Young Writers Society

Over the past several days in addition to assisting with James's recovery where he could, Caspar offered his services around the bunker, got to talking with everyone here and there, caught up more with Lyall and his kids, all good things. The mages had a routine, a nice sort of rhythm of life here. It was surprisingly easy, falling into it with them. Part of that was because they were so welcoming.

The offer to stay with them overtime felt less like a relief and began weighing on him, though. He truly wasn't sure if he could handle a stationary life for long. Even well before the fire, he was often on the move. After Herron, he wandered a few ports before Felix picked him up. Once Henry was gone, Felix no longer had reason to keep him around, and every reason to have him leave. Then of course there was the fire and being pushed out of the Isles entirely by the Hansens, finding Sticks, getting through the wilds...

There wasn't always work around the bunker that needed doing, and Caspar found himself unable to fully settle in idle moments. The offer nagged at him, then his mind would jolt back to the axe that he left in the side of Butch's face, to Ivar's fallen form in the darkness, and James with his side torn open again in that godforsaken coffin, then Jack--

With nothing to do at the moment, Caspar sat on the floor in the living space with his journal opened to a blank page on his lap and his bag propped up on the wall beside him. Tilting his head, he glanced at the flask inside the bag.

He drank less lately. He had to. Clearer judgement and sharper senses and whatnot. Necessary at first for the job with Gregor, then while on the run with friends in tow.

Drinking took the edge off, though. Ignoring the fragments in his shoulder became easier, he could forget about the wilds for a few hours, and his hands would relax enough for him to draw legibly.

Biting his lip, Caspar tapped the pencil on the edge of the page. He poised his hand to begin drawing, gripping tightly to keep steady. When that didn't work, he eyed the flask and reached into his bag. He paused as his fingers brushed the bottle.

"Are you good at scouting?" a voice came from beside him, seemingly out of nowhere.

Startled, having not heard the approach, he quickly closed his bag and cleared his throat. "Decent, I think," he answered, snapping his journal shut. "I mean. I can track alright without drawing attention to myself."

"Good. Alright, then," said Robin with a nod. He turned to walk out the doorway. "Come on, then."

Blankly, Caspar watched him disappear. When the invitation and the fact that he had a new task before him finally registered, he set the book and pencil on top of his bag and swung around the doorway, hurrying out after him.

Robin was already down the hall and heading up the steps on light feet. Caspar excused himself when he nearly bowled into an unsuspecting Masil and took a few steps at a time to catch up. They were greeted by a rush of cool air and a bright morning sun as they stepped out. It wasn't as hot or muggy as it often was, which was nice. His head already clearing a little, Caspar felt steadier as he quietly followed.

Robin led them out past the shelter and the horses, and into the thick of the forest. He made practically no sound as he walked, like each step was deliberate. He glanced over his shoulder a few times back at Caspar, as if to check if he was still there. Caspar gazed out through the trees, trying to memorize the land around them, and listened closely for disturbances in the leaves and underbrush.

"You probably don't follow the same path every time, right?" he asked, keeping his voice quiet.

"There aren't any paths out here," Robin said matter-of-factly, his eyes constantly scanning their surroundings.

Caspar nodded. "How far out do you usually go?"

"'S far as needed," Robin said. His eyes flicked back to Caspar, and looked him over for a moment. Instead of saying anything by way of explanation, he just returned to looking around.

Nodding again, Caspar decided to pause any further attempts at conversation. Stealth here was required in case there was anyone or anything, anyhow.

He recognized the tree where one of Butch's axes hit. The axe was gone, of course, but the notch from the wedge remained. He wondered for a moment what became of Butch's horse.

Turning his eyes forward again, he realized that he had fallen out of step with Robin. And that Robin was gone.

Caspar scanned the trees, turning to look all around. With only the one where the axe used to be, he couldn't tell where he was. He hadn't come out this far since taking shelter in the bunker.

Frozen in place, utterly lost, he just stared out where he last saw Robin. Or. Where he felt he last saw him.

The trees around him felt like the unfamiliar trees of the wilds. He rubbed absently at his shoulder.

When he turned to re-orient himself with the notched tree, Robin stood directly in front of him. Caspar jumped back a step.

"Lost?" Robin asked, looking up at him.

Caspar sagged a little as he let out a sharp breath of relief. "Yeah, sorry, I was." Looking down at his feet, he scratched the back of his head. "Sorry, I didn't mean to. Hold you up or anything."

"No holding happening here," Robin said, eyes drifting to the tree with the notch. He pointed to it with his chin. "That from you?"

Caspar looked over Robin's head. He could faintly hear the steel slicing through the air again. "Indirectly."

"I saw him," Robin said simply. "He was bigger than you. Glad I didn't meet him. Sorry you did, though."

Swallowing, Caspar turned his eyes back down to Robin. "Uh, yeah, it. It was fine, I..." He shrugged, unsure of what else he could say, and so settled for another, "S'fine."

Robin was quiet for a moment, and he stared up at Caspar with a blank expression for several seconds. Caspar glanced off awkwardly.

"What kinds of magic have you seen before?" Robin asked.

Caspar blinked, softly repeating the question under his breath. "Ah. Um." He looked out through the trees, in the direction of the hidden bunker. "Just. Fire. And more recently--" He gestured at Robin, head to toe. "--healing."

"So being around mages is new for you?" Robin asked.

Caspar tucked his hands into his jacket pockets. "You could say that, yeah." He rocked on the balls of his feet. "This many at a time, yes."

"Is it strange for you?" Robin asked with a tilt of his head.

Shrugging, Caspar poked his toes at a lump of grass. "Strange how?"

"You seem restless," Robin said. "Was just wondering if magic had anything to do with it."

That was fair. Caspar shook his head. "Sorry. No, it's nothing to do with magic or anything, I'm just--" He shrugged again. "Sorry, I don't mean to be."

"Nothing to apologize for," Robin said. "Was just wondering."

He paused and looked over to the side, but didn't move from where he stood.

"Don't want to freak you out is all," Robin added.

Caspar pursed his lips.

Thinking back, he hadn't reacted... as well as he could have, when they used healing magic. It very well could have come off as unease with magic in general, which couldn't be more untrue.

"It's really fine," he said quietly. "I don't mind you guys having magic."

"What about nonhuman folk?" Robin asked. "You ever run into any of them before? Harpies, goblins... anything like that?"

Caspar blinked. "Yeah. Goblins. In passing."

Just once. It was a silent tense encounter, not too long after leaving the Outlands. Jack stood close behind him, tightly holding onto his hand. Still on edge from the run in with that last bounty hunter, Caspar was armed. He didn't reach for his weapon, though. There was a good distance between them, and he hoped they could pass through without stirring up trouble.

The goblins' gazes pierced through the woods as they assessed him and his kid. Then they softened, just a little, as they motioned for the two to keep walking.

"What about you?" Caspar asked. Out of habit, really, but he was genuinely curious.

Robin had been pretty straight-faced any time he saw him, and he didn't seem to be very emotive. But at Caspar's question, there was the hint of a grin on his face.

"You seem to be pretty good at keeping secrets, I think," Robin said. But that wasn't an answer.

Caspar shuffled in place a little. He worried he touched a nerve since he seemed to do that a lot, but the trace of lightness in Robin's expression suggested the opposite. Which only served to confuse Caspar.

"I-- I try," he murmured as he glanced off the other way. "You don't have to-- We can just get back to. Scouting the area, if you want."

"If you ran into a goblin again, what would you do?" Robin asked instead.

Caspar felt thrown around by this... Conversation? Could it be called that now? It more closely resembled a strangely stressful game of twenty questions.

He swallowed and asked in turn, "Under what circumstances?"

Robin pursed his lips, but seemed oddly pleased Caspar had asked a question.

"Say we run into a group of them while scouting," Robin said. "They're a small group. Camped out. Apprehensive when they see us coming."

Tilting his head back slightly, Caspar tried picturing the scenario. He wasn't sure if goblins were commonly camping out in this area, and wondered for what specific reasons they'd be camping out here in particular. It might be too tedious to ask for a hypothetical wherein he wouldn't even be able to glean such information from just seeing goblins from afar anyway.

What-if scenarios were always hard. People liked to believe or often answered in hopes that they'd do the best things, the right things. But sometimes people simply react, in a split second, once they're actually in that moment, without any time to contemplate how it would reflect on their character or morals.

