Chapter: 3: Unwanted Child

[Morning, Thursday, 11:00 AM]

Aamon leaned back in the passenger seat, arms crossed as he stared out the window of the roaring Plymouth Barracuda. The car's oversized engine stuck out like a mechanical beast snarling at the world, its deep growl echoing across the empty roads.

Aamon finally broke the silence, his tone dripping with irritation. "You know, I don't understand why Seth sent you with me. But if you're going to tag along, the least you can do is let me drive this thing."

Anundr, a stoic Hunter with an unshakable demeanor, kept his eyes fixed on the road, his hands gripping the wheel with practiced ease. His voice was calm, bordering on indifferent. "I'm the one who got in the driver's seat first. That makes it my car for now."

Aamon shot him a side-eye glare, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "Oh, that's how it works? Great logic. Real smart. Just hurry up and get to the mines already."

The tension hung heavy in the air, but Anundr didn't flinch. Instead, he pressed down on the accelerator, the Barracuda's engine roaring louder as the car surged forward. The landscape outside the window was desolate, the eerie silence of the countryside broken only by the growl of the vehicle.

As they approached the outskirts of the mines, Aamon adjusted his Coat, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one with a flick of his lighter and exhaled a stream of smoke, his irritation momentarily subdued.

"What's the deal with the mines?" Anundr finally asked, breaking his own silence.

Aamon didn't look at him, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "Parasite infestation. It's spreading underground. Seth thinks it's some kind of hive or breeding ground. I think it's just another bad day waiting to happen."

Anundr nodded, his grip tightening on the wheel. "And we're the cleanup crew."

Aamon smirked, the cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. "Exactly. Try not to die down there. I don't feel like explaining your death to Seth."

As the Barracuda roared closer to the mines, the faint outline of industrial ruins came into view. The air grew colder, and the faint smell of decay seeped in through the car's vents.

Aamon tapped the dashboard with his finger. "Stop here. We walk the rest of the way."

Anundr sighed, but he complied, pulling the car to a screeching halt just outside the mine's perimeter. The two stepped out, the oppressive silence of the area immediately pressing down on them.

The entrance to the mine loomed ahead, dark and foreboding. Aamon adjusted his gear, his fingers brushing against the hilt of his knife.

"Let's go," he said, his voice low and cold.

Without another word, they descended into the abyss, the darkness swallowing them whole. The faint hum of something alive—and very wrong—echoed from deep within the mine.

[Inside the Mines, Thursday, 11:30 AM]

The stale air of the mines wrapped around them like a shroud, thick with the smell of damp earth and something faintly metallic. Their footsteps echoed off the cold, rocky walls as Aamon and Anundr ventured deeper into the tunnels, the only light coming from the flickering beam of their flashlights.

Breaking the silence, Anundr spoke, his tone steady and measured. "I read your report about the Flesh Gate back at the hotel."

Aamon didn't look over, keeping his flashlight trained ahead. "Yeah? What about it?"

"You mentioned it was the one summoning the parasites."

Aamon nodded lazily, stepping over a jagged rock in the path. "That's right. It was their source, spawning them like some eldritch breeding machine."

Anundr's voice remained calm, though there was an edge of curiosity. "If it's dead, then why are we here? Shouldn't that have stopped the parasite problem?"

Aamon stopped for a moment, looking back at him with a faint smirk. "You'd think, huh? But it's never that simple. I've seen enough of this crap to know better." He turned back and kept walking, his flashlight sweeping over the walls. "Maybe some of them escaped before I drowned the damn thing. Or maybe there's more to this than we thought."

"More to this?" Anundr asked, his tone unwavering, though his eyes flicked briefly to the shadows ahead. "What kind of intel are we working with?"

Aamon shrugged, his voice as casual as ever. "Some reports point to the mines being where it all started. That's why we're here—to figure out if this is ground zero or just another piece of the puzzle."

Anundr didn't respond immediately, his expression unreadable as he processed the information. He finally nodded once, his flashlight scanning the jagged walls for anything unusual. "Makes sense. If we don't deal with it here, it'll just spread somewhere else."

"Exactly," Aamon replied, his tone flat but tinged with a faint hint of annoyance. "That's why Seth sent us. Clean up what's left, stop it from becoming a bigger headache."

The tunnel suddenly opened up into a wider chamber, the faint sound of dripping water echoing through the space. Rusted mining equipment lay abandoned, covered in grime and cobwebs.

