Declan's flightiness was starting to wear a bit thin on Olive's nerves. The shop had to close in a few minutes, and putting up protection charms and wards around her room upstairs was time consuming. Just as she was about to drag Declan from his thoughts once more, she did manage to hear his last statement, uttered under his breath.<br/><br/>No. Just no. With all these deaths, you know, the ones that only occurred at night, you'd figure he'd e smart enough to know that was an absolutely terrible idea. What to say though, to put him on the right path...? This wasn't technically meddling in Hell's affairs. This was meddling in Declan's.<br/><br/>Olive put her cheek in her hand, leaning against the countertop. "Crime scenes? You're a cop?" She asked, playing naive. "I don't want to sound like a know it all--" she totally knew it all. But modesty was a useful tool, "but it's dangerous to be out at night. And I bet you're trained for...the worse, but try investigating in the morning. Besides, shouldn't you meet this Athena and get her home before nightfall? That's the responsible thing to do."<br/><br/>------------<br/><br/>On the other side of town, the city hospital was very busy with patients in critical condition. Nathanial Forbusche himself was trying to calm a patient's family down. Eleanor and David Billis were in hysterics over their son, Emile. The young man had been apparently found in an alley, beaten nearly to death and was in a comatose state in the other room.<br/><br/>"I'm going to be honest with you," Nathaniel said softly, eyes wide and filled with sympathy. "But visiting hours are closed right now. I'll give you all the details if any changes occur. But you should go home, try and calm yourselves. I don't want you being the next ones in for being out at night."<br/><br/>Eleanor wiped her tears on her husband's sleeve, and gave a hesitant nod. "Yes...I suppose you're right. Thank you so much for all that you've done, Dr. Forbusche. We know Emile's in capable hands." But there was resignation in the mother's voice. This was good, Nathaniel noted. It meant she already expected her son to die.<br/><br/>The couple left, and dropping the charismatic, concerned facade, the Lurker went into Emile's room, locking the door behind him. This was his favorite part. The sleeping boy was utterly still, bandages and gauze covering his wounds. The other Lurkers had found a good one. He was strong. Able bodied.<br/><br/>He'd make a good soldier. Nathaniel smirked, finally letting his wings out for a stretch from underneath his Doctor's garments, dragging a talon-like nail over the palm of his hand. He fiddled with the morphine, letting his blood contaminate the fluids. And watched the now blackish solution work itself into Emile's skin, poisoning and corrupting his body, his very soul. As the blood left the morphine, the bag was clear again. But the heart rate monitor was now going crazy, and then flatlined.<br/><br/>Nathaniel feigned panic and ran out the door. "I need a med team, stat!" He called. But despite their efforts, in a few hours, Emile was deemed dead. As they wheeled his body to the morgue, Nathaniel leaned down and whispered, "Welcome to the family."