So his first, instinctive response would likely be the most honest.

"I'd just. Back away, probably. Wouldn't engage," Caspar finally answered, hoping he didn't make Robin wait too long. "This place isn't mine, anyway, they're already there, and probably wouldn't want trouble. Nor would I, for that matter."

Robin nodded slowly.

"What if you ran into, say, a werewolf?" he asked.

Caspar glanced down at the ground, scratching at his chin. "I... I really don't know, I-- Short of...actually seeing them change shape, how would we know?"

"You're right," Robin said, looking off into the forest like he was pondering the question thoughtfully. "How would we know?"

There was a beat of silence. Caspar felt compelled to say something, but was cut short before he could begin.

"Oh, to hell with it," Robin said with a sigh, flopping his arms to the sides as if he had given up on putting on some kind of show. "Don't kill me or scream. That would be nice."

Caspar's brows furrowed, bewildered.

With only that as a forewarning, in the blink of an eye, instead of a short, bald man standing in front of Caspar, there was a wolf. It sat in front of him, looking up at him with its head angled upward towards him. It had a deep brown coat of fur, similar to the tone of Robin's skin.

Stumbling, Caspar's back hit a tree, and he braced his hands against the trunk. Mind reeling, he openly gaped at the creature-- at Robin.

What--

The questionnaire suddenly made a lot more sense.

What.

Staring was rude, he firmly reminded himself. Caspar snapped his mouth shut, but couldn't tear his eyes away. He blinked hard. His feet slid out from under him, and he hit the forest floor.

"Robin?" he whispered, just to be sure.

"Yeah," the wolf responded with a small movement of its mouth.

Eyes still wide, Caspar pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded slowly. The wolf had Robin's voice. Robin was still right in front of him. Just.

"Mel keeps telling me to tell people in a less dramatic way," Robin said. "But you tell me if there's a way to go from human to wolf that doesn't look dramatic to people who've never seen it before."

"Uh, yeah," Caspar replied faintly, "it's..." Shocking? Jarring? Abrupt.

People didn't often encounter werewolves, so there's really no casual way to lead into one's status as one.

"Yeah," Robin said, even though Caspar hadn't added any adjectives to finish his thought.

Should he be...asking questions about it? Gods, did he have questions. He couldn't form the words, though, then opted not to try.

"You're not going to faint on me, are you?" Robin asked with a tilt of his head.

Caspar shook his head and hastily answered, "No, s'fine. M'good, this is." He nodded. "This is good."

"You can't pet me," Robin said flatly. "People ask. Just getting that out of the way."

Caspar nodded again, vigorously. "Of course. Lines, uh, boundaries."

Robin stood on all fours, bouncing his head in a nod. "Well, I prefer scouting this way," he said. "Closer to the ground. And now I can just tell you I smell things nearby and you won't question it."

Finding his bearings again, Caspar managed to stand on fairly steady feet again. "Clarifies things, yeah," he agreed.

Robin turned and started walking.

"This area's been clear a while," Robin said. "Critters have been staying away from it."

Caspar scanned the forest floor for a moment, then trailed after. "So, um." He scratched behind his ear. "You never really said if you've run into goblins at any point."

"I have friends who are goblins," Robin said plainly. "Do with that what you will."

Caspar felt his brows rise. "Wow," he said softly. "That's-- Where did... Who, um-- When--"

He was tempted to just smack himself, if only to get a hold of himself. He couldn't form a coherent thought anymore, there was so much he wanted to ask about, but wasn't sure what to ask if anything at all. He shouldn't pry, though a lot of the mages here were quite open about their backgrounds, but he shouldn't just assume and ask carelessly.

Caspar opted to drop it for now. He hid his hands in his pockets again.

They weaved silently between trees and crept through underbrush. Caspar found his gaze frequently wandering back down to Robin in front of him. With his tail held straight out behind him and ears swiveling, he kept his head low as he trotted at a steady pace. Every once in awhile, he would intentively poke his nose at the ground.

It was still surreal. That the wolf in front of him was only mere minutes ago a man. It was explained and demonstrated to him, clear as day-- in daylight-- but Caspar still couldn't fully wrap his head around it.

They eventually circled back to base. The immediate area surrounding the bunker's entrance and the horse shelter was as they left it. Undisturbed, peaceful, and familiar. Caspar visited with Eir for a moment. She bumped her nose to his hand, then tilted her head to look around him. He followed her gaze.

Robin had changed back, and stood on two feet again.

"I'm not good with horses," Robin said casually. "I tend to make them nervous. My human form makes them less so."

Caspar glanced back at Eir. She shook his hand from her nose and bobbed her head as she tapped a hoof. She did seem to be watching Robin quite closely, wary. Robin was keeping his distance, though, so she stayed put.

"You uh," Robin started. "You like... horses? Is that a thing for you?"

With his hands in his pockets again, Caspar shrugged his left shoulder. "I, ah, never meant to take her with me. She was only part of a job on a ranch a few months back."

"Did you keep her around just for uh, getting around faster?" Robin asked.

"Having her definitely helps cut down on travel ti--"

With a chuff, Eir nudged the back of his head with her muzzle, then tugged on the hood of his jacket, yanking him back. Caspar found his footing again and pat the side of her face to try to settle her. She swung her head, dragging him sideways with her.

"She-- Eir, please--" He stumbled into and held onto the side of her pen. "She's good company," he finally managed to say. Straightening again, Caspar smoothed his hair back and cleared his throat. "Uh, do you--"

"I think she's trying to protect you," Robin said, giving Eir a wary glance. "I can go, if you need to tend to her."

Scratching behind his ear, Caspar let out a quiet sigh. "That...may be necessary. Sorry, she's... Yeah, we can. Talk more later, I guess." Then he grimaced inwardly at the wording. Not because it was particularly bad, it just felt stiff.

Robin dipped his head.

"See you later," he said as he turned away, walking to the stairwell that lead below.

Caspar weakly waved bye, then looked to Eir again. She blinked back at him, completely unashamed with her behavior.

"He's nice, you know," Caspar said flatly. "All of them ar--"

Eir spun around, flicking her tail in his face, having none of it. Caspar swatted her tail away and frowned sternly at her rump.

"Fine," he muttered. He picked up the brush and began dusting off her flank. "Fine, you can't be convinced."

Angling her head higher and flicking her ears, Eir appeared pleased now that she seemed to have won this round. She relaxed again the longer the silence settled around them as he worked.

So did he, for that matter. His mind cleared for a moment. Then he was able to carefully pick through the events of the perimeter check, carefully turning over new information.

His hand started hurting again, forcing him to stop mid-brushing. He held the brush in a death grip. Eir never seemed bothered, though, so he at least wasn't pushing too hard on her side with it.

Caspar set the brush down on the railing and leaned back on Eir's side. He barely registered her breath on the side of his face when she craned her neck to look at him as he stared down at his hands. Now empty, they stilled once more. Useless.

He glanced at the bunker entrance, hating just how much he needed a drink.

As expected, her measurements were accurate, and the coat fit James almost perfectly. With her arms folded, Hild circled him a few times as she examined seams, the lengths of the sleeves, and the overall fit of the body.

"Raise your arms out sideways," she said, stopping in front of him.

James raised his arms at his sides, and looked to her expectantly. Stepping around behind him, Hild brushed the right shoulder and tugged a little on the side of the coat. Nothing hung too loosely anywhere.

She stepped back and said, "Now swing your arms front to back. Let me know if anything is too tight." She doubted it would be, but she preferred to err on the side of caution.

James did so, swinging his arms and looking over his shoulders at the sleeves.

"Feels good to me," he said.

She nodded as she stepped back around in front of him. "Good. Now swing your arms in wide circles, please."

James gave her a flat look, but started swinging one arm. He only rotated it once, very quickly, before he landed his hand on her shoulder.

"I think that's enough arm waving," he said, patting her shoulder lightly before pulling away.

"Very well," Hild relented, suppressing a grin. "Everything fits as it should. I didn't catch any loose threads anywhere on the exterior." Stepping closer, she examined the buttons on one of the lapels, checking that they were secure, then quickly stepped back again. She folded her hands and tilted her head. "What do you think?"

James looked down at himself, patting the coat on his sides. He looked up to Hild with a light in his eyes and the hint of a smile.

"I think it's marvelous," he said, smile growing. "I only wish I could see a full reflection so I could appreciate all the hard work you put into this."

