Whispers of the Past

The city sprawling out before him, starkly different from the hollow silence of the Mourning Grounds. The distant clamor of life—of people, of movement, of noise—was suffocating. It should have felt like a breath of fresh air, a reprieve from the damp, oppressive stillness. But instead, it was overwhelming, like being trapped in a room where everything screamed, suffocating the clarity of thought.

His mind, honed to precision and cold logic, fought against the instincts of the body he now inhabited. The child's limbs, weak and small, itched with an energy he didn't understand. Amon's body pulled him forward, drawn by the bustling life of Greystone. It wanted warmth. It wanted food. It wanted rest. But Jack wasn't in the business of giving into such weakness. He pushed the instinct aside, dragging Amon's body along the cobblestones, observing, cataloging every detail. The buildings, the people, the distant cathedral rising above the city like a silent observer—all of it was useful. But it wasn't a priority. Survival was.

The hunger gnawed at him. Not just Amon's body, but the gnawing of a deeper, darker need. Jack could feel the boy's weakness through every twitch of muscle, every pang in his stomach. Amon was weak, useless, a liability. And it pissed Jack off. He needed information. He needed a foothold, a place to gain control. And, apparently, the market was the first stop.

The crowd swallowed him whole. Carts rattled by, men and women haggled over fruit, goods exchanged hands, and the air was thick with the smells of baking bread and the fresh scent of produce. Jack's stomach twisted painfully, but he ignored it. His mind was elsewhere, sharp and calculating, though he could feel Amon's instincts pushing through—childlike impulses that urged him to beg for food, to seek pity. Jack bit back the anger that threatened to surface. He couldn't let the child's softness cloud his focus.

He approached a vendor with a stand of apples, trying to emulate Amon's innocence, his hesitation. The vendor glanced down at him, but there was no sympathy, no softness in the man's eyes. He barely looked at Jack, dismissing him with a wave, shoving a small coin into his hand as if it was some sort of charity. The indignation that surged through Jack was fierce and immediate. Humiliation. He snarled in his mind, but outwardly, Jack forced a smile, one that felt like venom on his lips. He turned away, shoving the coin into his pocket as he walked deeper into the market, eyes scanning for something, anything useful.

That was when he overheard it. Whispers. A conversation between two women in the corner of the market. Their words cut through the noise, snaring his attention. "The Mourning Grounds... strange happenings... dark omens... two men found dead." They were talking about Bob and Edrick. His handiwork. Jack's lip curled into a grin, though it wasn't born of pride. It was caution. Something had stirred in the city, and the ripples were reaching him faster than he had anticipated.

Greystone was not just a city of simple folk. There was something deeper here—something that linked the deaths, the rumors, the unease in the air. And Jack realized he had just become part of it.

He needed shelter. He needed a place to blend in, to stay out of sight and continue his hunt. His eyes scanned the streets, and then, in the distance, he saw it. A small orphanage. The matron's warm, welcoming face, the children laughing and playing in the yard—it was perfect. He could hide here. Gather information. And, if needed, he could manipulate the emotions of Amon's fragile psyche to get what he wanted. He wasn't here for comfort. He wasn't here for charity. He was here to find answers.

The orphanage matron, Lila Fairbrooke, greeted him with concern in her eyes. "My, what a dear little thing you are," she said, looking down at Jack with a mixture of warmth and caution. "Where are your parents, child? Have you wandered far?"

Jack could feel Amon's unease pressing in, the boy's uncertainty about trusting strangers, but Jack suppressed it. His eyes darted around the yard, looking for any signs of weakness or opportunity. "I... I don't know," Jack said, his voice a thin wisp of fear. He let Amon's memories fill the gaps, just enough to give the illusion of a lost, confused child. "I don't remember much. I was... I was walking, and then I couldn't find anyone. I... I think they're looking for me." His voice wavered, and he cursed inwardly, hating the way Amon's fears bled through him.

Lila's expression softened as she knelt to his level. "Well, you're safe now. We'll take care of you, dear." Her voice was gentle, almost too gentle. But there was a flicker of something else in her eyes—concern, perhaps, but also an unspoken recognition. Jack's heart skipped a beat, but he masked it quickly.

"The people—my parents—they're looking for me?" Jack pressed, feigning confusion. "But... I don't remember them." He let the words hang in the air, testing the waters.

Lila's brow furrowed as she stood, brushing her hands together. "You don't? Well, that's troubling. We'll get you checked, don't worry. I'm sure someone will come along soon."

Jack forced himself to appear as though he was processing this, but inside, a cold knot twisted. Amon's parents were looking for him? They had to be, if Lila was to be believed. But... that was impossible. Amon was dead. Jack knew that much—he could feel the life drain out of the boy's memories. But how could they be looking for a child who no longer existed? There were gaps in his memories, flickers of things he couldn't quite grasp—Amon's life, his family—but this? This wasn't right.

"You don't know them?" Lila asked, as if sensing his discomfort. "There was a search, child. Your family hired people to look for you when you went missing. It's been a long time, but... you've been gone."

Jack's eyes narrowed, his mind whirring. He'd come here for answers, but the more he learned, the more questions arose. Amon's family was still looking for him—despite the fact that Amon had been buried in the Mourning Grounds. This couldn't be a coincidence.

With a deep breath, Jack shifted the conversation, masking his thoughts with the ease of a practiced liar. "I don't remember much," he said, his voice small. "I don't even remember my name. But I know... I know I want to find them."

Lila patted his head with a soft smile. "We'll get you the help you need, sweet child. You'll be safe here."

But Jack wasn't listening. He was already piecing the puzzle together, each fragment of Amon's life pulling him deeper into a web he didn't fully understand. The orphanage was just another stop in his game. The answers, however, lay beyond this peaceful façade. And Jack wasn't about to let them slip through his fingers.