Quicksand of Fate

Dead?... Who?

Sandro frowned and leaned closer. His eyes fell on the shape of a cat lying motionless on the floor. Its fur was pure white, as it should be, its silver eyes wide open and empty, reflecting the dim light streaming in through the windows.

Marcel.

Or, more precisely, Marcel IV.

Sandro leaned over, examining the cat's lifeless body. There were no visible signs of injury, no blood or trauma. It was just dead, its fur as pure and unblemished as ever.

"It looks like he's dead."

Lorenzo straightened slightly, then tilted his head. "It is."

Sandro's jaw clenched as he looked at his brother. There was no sadness in Lorenzo's eyes, no flicker of sorrow or pain. Just the emptiness he had seen a month ago, which seemed even worse now—terrifyingly so.

"This is the fourth, Lorenzo," Sandro said, looking at his brother warily. "Why does this keep happening?"

"Why? I also want to know," Lorenzo replied, his voice hollow. "Why did Marcel die?" He tilted his head to the side like a doll, his black eyes—dark as an abyss—staring straight into Sandro's. For some reason, Sandro felt uncomfortable, and unconsciously, he moved away from Lorenzo's side, his eyes flicking to the second cat, Sandra.

Sandra had never died between the two cats. In other words, this was the same first Sandra that Lorenzo had, but somehow, the other cat Marcel...

"They don't last long," Lorenzo said in a bored voice.

"So I ask you, Lorenzo, what are you doing to make them not last long?" Sandro's frustration bubbled to the surface, his voice tinged with anger. "I don't know what's going on here, but this… it's not normal. None of this is normal."

Lorenzo remained silent, his dark eyes fixed on the cat.

Marcel—or rather, Marcel IV—was one of the two cats that had entered Lorenzo's life three years ago. Dr. Vittorio Belardi had suggested the idea, hoping that the companionship of a pet would help ease Lorenzo's problems, giving him something to hold his attention and connect him to the world.

But Lorenzo's demands for the cats were strangely specific, almost obsessive. He insisted that they be white—pure white, with no spots or other colors—and have silver eyes. When asked why, he simply said, "That's what I want."

The first Marcel didn't even last a year. It was found dead in the same manner as this cat—without any mark or injury. Lorenzo responded to this by requesting a new cat, naming it Marcel, as if nothing had happened.

And so it went—Marcel II, III, and now the fourth.

The mystery of Marcel's repeated deaths had baffled everyone. Each time, they suspected that Lorenzo had killed the cat, but there was no evidence to prove it. The autopsies ordered by Lorenzo's father, Riccardo Accardi, revealed no physical harm to the cat and no signs of poisoning, suffocation, or injury.

It was as if the cats had simply ceased to exist for no reason.

But despite the growing mystery surrounding the Marcels, removing the cats from Lorenzo's life was not an option. On the rare occasions when Lorenzo was separated from them, his mental state rapidly deteriorated. His nightmares became more frequent, his hallucinations more vivid. He withdrew further into himself, teetering on the edge of madness.

Instead of being a blessing, the cats had become another curse, another disease for Lorenzo.

Sandro sighed and stepped back. "Get up."

Lorenzo turned to him with a questioning expression.

"Why?"

"We're going outside."

Lorenzo raised an eyebrow, his tone somewhat annoyed. "Do you want to talk about this outside? We can talk here. The apartment is fine."

"No, this place is the problem. This is where I feel sick."

Lorenzo didn't move but leaned back slightly, placing his arms on his knees. "You're exaggerating, brother. This place isn't that bad. Besides, aren't you a military commander? Tolerating a place that doesn't suit your taste shouldn't be a problem."

Sandro's patience had run out.

"Get up!" he shouted in a commanding voice, mixed with an authority that seemed to fill the room. The power in his tone reverberated through the air, and for a moment, Lorenzo's body trembled involuntarily.

The younger Accardi froze, his dark eyes widening slightly in surprise. Sandro's tone was sharp, and his angry presence automatically put Lorenzo on the defensive, reminding him of their father when he got angry.

Lorenzo's lips twitched, a faint hint of a wry smile, though his body showed a flicker of discomfort. He slowly got up, brushing nonexistent dust off his pants. "You look like him when you're angry," he said calmly.

"Well, then you'll know I'm serious," Sandro replied, crossing his arms.

For a while, Lorenzo considered protesting again, but Sandro's sharp gaze silenced him. Instead, he nodded lightly and walked toward his bedroom.

Sandro remained standing in the living room, his eyes fixed on the lifeless body of the cat on the floor.

"Young Master, what should I do?" Emilio asked, stepping forward.

Sandro waved him off, scowling. "Deal with this first."

Emilio bowed his head, moving to pick up the cat's body. Sandra, the remaining white cat with silver eyes, was watching from the corner of the room, her posture tense and her gaze following Emilio's every move.

Sandro sighed, running his hand through his hair in annoyance. He hadn't expected things to get this bad. And yet, as he remembered Lorenzo's strange looks, those empty eyes… even he, who had seen the horrors of the battlefield, felt a creeping unease.