Hild allowed herself a small, pleased smile of her own as she tilted her chin up a little. "Splendid. I assure you that it's an excellent fit, and it's a nice shade of blue on you."

James's smile softened into one that seemed a tad more shy as he looked down at the coat again, averting his eyes.

"Thank you," he said. "Again."

Endeared by his humility, Hild felt her smile soften a little as well. Being sincere came easier lately, and was always worth his slightly flustered look.

She inclined her head. She twisted her finger in her palm as she said, now feeling rather awkward but sincere all the same, "My pleasure."

James glanced off to the side.

"I suppose I should take this off now," James said, beginning to shrug the jacket off his shoulders. "And save it for tomorrow."

Nodding again, Hild helped slide it off his shoulders and laid the coat out on the table. "Ah, yes. I need to trim some hanging threads on the inside, anyway."

"How often did you get to make custom pieces back in Needle Point?" James asked, standing beside her as he looked down at the coat.

Hild smoothed out the fabric, and brushed off imaginary specks of dust. "Not often. Most everyone in Needle Point didn't want to spend money and wait on new, hand-made clothes. Repair work was my bread and butter." She folded out one side of the coat and ran her finger over the seam inside. Nothing loose. Taking her embroidery scissors from her pocket, she cut the hanging thread at the end of the seam.

She then straightened and stepped back a little. She pursed her lips.

"Which one of your aliases was the sailor?" she asked, her eyes still scanning her work.

There was a beat of silence, like, perhaps, the question was unexpected.

"Thomas," James answered. "That was when my hair was the longest I've ever had it. I was... 22 at the time. So about three years ago."

She hummed softly in acknowledgement. The Isles, then, preceded his two years in the Outlands.

The wanted poster of Thomas came back to mind.

"What was life on a ship like?" she asked. Folding her arms, Hild turned her head slightly to look at him.

"Well... starting out, it was a lot of hard work," James said. He set his hand on the table and leaned his weight on it while he looked down in thought. "In short, I'd befriended the captain and was invited onto his crew with the stipulation that I'd have to learn the ropes. I'd never been on a ship before then, so it was all very new to me. Most of the day I was kept busy learning how to run a ship and doing whatever work was handed to me, but in the evenings when things died down a little, the captain and I would often chat. He was well educated and liked discussing big ideas. Philosophy. Politics."

James shrugged, tilting his head to the side.

"But he liked talking about monsters and mythology the most. Magic and magical creatures fascinated him. He didn't discuss all of that openly of course, because you have to be careful any time magic is brought up, but... I guess he must've had a feeling about me."

Hild turned and leaned back on the edge of the table beside him. "And did you like working for him?"

"I did," James said, still looking at the floor. "At first. Things got... more complicated a few months later."

He looked like he wanted to say more, but didn't. He brought one arm over his chest and held his forearm, tapping his fingers lightly. Folding her arms, Hild glanced out sideways for a moment. She drew her lips into a thin line as she debated with herself, then asked quietly, "What happened?"

James looked up at her with a flicker of fear and sadness in his eyes, then he quickly looked down again.

"The long version or the short version?" he asked just as quiet.

Hild hid the building tension in herself in a clenched hand. She felt she chose wrong by asking. "Whatever you're more comfortable with," she said, desperately hoping he would let her know if she was crossing any lines, that he would see and take the out if he needed it.

The tips of James's fingers kept bouncing on his forearm in a nervous rhythm as he kept his eyes locked on the floor.

"I've... only told one friend what happened before," James said. "Sometimes it feels like none of it ever even happened. And then I see posters of my face from that year and it's like looking into the face of a stranger. When I was Thomas... I don't know. When I'd give myself a new name, it was like I was making a shell for myself. Thomas was a character that I created in my head. A suit I stepped into and wore for so long I forgot who I was before. And I was fine with that, because everything from before was something I would never be able to return to even if I wanted to."

He paused, and the dancing of his fingers came to a stop as his hand slid down to his wrist, like he was steadying himself.

"I became the person I thought Leo wanted me to be, and because of that, I became his closest friend. I became the person I thought would best get along with the crew, and did everything I could to earn their favor. And for a while, it worked. For several months, I thought I could live like that forever. Being isolated on a ship, so often leagues away from the mainland -- it was like being on an island. Away from society. Away from all of the dangers that shadowed me in all of my travels. I felt like I'd finally escaped it, and I'd grown comfortable. No one on the crew knew who I was apart from the Thomas I'd created, and I let my guard down. And the moment I did, Leo brought a man back onto his crew. His name was Donovan, and he'd stepped off of the crew to care for his sick mother a year prior, but when word got to Leo that Donovan's mother had passed, he reached out to Donovan again to bring him back on the ship."

"The problem wasn't that Donovan wasn't a decent person. But... he recognized me, almost immediately. And instead of telling Leo right away while we were still on the mainland, he held his cards close even as we went out on the water."

James fell silent for a moment. His eyes, still downcast, were distant. He looked trapped in a far away memory.

"Did he say anything eventually?" Hild asked, voice soft.

"I don't know what I did, but before he even said anything, he was sowing seeds of doubt at any given opportunity. He was constantly trying to undermine every bridge I'd built--" James shifted his weight, leaning and partially sitting back on the table so he could cross his hands in front of him.

"And-- well," James paused, seemingly tripping over his words, or whatever thought had passed through his mind. "The two things about Leo that I learned too late were one: he had an unerring obsession to find the sea serpent Laokin of legend, and two: he cared more about loyalty than talking things through once trust was severed. We'd travelled out further into the Deep than most sailors ever go. We'd already fought off a handful of sea monsters to get there, and Leo had his whole crew convinced that we were going to find the Laokin and slay it, taking its scales of gold. It was insanity, but I'd already buried my own grave. I was in over my head. That ship wasn't turning back, and to tell that to the captain would've resulted in..."

He trailed off, swallowing thickly before continuing.

"Not that it changed the final outcome anyway," he said, his voice growing quiet. "When Donovan finally exposed my true identity to the captain, something in Leo seemed to just... snap."

James's shoulders drew in nearer towards himself, like he was trying to appear smaller.

"Everything that happened next is genuinely a blur," he said slowly. Though his voice was steady and calm, the tension building in his body as he stiffly crossed his arms over his stomach, hugging himself, was evident. "I don't... I don't know if you'd..."

His voice withered out into silence, and he stared at the floor with his brows knit together tightly.

Hild felt her own brows furrow.

Already out in the Deep, with his bridges steadily crumbling, Donovan outing him, and an unforgiving captain...

"How did... How did you make it back to the mainland?" Hild asked, hesitantly.

James swallowed hard again.

"I don't know," he said just above a whisper. "I... remember waking up on the sand. Somehow I'd ended up on Dara. I don't know how much time passed before I was found, but I..."

He scratched at the skin on the back of his hand, and it seemed for a moment like he was playing with an imaginary object in his hand that he was turning over and over.

"You know in storybooks, when the Captain orders a mutinous sailor or a stowaway to walk the plank - and sometimes in life you suddenly find yourself in a moment that only ever feels like it should be in a story, and it's-- it's almost like it's not even happening to you, because it doesn't--"

James cut him own thought short by snapping his mouth shut. He closed his eyes and continued, this time talking slower. Deliberate.

"I was handed a bottle of rum and a life raft before I was made to jump off by myself," James said, his voice hollow. "When I hit the water, it started a chain reaction."

He paused, taking in a deep breath.

"We found the Laokin. I remember enough now to know that the ship was destroyed. I ended up... on some piece of what remained. That's my best guess. I know how that sounds. I know what it sounds like."

James hugged himself just a little tighter.

"If you don't believe me--" he said, barely audible.

"Why wouldn't I?" Hild countered, voice still gentle but firmer this time. "I trust you."

James pressed his lips together in a frown, and he didn't look up at her. He nodded silently, blinking quickly a few times.

There was a beat of silence as Hild mulled over every detail, spoken or implied.

Quietly, she said, "I'm sorry about Leo."

James's eyes grew distant as they misted over, staying locked on the floor by his feet.

"I have a feeling he'd have found a similar fate whether he'd met me or not," James said in a solemn whisper. "Sometimes I wonder if I'd have drowned with the rest of them had I not jumped off first. It doesn't feel right that they were buried at sea and their families will never know what happened. But I don't think they'd believe me if I told them."

