REBORN AS A NECROMANCER : BUILDING THE ULTIMATE UNDEAD ARMY

Rebecca's grin widened, and Kaine immediately regretted his decision.

"I want you to tell me something you've never told anyone else," she said. "But here's the catch—you have to tell me while we're doing something normal people do at four in the morning."

"Which is?"

"Raiding your kitchen for terrible snack food and watching bad late-night television."

Kaine looked toward his kitchen, mentally cataloging its contents. "I don't really have snack food."

"What do you have?"

"Coffee. Protein bars. Some leftover Chinese takeout that's probably questionable."

"Perfect. Mystery takeout and whatever passes for late-night programming. Come on, hunter boy. Time to live dangerously."

They migrated to the kitchen, where Rebecca immediately began investigating his cabinets with the enthusiasm of an archaeologist discovering ancient artifacts. She emerged with a box of crackers that had been sitting unopened for months and what appeared to be the last remaining protein bar from a bulk purchase he'd made sometime in the previous season.

"This is sad," she announced, examining the protein bar's expiration date. "Even for someone who fights monsters professionally, this is depressingly sad."

"I don't spend much time here."

"Clearly." She opened the crackers, offering him the box. "Okay, television time. And remember, you owe me a secret."

As they walked back, she took a look at Kaine and stopped.

"You know," Rebecca said, studying his face in the morning light, "you and Marcus both look like you haven't seen sunlight in about six months. I get that the hunting thing is mostly a night job, but when's the last time either of you spent time outside during actual daylight hours?"

Kaine glanced toward the bedroom where Marcus was still sleeping. "We're not really the outdoor type."

"I'm not talking about hiking or beach volleyball. Just... normal human sun exposure. You're both practically translucent." She reached over and touched his forearm. "Seriously, when did you last see your own shadow?"

"It's the lighting in here," Kaine said quickly. "These old fluorescent bulbs make everyone look like they're dying."

"Nice try, but I've seen you during the day too," Rebecca countered, tilting her head thoughtfully. "Granted, you're usually wearing enough layers to outfit an arctic expedition, so I couldn't be completely sure. But your face and hands? Definitely pale." She gestured between him and the bedroom. "Both of you have that whole 'I work the night shift at a morgue' aesthetic going on."

Kaine looked down at his hands, trying to think of another deflection that wouldn't sound completely ridiculous.

"Maybe we should invest in some vitamin D supplements," he said finally.

Kaine's TV was small and old, the kind of thing someone bought when they needed background noise more than entertainment. Rebecca commandeered the remote, cycling through late-night programming until she found what appeared to be a marathon of cooking shows from the 1980s.

They settled back onto the couch, sharing the crackers and watching a woman with enormous hair explain the intricacies of something called "ambrosia salad" to an audience that seemed genuinely excited about marshmallows and canned fruit.

"This is deeply weird," Rebecca observed, gesturing at the screen with a cracker. "But also kind of hypnotic. I can't look away."

"Is this what normal people do at four AM?"

"Normal people are usually asleep at four AM. This is what people who can't sleep do." She turned to face him, tucking one leg under herself. "Speaking of which—secret time. Something you've never told anyone."

Kaine watched the television host demonstrate proper marshmallow folding technique while he considered the question. There were plenty of secrets he'd never told anyone, ranging from professional discretion to personal history he preferred to keep buried. But sitting here, sharing stale crackers and watching cooking shows with someone who'd responded to learning about his profession with enthusiasm rather than horror or some form of apprehension, the usual barriers felt less necessary.

"I wanted to be a teacher," he said finally.

Rebecca's eyebrows rose. "That's... not what I was expecting."

"High school history. I had plans, before everything changed. College degree, certification program, the whole thing." He paused, remembering the person he'd been before supernatural threats became his primary concern. "I used to think about lesson plans. How to make the Civil War interesting for teenagers who'd rather be anywhere else."

"What happened?"

"Life happened. Other priorities." Kaine glanced at her, then back at the television. "Some things matter more than career plans."

"Do you ever think about going back to it?"

"Sometimes. But hunters don't really get to retire and pursue other interests."

Rebecca was quiet for a moment, and he could feel her studying his profile while the cooking show host moved on to something involving gelatin molds.

