“Damn it!” Immersed to his work, Gen cursed all of the sudden when glancing to his right pinky finger, the image of a red thread wrapped around it jumped between the realms of corporeal and nonexistence.
“What’s wrong?” Patton, who’s also doing some arrangements of his own, asked.
“She knows I’m here,” he said.
“Her? The Witch?”
He nodded.
“How?”
“Like I told you, we have a weird connection.” Again, he gave him the simplest answer. “Which means we have to hurry, how are things with you?”
“Mostly done,” he replied, jumping off the bed and bringing his laptop to him.
For their temporary base, Gen utilized one of his hotels here in Manhattan. It’s secured, convenient, and one of the last places anyone would expect to find a fully equipped laboratory, much more a Ghost Class and a Noma