After a brief, heavy silence, James finally glanced over to Hild, though he didn't meet her eyes.

"I'm sorry if that wasn't the kind of story you were expecting," he said faintly. "There isn't a happy ending. Just... me. Since no one else is left to tell it."

"Don't apologize." Carefully, she gave his arm a light pat and pulled away again. "It's part of your story, and theirs, and it's well worth remembering."

James looked to where her hand had patted his arm, and his gaze lingered there.

"I suppose so," he said in weak agreement.

It wasn't resounding, which Hild supposed was expected, but it wasn't outright denial either. She decided not to push the matter any further, so they just stood, quietly, their shoulders almost brushing.

"I do kind of miss the long hair, though," James said, suddenly breaking the silence. "You can do so much more with it."

Thrown by the tone shift for only a second, Hild tilted her head as she studied James, trying to imagine him with longer hair now.

James held his hand up to the middle of his chest.

"It was about this long before I trimmed it a few inches," he said.

Reaching up, Hild lightly ruffled his hair with her fingertips. His hair was thick, and had just enough texture to warrant a slight wave. She imagined that, longer, it would be fairly heavy. Recalling the poster, though, she knew the length would still fit the shape of his face quite well.

James seemed to freeze at her touch. He was staring at her, and his cheeks were turning pink. As if something in her own expression made him suddenly self aware, he flashed a disarming smile, dimples deepening.

Catching his smile, Hild quickly withdrew her hand. Her face burned as she realized that she completely disregarded the essential concept of personal space and touched his hair, without asking and entirely unthinking. She folded her hands tightly, wringing them almost, and glanced off sideways.

"Ah, apologies," she said stiffly, then cleared her throat to add, "It was-- On the poster, it was a...charming look."

"Even with the whole...?" James gestured to his face, summoning a focused, angry look, imitating the expression he'd been drawn with on the posters. Though it was a little exaggerated.

Hild grinned. The effect of the expression was admittedly dampened with the round glasses. "Yes," she answered softly, "even with the scowly face."

"I always thought my scowl made me look unapproachable," James said, his expression relaxing.

She hummed. Folding her arms, she tilted her chin up a little as she glanced him over. "Perhaps to most. I think it just makes you appear...very serious. Focused."

"I suppose that's not an inaccurate assessment," James said, looking over to her. "Though, that's not all that I am."

"As is the case with anyone," she agreed.

James grinned, and his eyes softened.

"True," he agreed.

Hild felt her cheeks warm again when their gazes met. Arching a brow, she tilted her head to the side and added flatly, "For instance, I've witnessed you climbing trees like a child, and some of your jokes actually lower the IQ of the entire forest."

"And for instance," James continued smoothly with a small smile. "I've seen you giggle and laugh over mutton chops, and when you get truly flustered, you get all quiet before you change the subject."

Hild huffed playfully, but struggled to find anything else with which to counter. She trained her eyes at the wall ahead of them, then straightened.

"Well," she said, clearing her throat again, "as previously stated, I have to finish up here." She turned her attention back to the table.

James lingered at her side for a moment before she sensed him pull away.

"Alright," he said with a smile in his voice. "I'll see you later."

Hild only hummed in acknowledgment as she focused on the inside seams again. Her response only proved his point, she was hyper-aware. With her head bent, she hoped her hair blocked her still-warm cheeks from view.

Even as she kept busy while the day settled into night, and the night broke into morning, the impending 'date' lingered in the back of her mind and jumped to the forefront unwarranted, sometimes even in the middle of an entirely unrelated conversation. It impeded her ability to think straight, and she even had to abruptly abandon a straightforward discussion with Masil about-- She couldn't even remember.

After lunch, Hild had only just cleared her plate when her brother ushered her out of the dining room with a hasty farewell to the rest of the group and barely an explanation as to why. She couldn't get a word in edgewise as he filled the corridor with small talk that she barely registered because he simply spoke too quickly for her to catch up.

Once the door to the bedroom was closed, he sat her down and launched into questions about color coordination and how he hoped she decided to contrast rather than match what James was wearing for the date, but not contrast too much because, standing side by side as they ought to at one point or another, they should still look visually cohesive.

Hild threw her hands skyward in exasperation. "Who is going to see us, other than us?"

Lyall looked at her like that was possibly an incredibly ridiculous question, even though it was true. "Well, you two, yes," he answered, "but also the rest of us, if only for a moment, of course."

She couldn't convince him otherwise, she could tell. But she couldn't even decide to drop the subject before he moved them along to the matter of her hair. She was simply going to braid it all herself, just to contain it, but that was predictably out of the question now that her brother was under the impression that he got a say in the matter. He insisted on keeping her hair down, and possibly tying back only a little bit of it when she argued with him.

Lilya appeared, likely while Hild was distracted with arguing, and she generously offered some of her own hair ribbons with a bright smile. With a softened smile of her own, Hild selected a dark, rusty red and thanked her.

They eventually settled on loose side braids that met at the back of her head, and he carefully tied them together with the ribbon. The rest of her hair was left to hang loose at her shoulders. Lyall and Lilya then left to allow Hild to change in peace.

Over an off-white blouse with a simple, flat collar, she laced up a navy bodice with accents of mustard yellow and dusty red patterns on the front. The skirt, ankle-length, and the hair ribbon were of the same red, tying in with the bodice and creating an overall warm color bias.

It was indeed a great contrast to the azure coat she made for James. Looking down at herself, she wondered if perhaps she should have opted for more vibrant colors. Her line of thought back in Ruddlan was to have nice clothes that were rich in hue, should an occasion called for it, yet somewhat subdued so they didn't make her stand out too starkly.

Hild crossed her arms and stared at the wall for a moment, wishing she had a full-length mirror, if only to make any small adjustments as needed.

Having stood there second-guessing herself long enough, she finally stepped into the corridor. When she didn't find her brother by the door as she anticipated, she worried briefly that he had gone to accost James with more of his 'opinions' or-- gods forbid-- a talking to.

Her fears were quickly appeased when her brother emerged from the communal room rather than the infirmary. Lyall flashed a broad grin as he ambled out, hands tucked in his pockets, and stood beside her.

"Not bad," he said, flashing a grin.

Hild leveled him with a flat look. "Please, no, enough with that flattery."

Stepping out of the common room behind him came Mel, who's face lit when she saw Hild.

"Oh, Hild, you look absolutely gorgeous!" she said, her smile bubbly. "Where did you get the dress from? It looks wonderful on you."

Hild glanced at the wall as she folded her arms. Her cheeks grew warm. "Ah. Thank you," she said quietly. "It's from our venture into Ruddlan."

"Ruddlan has so many options to pick from," Mel commented. "I like this," she went on, gesturing to Hild up and down. "Are you getting dressed up for anything in particular, or just for fun?"

Leaning sideways toward Mel, Lyall answered in a mock whisper, "Going on her first date tonight."

Mel's eyebrows shot up, and she nodded with an understanding grin.

"Ohhhhh, I see, I see," Mel said. "That explains all the fuss over the coat for James."

She looked to Hild with a warm smile.

"I'm sure you two will have a great time," she said.

Hild's face burned redder. She glared daggers at her brother, but managed a polite, "Thank you," to Mel.

"Well, I don't want to interrupt all of this," Mel said, sharing a look with Lyall as she started to bow out. "I think Maisy needs some help with the garden. I'll see you two later."

Holding Hild's heated stare, Lyall grinned as he calmly answered, "See you, Mel."

At that, Mel brushed past them towards the stairwell with a small smile, and then disappeared above-ground.

As soon as Mel was gone, Hild stepped around her brother into the common room with a mutter about the stupid smile that he really ought to put it away before she smacked it off herself. Lyall had the gall to just laugh as he followed her in.

When she found herself on the receiving end of a few more compliments from fellow bunker residents, she felt perhaps she had changed too soon. Did she appear over eager? Likely, but she was honestly eager, so maybe that couldn't be helped either way.

Hild kept busy with straightening up the living space and browsed the book shelf. She briefly considered rearranging the books on her brother (something he always hated, and that she did sparingly to really get back at him), but decided against it since it could throw off everyone else too.

Before dinner time, she offered to help prepare food for cooking. Mel politely declined, insisting that Hild avoid the risk of getting her nice clothes dirty. Hild relented, but not without arguing first, and stood by the already-set table.