"That's a good secret," she said eventually. "Sweet, but also kind of heartbreaking."

"Your turn."

"Truth or dare?"

"Truth," she said immediately.

"What's the one thing you miss most about your old life?"

Rebecca was quiet for a long moment, her fingers tracing the rim of her empty mug.

"The certainty," she said finally. "I know that sounds crazy, considering how miserable I was, but there was something comforting about knowing exactly what every day would look like. Wake up at six-thirty, coffee with two sugars, check emails before breakfast, same route to work every morning." She looked up at him. "Even when I hated it, at least I knew what to expect."

"And now?"

"Now I wake up every day not knowing if my neighbor's going to come home covered in blood or if I'm going to hear something trying to break down my door at three AM." She smiled, but there was something wistful in her expression. "It's terrifying and exhilarating at the same time."

"Most people would just want the certainty back."

"Maybe I'm not most people.

Kaine nodded, staring at her for a second.

They fell into comfortable silence, watching someone explain the proper way to arrange vegetables in aspic while sharing the last of the crackers. The cooking show gave way to what appeared to be a documentary about deep-sea fishing, which somehow proved equally mesmerizing.

"Truth or dare," Rebecca said during a particularly dramatic segment about tuna migration patterns.

"Dare." The word surprised him as much as it seemed to surprise her.

"Really?" She asked.

"Really."

Rebecca grinned, and Kaine realized he was beginning to recognize that particular expression as a warning sign.

"I dare you to show me what you do when you can't sleep."

"What I do?"

"Everyone has something. Reading, pushups, organizing closets, whatever. What do you do when your brain won't shut off and you're just lying there thinking about everything wrong with the world?"

Kaine considered this, trying to remember the last time he'd had trouble sleeping for reasons that weren't directly related to physical exhaustion or supernatural threats.

"I clean weapons," he said finally.

"Show me."

"Show you?"

"You heard me, hunter boy. Show me how you clean weapons at four-thirty in the morning when the world feels too heavy."

He led her to the bedroom, where Marcus was laying down with a stillness that made Kaine wonder for a second if Ghouls actually needed rest or if they just went dormant for convenience. Rebecca barely glanced at the motionless figure before focusing on the weapons case that dominated one wall of the room.

"That's... extensive," she whispered, apparently remembering that someone was trying to sleep a few feet away.

Kaine selected a knife from the collection, something simple and practical that hadn't seen recent use. Back in the living room, he retrieved a cleaning kit from a drawer Rebecca probably hadn't noticed, settling cross-legged on the floor with the tools spread in front of him.

"It's not exciting," he warned her.

"I don't need exciting. I need to understand."

She watched as he disassembled the knife, laying out each component. His movements were automatic, the kind of muscle memory that came from months of late-night repetition.

"It's meditative," Rebecca observed, settling beside him on the floor. "Like knitting, but with more potential for accidental amputation."

"The routine helps. Having something to do with your hands while your mind processes everything else."

"What are you processing right now?"

Kaine paused in his cleaning, considering the question. "Tonight's hunt. Whether I made the right calls, whether there was anything I missed, whether the vampire I killed was part of something bigger."

"And?"

"And wondering if I should be concerned that my neighbor isn't remotely bothered by any of this."

Rebecca laughed quietly. "Oh, I'm bothered. Just not in the way you probably expect." She watched him reassemble the knife casually. "It's more like... fascination than fear."

"Most people would be afraid. I run the risk of getting turned every night I step out there,"

"Most people don't spend five years married to someone who collected vintage firearms as a hobby. You learn to appreciate craftsmanship and maintenance routines." She gestured at his cleaning kit. "Besides, there's something comforting about watching someone take care of their tools. Shows they respect what they do."

The fishing documentary had given way to early morning news, though neither of them was paying attention to the television. They'd moved through another round of truth or dare, with Rebecca daring him to make coffee at five AM ("because normal people drink coffee in the morning, even if they haven't slept") and Kaine asking her to tell him about the last time she'd been genuinely happy.

