Chapter 144

Chapter 144

The morning light crept from the window lattice to the corner of the desk, then slid down the edge to the floor, but Evan remained completely unaware of the passage of time. He sat at his desk, a specially crafted fine-tipped silver drafting pen held between his fingertips—a tool he had unearthed from the depths of a drawer. Its nib was sharp yet resilient, perfect for etching delicate patterns onto the hard surface of a bullet. Three ordinary bullets he'd ruined while etching lay scattered on the desk: one with a curve deviating by a fraction, another with a broken connection between lines, and a third marred by a jagged gouge from pressing too hard, rendering it beyond repair.

Evan's brow was slightly furrowed, but his eyes were alight with a fierce intensity. He secured the fourth ordinary bullet in a wooden clamp, his fingers hovering above its surface. In his mind, he replayed every detail of the Exorcism Bullet's pattern: three curved lines spiraling outward from the bullet tip as the center, each arc's curvature precise to the millimeter, interspersed with twelve fine straight lines whose ends curved slightly upward, forming a simplified version of the talismanic character 'suppress'—he had sketched these details on draft paper no less than twenty times, to the point where he could trace the general outline even with his eyes closed.

Finally, the silver pen descended. A soft, rasping *shā shā* sound whispered as the nib met the metal bullet casing, like silkworms nibbling mulberry leaves—subtle yet resolute. Evan's breathing slowed to a minimum, his wrist as steady as if mounted on a stand, his gaze locked onto the path of the moving nib, not daring to let his eyelashes so much as twitch. After completing the first arc, he paused, leaning in to scrutinize the bullet—the curve matched his memory of the Exorcism Bullet perfectly. He felt a slight relief, then immediately held his breath again, continuing to etch the second and third arcs.

When the final straight line's end gently curved upward, completing the full exorcism pattern on the bullet's body, Evan finally released his grip on the silver pen. His knuckles were pale from prolonged exertion, and a thin layer of sweat dampened his palm. Carefully, he removed the bullet, turning it in the light from the window—the etched pattern gleamed with a faint silvery luster. Though it lacked the attached Supernatural Factor of a true Exorcism Bullet, it perfectly replicated every detail of the pattern, every finest line flowing smoothly and naturally without the slightest deviation.

"Finally succeeded!" Evan couldn't help but whisper an exclamation, a smile tugging irresistibly at his lips. The frustration from ruining three bullets instantly evaporated. Placing the successful bullet alongside the three failures, a sense of accomplishment seeped through his heart like warm water—this was the first time he had used his own drafting abilities to touch the core of a supernatural item, a solid step forward on his path into the supernatural world.

Only then did Evan feel a slight emptiness in his stomach. Looking up at the window, he noticed the once-bright sunlight had taken on a dusky hue. The setting sun was slowly sinking behind distant rooftops, painting the sky a warm orange-red. Sunlight streamed through the window, casting dappled spots of light in the room that fell upon the bullets and draft paper on the desk, adding a layer of soft warmth.

"I can't believe it's already afternoon." Evan murmured, patting his flat stomach with a wry shake of his head. So engrossed in studying the patterns, he had forgotten lunch entirely. In the past, skipping two meals would have left him dizzy and weak, but now he only felt a mild hunger, his energy levels still robust and his mind clear. "It seems becoming a Supernatural really does change one's physical stamina," he thought to himself, recalling the changes in his body after taking the potion, his eyes holding a renewed anticipation for the supernatural world.

Evan carefully placed the successfully etched bullet into a special wooden box and gathered the ruined ones—these failures could be used to study how to improve his etching technique. He stretched, his joints emitting soft pops, and his gaze fell upon the deep brown satchel on the desk, reminding him he still hadn't delivered the obsidian cufflinks to Sara. "I'll go find Sara after dinner," he planned internally, wanting both to give Sara the cufflinks and to share the joy of successfully replicating the exorcism pattern.

After tidying his desk, Evan pushed open his door. The sounds of Martha preparing dinner and Alice's cheerful laughter drifted up from downstairs. He descended the stairs; the aroma of roasting meat filled the air, making his hunger pang a bit stronger, yet the smile on his face grew even brighter.

"Evan, you're finally down." Martha, the first to notice Evan coming downstairs, immediately waved him over. Once Evan was before her, she thrust a slice of apple pie into his hands.

