In the dark, Geralt closed his eyes and tilted his head back beneath the cold spray of the shower.
The image of Harold torturing someone to death surfaced in his mind again.
Truthfully, after years on the road with the Winchesters, Geralt had seen scenes far bloodier and more brutal.
But no matter how many times he witnessed such things, he could never feel nothing.
Mary had once told him that a Demon Hunter couldn't afford to feel nothing about a case, but couldn't get too emotionally involved either. Otherwise, he wouldn't last long.
Geralt had asked what she meant by that.
He'd either go mad or die—that was the answer.
A moment later, Geralt turned off the faucet and let out a heavy breath.
He dried himself, put on his loungewear, and went downstairs.
Geralt was unusually quiet.
Cerberus glanced at him with his dog eyes and ignored his low spirits.
He was a Demon. Was he supposed to play therapist too?
Not a chance!
Rebecca was too careless to notice anything wrong with Geralt.
After finishing his apple pie, Geralt searched for "Roman Realty" on his laptop.
Roman Realty was virtually unknown in supernatural circles, but in real estate, it was famous—and mysterious.
Famous because Roman Realty had fewer than ten employees, yet its annual sales ran into the hundreds of millions.
Mysterious because few knew how Roman Realty pulled it off, and the handful who did refused to talk.
Cerberus came over. "Roman Realty, huh..."
His tone was wistful.
"You know them?" Geralt was a little surprised.
Had I missed something obvious?
Looking at Luke's photo on the screen, Cerberus said, "I met this kid about twenty years ago. His old man was a half-baked Demon Hunter. His mother had real talent, but unfortunately... How do you