[ As the morning draws to a close, and the two spiders left suffering alone, Miguel—he knows, now, and even though Miguel feels as alien to him as Rafael does (what comedian came up with that?) it... sticks—is still at his perch, glaring at anyone who approaches until they beeline elsewhere.

It's only when his stomach growls that he's knocked out of his stupour.

And sighs. ]

I wish you were here, Lyla. You wouldn't give me good advice, but it'd be fun to listen to.

[ What does he do? He's Miguel, a father, swept away from his girlfriend through several layers, and possibly even dead. And he's also Rafael, who's just been heartily dumped by the love of that fake life. Rafael might as well be dead.

Bitterness wells in his mouth. The former life was one he chose, forged, grasped at. The latter was shoved into his head and he was expected to play ball. By nature, he hates everything about it.

...but that's not true. He can't hate one aspect of it.

This is what he muses on for the next day. While pointedly avoiding Eonia, in the off chance he runs into Aracha (real name unknown) before he's ready.

He'll never be ready.

But at some point, a message arrives onto Aracha's phone from a "Miguel". ]

Midnight. The deck. Don't make me hunt for you.