I am overreacting! Because I fucking don't want to see you become the next me! Targeted by them, torn apart by them, or turned into some... some 'thing' they want!"
"Three years, seven months, and thirteen days. I remember it clearly. I was taken apart by them again and again, and stitched back together again and again, turned into a... a lunatic! Do you want to become a lunatic? Huh?!"
His voice carried a near-desperate anger. His eyes were even reddening slightly—not the pitiful act he usually put on, but real, searing fear.
"I do not need your protection." Wednesday's voice remained steady, but colder, every word hitting the ground like an ice pick.
"Even less do I need you to project your own trauma and fear onto my investigation. Your 'help', Mr. Black, is worthless aside from adding chaos and introducing more uncontrollable variables."
She lifted her chin slightly. Her dark eyes, like two bottomless ancient wells, clearly reflected Victor's agitated, even somewhat wretched state.
"Your emotional instability, your unpredictable behavior, and your... tiresome tendency to try and drag everyone into your chaotic world."
She paused, finally delivering the cold verdict.
"Watson," her voice held no inflection, yet carried the power to end everything, "you're fired."