Aamon's flashlight landed on something that made him pause—a dark, wet stain on the ground that trailed deeper into the mine. He knelt, running a gloved hand over it and sniffing the air.

"Blood," he said simply, standing back up. "And it's fresh."

"Looks like we're not alone," Anundr said, his tone unchanged as he drew his weapon.

"We never are," Aamon replied with a sigh, his free hand moving to the knife at his belt. "Let's keep moving. Whatever's down here, it's not gonna wait for us to find it."

They continued into the darkness, the silence of the mine broken only by the faint, eerie sounds that seemed to come from all around them.

[Inside the Flesh Mine, 12:05 PM]

The air grew heavier with every step, carrying a damp, sickly-sweet odor that clung to their skin like a second layer. The dim light from their flashlights painted long, wavering shadows across the tunnel walls, which had begun to change. What once was rough stone and jagged rock now shimmered with a wet sheen, glistening unnaturally as if the walls themselves were breathing.

Aamon adjusted his grip on his heavy revolver, the cold metal steady in his hand. Anundr, silent as ever, cradled his shotgun with the ease of someone who'd long made peace with violence. The faint squelch of their boots echoed unnervingly in the narrow space, each step producing a faint give beneath their feet—as if the ground no longer wanted to be solid.

The tunnel seemed alive, veins of something dark pulsating within the fleshy walls. A faint, rhythmic sound pulsed all around them, something between a heartbeat and the groan of shifting earth. It wasn't loud, but it was constant, gnawing at the edge of perception.

Aamon tilted his head slightly, his voice cutting through the oppressive silence. "Ever feel like you're walking through something's insides?" His tone was flat, almost bored, but there was a faint edge of dry humor.

Anundr didn't glance at him, his eyes locked ahead. "It doesn't matter what it feels like. We keep moving."

The tunnel narrowed, forcing them to walk single file. The walls seemed to ripple faintly in the light, like disturbed water, and the air grew warmer, more humid. Droplets of some unidentifiable liquid dripped from the ceiling, landing with faint splashes onto the slick ground. The smell was worse now, acrid and putrid, like decaying meat left out in the sun. Aamon scrunched his nose but said nothing.

They passed an old mining cart, half-buried in the fleshy floor. The metal was corroded, eaten away by whatever this... substance was. Tendrils of dark, fibrous material crept over it, fusing it into the organic landscape.

The sound of a faint whisper brushed against the edge of hearing—indistinct, distant. It wasn't words exactly, more like the suggestion of them. Aamon's flashlight swept over the walls, revealing faint impressions, shapes that could've been faces stretched within the flesh. Empty eyes, mouths open in silent screams, pressed out as though they were trying to escape from within.

"That's new," Aamon muttered, his tone still maddeningly casual as he flicked his flashlight back and forth. "Seth really knows how to pick 'em, huh?"

"Focus," Anundr said curtly, his voice low but firm.

The whispering grew louder, a chorus of faint, disjointed sounds that seemed to come from everywhere at once. The tunnel began to twist unnaturally, the walls closing in, then widening, as though breathing in time with some unseen rhythm.

"You ever wonder what kind of idiot decides to build a mine on top of... whatever this is?" Aamon asked, breaking the silence again.

"No," Anundr replied simply, his tone devoid of any humor. "Keep moving."

As they walked deeper, the air seemed to press against them, thick and oppressive. The walls now glistened with a translucent sheen, revealing something moving beneath the surface. Dark, worm-like shapes writhed just out of sight, their movements slow and deliberate, as if tracking their progress.

A low, guttural sound reverberated through the tunnel, faint but distinct. It wasn't close, but it wasn't far, either. Aamon's finger hovered near the trigger of his revolver, though his expression didn't change. "That's probably not the wind," he said.

Anundr glanced briefly at him, then back to the path ahead. "Stay ready."

The tunnel opened up into a cavernous space, its ceiling lost in darkness. Strange, fleshy growths clung to the walls, pulsating with a faint bioluminescent glow that bathed the room in a sickly green light. The ground was uneven, covered in what looked like massive, organic blisters that squished underfoot.

Aamon's flashlight landed on something ahead—a skeletal figure, slumped against one of the walls. Its flesh had been stripped away, leaving only sinew and bone, but its face was intact, frozen in a grotesque mask of agony. Thin, black tendrils extended from its chest, rooting it into the wall like some grotesque plant.

"Looks like someone didn't make it," Aamon said flatly, stepping around the body.

"Keep moving," Anundr repeated, his voice as steady as ever, though his grip on the shotgun tightened slightly.