Mel and Masil cooked. Lyall leaned a hip against the counter, talking with Mel. His girls sat at the table. They played a curious, rather idle little game wherein they held their palms upward and clapped each other's hands at random. Both children giggled when one made the other miss.

Hild considered the placements of the utensils around the dishes. She aligned a fork so that it lay more perpendicular to the edge of the table.

Only a few minutes had passed when there was a knock at the door, and when it opened, James stepped in.

Wearing the full outfit she'd picked out for him, he stood tall, his hair and face clean, paired with a dimpled smile. He had opted to wear the wingtip shoes, which lent him a still-formal yet understated look than full boots would have. The vivid blue of the coat contrasted as nicely with the soft cream trousers as she imagined it would, and it made the blue of James's eyes brilliant.

When his eyes landed on her, his expression seemed to be a mixture of pleasant surprise and adoration.

"Are you ready to go?" James asked after a few second's delay.

Hild snapped out of her thoughts and met his gaze. She mustered a small, if a bit nervous, smile. Her heart was actually fluttering. "Ah. Yes. I am."

James's smile returned with a modest, endearing warmth. Hild's nerves settled, and her own smile relaxed. He bowed his head and held the door open, nodding for her to come with him.

"Have a nice dinner," he said to the others.

"You as well," Mel replied.

"Shall I set a curfew?" Lyall asked with a playful glint in his eyes. "As the eldest brother, it feels like my responsibility to set a curfew."

"Save the curfews for when your daughters go on dates," Mel shot back, glancing over her shoulder at Lyall with a smirk. "James and Hild are grown."

Lyall snorted. "Fine, fine. You two have fun. But--"

"Get out of here before he tries to be funny again," Mel said teasingly, waving Hild and James away with her hand.

Hild flashed Mel an appreciative smile and emphatically answered, "Thank you," as she stepped out into the hall.

James closed the door behind them and then turned to her, offering her his arm.

"You look beautiful," he said softly. "I like what you did with your hair."

Linking arms with him, Hild ducked her head as she smiled. "Ah, thank you." She then reached up to lightly ruffle the ends of his hair. "You clean up very nicely, too."

James closed his eyes for a second as she touched his hair, and then looked to the side with a shy smile. It looked like he shook away the shyness with another hard blink, and he started to walk forward, leading her down the hall.

"How was the rest of your day?" James asked, sounding more relaxed.

Feeling more collected in turn, Hild tilted her chin up a little. "Thrilling, truly," she answered with feigned enthusiasm. "The common room needed much tidying up. It's a tough act to follow."

"I'm not sure there's much that's more exciting than cleaning," James said straight-facedly. "But I'll do my best. If you want, we could change all my plans and reorganize our travel supplies instead."

She shrugged a shoulder. "We'll give your plans an honest try first."

"And if you're getting bored, organizing is a solid backup," James said in agreement as they started up the steps.

The evening air outside was comfortably cool, and the forest was painted in golden hues as the sun slowly set. James led them out into the trees with measured steps, as though he planned this down to the individual paces.

Potential outcomes spun in Hild's head as she tried guessing what exactly it was that he had in mind.

"You know," James said, breaking the silence and her train of thought as they were walking. "I still remember when I first braided your hair, somehow we got on the conversation of flowers, and you made the point of telling me not to give you any. And I thought for the longest time, that that was you subtly telling me you weren't interested."

Hild turned her head slightly to look him over. "Oh. I didn't realize..."

She didn't realize that she was implying anything. Was that what he meant by the question? Had she unwittingly closed the door on them?

"It's alright," James said with a soft smile. "I wasn't-- well, I didn't have high hopes at the time that anything like this would ever happen. And given the circumstances we were in even three months ago... I wouldn't have blamed you."

Hild suddenly felt awkward-- which was unwarranted, frankly. She turned her eyes ahead. "I, ah-- It--" Rolling her eyes at herself, Hild tried again, "Yes, given the circumstances at the time. And I just. Never made time for...dating--"

"That, and you barely knew me," James said gently in her own defense, then added softly, "Sorry. Finish your thought."

She offered him a small, reassuring smile. "You're right, we barely knew each other." She glanced him over again and went on, "I also tend to close doors on myself by assuming I don't actually have...certain options available to me. And I'll hazard a guess and say we...seem to have that in common."

"A good guess," James said, eyes flicking briefly to the ground. "I've lived much of my life assuming there was only one path open to me -- one I had to travel alone. I'm... beginning to realize that I don't have to."

Hild felt her smile brighten a little. "Good."

James met her eyes with a small smile and a sort of bittersweet acceptance hidden behind his eyes, like a part of him was still in the wrestle to accept that truth. But it was evident he was trying.

Sometimes she found herself in the midst of a similar struggle.

"I'm really glad that I met you, Hild," James said sincerely.

"And I deeply value your company, James," she answered warmly.

James smiled again, this time briefly showing teeth. There was a small sparkle in his eyes.

"Likewise," he said, the smile resting on his face for a moment as he looked at her, and then he turned his head forward, slowing his pace.

He led her through a narrow path between two thick trees, and as they emerged on the other side, it was as if they'd walked into the light.

There was a small clearing on the edge of a small cliff that gave them just enough of a view to see over the treetops to the horizon in the distance, where the sunset was painting the sky in brilliant hues of orange and pink. Laid out on the ground by the ledge there was a large blanket spread out over the grass, and a low wooden table set in the middle with a picnic basket, and two flickering candles.

The air was still and calm, and as they came to a stop at the edge of the blanket, James turned to her.

"I hope you're hungry," he said.

Hild was taken by the quiet beauty of the forest, lost for a moment in its vastness and all the bright colors.

She finally tore her eyes away from the sky to James, then glanced off when he simply gazed back at her.

"It's a lovely set up," she said sincerely.

"I'm glad you think so," he said, slowly pulling his arm out of hers and bringing his hand to hers. He gently tugged her towards the table, letting go as they got closer to sit down across from her.

As they ate, conversation flowed naturally. Hild's confidence came back to her now that they were settled. As they easily slipped into their usual rapport, she wondered briefly what she was so worried about.

"If we're talking about atrociously impractical outfits, we really should talk about full body armor," James said. "I'm not saying it doesn't serve its purpose in the right context, but wearing it all day just to walk around a palace... gods, it's uncomfortable. And stiff. And you overheat so quickly in the summer. Now leather armor -- that gives you more mobility. And you don't clank with every footstep."

Hild nodded. "I imagine the effect of metal armor in the sun is akin to a pot over a flame," she said an empathetic smile. "Does leather provide the same level of protection, though?"

"There's nuance. It depends what kind of weapons you're up against. A mace in the right hands can dent and pierce metal armor and render it just as ineffective as leather armor would be to protect you from that kind of injury, but it gets more complicated. Dented and pierced armor is more likely to continue to warp or crack under pressure, and if its been punctured by the weapon, your armor will puncture you too - and that can just put you in a cage," James answered. "Leather armor, at least, allows more mobility to avoid hits like that. Though, it depends on the fighter. I don't have size on my side, so I prefer lighter armor that won't weight me down."

Tilting her head, Hild listened with admiration. "Very strategic," she agreed. Setting her fork down, she rested her chin in her hand. "Do you prefer the visual subtlety of leather as well?"

"If we're purely talking aesthetics," James said. "I've always found most metal armor a little gaudy. But that depends on who designed it, honestly. The standard Moonlight Kingdom armor for palace guards has these uselessly pointy shoulder pieces that are more annoying than anything else. Sure, I could use it to shoulder someone with the intent to hurt them, I suppose, but if it's come down to using my armor as a weapon, I shouldn't be a palace guard, now, should I? Though perhaps that's too harsh of a judgement. It really doesn't matter - it's just my preference. So, yes. I do prefer the visual subtlety of leather."

Suppressing a grin, Hild hummed. "I see. Though, metal armor helps create a more...impressive figure. Intimidating, almost. It demands respect."

"That's oftentimes true," James said with a nod of acknowledgement towards her. "And I'm aware of that. I'm just complaining, is all."

She hummed a laugh. "Your opinions are valued and noted," she said. Sitting straighter, she folded her hands in her lap. "I do believe that good metal armor won't be anymore restricting than leather, though. A little noisier, perhaps--"

"And heavier," James interjected.

"But not by much," she countered.

"I'd like to see you put on a full suit of metal armor and tell me it's not much heavier," James said with a smirk.

