Emmy kept her mouth shut, lips pressed into a firm line, as she met the Hellhound's gaze and kept it. She knew speaking would be essentially useless right now, and her best bet was to let him decide. There was a art of her that wanted to leave now, to get started on tracking this thing down, with or without help. But with the state of her father's body, and the images fresh in her mind, that wouldn't be her smartest idea. Please.
"Very well," Fenris decided, standing up on all fours with a sigh. "But you are not to cause trouble, or I will lock you up somewhere until the culprit is vanquished. Understood?" He fixed his uneven gaze on the girl, his silver eye showing just how much he meant his words. He would lock her up if she was more trouble than she was worth, but he knew he would make sure she had plenty to keep her comfortable for the time being. He wasn't that cruel.
"You can try." That was about the closest thing to an agreement on that as he would get, though the emotion that flashed in Emmy's eyes was something like gratefulness, not anger. "But I'll avoid trouble. Causing it's not my goal, anyway."
Hino groaned, shaking his head and dragging a hand down his face. His blank-white eyes focused on the Hellhound, the rest of his face showing his displeasure. "I'm tagging along. She dies, and I'll make your life hell for as long as I possibly can."
Fenris nodded at Emmy, then turned to the ghost. "You can try. I'm already dead, just like you." He turned away, leaving his blindside facing Hino. "I already live in Hell." And with that, he forced himself through the doorframe once again, heading through the house to try and pick up some more clues as to who the killer might be. He didn't care if the ghost tagged along—ghosts were practically harmless compared to the type of undead Fenris was.
He paused in his search when he remembered something. "My name's Fenris, by the way."
Emmy followed the Hellhound out into the hall, slipping ahead of him to head for the kitchen. If there was any hint as to what had happened, it would most likely be there. That was her father's favorite room after all. She wasn't panicking any more, but she almost seemed too calm again. Hopefully, she wouldn't have any sort of breakdown for a while.
When the Hellhound spoke again, giving her his name, she looked back over her shoulder, one foot in the doorway to the kitchen. "Emmy. Er-Emilia Voxx."
Fenris nodded in acknowledgment, then continued on with his search through the hallway. There wasn't much he could figure out. He might have to find other scenes to find some sort of pattern. "This will not be easy," he murmured to himself, then sighed and padded over to the kitchen where Emilia was. At this point, he was simply looking for something out of place, and he'd need Emilia's insight for that to be accomplished. He came up behind her, towering over her as he looked over her shoulder and head to get a look at the kitchen.
Something about the kitchen felt wrong, though Emmy couldn't quite place it. She felt Fenris's presence behind her and took that as a sign to step forward, into the kitchen that she'd spent countless hours in, sitting on a barstool at the counter and catching up on absolutely nothing with her father while he baked or cooked or cleaned the dishes from dinner. They had always been good at that, talking about nothing, and it was something Caleb always teased them about. "You've been doing that forever. Put the two of you in a room together, and you'll never leave, but you'll never say anything important, either."
But everything they talked about was important, because it was more than they'd talked in over five years at all. Focus, Emmy. She shook her head slightly, her eyes scanning the cluttered kitchen for anything not normal, anything that stood out against the familiarity she'd come to know in the kitchen. But even if nothing stood out yet, it still felt different. The walls were still that pretty blue her father loved, and the table didn't match the chairs surrounding it, nor did the chairs match each other. There were still recipes and cookbooks lying around, and papers scattered over the counters and table from the various projects Caleb was doing for his job and Emmy's research into anything and everything occult-related, but it felt off. The question was, why did it feel off. Still scanning the room, she made her way towards the counter with a mixing bowl of cookie dough on it, until something on the fridge caught her eye. Or rather, the lack of something.