Cruel. He didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t even want to think about it, but the word clung to him like a growth that refused to part. It even grew, permeated his mind gradually until it was beginning to be all he ever thought about whenever he didn’t distract himself with training or reports. The implied idea behind the word haunted Wilson. It made him wonder and doubt. His entire being had been built around the very opposite. It had all budded from the simple desire to stop making his parents worry, to stop his mother’s tears. He had nursed the desire and it had grown into something tiny that he gradually added to over the years. It was hard to tell if it was really him or something he had constructed for other reasons.

Wilson wanted to believe it was really him.

A blank-faced death hunter stared at the wall of his rebuilt dorm while he sat on his bed. He ran over the words of his rewritten report, already typed and submitted for review. He hoped so badly that he had said the right answers. The reality of his premature death had been accepted long ago, but someone else’s death on his behalf? Unfathomable. Someone had already died from his mistake. He refused to let it happen a second time.

His phone rang the same old tune, a slow tune that had always lulled him to sleep whenever the nightmares plagued him as a child. It soothed him still. Wilson pulled out the phone and checked the message. He idly typed back a reply before glancing at the time. Time for pod duty. Gramps’ raspy voice rumbled in the back of his mind as he stood up and slid out of the comfort of his room. A smile failed to grace his face and his eyes were directed to the ground. The sweet taste of promotion had faded away long ago. What were the benefits of being a full hunter? Right now, he couldn’t remember.

The labs were eerily quiet like always when he stepped inside. He tugged his goggles down so they dangled around his neck as he glanced at the rune-covered capsules. There was only the soft hum of technology and the beeps of vital signs. Stoic, Wilson sat down in front of the myriad of monitors. Usually there was the temptation to fiddle with the controls and technology, but this time he obediently seated himself in the chair. He scanned the sleeping faces splayed across the screens. Most were unfamiliar and some semi-recognizable after numerous times stationed to monitor the pods. Wilson took his sweet time finding the once face he wanted to see the most, the one person he missed the most and wanted to talk so badly but couldn’t.

His jaw clenched up as soon as he pinpointed the mist trainee with dark, short hair and a star accessory clipped to her braid. Sound didn’t leave his lips, but he mouthed her name fondly while he reached for the monitor that displayed her sleeping face. Em. My Emmaline Grant. The robotic tension of his expression eased away, replaced by a gentle smile. For now, Wilson felt content gazing at her, but then turned away. It was funny how amazingly creepy that had been. Cruel. Maybe he was more than just cruel. He turned his body away so that his back faced a majority of the monitors.

Wilson peered down the rows of pods and idly wondered which one held Em. He leaned back into his chair. No, here was fine. Nervously, he glanced at the entrance before settling back into his seat. “I miss you.” An awkward chuckle as he folded his hands together. The gentle smile twisted into a different smile, one filled with bitterness. “You know that already, don’t you?” He hunched forward and the chair creaked. He covered his face with clenched fists. “I just want to hear your voice and I just want to hold your hand. That’s all I need right now, but I need it so much.” The words came out in a weak, trembling voice. “I miss home. I miss the simplicities of normal life, but that’s gone now. I gave that all away.”

He shut his eyes, pressed his palms to his eyelids. “Do you know Ryan? Kat? Eva? Deryk? Ariane? We were nearly executed for disobeying orders, but now I have someone else’s life riding on me. Em, it hurts.” Now his hands clutched his head and nails dug into his skull. “What if Ofie dies? No, I don’t need another Stan. I don’t need more. I don’t need another pair of dead eyes staring at me when I sleep.” He shut his lips when he thought he heard someone enter, but it was only footsteps passing by the door. Wilson continued on in a softer voice. “Em, was I wrong or was I right? Because I don’t know anymore. But I couldn’t do it, Em. I couldn’t kill another hunter. It just didn’t feel right.” He wheezed, wiped away the water collecting in the corners of his eyes before staring back at her doll face. “You always seemed to know more than I did. What do you think?” As soon as the words tumbled out, he laughed bitterly. “I’m talking to someone who’s comatose.” His hand reached for the screen, but it suddenly recoiled.

I want you back. I want you to stay here, safe. I want to touch your hand. I want to hear your laugh.

“One more time,” he whispered before he fell out of the chair, kneeled down, then buried his head between his knees. He shielded his head with his arms. The hunter curled himself into a ball and let the monitors cover him from passing outsiders. He squeezed eyes while he fought to stop the tears. Shhhhh, it’s okay. At the end he would pick himself up and he would plaster on a smile just like always because everything would be okay.

Please tell me the answer.

Oh, Emmaline Grant, he was so stupid. So stupid and alone.

Come back, please.