She let herself smile this time. "I gladly would, if we had any on hand. And, if you wore it as often as you say, you likely adjusted to its weight. With ease."

"With ease is a bit generous," James said with a playful eyeroll. "But yeah. Sure. I got used to it."

Hild tilted her chin up triumphantly. "Would your gripes with metal armor be purely for the aesthetic, then?"

James let out a long sigh.

"That and it acts like a hotbox in the summer," James said.

"Leather won't perform much better in that department, either," she said.

"I guess the cost of being safe is being sweaty," James said as if it were the conclusion to this not-quite debate.

"A shame," Hild said with a solemn nod. "Though incurring damage and potentially causing the wearer more harm as a result is a legitimate downside to metal armor. So we can give leather a point as a still-sturdy yet forgiving material."

"There's points, now?" James asked with a raised brow.

Hild grinned. "Always."

"I'm afraid I haven't been keeping track," James said. "Who's winning?"

She turned her eyes skyward in a show of thinking deeply. "I do believe it's tied at the moment."

"Hm. I'm content to leave it at a tie, then," James said, leaning back on one arm as he looked out over the forest.

Hild herself always found a tie was the least satisfying conclusion to a debate, friendly or otherwise. Watching him settle back, though, she silently decided to perhaps revisit it another time.

By now, the sun had dipped below the horizon, and the sky was starting to darken. The candlelight seemed to pulse brighter to compensate, and flickers of light from lightning bugs could be seen dancing among the trees below.

"You never did tell me what your favorite kind of flower is," James said after a lull of silence.

Hild shrugged a shoulder. "I really don't have one. Flowers aren't...my thing."

"Do you not like them?" James asked.

"I'm more indifferent toward them."

James hummed. "Fair."

She glanced sideways at the trees nearest them. "I did enjoy the garden at home, though, if only for the birds that visited."

"What's your favorite kind of bird?" James asked. "And if not favorite, just one you really enjoy. The first that comes to mind."

"Raptors," she answered, without even pausing to think. "They're swift, fierce, and incredibly intelligent. While trainable, they can never truly be tamed."

"A good choice," James said with a little grin. "Noted."

"How about you?" Hild asked. "Any opinions or preferences concerning birds?"

"I don't have any strong opinions," James said. "They're beautiful creatures, and I appreciate them from a respectful distance."

"Fair," she said with a hum.

"Would you ever want a bird? As a pet?" James asked.

"Perhaps not," Hild answered after a moment of thought. "Instead, I think I'd rather attempt cultivating a wildlife sanctuary on my own plot of land somewhere."

"A wildlife sanctuary," James repeated with a small smile, looking like his interest was piqued. "I like the sound of that. Where do you think you'd want that land to be?"

Hild paused at this.

Truthfully, she hadn't entertained the thought much further since arriving in Needle Point. Some small part of herself had hoped that she could go home to the Isles and bring the idea to fruition there.

"Somewhere," she answered, "with trees, though--" Hild gestured broadly to the forest around them. "--likely not nearly as dense as this. Maybe with a pond or a lake in or on the edge of the premises. Mostly warmer seasons would be preferable. Though I'm not opposed to familiarizing myself with a less woodsy biome."

"How big of a sanctuary are we talking?" James asked.

"I--" Hild glanced off with a small, ironic laugh. "I actually don't know. I used to imagine land that went on for miles, but, ah. I'm admittedly out of my depth as far as the logistics for such an undertaking would go."

"I can't say I'd know where to start myself," James said. "I was just curious. Preserving miles of land would be a lot of work, but if you find joy in it, it's rewarding."

"I imagine so," Hild said. "Though I'd like to try, it became even less plausible...as time went on."

James nodded slowly.

"I understand that," he said softly. "I think it's still a nice dream."

Nodding likewise, Hild turned her gaze back out over the cliff. "I suppose so."

"I know... with lives like ours, it's hard to think about the future," James said quietly after a small pause. "Though I know you've had more opportunities to start over, and probably could start over again if you wanted, I know it's nuanced. I know what it's like to live a life that doesn't fully feel like your own, because you have to work so hard just to protect it. And then it hardly feels like a life at all."

She did have opportunities to start over.

James tried. Kept reinventing himself, over and over. He was probably running out of places to start over, running out of opportunities and time.

Caspar tried too, and trouble still managed to follow him way out into the wilds.

Unless he was found and confirmed to be dead, Lyall wouldn't ever be able to truly settle his family. His daughters deserved a chance at a real life, not fearing for their lives as they hide out in the wilderness.

Outside of the Isles and the Outlands town of Jeburgh, no one knew who Hild was. There was no reason for anyone to know who she was. As far as anyone else was concerned, she didn't exist anymore.

Hild was given ample opportunity to start over, yet never took it. With a stab of shame, she realized she had been cowardly.

"It's...a sad reality, yes," she finally answered.

"Did you ever feel at home?" James asked, his voice softer. "In Needle Point?"

Pressing her lips into a thin line, Hild looked down at her hands. "It...sometimes felt...akin to a home. I knew people rather well there, and they knew a little about me. What I gave them, anyhow." She felt herself smile a little as she met James's eyes again. "I may actually miss a few of them. And, regrettably, I..."

James tilted his head, but patiently waited for her to finish her thought. Huffing through her nose, Hild supposed she ought to, now that she started.

"I didn't get to say goodbye," she said, voice dropping to a murmur. "Which couldn't be helped in the moment, of course, but it will. Remain a regret nonetheless."

James went quiet for a moment, staring out at the wholly darkened horizon. Now, all that lit the space between them were the two candles on the table and the occasional lightning bug.

"I know there's not changing it," he said. "But I'm sorry you didn't get to say goodbye. Sudden, seemingly irreversible change that alters the path of your life so dramatically... it's an understatement to say it only takes a little time to adjust."

Hild bowed her head with a small, sad smile. She mustered a quiet, "Thank you," and let silence settle around them.

She really wished it didn't, but talk of goodbye inevitably begged the question of what was to come next, now that she had left Needle Point.

Once again, far out from an old life, the door to a new one was open.

"Do you think you could see yourself staying here?" James asked. "Not... here, necessarily, since I'm under the impression that these bases are temporary shelters. But with these people. With the network of mages. In hiding, but in community."

Her brother offered that she join them, for stability, though she felt he may have meant to else. She couldn't quite place what, though.

Regardless, she tucked the offer neatly aside to further consider, mostly in the back of her mind as days picked up a little with regular chores, and sit down with in idle moments to address more head on. She tried weighing her options, but lately she felt all turned around and unable to make much sense of her own thoughts for very long.

"I'm torn," she said out loud. "I would like to stay with my brother, and get to know his daughters. To be...better, as his family. And I could be of valuable service, perhaps. But then..." She bit her lip. "What of you? And Caspar? I don't want--" She cut herself off, hesitating, then determinedly followed through, "I don't want to part ways with you two."

It was paradoxical, taking risks with each step forward, yet hating all the uncertainty of it with every step of the way. Though now, looking back with clarity, she hated how many risks she didn't take for fear of the uncertainty.

"I don't want to part ways with you or Caspar either," James quietly admitted.

Hild was at a loss. To leave her brother felt like failing to be family, failing him, all over again. And maybe Lyall wouldn't hate her for saying goodbye, but she would certainly hate herself.

Quietly, Hild asked, "Do you plan on leaving?"

"I didn't want to plan on anything until I knew what you wanted," James said, just as quiet.

Distantly, she nodded. Pressure built in her chest. Hild exhaled to release some of it.

"Will you stay?" she whispered.

"If they'll let me," James whispered back. "I want to stay. With you, and Caspar... and I guess Lyall's growing on me too."

Hild hummed a relieved, warm laugh. "I-- I won't speak on anyone else's behalf. But if by some odd chance something can't be arranged, then..." She tilted her head up, resolute. "Either way, I'd like to stay with you too."

James looked over to Hild with a small but genuine smile. There was a tenderness in his eyes as he darted his eyes to the ground.

"I'd like that," he said.

When they got back to the base and finally shared quiet wishes goodnight, James found himself in a strange sense of comfort. His stomach still fluttered after their final goodbyes, but as he laid down in his bed, he felt an unfamiliar peace - one he couldn't remember feeling in years.

For once, it was comforting to know that he wasn't in it alone.

Despite it being so simple, it suddenly felt like a new and foreign concept. One he spun around in his head over and over as he tried to fall asleep.