"You didn't eat lunch. Have some apple pie to tide you over; dinner will be ready soon."

As Evan took the pie, his fingertips met the warm, flaky crust. The sweet scent, mingled with a hint of cinnamon spice, wafted into his nostrils, making his already empty stomach give another, louder rumble. He took a large bite; the crisp outer layer shattered between his teeth, the soft apple filling inside offering just the right amount of sweetness. The warm sensation traveled from his tongue all the way to his stomach, instantly dispelling the fatigue from his afternoon of intense study.

"Thanks, Mom," Evan said, his mouth full but his voice full of laughter, a few golden crumbs of crust clinging to the corner of his mouth.

Seeing this, Martha smiled and reached out to wipe them away, her fingertips warm from kneading dough. "Slow down, no one's going to steal it from you."

Evan had just finished wiping his hands and hadn't yet straightened up when a small figure came rushing over with a patter of footsteps. Soft arms wrapped tightly around his waist, a cheek pressing against his shirt, carrying the sweet scent of strawberries. Alice tilted her little face up, her dark eyes like grapes soaked in water. She gave a little shake of her head, her long eyelashes fluttering, a hint of a whine in her tone. "Evan, can you play with me? Daddy's reading in the study and ignoring me, and Mommy's busy. I'm so bored."

Evan staggered a little from the force of her hug. Looking down at her pitiful yet expectant expression, his heart instantly softened. His left hand still held the unfinished apple pie, its flaky crust emitting a faint warmth, while his right hand gently patted Alice's back, his voice extra tender. "Of course, Alice. How about we play for a while, then have dinner together?"

Alice's eyes immediately lit up. Releasing her grip on Evan's waist, she chirped like a happy little bird, tugging his right hand and pulling him along. "Okay, okay! Let's go to the living room!" Her small hand was soft, slightly damp from washing strawberries, yet surprisingly strong, pulling Evan step by step out of the kitchen towards the living room.

They settled on the sofa. Evan placed the apple pie on the nearby coffee table and was about to ask Alice what she wanted to play when she turned and ran to the toy chest in the corner of the living room. Standing on tiptoe, she rummaged with effort, her little arms digging through the box until she pulled out a wooden chess set and ran back. The lacquer on the box was worn, the corners worn smooth from use—clearly a toy Alice played with often.

"Let's play chess, okay?" Alice set the chess box in front of Evan, carefully opening it. Inside, the chess pieces were smooth wooden beads painted with simple red and black characters for "General" and "Soldier"—a simplified version Bruce had made specifically for Alice, with much easier rules to allow her to play with the family.

Seeing his sister's expectant look, Evan smiled and nodded. "Alright, but Alice has to go easy on her brother. It's been a long time since I played chess." He said this, but in his heart, he knew he'd have to let her win—every time he played with Alice before, she'd end up "winning" through a bit of playful cheating, then proudly plant her hands on her hips and boast, a sight that always made the whole family laugh.

Alice immediately scrunched up her little nose, letting out a defiant hum. "No way! I even beat Daddy last time; I can definitely beat Evan this time too!" As she spoke, her small hand grabbed a red "Soldier" piece, about to place it on the board, but her grip was too weak. The piece fell onto the sofa with a soft *plop*. She stuck out her tongue, quickly bending to retrieve it, her little head bumping against the sofa cushions, looking utterly adorable.

Watching his sister's busy little figure, Evan took another bite of the apple pie from the coffee table. The crisp crust shattered between his teeth, the sweet apple filling mingling with his sister's laughter, filling him with contentment. He reached over to help Alice retrieve the piece that had fallen into the sofa seam, handing it to her. "Take your time, no rush. We have plenty of time to play."

Alice took the piece, carefully placing it on a square of the board, then picked up the other pieces one by one to set them up. Her hands were still too small to hold the larger pieces comfortably, so she often used both hands to place them, occasionally mixing up the positions of the "General" and "Soldier." Evan patiently corrected her, sometimes deliberately pointing to the wrong spot, making Alice frown and correct him with serious concentration. Soon, the living room echoed with the siblings' happy laughter, intertwining with the aroma of roasting meat from the kitchen and the lingering warmth from the oven, creating the coziest scene of the evening.