As they continued, the whispers began to form words—faint, distorted, and wrong. "Leave... Don't... stay... Join us..."

Aamon raised an eyebrow but didn't slow his pace. "Think we're overstaying our welcome?"

"No," Anundr said without missing a beat. "We're not leaving until the job's done."

The cavern seemed to stretch endlessly, its grotesque features growing more pronounced with every step. The air vibrated with a low, resonant hum, like the growl of a predator waiting to pounce. But neither man flinched, their focus unwavering as they pressed on into the heart of the nightmare.

[Inside the Flesh Mine, 12:45 PM]

The air grew warmer as Aamon and Anundr descended further into the mines, the steep incline slick beneath their boots. Each step felt heavier, not from exhaustion, but from the weight of the oppressive atmosphere that seemed to sink into their bones. The flashlight beams carved through the darkness, illuminating glimpses of a world that should not exist.

The large cavern opened up before them, walls and ceiling lined with pulsating, fleshy masses. Veins as thick as tree roots snaked across the surface, pumping a viscous, blackened fluid that oozed from ruptures and dripped to the ground below. The dripping sound was inconsistent, almost alive in its cadence, creating an eerie rhythm that echoed endlessly.

Aamon scanned the area silently, his expression unreadable as his flashlight landed on what could only be described as a grotesque monument. Towering above them was a column of twisted flesh and bone, its surface embedded with faces—human faces—frozen in expressions of terror and agony. Some seemed fresh, their eyes blinking faintly as if still alive, while others had decomposed to the point where they were nothing more than hollowed sockets and rotted gums.

Anundr paused briefly, taking in the sight. "Efficient," he muttered, his voice betraying no emotion. "Waste nothing."

The ground beneath their feet squished with each step, a sickening sensation that seemed to pull at their boots, as if reluctant to let them go. Aamon moved forward, his heavy revolver held steady, while Anundr followed, his shotgun angled downward but ready to fire at a moment's notice.

A faint, high-pitched noise began to rise in the distance. It was like the sound of children laughing, but warped and distorted, as if being played backward. It grew louder, closer, and then abruptly stopped. Aamon glanced at Anundr, his face betraying nothing, but the grip on his revolver tightened slightly.

They moved deeper into the cavern, and the horrors only worsened. The walls began to sprout elongated limbs, skeletal arms reaching out blindly, their fingers twitching and clawing at the air. Some were fused together, forming grotesque sculptures of tangled human anatomy. Others appeared to be struggling, their movements frantic, as if trying to free themselves from the living walls.

Aamon's flashlight caught movement ahead. A writhing mass of flesh and entrails slithered across the ground, its form shifting and undulating like a serpent. Embedded within it were human heads, their mouths stretched wide in soundless screams, their eyes darting wildly as if pleading for mercy.

"Flesh constructs," Anundr said calmly, raising his shotgun. "They're using the bodies as materials."

Aamon didn't reply, instead leveling his revolver and firing a single shot. The bullet tore through the mass, and the construct let out a guttural wail that reverberated through the cavern. It thrashed violently before collapsing into a puddle of viscera.

The path ahead narrowed, forcing them to move single file again. The ceiling hung low, dripping with a thick, mucus-like substance that burned faintly when it landed on their exposed skin. The sound of wet, labored breathing began to fill the space, coming from all around them, though there was nothing visible to make the sound.

The narrow tunnel opened into another cavern, this one even more grotesque than the last. The floor was littered with bodies—miners, by the look of their tattered uniforms—though they were far from intact. Their torsos had been split open, their organs carefully removed and replaced with pulsating sacs of flesh. Some of them were still alive, their eyes following Aamon and Anundr as they walked past. One man's lips moved faintly, as if trying to speak, but no sound came out.

Aamon crouched beside one of the bodies, tilting his head slightly. "They're being used as incubators," he said flatly. "The parasites are maturing inside them."

"Efficient," Anundr repeated, his tone unchanged. "How far does this go?"

"Deep enough," Aamon replied, standing and moving on.

They reached the far end of the cavern, where a makeshift altar had been constructed from bones and flesh. At its center lay a creature unlike anything they'd encountered before. It resembled a human torso, but its arms were elongated, ending in grotesque claws. Its head was a mass of writhing tendrils, each tipped with a single, glaring eye. It writhed weakly as they approached, its many eyes focusing on them.

"Kill it," Anundr said simply.