Caspar wanted to stay with him.

Hild wanted to stay with him.

They knew all of the risks, the uncertainty, and the danger that his life held, and still they wanted to be with him. Here, or outside the safety of the walls of the underground base.

Unfortunately another realization also sunk in -- more sobering than the last.

Neither Hild nor Caspar had decided upon staying with the mages until they knew what James wanted.

They were waiting for him to decide.

Unfortunately his decision also hinged on theirs... putting him in a position with far more influence than he liked.

But if he was honest with himself, he still wasn't sure he knew what he wanted.

Would the mages even want him?

What use would he be to them, besides a burden and a secret they'd have to keep? At least some mages could hide in plain sight. James's face was too well known by now. He was finding posters even in the smallest towns of Nye. He couldn't bank on getting lucky anymore with so many people who could be affected by the trouble that kept finding him.

Though, if anyone on base did extend the invitation to stay... he didn't think he'd be able to say no.

Even though the thought of staying still terrified him, however illogical.

Such were the thoughts brewing in his mind as he drifted off to sleep, and they continued to linger on into the morning. Life at the base had started to fall into more of a routine now that he was back on his feet, so he went to breakfast with everyone as expected.

Thankfully, the morning went on as normal. Things between him and Hild felt natural, and no one else brought it up. He still felt his stomach flutter every now and then when Hild looked at him with a certain smile in her eyes, but he was beginning to accept that that was his normal at the moment.

He did, however, notice that Caspar was absent from the communal breakfast, and Mel seemed to pick up on it as he continued to scan the room and look to the door as they ate.

"He's sleeping," Mel whispered softly across the table, just between the two of them. "Found him in the common room sprawled out on the couch with a book that fell on the floor. We didn't want to disturb him."

James nodded slowly with understanding. Apparently, judging from the implications of Mel's tone, she was also aware of Caspar's poor sleeping habits. He supposed that was, perhaps, the result of her being friends with Lyall, who likely shared that information at some point. That also meant that Caspar had had sleeping problems for a long time, if he still had them seven years later. James imagined they'd probably only gotten worse under the stress of traveling alone with the worry of danger - be it from people or nature itself.

James found himself oddly grateful for the fact that no one at the base knew him quite well enough yet to know his poor sleeping habits. Though, he supposed he was likely being given the benefit of the doubt at the moment, seeing as he'd been under medication for a week, almost died, and was sleeping in a separate room from everyone anyway.

There was no way for them to know that he was having trouble sleeping again. And he didn't think they had to, either.

Hild and Caspar already knew - and he hadn't had much choice in that anyway. That was enough.

When his stomach was full and people started parting from the table, James made his way to the stables, and Hild joined him. Together they took care of the horses, getting them fresh water and feed for the morning. James also showed her how to clean and trim horse hooves, seeing as Elliot was due for a trim, and it made for a good learning experience.

Seeing as they had some extra time in the early hours, and the horses were in need of some exercise, James and Hild also took Elliot and Penumbra out for a ride.

Returning to the base around 10am, Hild parted ways to go help with early preparations for lunch. James, knowing he'd be more of a hindrance than a help as far as cooking went, decided to hang back and settle the horses down and walk Eir around a little as well, since she seemed restless.

When he finished with the horses, he stepped back down the stairwell and carefully found his way to the common room. He hadn't seen Caspar all morning, which meant he was either still asleep or left while he and Hild were out riding.

On light feet and with calculated movements to keep the door from making a sound, he peeked in and scanned the room.

Like Mel said, Caspar was sprawled on his back on the couch with his arm slung over his eyes. A blanket had been thrown over his legs, too. As soon as James gently closed the door behind him, Caspar stretched out even longer with a quiet groan.

Internally, James cursed at himself. The moment he entered, he woke up Caspar. If Caspar had been sleeping the way James had, he knew Caspar needed the sleep.

"Hey," Caspar greeted softly, scrubbing a hand over his face, "how'd last night go?"

James walked across the room to the bookshelf, scanning titles on book bindings for something to read.

"It went well," James answered with a small smile. "We had a nice time. A picnic dinner with a nice view of the sunset, and things felt good once we got to talking."

Still lying down on the couch, Caspar looked at him from upside down with a broad grin. "That's great. M'glad it went well."

"I see you got some sleep," James commented, his eyes still scanning the books for one that grabbed him.

"Yeah, I did manage that," Caspar answered absently.

"Lunch should be in an hour or two," James said. "So hopefully you're not dying of hunger. You'll be able to eat in a bit if you are, though."

Caspar huffed a laugh. "I think I'll make it until then."

The couch groaned a little under shifting weight. James glanced over as Caspar shuffled over to stand beside him at the bookshelf. He tilted his head sideways and read the titles under his breath.

James pulled a book off the shelf, offering it to Caspar.

"You might like this one," James suggested. "The Isle's End. It's a book about sailors who journey into uncharted waters in the Deep. A work of fiction. I've read it before so I can recommend it as a good book. The main character's internal dialogue is entertaining."

With a nod of thanks, Caspar leaned his shoulder against the shelf and turned the book over in his hands. He opened it to the first page after examining the wear on the cover. "Sounds interesting. Where did you first read this one?"

"I actually borrowed it from Carter," James said with the faintest, bittersweet smile. "We'd known each other for maybe a month at most, and he learned that I liked to read. So he started smuggling me books out of his family library."

Caspar glanced up from the pages with a quick, gentle smile before turning his eyes back down. "That's nice," he said, sincere. He quietly read over the first page, and eventually hummed. "My, ah, perspective may be a bit skewed, but the reading in this seems kind of advanced."

"I think you're ready for it," James said with an encouraging smile. "If you get started on it in here you can ask me about any words you're having trouble with if you get stuck. And if you do feel it's too challenging, then you don't have to keep reading. You can always return to it later."

Caspar huffed a laugh through his nose, and smiled fondly back. "Ah, thank you, but I actually meant-- Uh, when exactly was it when you read this?"

"Like, the year?" James asked with a raised brow.

"Well, you can just estimate your age," Caspar answered simply.

James pulled back the corner of one side of his mouth as he let out a breath through his nose. He'd been trying to avoid directly addressing the fact that the book was written for young teenagers, but for where Caspar was at in his reading level, James thought it'd be a good challenge. That, and he genuinely thought he'd enjoy the story.

"I... probably eleven," James said. "Maybe ten. I can't recall the exact month to determine which."

Caspar's smile warmed as he looked back to James with open admiration. "Impressive."

James shrugged and turned his attention back to the bookshelf. Needing an excuse to escape responding to the simple compliment, he blindly grabbed a book he hadn't read before and flipped to the cover.

A Doctor's Guide to Traumatic Injuries.

That one was on the top shelf out of Cy's reach for a reason. Humming curiously, he flipped loosely through the pages, seeing glimspes of a few, perhaps, more graphic illustrations. Some of it looked like anatomical structures, but some looked like step-by-step drawings of what to do.

It was a good resource, he thought. Worth the read for practical reasons. Doctor or not, it couldn't hurt to be more informed.

He closed to the front again with his thumb holding his place on the first page and turned to Caspar. In comparison, James's book was quite a lot thicker and heavier.

"Looks like I'm set for a while with this," James said lightly, lifting the book up and down to emphasize how heavy it was, especially with its hard cover.

Caspar raised both brows. "Yeah, that'll definitely last you."

"This looks like one of Lyall's books," James commented as he started to turn around, sliding into a seat at the nearest table. He set the book down in front of him, flipping it open. "Who knows, if I read through his whole collection, maybe I'd be nurse-worthy."

He loosely thumbed through the next few pages, skimming quickly over what looked to be a formal, academic introduction. The margins were full of hand-written annotations, and he quickly pieced together that they were from Lyall.

"Well," James said, flipping back to the first page once again, ready to start. "Feel free to interrupt if you need any help with The Isle's End."

With a second's delay, Caspar glanced up again and answered, "Uh, yeah. I will, thank you."

James nodded and offered Caspar one last little smile before he turned his nose down into the book in front of him. Once he started really reading, he wasn't sure how much time had passed before his attention broke abruptly at the opening of the common room door.

Already on page 28, James blinked a few times to let his eyes refocus on the room. Lyall hopped up onto the table in front of him and sat with his legs crossed. He bent over the book, then flashed James a wide grin. "Feeling ambitious, are we? Hopefully you didn't spend too much time on the foreword and introduction. I certainly didn't."

