Chapter 150: Strays (2)

Silence followed Hiiro's declaration. It was the kind of silence that happened when five people simultaneously waited to see whether the person who had just spoken would realize how stupid he sounded without assistance

Hiiro, apparently, took their lack of response as encouragement. He spread his arms wide enough to nearly smack Alaric in the shoulder. "Come on, tell me Strays doesn't fit."

"It doesn't fit," Misha replied immediately.

"You didn't even think about it. We're all people with nowhere else to go."

Misha regarded him through the smooth face of her mask. "That is possibly the saddest argument for a team name I have ever heard."

"It sounds cool."

"It sounds like we should be vaccinated."

Hiiro jabbed a finger toward her as if she had just proven his argument rather than insulted it. "See, that's exactly why it works. Strays survive!"

"So do cockroaches," Astrid said.

Hiiro turned toward her and she met his stare calmly. He hesitated as if he was considering that for an uncomfortable amount of time. "The Cockroaches sound worse."

Carl nodded. "Much worse."

Alaric finally stepped away from the wall. He has been watching the discussion with the relaxed interest of someone observing several children attempt politics, despite having encouraged some of it himself. "Personally, I like Strays."

"We are not a group" Misha sighed.

"The Strays," Alric repeated, deliberately ignoring her. He tested the name with the thoughtful cadence of someone sampling expensive wine. "It's short and memorable. It carries just enough tragedy to make strangers assume we have interesting backstories."

Hiiro's face lit up. "See? He gets it!"

Misha looked between them and felt an immediate sense of dread. That combination should never be encouraged. Together, they represented a threat to whatever remained of her patience.

Astrid apparently reached the same conclusion as she folded her arms. "I refuse to let the two of you make branding decisions for everyone else."

"Says the one who suggested Cockroaches as our group name," Hiiro shot back, crossing his arms as well.

"That wasn't–"

"We could also have an emblem," Alaric suggested. "A little alley cat, perhaps."

Misha turned slowly toward him. "..."

His gaze dropped toward the mask on her face. "Oh, that would be perfect."

"Say another word."

"A tasteful little–"

Misha raised Twinfang again to which he immediately stepped backward.

"Silence," he decided, "is also tasteful."

Hiiro, naturally, was not finished. "Strays actually work, you know. Nobody owns us, and nobody tells us where to go."

Caius glanced toward him. "That part does seem accurate."

Hiiro pointed triumphantly. "Caius agrees."

"I only said it seems accurate."

"That counts." Then he looked toward Carl. "Kid?"

The boy stared at him, as if realizing he had been chosen as the deciding vote so he considered the question with far more seriousness than anyone else had.

"The Strays sounds like abandoned dogs."

Hiiro's shoulders dropped.

Then Carl added, "But I guess abandoned dogs can bite people."

Hiiro immediately straightened. "Yes!"

Carl blinked. "That wasn't–"

"Yes. Exactly. Thank you."

"I didn't say I liked it," he lied. In fact, he actually liked being part of the group.

"Too late. We have the kid vote."

"Absolutely not."

"You know what makes Strays fit even better?"

Misha's eyes narrowed at him. "What?"

"Your mask is literally a cat."

"It is not a stray-cat membership badge."

"It could be~"

"It isn't."

Alaric hummed thoughtfully. "Founder symbolism."

Using her free hand, Misha grabbed the nearest pillow from Caius' bed and both men immediately stepped back.

Carl looked from Hiiro to Alaric before he mumbled more to himself, "I think they make each other worse."

Misha sighed and finally sheathed Twinfang. Keeping the mask on suddenly felt more irritating than useful. Everyone in the room already knew enough about her that hiding her face from them had become pointless, and other than that, she wanted actual air against her skin.

Upon removing her mask, cool air brushed over her cheeks at once.

Carl immediately focused on her. She caught the brief surprise on his face since it was the first time he had seen her without the white mask hiding everything beneath it. He did not say anything, though, after realizing he had been staring, the boy quickly looked away as though continuing would somehow be rude.

That small reaction made something in Misha's chest loosen. Showing him her face was hardly some grand gesture. Everyone except for him had seen it, and realistically speaking, what danger was a twelve-year-old boy supposed to pose to her carefully guarded identity?

Still, it mattered to her more than she expected. Carl had trusted her from the beginning, more so even after everything around him had fallen apart. Sometimes that trust sat badly on her shoulders. She knew, rationally, that his family dying was not her fault. She had not caused what happened to them but that did not stop the quiet, unpleasant thought that she should have reached him and the others sooner.

Maybe that was stupid, probably was, especially when she had developed a bad habit of assigning herself responsibility for disasters she had not personally created.

But Carl had no family left with him now, and whether she admitted it or not, she had become one of the people he looked for. So this–letting him see the face behind Gravekeeper, behind Shana, behind the damned mask–was at least something she could give him. Trust for trust.

Naturally, the moment could not remain quiet for more than five seconds.

Alaric stepped away from Hiiro with whatever scraps of dignity Carl had left him and brushed an imaginary wrinkle from his sleeve.

"Anyway, for the record, my Shana collapsed from exhaustion." he said, apparently deciding to bring up their previous conversation to clear up his name. He counted his alleged virtues on his fingers. "I found her in the corridor, carried her to an empty room, made sure she didn't cook herself alive with a fever, fed her, healed her, and in return she attempted to rearrange my face."

Astrid's attention sharpened. "Fever?"

There it was, the exact reason Misha had wanted Alaric to keep his mouth shut.

Misha turned toward him so fast with a glare. "You said you wouldn't tell anyone."

Alaric blinked innocently. "I said I would keep your secret."

"Alaric."

"Oh." His lips curved into a shameless smile. "My mistake."

At this point, Misha was seriously considering murder. The urge to put Twinfang through him was only getting stronger.

Apparently, reading that thought directly from her face made Alaric take one cautious step away.

Astrid was already crossing the room before Misha could decide whether murder was worth the effort. The younger girl placed the back of her hand on her forehead before she could dodge.

"I'm fine."

"You had a fever."

"Past tense." Misha gently pushed Astrid's hand away. "I'm fine now. His healing worked."

Astrid did not look satisfied. Her green eyes moved over her face, then down toward her shoulders and stance, checking for weakness the same way Misha herself inspected other people.

Misha knew exactly what she was doing, that was why she didn't want her to know. The concern also touched something uncomfortable and unexpectedly warm in her chest.