"Road trip," she'd said immediately. "Last summer, before everything fell apart. I drove up the coast by myself, no destination, no schedule. Just me and the highway and terrible gas station coffee." She'd smiled at the memory. "I stayed in this awful motel in some tiny town, and there was this diner next door that served pie for breakfast. The waitress was probably seventy years old and called everyone 'honey,' and I sat there eating apple pie at eight in the morning thinking this was the most perfect moment I'd ever experienced."

"What made it perfect?"

"The possibility. Like anything could happen next."

Now they were curled together on the couch, Rebecca's head finding its way to his shoulder sometime during a particularly boring segment about municipal water treatment. Kaine had meant to stay awake, meant to maintain the careful distance he usually kept between himself and anyone who might become a complication.

Instead, he'd fallen asleep to the sound of her breathing and the soft murmur of late-night television.

He woke to sunlight streaming through his windows and the much louder sound of morning news. Rebecca was still asleep against his shoulder, her hair spilling across his chest, one hand curled against his arm. The comfortable weight of her was unfamiliar but not unwelcome.

The television was broadcasting what appeared to be breaking news, the kind of urgent morning programming that suggested something significant had happened overnight. Kaine reached carefully for the remote, trying not to disturb Rebecca while turning up the volume.

"—third victim discovered early this morning in the industrial district," the news anchor was saying. "Like the previous two victims, the body showed evidence of severe blood loss and what police are describing as 'distinctive markings' carved into the torso."

The camera cut to a crime scene reporter standing outside a building Kaine recognized. He'd been around that neighborhood less than six hours ago, hunting the vampire whose blood construct had ruined his shirt.

"While police aren't releasing details about the investigation, sources close to the department confirm that each victim has been found with carved symbols—an X for female victims, an O for male victims. The pattern suggests these deaths may be connected to what authorities are calling 'ritualistic activity.'"

Rebecca stirred against his shoulder, mumbling something incoherent before her eyes opened. She blinked up at him, looking momentarily confused about where she was, then smiled with the kind of sleepy contentment that made Kaine's chest feel unexpectedly tight.

"Morning," she said softly, then noticed the television. "What's—oh. Work calling?"

On the screen, the reporter was interviewing someone from the police department who was trying very hard not to confirm that they were dealing with something supernatural while also not lying to the media.

"Looks like it," Kaine said, though his attention was divided between the news report and the warm weight of Rebecca against his side.

She sat up, running her fingers through her hair and studying the television with the kind of focus that suggested she was connecting dots.

"X and O," she said thoughtfully. "That's not random, is it?"

"Probably not."

"It's a game. Tic-tac-toe." Rebecca turned to look at him, her expression serious despite her sleep-mussed appearance. "Someone's playing a game, and people are dying."

The news report continued, but Kaine was no longer listening. Rebecca was right—this wasn't random violence. Someone was sending a message, creating a pattern, turning murder into entertainment.

And based on the location of the latest victim, it may be connected to last night's hunt.

"I have to go," he said, though he made no immediate move to get up.

"I know." Rebecca leaned against him for another moment, then pulled away reluctantly. "Be careful, okay? Games have rules, but they also have winners and losers."

"I'll be careful."

"Good." She stood, stretching and looking around his apartment as if seeing it in daylight for the first time. "This was nice. The talking, I mean. And the terrible late-night television."

"Yeah," Kaine agreed, surprised to realize he meant it. "It was."

Rebecca headed toward the door, then paused with her hand on the handle.

"Truth or dare," she said.

"Truth."

"Will I see you again? Not just in the hallway, but actually see you?"

Kaine looked at her standing in his doorway, morning light highlighting the curve of her smile and the hope in her expression. Six hours ago, she'd been a complication he wanted to avoid. Now she felt like something else entirely.

"Yeah," he said. "You'll see me again."

Her smile widened. "Good. Try not to get any more blood on your clothes today, okay? That shirt looked expensive."

After she left, Kaine sat in the sudden quiet of his apartment, watching the news report cycle through the same information while his coffee grew cold. Marcus emerged from the bedroom, moving with his characteristic silence, and settled into the chair Rebecca had vacated.

"Interesting night," Kaine said.

"She's not what I expected." He added with no particular response from Marcus.

On the television, the news had moved on to weather and traffic, but Kaine's mind was still processing the implications of the carved symbols and their connection to last night's hunt. Three victims, a clear pattern, and he has to find it.