Aamon raised his revolver, but before he could fire, the creature let out a high-pitched wail. The sound pierced the air, causing the fleshy walls to quiver and the ground to tremble. From the darkness, dozens of parasites began to emerge, their grotesque forms skittering toward them like spiders.

Anundr didn't hesitate, unloading a blast from his shotgun into the nearest cluster of parasites. Aamon followed suit, his revolver barking loudly as he picked off targets with precise shots. The creatures screeched as they were torn apart, their black ichor splattering across the cavern.

The fight was over quickly, the floor littered with the mangled remains of the parasites. Aamon walked over to the creature on the altar, which was now twitching weakly, its many eyes glazing over.

"You think this is it?" Anundr asked, reloading his shotgun.

"No," Aamon said, pressing the barrel of his revolver against the creature's head. "It's never that simple."

He pulled the trigger, and the cavern fell silent once more.

[Inside the Flesh Mine, 01:00 PM]

The cavern reeked of death, the putrid stench of rotting flesh lingering even as the grotesque walls sagged and dissolved under Aamon's power. The ground shifted, the once-living tissue liquefying into water, pooling and washing away into unseen crevices. Aamon stood at the edge of the clearing, his revolver resting at his side, his expression still and unreadable.

Anundr said nothing as he watched the transformation. His stoic demeanor never wavered, though his eyes flicked to the abyss that now stretched before them—a gaping maw in the earth, its blackness impenetrable. It pulsed faintly, like the beating of a monstrous heart.

From the depths came laughter, high-pitched and innocent, yet wrong in a way that twisted the gut. It was the laughter of children, distorted and echoed, as if heard through layers of warped, screaming voices.

Aamon tilted his head slightly, his face betraying no fear. "We're going in," he said simply.

Anundr nodded once, his shotgun slung over his shoulder as he stepped beside Aamon. "Stay alive," he muttered, not as a warning, but as a statement of practicality.

Without hesitation, Aamon jumped. Anundr followed a heartbeat later.

[Inside the Flesh Cave/Cavern of ???, Hole ????, Hell]

The fall was endless.

The air rushed past them, thick and humid, carrying whispers that scraped against the edges of their minds. At first, the descent felt natural, gravity pulling them steadily downward. But soon, time seemed to lose meaning. The fall stretched on, the world around them distorting, reality itself bending and fracturing.

Aamon's stoic face twitched briefly as the space around him shifted—fragments of distorted memories flickering in and out of existence. His reflection appeared in the void, staring back at him with lifeless eyes before shattering into dust.

Anundr remained steady, his body rigid as the abyss clawed at him. He seemed unaffected by the strange hallucinations, his focus solely on the fall.

"Long enough," Aamon muttered, though the words seemed to dissolve into the void as he said them.

Suddenly, the suffocating darkness was replaced by a blinding light.

Aamon reacted instantly, his hand outstretched as he willed the ground below to turn to water. The impact was sudden, their bodies plunging into a massive, shimmering pool that broke their descent. The water rippled outward, but the silence was absolute.

Both men surfaced, their breaths steady despite the disorienting plunge.

The cavern around them was massive, its walls barely visible even with their flashlights. The air was heavy, dense with an otherworldly energy that pressed against their skin like a living thing.

The sound of dripping water echoed faintly, joined by a low, guttural hum that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

Then, the light appeared.

At first, it was a single, faint glow, like a dying ember in the distance. But it grew rapidly, multiplying into dozens, then hundreds of tiny pinpricks of light. Their flashlights swung upward, illuminating the source.

A massive fetus hung suspended in the air, its skin translucent and veined, revealing the pulsing organs within. Its body was grotesquely malformed, limbs too long and twisted, its head crowned with multiple eyes that blinked independently, glowing faintly in the dark. The light from its eyes spread across the cavern, revealing a landscape of horrors.

The walls were lined with rows upon rows of deformed, infant-like creatures, each cradled in fleshy sacs that pulsated in time with the fetus's heartbeat. Their tiny hands clawed weakly at their enclosures, their mouths opening and closing as if gasping for air.

The laughter returned, louder now, echoing from the countless mouths of the unborn creatures. It was a symphony of madness, the sound reverberating through the cavern and clawing at the edges of sanity.

Aamon stood still, his revolver raised but unfired. "What is this?" he asked, his voice calm but carrying an edge of curiosity.

Anundr stepped forward, shotgun in hand, his eyes locked on the massive fetus. "The source," he said flatly. "This is it."

