Call

Zale leaned back in his chair, the creak of the old leather a comforting sound. The room was dark, curtains drawn tight against the glare of the outside world. This was his haven, a bubble of isolation where he could simply… exist. Rest.

His limbs ached with a weariness that ran deeper than muscle or bone, but it was the kind of heaviness that felt right. A sign that his body was healing, even if his mind refused to rest. The Sin of Sloth had granted him power, but it demanded a toll, one he was only now beginning to understand.

Zale's eyes drifted to the small glass of water on the table beside him. The way the light caught the tiny ripples on its surface, distorting his reflection into something unfamiliar. Something broken.

His phone's sudden vibration cut through the silence, its shrill ringtone stabbing at his nerves. He grimaced and reached for it, his fingers trembling slightly as he swiped the screen.

"Who the hell—?" His voice cracked from disuse. The name flashing across his screen pulled his attention into sharp focus.

Jared. A friend. One of the few he could still count on.

But why the hell was he calling now?

He answered, his voice low and cautious. "Jared?"

"Zale." Jared's tone was tight, urgent. No trace of his usual laid-back sarcasm. "You need to meet me. Like, right now."

Zale's brows knitted together. "What? Why? What's going on?"

"I can't talk about it over the phone. Just—meet me at Rise & Grind. Your favorite place, yeah? I'll be there in twenty."

The line went dead before Zale could respond. The silence that followed felt oppressive, weighted with the unspoken tension in Jared's voice.

His fingers tightened around the phone. Jared was never the paranoid type. The man thrived on humor and deflection, always the first to turn a crisis into a joke. If he was acting like this, then something was seriously wrong.

Zale's gaze flicked toward the mirror at the far end of the room. His own reflection stared back at him, gaunt and hollow-eyed. A man caught between obsession and fatigue.

"Fuck it." He pushed himself to his feet, forcing the drowsiness from his limbs. Whatever this was, it couldn't be good. And he had to know.

He threw on a hoodie and a pair of jeans, the fabric clinging uncomfortably to his still-healing body. The walk to Rise & Grind was short but felt much longer, his thoughts gnawing at him with every step.

The coffee shop was the kind of place that wore its charm like a cozy sweater. Dark wood accents, cushioned chairs, and the scent of roasted beans thick in the air. It was usually a peaceful spot, a place Zale retreated to when the world felt too sharp.

But today, its warmth did nothing to ease the chill coiling in his gut.

He spotted Jared at their usual corner booth, his friend's face partially obscured by the steam rising from a mug clutched in tense hands. Zale slid into the seat across from him, his eyes never leaving Jared's pale, drawn expression.

"Alright. I'm here. What the hell's going on?" Zale asked, his voice sharper than he intended.

Jared glanced around, his gaze darting nervously over the other patrons. His fingers tapped an uneven rhythm against the side of his cup. "You sure you're okay?"

Zale frowned. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because," Jared said, his voice dropping to a low hiss. "The company thinks you're dead."

The words hit Zale like a punch to the chest, his heartbeat thudding painfully in his ears. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I mean exactly what I said." Jared's eyes bored into him, desperate and searching. "People are saying you died. Like, it's official company gossip. The manager himself was telling people you were gone. Dead. As in, not alive."

Zale felt the blood drain from his face. "That doesn't make any sense. I'm right here."

"Yeah, well, apparently, nobody at work thinks so. When I went to the office today, everyone was acting all weird. Whispering and shit. And then I heard the manager say it straight up. 'Zale's dead.' Like it was just a fact."

Zale's hands clenched into fists under the table. His manager… the same man who had hounded him for results, for productivity, like he was nothing but a tool to be ground down and discarded.

"That bastard," Zale muttered, his voice low and seething. "Why would he say that?"

"I was hoping you could tell me," Jared replied. "When was the last time you even checked in with the company?"

Zale's eyes narrowed. "I've been on leave. Sick leave. They approved it."

"Sure, but you've been gone for a while, man. Way longer than the original leave you requested. And… hell, you look like death warmed over."

Zale almost laughed. Of course he did. After everything he'd gone through, the experiments, the battles, the endless search for answers… how could he look anything else?

"I've been dealing with shit," Zale said, his voice tight. "Personal stuff. Stuff you wouldn't believe even if I told you."

Jared looked him over, his gaze flicking to the faint tremor in Zale's hands, the dark circles beneath his eyes. "You're scaring me, man. Whatever's going on with you… it's bad, isn't it?"

Zale met his gaze, his eyes cold and unyielding. "Yeah. It is. But that doesn't explain why my boss would say I'm dead."

"I don't know," Jared admitted, his fingers trembling against his cup. "But something's not right. And if they really think you're dead… that's a hell of a thing to say without proof."

Zale leaned back in his seat, his mind racing. Why would the company say he was dead? Was it just a mistake? A twisted rumor? Or was there something more to it?

He couldn't shake the feeling that this was connected to everything else. To the experiments. To the blackened veins and the creatures that lurked in the shadows.

"What do you want me to do about it?" Zale asked, his voice flat and hollow.

Jared hesitated, his eyes searching Zale's face. "I just… I just needed to see you. To make sure you were really alive. Because if they're saying you're dead, then something's seriously messed up. And if you need help… I'm here."

The sincerity in Jared's voice caught Zale off guard, his walls cracking for just a moment. But he couldn't afford to let anyone in. Not now. Not when the darkness within him was still growing, still hungry.

"Thanks," Zale said, the word leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. "But I can handle this."

"Can you?" Jared asked, his voice almost pleading. "Because whatever's happening, it's not normal. And you look like you're ready to collapse."

Zale forced a smile, one that felt more like a snarl. "I've been through worse."

Jared's shoulders slumped, his hope fading like mist in the air. "Just… be careful, man. Whatever's going on, it's not something you can handle alone."

But Zale was already standing, his mind burning with questions and fury. Whatever this was, whatever the company was playing at, he would find out. And he would make them pay for trying to bury him before he was even gone.