“I want you to stop apologizing for existing,” Ratatosk growled. “You are not a mistake. You are my vessel. And tonight, you will need me.”

“I don’t know. He never just tells me.”

“He’s talking, isn’t he?” Marta sighed, sitting beside him. She rested her head on his shoulder. The past two years had been a strange dance: hunting rogue monsters, calming corrupted summon spirits, and keeping Emil from losing himself to the Lord of Monsters. “What does he want this time?”