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Cain.

"... from dear Jude." Lashley finishes with the letter written in strange figures and strokes. She folds it and puts it back into the black envelope before placing it on the empty shelf. Even after a month, it is still weird and scary to look at a face as hers. Not just as hers, but as the rest of her peers.

"The letters don't come with an address?" I ask, hoping there could be a clue at least. It's the third letter yet and the most detailed one that doesn't have to include pleasantries alone but he never makes a mention of where to find him or if he's ever going to come find me.

"No, master. The letter is just plain and besides his name, there's no special signature or label. Your friend sounds like a secretive person." It's even weirder for a smart woman like her to wear layers of those uglies.

"Jude is not my friend." I correct, unsure of why. "And you can call me Cain. Also, I think it's more proper that you and your colleagues all wash your face and stop applying whatever