While he doesn't confirm Chris's guess that he suffers from least favorite child syndrome, the silence with which he pins his stare to the road forming ahead answers him loudly enough. Erik was the golden child, while Wilhelm stumbled around in his perfect shadow. He never resented his brother for it — he adored him. Instead, he internalized it. Inside him, even the smallest criticism from his mom, the most glancing comment from his dad, metastasized into the anxiety that he would never be good enough.

"The verdict?" He musters a little grin. "It's even better from the driver's seat."

Too bad Chris can't drive. Not that Wilhelm knew how to drive either when he first recreated the Ferrari in the Horizon. He'd had to teach himself through trial and error. Now he frowns over Chris's explanation of demons.

"They sound annoying. What do they want, anyway?"