What is the sound of one heart breaking?

  [Quest: The Sea God's Request.]

  - Return home for the day. Complete!

  [Quest: The Sea God's Request.]

  - Find the clues 0/3.

  He ignored the notification, his body shaking in fear. In rage. In a pain so visceral, his gut was crawling up his throat. Whatever had happened here, he was too late to stop it. Too late to protect anyone from it. In the pit of his stomach, Brom felt only ice, only the expectation that he was going to find something inside his broken home that would destroy him. He knew, in that distantly certain way, that if there was a body to find, he wasn't ready to find it. Still, his hands were steady as he lifted the door and set it upright against the wall, mind numbly looking at the damage and wondering how he'd fix it. A soft noise at his feet drew his attention. Alice, fur smudged with dust from her hiding place. She'd been too terrified to run out the open door, and now she came seeking comfort, practically climbing his leg to get into his arms.

  "Shh. Shh. Hey, sweetheart." He hadn't expected Alice's reaction to be this strong. She was a recent rescue, her and Brulé both saved from a hoarder situation eight months ago. But here she was, locked onto him. His fingers rubbed her scruff as he glanced through the living room, looking for signs of damage and finding nothing obvious. He did, however, find Brulé in the hiding space at the top of the cat tower. She was pressed low and utterly silent, her usual gremlin-speak silenced. He left Alice with her, the two of them curled together for comfort.

  He should go upstairs and look in TJ's room, confront the inevitable. He didn't do that. Couldn't yet. Instead, he started to sweep through the rest of the house, ostensibly following the quest. Because upstairs there were only two outcomes in a house this still, and Brom Jones couldn't handle one of them. Not yet. So he avoided it.

  The door leading to the garage was still shut tight, and there was nothing in the downstairs bathroom or the den. Marble was discovered hiding under the stairs, his fat bulk tucked far away amid the vacuum and other cleaning supplies hidden there. He had no desire for Brom's attention, ignoring the big man's outstretched hand, pupils wide with fear. That was fine for now. He'd come out when he was ready.

  There were obvious signs of invasion on the other half of the first floor. The chairs were knocked over in the dining room, and TJ's books and papers were scattered around. Brom looked at each of them, sorting them by subject, smoothing the rumpled sheets as best he could. There were no clues here. These were the weekly assignments he'd been doing last night in silence while Brom had cooked a dinner neither of them had had much interest in eating. He righted the chairs, tucking them back in. As if making the world right again were as simple as sliding the scuffed and wobbly furnishings back into place.

  Nothing in the kitchen, only the light above the stove glimmering like a tired yellow beacon. The fridge with its fruit and photo magnets. Dishes that showed TJ had made himself a snack when he'd gotten home, but hadn't cleaned up. No out-of-place things. No clues. That left upstairs which was about what he expected. They'd come for TJ. For whatever godforsaken reason, they'd come after his nephew while he'd been sitting in that Instance and twiddling his thumbs.

  He climbed the stairs, spotting signs of struggle at the top. Pictures had been knocked off the walls, glass scattering across the carpet where a few had broken. He flicked on the hall light, trying to avoid stepping on it and grinding it further into the carpet. He'd clean it up later. There was a hole in TJ's bedroom door and blood outside it. Brom could almost figure out what had happened. Despite being in the front-facing guest room, TJ hadn't seen the danger approaching. He would have been startled by the front door breaking and come to the top of the stairs to see what was going on.

  Why hadn't he started firing right away? He was quick to draw, fast to shoot, and highly accurate. Brom had seen his nephew in action. But for whatever reason, TJ hadn't taken any shots when they were in the entryway. So they'd come up here after him. He'd let them take away his most powerful resource, distance. Then he'd grappled with them and what, shoved them down to the stair landing and gotten to his room. They'd followed, found a closed door, and when the intruder tried the handle, he'd shot them through the door.

  It hadn't killed them, but they'd probably wished it had.

  [Quest: The Sea God's Request.]

  - Find the clues 1/3.