The fetus's many eyes turned toward them, its gaze burning with an unnatural intelligence. It opened its mouth—a cavernous maw filled with jagged, uneven teeth—and let out a cry that shook the very ground beneath them.

"Move," Aamon said, his voice sharp as he fired a shot directly into one of its glowing eyes.

The bullet struck true, the eye bursting in a spray of dark ichor. The creature screamed again, the sound deafening, as the walls began to writhe and shift. The infant-like creatures broke free from their sacs, dropping to the ground in a squirming mass of flesh and bone.

Anundr fired his shotgun, the blast tearing through a cluster of the creatures as they scrambled toward them. "Efficient," he muttered, pumping the shotgun and firing again.

Aamon fired rapidly, each shot precise and deliberate, his expression cold and unchanging. "Burn it all," he said simply, the words carrying a weight that echoed through the chaos.

The cavern descended into madness, but neither man wavered. They were unshakable, relentless, cutting through the horrors with calculated precision.

[Inside the Flesh Cave, ????]

The cavern pulsed with chaotic energy as the deformed infant-like creatures surged forward, their twisted bodies clawing and biting at the intruders. Aamon's revolver thundered, precise shots piercing grotesque forms, while Anundr's shotgun barked with ruthless efficiency, leaving shredded corpses in its wake. But the massive fetus hung above them, unaffected by their assault, its glowing eyes burning with malice as its cries shook the walls.

"Enough," Aamon muttered, holstering his revolver. He raised a hand, his fingers twitching slightly as the air around him thickened with power.

Anundr stepped back, his gaze calm but focused. "Make it count," he said flatly.

Aamon closed his eyes, muttering under his breath, and the cavern began to shift. The air grew heavy with moisture, droplets forming and cascading upward as if gravity itself was reversed. A low rumble echoed through the cavern, growing louder with each passing second.

Then, it came.

From the darkness above, water began to rain down in high-velocity streams, each drop striking the ground like an anti-tank round. Flesh and bone erupted in sprays of gore as the rain obliterated the creatures below. The cavern trembled, the force of the tempest reshaping its grotesque walls.

The massive fetus flinched but remained intact, its malformed limbs twitching as it let out another deafening cry.

"Not enough," Anundr said, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Try harder."

Aamon's eyes narrowed, and his expression hardened. "Fine." He extended both hands this time, his body trembling slightly as he poured more energy into the spell.

The rain intensified, transforming into a torrential downpour of artillery strikes. Each droplet exploded on impact, sending shockwaves through the cavern and reducing the writhing creatures to unrecognizable sludge. The air was thick with the scent of blood and charred flesh, but neither Aamon nor Anundr flinched.

Still, the fetus hung in defiance, its grotesque form shielded by some unseen force.

"Your turn," Aamon said, his voice flat as he stepped back, the storm around them dissipating.

Anundr reached into his jacket, pulling out a bundle of photographs. He fanned them out in his hand like a deck of cards, revealing a series of images depicting atomic bombs—specifically, replicas of Little Boy.

Aamon raised an eyebrow. "The hell? Really, the atom bomb?"

Anundr didn't respond immediately, stepping forward and scattering the photographs around the fetus. Each one hovered in the air, suspended by an unseen force, encircling the monstrous entity.

"I don't like wasting time," Anundr said finally, his tone as stoic as ever.

Aamon smirked faintly, though his humor was as dry as the cavern was wet. "Yeah, wasting time. Like wasting our time in this world." The joke hung in the air, dark and biting, but neither man lingered on it.

As they backed away, Aamon raised a hand again, summoning a pool of water beneath their feet. Without a word, both men sank into it, disappearing into its depths as though slipping into another dimension.

The moment they were gone, the photographs shimmered with a brilliant light, each one twisting and morphing into a physical bomb. Twenty identical replicas of Little Boy materialized around the fetus, their dull metallic surfaces glinting ominously in the dim light.

For a moment, there was silence—a single breath of stillness before the inferno began.

The first detonation ripped through the cavern with unimaginable force, a blinding flash of light obliterating everything in its path. The shockwave followed, a rolling tide of destruction that vaporized flesh and stone alike.

Then came the second explosion, and the third, each one compounding the devastation. The cavern became a maelstrom of fire and energy, the sheer heat incinerating everything it touched. Flesh disintegrated, and the malformed walls melted into rivers of boiling gore.

The fetus, caught in the center of the chaos, let out a final, piercing scream as its body was consumed by the blasts. Its massive form disintegrated, its glowing eyes extinguished as the chain of explosions continued.

