Shhh—

Shhh—

In the narrow room, the sound of sweaty fingertips rubbing against paper grew louder and louder.

The candle was burning fiercely.

Thick oil dripped slowly down the candlestick, cooling as it went, making faint collapsing sounds as it hardened.

Too noisy!

Harris turned over.

With his eyes shut tight, all kinds of noises crashed into his mind.

He wanted to cover his ears, but his body, caught between waking and sleep, wouldn’t respond. All he could do was silently repeat to himself again and again—so noisy.

He couldn’t truly fall asleep. Everything he had experienced during the day replayed in his head. What he had accepted earlier now returned as waves of regret.

He thought—

If only he hadn’t been ambushed…

If only he’d fought back decisively at that moment…

If only he hadn’t fallen under someone’s control…

Harris slowly began to worry about his future, because he understood that the boyish figure Dawn hid behind his eleven-year-old body was anything but gentle.

And then there was his son…

Harris recalled a film he had once seen, Torch Song Trilogy.

What if Dawn was a pervert who took a liking to William? It wasn’t unreasonable paranoia—this was Britain, after all, with its own realities.

But then another thought struck him.

What if Dawn didn’t like William that way, but was simply interested in the blood curse, wanting to use William for his experiments?

The silent night gave birth to irritating restlessness.

These unspoken worries made him more and more agitated, and his once muddled brain gradually cleared.

Harris slowly opened his eyes.

The candle had gone out at some point.

The boy who had been sitting at the table, Dawn, was nowhere to be seen.

But Harris didn’t particularly care where that red-eyed child had gone. He propped himself up on one elbow, looked toward the bed in the corner, and saw the child tightly wrapped in his blanket.

Shaking his head, Harris stood up, intending to adjust the blanket so William could breathe properly.

Creak—

Creak—

Harris frowned and glanced at his feet.

The floorboards made strange noises as he stepped, like mice startled beneath the wood, screeching as they scurried away.

He also smelled something old and stale.

Has this place been empty for too long? he thought. Looks like I’ll need to spend some time cleaning tomorrow.

The thought flashed through his mind.

Harris slowly walked to the bedside and reached out his hand…

But in the next moment—

Beneath the pulled-back blanket, he didn’t see his chubby son. Instead, a pair of green, jackal-like eyes stared back at him!

Harris’ eyes widened in disbelief.

“Anub—”

Thud!

An ancient spear pierced through his heart, lifting him and nailing him firmly to the floor!

Warm blood flowed down the shaft like melted wax, dripping steadily.

The solemn jackal’s head filled his entire vision.

Creak—

Creak—

In the darkness, he could only hear the sound of a balance scale swaying.

…..

!!!

Inside the room,

Harris suddenly sat upright, gasping for breath, his right hand clutching his chest tightly.

Dawn, who had been deep in thought, was startled by the sudden noise.

He was about to speak, but when he saw Harris’ familiar reaction, his brows furrowed, and a suspicion began to form.

Dawn snapped the book shut on the table, stood, and gripped Harris’ shoulders. “Mr. Carter, look at me… Tell me, what did you dream?”

Harris’ face was pale, the corners of his eyes bloodshot.

He hadn’t fully recovered, but upon hearing the question, he instinctively replied with a trembling voice, “…Anubis. It was Anubis!”

As expected.

Dawn narrowed his eyes. “What happened between you and Him in the dream?”

“Just like you said… He cut out my heart and placed it on a scale to weigh against a feather.”

“Which was heavier?”

“…The feather.”

Harris responded mechanically to Dawn’s questions.

Dawn pressed his tongue against his upper palate. The details matched too well for this to be mere coincidence.

But why?

Dawn instinctively looked at the floating patterns inside Harris’ body, suspended in the silvery mist.

He didn’t understand. Did he and Harris share some kind of similarity? Why had Harris also caught the curse?

At first, Dawn had assumed the curse came from either the tavern owner or the bookshop owner.

But after reading through the various curses recorded in the book, he now understood—no matter who had set the curse, the fact that he was afflicted meant he must have performed some action that matched the ritual’s requirements.

Even Voldemort couldn’t directly curse Dumbledore by name. He had to lure the old headmaster into putting on the ring to trigger it.

Then…

What was the shared action between him and Harris that made them both targets of this curse?

Dawn began replaying everything that had happened since he met Harris, pacing slowly around the round table.

Meanwhile, Harris finally seemed to have shaken off the nightmare. He suddenly stood up, walked to the bed, and lifted a corner of the blanket.

Seeing William unharmed and still fast asleep, he exhaled in relief and carefully tucked the blanket back in.

After a moment of silence,

Harris took a deep breath, turned to Dawn, and said, “Three days from now, I’m going back to Tutankhamun’s tomb. Will you come with me?”

Now he understood why Dawn had insisted the dream was a curse.

It had been too vivid. The sensation of the spear piercing his chest had even carried over into reality.

Harris believed, almost instantly, that this was a deadly curse. He had to act while he was still alive—for his own sake and for William’s.

But to his surprise, Dawn refused without even looking up. “I’m not going.”

“…What?”

Harris couldn’t understand.

He glanced at the book lying on the table. “You saw the curses written there, didn’t you? Without finding the sacred scarab, curing the curse is nothing but a fantasy.”

“You’re right. But I still don’t want to go.”

Dawn was stubborn to the point of recklessness.

He tilted his chin slightly toward Harris. “Besides, isn’t that what you’re for? If you really manage to find the sacred scarab, bring it back for me to use.”

“Why should I?”

The words almost burst out, but the burning pain on his wrist made Harris swallow them.

The unbreakable vow… He lowered his head, staring at the fiery markings, swallowing his frustration.

In that moment, Harris even began to wonder if Dawn had deliberately infected him with the curse—just to make him risk his life for this brat.

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