  Brom surveyed the destroyed room of the teenager. The mattress flipped up in a hurry to provide cover. The lamp shattered, the shelves ripped down, and the dresser toppled with its contents spilling everywhere. TJ had fought hard. There was another arrow punched into the wall, blood spatter around it, wedged into a splintered stud Brom would have to replace. He'd clipped his attacker again once they'd come in. This time, though, they hadn't given TJ any more time. While his nephew had obviously fought like hell at the end of the day, he hadn't been victorious. But he also wasn't here, which was incredibly relieving to Brom. It meant he was probably alive.

  [Quest: The Sea God's Request.]

  - Find the clues 2/3.

  He righted the dresser, putting the clothing back haphazardly, shoving the drawers closed. The small desk was pushed back against the wall, and the few things fallen off of it were set back on top of it. No papers. No books. TJ's messenger bag was missing. So that was it. TJ had brought something home with him that had caused this. That explained the scattered papers downstairs, too. Whoever it was had been looking for what exactly?

  [Quest: The Sea God's Request.]

  - Find the clues 3/3. Complete!

  Despite finding the clues, he didn't feel like he'd been enlightened. Brom moved over to the bed, flipping the mattress back up and settling it, and then lifted the fallen bedding up to check if anything that would provide context was under it.

  That was when he found Sabbath.

  The old man liked to be in the same space as people, he'd grown up while Brom and the band had been trying to make a name for themselves after all. He was accustomed to riding in cars and vans, to being in laps or sprawled across seat backs. He'd probably come into TJ's room and flopped in a sunny patch, just existing there. When everything had happened, he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. There was nothing to tell Brom what had happened, how he'd been hurt or why, only that he had been. Badly. Badly enough that when everything was over, he'd hauled himself into the quiet, dark space made by TJ's fallen mattress and the lumped bedding.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  [Quest: The Sea God's Request.]

  - Mourn your companion.

  "You cruel sons of bitches." Brom's voice broken, his vision swimming as he saw the mocking notification. As he dropped to his knees and gathered up his pet, cool but not yet stiff, stroking those soft ears as he cradled the body. "He was already old. He had trouble eating. His joints ached. It was hard for him to get up on the bed." He pressed his face to the top of that dark skull, the fur damp when he pulled back. "You didn't deserve this. Old man... you really didn't deserve this..."

  '...so, uh, I know this is a bad time, but I just wanted to let you know we didn't sign off on th-'

  "Fuck off." Brom sniffed ugly, his voice a dead and flat thing as he addressed the System that chose the worst fucking moment it could to chime in.

  'Sorry for your loss.'

  Oh no. No, they weren't yet. But they would be. The System should have stayed quiet. Should have just let him grieve privately. Shouldn't have made the death of his fucking pet into a goddamn quest completion point. Because Brom didn't care about the quest anymore. He didn't care about whatever the fuck Greg wanted him to do. He didn't care about XP or levels or skills or any of that bullshit. They wanted to hurt him, that was fine. He was used to being hurt.

  He stood up, thumb still rubbing that dark fur gently, arms still full of a body that was just dead weight. He moved with deliberate care, the last respect he could give his best companion. There was a nice spot out back, on the sunny side of the yard. Or it would be tomorrow morning when the sun came up again. Because that was the real cruelty. The world didn't stop turning just because a piece of his heart had died. He knew he'd eventually get over it. Pets were pets, and it wasn't like he'd expected Sabbath to live forever. It was the how not the had.

  Brom curled the old man up as though he were just asleep and then went around collecting rocks. By the time he was done, the cairn was respectable. Not too big, but it looked clean. He stood, holding the collar Sabbath had hated wearing, thumb rubbing the leather. The wind stirred his too-long hair, dried the tears that ran from his sore eyes, and ruffled at the collar of his jacket. "Rest well, old man. I wish you luck in the next life, huh?"

  He stuffed the collar into his pocket next to the medallion.

  [Quest: The Sea God's Request.]

  - Mourn your companion. Complete!

