Outside lay a dark, bottomless city, police lights flowing between cold buildings. Yet the living room just beyond the wall was bright and warm, the fireplace driving the damp chill of the rainy night from Schiller's body.
Only when he entered did the man see that someone was following behind him. Judging by her figure, she seemed to be a woman, but she was wrapped up so tightly that her face could not be seen at all. Firelight ran over the fabric, revealing a small patch of skin on her hand covered in terrible scars.
The sight startled the homeowner, but Schiller seemed utterly unconcerned. "She's my assistant. Accidents are unavoidable in this line of work."
The man frowned, but still stepped aside and let the figure behind him enter. He forced a smile. "Yes, sir. I heard you protected the York family of three and saved the deputy mayor's sister. I just want to protect my family."
"Of course, of course." Schiller kept nodding as he set his toolbox beside him, walked over to the sofa, and sat down. "That's what I'm here for, so there's no need to be so nervous. Death Angel won't invade your house today. Even if he does come, I'll make him leave."
The repeated reassurance had some effect. The man's tense muscles relaxed slightly, but he did not sit down. He merely paced to one side of the kitchen island.
"It's been a nightmare. I'm starting to forget what it looks like outside. Thankfully, my house is secure enough to withstand bombs. But demons would be another matter."
The man turned to look at Schiller. "Do you think the demon stuff is real?"
"So you don't believe demons exist. Then why did you ask me to come?"
"I absolutely didn't mean to question