Chapter 60: Cursed And Wraithborns
Sadly, there was no time to dwell on it. He looked around the room, his gaze lingering toward the pool of blood.
He needed to clean.
He headed to the bathroom, grabbed a bundle of towels, and returned to the floor. He wiped up everything he could find—slow, steady movements—until the wood was visible again. Even though the blood was black, it hadn’t stained. That was the strange part. It wiped clean, like oil. But the smell remained.
By the time he finished scrubbing, tossing the towels into a plastic bag, and stepping into the shower, the sun was just starting to climb. When he walked out, toweling off his hair, the clock read 6:12.
Matthew dressed quickly and left his room, heading downstairs to the kitchen. He planned to grab something—anything—with bleach on it. But as he stepped inside, he saw Cristoff already waiting, standing near the island counter.
"Your breakfast is ready, Young Master," Cristoff said, nodding toward the tray.
Matthew paused for half a second. "Thanks," he said. "I just need to grab something for my room upstairs."
He turned back around and returned to his room, this time pulling a bottle of disinfectant from the cleaning cabinet near the laundry chute.
After spraying the corners, wiping down everything, and double-checking the bed frame for splatter, he tossed the used rags into the same bag as the towels and knotted it tight.