Cross is standing in the above-ground haven of the haunts, having just locked the door to the Necropolis behind him, when his phone chimes.

It's not an unusual thing, having a voicemail or text message waiting for him when he comes back to the surface. No reception in the depths of the underground.

He pulls the phone from his jacket pocket and smiles when he sees the notification: a message from Alice.

What a study someone might make of the Burned Man, if they could see his face while listening to Alice explain her situation: rage, sadness, regret, grief. Each emotion coming in waves, playing across his horribly scarred features.

"Fuck," he whispers when the message is finished.

"Would you like to delete this message?" his phone, still held to his ear, asks him.

"Fuck."

"If you would like to replay this message, please press zero," the little voice responds.

"FUCK." Cross roars into the darkness of the haven their Family had built together.

He barely manages to hang up the phone, shove it back into his pocket. Fighting the urge to toss the device into the darkness, knowing he'll need it to contact Alessandra.

And then he just...stands there. If he were alive, he'd be shaking. But he's not. He's a dead thing. With a pit of burning rage in his gut. Focused solely on controlling his anger, on keeping the Beast in its cage. Because he has to stay with it, has to keep his head. Has to help Alice.

Why didn't she tell me she was going to meet the Reeve? Why did Alessandra have to play this the way she did? Where are they? Is it already done? Why couldn't I have gotten Alice's call? Why? Why? Why?

No time. No time for this. For the anger and the despair. For the questions. He's got to find out what's going on. He's got to find Her

Slowly, methodically, forcing himself to stay calm, the Burned Man pulls out his phone again, and texts the Reeve.