The combined power of twenty atomic bombs transformed the cavern into a blinding inferno. The ground beneath the blasts caved in, creating a massive crater that stretched endlessly into the void.

When the final explosion subsided, there was nothing left but silence and darkness. The cavern was gone, replaced by an empty, featureless expanse—a void where even the twisted remnants of the flesh mine no longer existed.

Aamon and Anundr emerged from the water in a different part of the realm, their clothes damp but their expressions unbothered. Aamon shook some water from his coat, glancing back at the portal as it closed behind them.

"Well, that's one way to clean up," Aamon said dryly, adjusting his revolver.

Anundr nodded, reloading his shotgun with practiced ease. "Efficient," he said simply.

Aamon smirked faintly, his gaze fixed on the distance. "Efficient, yeah. But we're not done yet."

The two men began walking, the sound of their footsteps fading into the distance as the void realm shifted around them, silent and waiting for its next horror.

[Sunday Morning, 09:00]

The sunlight broke through the treetops as Aamon and Anundr emerged from the water, stepping onto the dirt path leading back to the surface. The fresh air carried a faint chill, a stark contrast to the suffocating atmosphere of the flesh cavern below. Both men moved in silence, their faces calm despite the horrors they had just endured.

Aamon reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a cigarette. He struck a match with practiced ease, shielding the flame from the breeze as he lit the end. Just as he took his first drag, the faint sound of tires crunching gravel reached their ears.

A squad car rolled up, its lights flashing but siren silent. Two uniformed officers stepped out, hands on their holstered weapons. The older of the two, a stocky man with a weathered face, called out.

"Hands in the air! Now!"

Aamon glanced at Anundr, who sighed, clearly irritated. Without a word, Aamon dropped his revolver, letting it melt into the ground like water. Anundr followed suit, his shotgun dissolving with a soft ripple, leaving no trace behind.

Both men raised their hands as the officers approached cautiously, one with a hand on his radio.

"You two mind explaining what you're doing here?" the younger officer asked, his voice firm but nervous.

Aamon remained calm, his expression neutral. "We were just passing through," he said simply.

The older officer stepped closer, scrutinizing them. "Passing through? This is private property. You're trespassing."

Anundr's jaw tightened. He muttered under his breath, "This is a waste of time."

Aamon gave him a quick glance, his tone steady but sharp. "Let me handle this." Turning back to the officers, he lowered his hands slightly, moving slowly to avoid alarming them.

"We didn't mean to cause any trouble," Aamon said, his voice measured and respectful. "We got a bit turned around while hiking. Didn't realize this area was off-limits."

The younger officer looked skeptical, glancing at his partner. "Hiking? At this hour?"

The older officer nodded toward the car. "Let's not do this here. Turn around, hands behind your back."

Without hesitation, Aamon complied, his movements smooth and cooperative. Anundr hesitated for a moment, his irritation evident in the tightness of his shoulders, but he followed suit, his stoicism intact even as the cold steel of handcuffs snapped around his wrists.

[At the Station, 10:30]

Aamon and Anundr sat in separate holding cells, the fluorescent lights casting a harsh glow over the room. Aamon leaned back against the wall, his posture relaxed as if he were sitting in a café instead of a jail cell. Anundr, on the other hand, sat stiffly on the bench, his arms crossed, his expression a mixture of boredom and mild annoyance.

The door to the holding area opened, and an officer approached Aamon's cell.

"You've got one phone call," the officer said gruffly, unlocking the door.

Aamon stood, brushing off his coat as he was led to the phone. He picked up the receiver, dialing a number from memory.

After a few rings, a familiar voice answered.

"Seth here. What's the problem?"

"Seth," Aamon said smoothly, his tone professional despite the situation. "I'm going to need your help. Got into a bit of a misunderstanding with local law enforcement. Trespassing, they say."

Seth sighed audibly on the other end. "Again? Where this time?"

"A mine," Aamon replied vaguely. "It's a long story. But I need you to sort it out."

"I'll see what I can do," Seth said. "Sit tight."

Aamon hung up the phone and turned to the officer, his calm demeanor unshaken. "My lawyer will be here soon."

Back in the cell, Anundr glanced at Aamon as he returned, raising an eyebrow. "Calling Seth? That's your plan?"

"Seth's good at what he does," Aamon replied, sitting back down. "Besides, we're not criminals. Just a misunderstanding."

Anundr smirked faintly but said nothing, leaning back against the wall.