Sunblind Serpent: The Zodiac Without A House

Indeed, Rhovan did not lie about the room’s exits.

’I thought he was just saying that to reassure me.’

Apart from the entrance door, another one led farther inside the sports complex. There was also the broken window Rhovan mentioned, which was wide enough for one person to climb through.

’Well, if you won’t mind getting scratched by the window’s glass residue, that’s fine. Well, unless the other exits are entirely blocked, only a person with a special type of brain would go through that.’

Marek checked all the exits before running his gaze across the room. Several old wooden benches were pushed against the walls. Near the center was a wooden table with two white monoblocs. On top of it were papers stacked on one another. On one side of the room stood an empty timber cabinet with time-weathered doors.

Beneath the table, nothing seemed suspicious. Finally, he walked to the cabinet and knocked on its doors.

’It seems empty.’

Beside the cabinet was a frayed and dusty sofa. He pressed its surface with his index finger. The moment it sank into the fabric, a plume of musty air rushed upward. He immediately went on the defensive and covered his nose.

’This too... seemed safe. Though if I covered my nose a bit too late, I might have felt dizzy.’

After checking the rest of the things, which took almost fifteen minutes, Marek finally sat down on one monobloc.

Rhovan grinned. "Satisfied now?"

Marek did not answer. A knock from the door drew his attention, and before he could say anything, a head peeked in. It was Dario, the Taurus guy.

"Am I allowed in, or is this some kind of private Ophiuchus-Leo thing?"

"Come in," Rhovan said.

Marek immediately shot him a glare. "Why are you answering for me?"

He somehow found comfort knowing that Dario entered the room, as this guy was much easier to read than the golden-haired narcissist who was about to sit on the other monobloc.

Rhovan’s eyes went to Marek’s right shoulder. "Show me the Mark."

"No."

"I only said show."

"Still no." Marek’s eyes did not waver as he crossed his legs. Then, he crossed his arms.

"Wow... remarkable consistency."

"You were warned," Marek replied.

"Yes, yes. My wrist. I remember."

’Tch.’

Rhovan looked like he wanted to complain, but Marek just picked up some of the papers on the table. They were records. "Ask what you want to ask."

"How generous of you."

"You’re the one who wanted to speak with me here, but I’m warning you. Don’t act as if I owe you every answer."

"You’re assuming things," Rhovan replied and picked up one of the reports. "The Exhibition Center first."

Marek’s expression remained flat.

"The reports about you are impressively useless," Rhovan continued. "They contain enough information to make me curious and just enough stupidity to prevent me from learning anything."

"Maybe the reports aren’t the problem," Marek remarked.

Rhovan looked at him. "That sounded smarter before you said it."

"You should try it sometime," Marek responded. "Thinking before speaking. It might make you sound smart at some point."

"Might?"

"I don’t want to give you false hope."

Rhovan ignored everything else and began his piece. "Elia Barcelon. The report says she was bleeding internally. It further says that you did not remove the bleeding itself. Correct?"

Marek remained quiet for a few seconds. He had long decided not to explain everything to this ever-suspicious-looking man. Especially the interface matter. He would not tell him even the way its edges were designed.

"Something kept causing the same damage," he answered. "I removed that cause."

"How did you know they were separate?"

’Of course, because of that ability of mine and the interface... the Quiet Room... Controlled Environment...’

Since he promised himself not to tell Rhovan everything, he would not tell him this. After all, to him, Rhovan was still a stranger. A strangely narcissistic stranger who seemed to be so interested in Ophiuchus bearers and their Marks—especially him.

"I just checked what happened after taking it," Marek replied. "However, I only took the cause. The damage was still there. Moreover, that cause kept moving inside one of the scales of my Mark."

Rhovan stared at him. "That’s all?"

"What else do you want me to say?" Marek looked into Rhovan’s eyes. "Okay. Next question."

Dario coughed into his fist.

Rhovan saw through Marek’s attempt to change the subject, but he did not pursue it. Then, he moved to another report. "Route Eight. Dario grabbed you."

"He did."

Dario cleared his throat.

Both men ignored him.

Rhovan tapped a line on the report. "Vessel compatibility."

Marek’s eyes narrowed. ’So they wrote that part too, huh? I only casually mentioned it when I examined the patients at the Exhibition Center... Wait... I thought we were done with the Exhibition Center part?’

"I know the term," Rhovan continued. "What I want to know is why the transfer stopped."

"Because I refused it."

"How?"

Marek got his notebook from his bag, but he did not give it to Rhovan—as if he would. He flipped several pages until he found the notes from Route Eight.

Rhovan leaned closer. But Marek immediately moved the notebook away.

"I can read upside down," Rhovan said.

"Congratulations, then."

Rhovan blew at the golden fringe hanging on his forehead as he crossed his arms. "Oh, thank you."

’That wasn’t a compliment, tho...’

Marek then looked back at his notes. "My Mark considered me compatible. That only meant I could hold whatever was trying to enter."

Rhovan became quiet. After a while, he said, "It didn’t mean you accepted it."

Marek merely nodded. Then, Marek turned the notebook slightly, enough for Rhovan to see one handwritten rule but not the other pages.

COMPATIBILITY DOES NOT ESTABLISH ACCEPTANCE.

Below it, Marek had written something simpler for himself. He did not want to spend so much time thinking about what that means.

"BEING ABLE TO HOLD SOMETHING DOES NOT MEAN IT BELONGS TO YOU."

Rhovan’s smile disappeared the moment Marek read that one. He just looked like someone whose amusement faded in an instant. As this happened, the golden light beneath his collar also became slightly brighter.

’What’s happening to this dude?’ Marek noticed.

"Read the second one," Rhovan said.

"You can read it yourself, but..."

’But I don’t want you knowing about what I’ve written in my notebook...’

"Humor me." Rhovan did not mind Marek’s remark.

He just wanted him to read that part.

And so Marek did. "Being able to hold something doesn’t mean it belongs to you."

Then he muttered, "So, that distinction can exist separately..."

"What distinction are you talking about?"

Rhovan raised his eyes. "An old problem, it seems."

"That tells me nothing at all."

"I know," Rhovan acknowledged.

"Then, explain it," Marek demanded.

"No."

Marek’s brows furrowed. "You spent hours trying to find me just to say no? Tch."