  Yeah, it was fucking complete alright. Now it was time to find out who was responsible. Who'd made his home unsafe. Who'd put hands on his nephew. Who'd harmed his animals. And then he was going to drag their corpse back here and present it to Sabbath the same way the old man had given him birds and mice over the years.

  He didn't look to see what his next quest step was. Fuck the quest. The only next step he cared about was finding TJ, and to do that, he'd need help. It was time to call in some of the favors the local law enforcement owed him. If nothing else, he knew one man who'd answer his call.

  He returned to the house and sat himself on the couch. He didn't turn on any lights; only the light from the interface illuminated his grim countenance. The notifications that popped up distracted him for a moment, delaying his initial plan. TJ had been sending him messages while he was in the Instance. Messages he'd been blocked from seeing when they were relevant but that he opened now.

  Hey, message me when you get this. We have a big problem!

  Uncle B, I know you're busy, but check your messages.

  Uncle B, I don't know if you're seeing these but I really need to talk to you.

  The last was a video message. TJ was sitting on his bed, Sabbath sunning himself in the background and Bean batting at a sunbeam that was on one of the papers that was spread around the bed. His nephew's face was tight and his eyes nervous. "Uncle B, I'm assuming something is wrong at this point, so I'm leaving you this just as insurance." He held up one of the pieces of paper that looked like it had been ripped out of a notebook, weird symbols scrawled all over it.

  "I found this today in Detention. The Cult is back, only now it looks like instead of being weird old people with shitty food, they're in the school. They left a dead drop in the Detention room, and I found it." He laughed suddenly, a nervous noise. "Your name's still there by the way." He bit both his lips, clearly fighting with something, hands trembling as he put the paper down. "The cypher and symbols, I know them. Art elective project, we were making board games as the final, and they were part of the mechanics. Alex and I designed them together..."

  TJ's voice trailed off to a whisper, and Brom knew why. Because while the teenage cultists could have just gotten their hands on the old project and thought that was cool enough to use, it was more likely that one of the creators was involved. And it wasn't TJ...

  Brom remembered the quiet kid, the one who'd been deeply uncomfortable at the dinner table. Who'd desperately tried to heal Brom in Yacht Sothoth's belly. The one who had looked devastated watching the clear footage. TJ had mentioned Alex was struggling more than the others. That day on the school loading dock when they'd had their long conversation, TJ had been broken up and worried about him the most. But right now, Brom Jones didn't have the heart to extend compassion. Maybe he never would.

  "I'm not done translating all the pages, but this mentions getting together to discuss 'the ritual on the new moon'. I guess I should have waited until I was done to send a message, huh? Hang on, I'll finish it up and send you the rest of the info." But there were no more messages after this one. Whatever happened had probably happened just a couple of minutes later. Brom was pretty sure he now knew why TJ hadn't just shot first and questioned later. Why he let the intruder get so close. Because TJ had tried to reason with his friend. Now Sabbath was dead, TJ was probably hurt, and-

  Wait. Where was Bean?

  Brom's eyes narrowed, watching the message over again. Watching that little orange dumbass bapping at the sunbeam. Bean, the slow and stumpy little sausage with the survival instincts of a potato, shoving his little butt into the messenger bag in search of something.

  "Oh, you fucking didn't."

  Yes, they had. Accidentally, of course, angry as he was, Brom didn't think Bean-napping had been on the agenda, but it was one more sin on the pile. The System might be out of his reach right now, but they were not.

  He opened his contacts, scrolling to a particular name, and punched in for a voice call. It rang three times before finally connecting.

  The voice on the other end was rough, garbled with sleep, clearly processing with the bare minimum of brain cells. "Brom?" There was a brief rustle of bedding, a body adjusting. "It's 3am..."

  "I need your help, Johannes."

  There was a sharp sniff of breath on the other end as Jonesy came awake all at once. "Meet me at your place fifteen, don't touch the body."

  Brom snorted. "No bodies. Yet. We'll talk when you get here."