"Your notes would make it seem otherwise," James said in return.

Lyall shrugged and said simply, "I got bored."

James looked down at the book, then over at Caspar, who had settled on the floor with his back against the shelf. He was still engrossed in the story.

"I imagine you've had first-hand experience with some of the injuries detailed here," Lyall said conversationally.

James's eyes quickly scanned the room, noting the closed door, and the nearness of Lyall's presence.

"You probably don't have to do that much imagining," James said, slowly closing the book, seeing as Lyall was clearly not intending to let him return to it.

"Well, as far as exact the circumstances leading up to said injuries go," Lyall furthured. "There's only so much a person can surely deduce. I was there for the Ivar Incident, but only the aftermath. What seemed like a swapping of nemeses suggests the two were working together. You look done with reading for now, so this feels like a good time to ask..."

In the middle of Lyall's last sentence, James pointedly dragged the book closer to him and flipped open to a random page. He looked down, and started pretending to read. Lyall didn't even give him a second before closing the book on him again.

James looked up to Lyall, leveling his eyes.

"What would having all the details do for you, Lyall?" James asked, keeping his voice calm and neutral. It was taking a great amount of restraint for him to not lash out in full defense right away. But Caspar was in the room, and with the door closed, an escape couldn't happen as easily without interference.

This wasn't a conversation he wanted to have.

"I would say 'I asked first', but technically I haven't yet, so it's only fair I start with your question," Lyall said, diplomatic. "Then I can ask mine, which you'll answer. It'll be a nice back-and-forth." He slid the book off to the side. "The details won't so much as 'do' anything for me, other than simply fill in some blanks. So, for how long did you have Ivar and the other man on your tail? How did he find you in the first place?"

"He's dead," James said, his words cold and steady. "It doesn't matter how he found us. It's over now."

"He is," Lyall agreed, "but that doesn't answer my questions."

"Maybe you should try asking your sister," James said, his eyes pointing to the door.

Lyall waved dismissively. "I've bothered her enough today already. She had that distinct 'I will strangle you' look in her eye when I prodded for details about the date."

"Lucky for you that's entirely unrelated," James said dryly.

"The subject matter won't make a difference, I'm on thin ice either way," Lyall said. He looked up at the ceiling in thought. "You know, I've been assuming it was Ivar who found you in the first place, but I could be wrong. Was it even Ivar, or was it that giant of a fellow? What was his name? I don't believe either of you have mentioned yet. He had the look of a seasoned hunter about him, so it could've been him. Which begs the question of what he was after and how long exactly he was working with Ivar."

James was already getting weary of Lyall's persistent talking. He wondered if for every deflection, if he'd only be met with more blabbering hypotheses. He eyed the door again, this time seriously considering leaving.

If he gave Lyall even an inch of ground, he knew he'd lose this battle because Lyall would seize it immediately.

James pushed the chair out from the table and stood, looking down at Lyall.

"If you're looking for answers," James said lowly. "You're going to have to find a source other than me. I--"

"But I'd like to hear it from you," Lyall insisted.

"Get used to dissapointment," James said, starting for the door.

Leaping off the table, Lyall intercepted, standing firmly in his way. "I am well-acquainted with disappointment, in fact," he said lightly. "I just figured today would be different."

James pushed forward and tried to quickly slip past. Lyall side-stepped with him, and James bristled, meeting his eyes with a pointed, challenging glare. He tried to go around Lyall once more, faster this time. Matching him in speed, Lyall stayed in front of him and turned James around by his shoulders.

"Since you haven't corrected me," he said, tone still breezy, "we'll just continue to work off the assumption that the giant was a hunter of some sort."

Tension pulled at James's shoulders, reaching to every limb in his body. He knew Lyall wasn't looking for a fight, but there was a switch that had been flipped in the back of his mind the moment Lyall grabbed him. He took in a long, drawn-out inhale and held the pocket of air in his gut for half a second before letting it out just as slow. He forced his fists to uncurl, and he looked over his shoulder at Lyall with daggers in his eyes.

Turning to face him, James held eye contact. Chin tilted up a little, Lyall easily held the glare with a cat-like grin and a defiant spark in his eyes.

"We ran into Ivar in Ruddlan. One of his spies spotted Caspar in Blitzmouth a month prior, which put him on our trail," James said, reciting the information with venom-laced words. "Ivar recruited the bounty hunter when I refused a personal offer to help him find Caspar. He ran into me first, alone. We only talked briefly before parting ways, and I rejoined with Hild and Caspar. We fled for about a week before they caught up to us. When they confronted us, we got split up. You know the rest."

Before Lyall could say anything in reply, James took a step closer, only inches from Lyall as he stared him down.

"Now," he said. "You will let me leave this room. Or are you going to make me move you out of the way by force?"

Grin broadening, the light in his eyes turned challenging as Lyall answered, "You're free to try."

Before Lyall could change his mind, James took the invitation.

Moving rapidly, he reached out for Lyall's arms and pulled him forward, off balance. He used the momentum to bring his other arm down on Lyall's back, spinning him down and behind James, throwing him to the floor while James fled to the door. Lyall tucked into a roll and jumped back to his feet in a second.

James flipped around to face him, now with his back to the door. His hand hovered near the door handle, waiting to see what Lyall would do.

"Excellent!" Lyall said brightly. "We have a timeline now."

He was at James's side in the next second and James grabbed for the door handle. Lyall set a hand on James's upper back and the other under the door handle to hold it firmly closed.

"So, that other hunter--"

A radiating phantom pain shot down his spine, and like oil thrown into a fire, it ignited something seared into James's survival instincts. He was feeling the whip catch and rip through the flesh of his shoulders, even though it was merely a light touch of Lyall's hand.

James saw red.

His fist flew into Lyall's gut, hard, and unrelenting. A rush of adrenaline shook him, and he froze for a moment as shame heaped on him with overwhelming clarity as Lyall stumbled.

Taking his split-second freeze as an opportunity, Lyall took James by his arms and swung him away from the door.

But that only made it worse. His mind was flooded with images of Butch, Reed, Ivar. Reed with a dagger in hand. Butch with the branding iron. Ivar pointing his gun.

He gripped Lyall's arms tightly in return and used the momentum Lyall created to spin them again, but this time he threw Lyall through the air. Lyall twisted and managed to land on his feet. Just as Caspar stood up, Lyall fell back against his chest.

James's vision was clouding, and his glasses were of no help. He could feel his heart racing, and his breaths were shallow, matching his heartbeat.

He took a few slow steps backward until his back hit the door.

He wanted to apologize, or... he didn't know. He had to say something, but his mouth was sewn shut. His jaw locked together.

Lyall stood straighter, flashing a small, apologetic smile. "This... could've gone better--"

"Stop-- don't touch me," James grit out through his teeth.

"Alright," Lyall answered calmly.

With a slight frown, Caspar cuffed the back of Lyall's head. Lyall then looked sheepish and added, softer, "I apologize."

James's brows knit together as he leaned back on the door, feeling every urge to run and fight all at once.

"You... it's..." James said weakly.

Everything was blending together all at once in his head.

Five years ago, tugging at the ropes that burned through the skin on his wrists. Two weeks ago, staring at Butch's cold, unending shadow. The shadow falling over him and hauling him away into the dark torrential rain while blood still seeped out of his leg.

James pinched his eyes shut.

He needed a moment, but he didn't want to run into the hall at the risk of running into someone else - anyone else - like this.

"We can go," Caspar said gently, "if you need space."

James hadn't fully registered his death grip on the doorknob until he considered the thought of them leaving, and his position in the room. His knuckles had started turning white, and he had to focus solely on his hand for a moment to release the tension again.

He took in slow, deep breaths.

Words weren't coming to him. He tried forming a sentence, or some kind if response, but Caspar and Lyall felt so distant in the room, despite being only a few feet away.

Letting go of the door handle, he slowly slid his back down the door as he sunk to the floor, legs tucked up to his chest. Everything in the room started to grow fuzzy, like it was all part of a dream.

He closed his eyes and focused on breathing.

In for ten, out for ten.

Over and over, until he could feel the floor beneath him again. Until the cold earth registered in his fingertips, and his vision started to refocus, and the room was no longer painted in red.

It hit him again - another wave of shame - as he finally registered where Lyall and Caspar stood in the room.

Nudging Lyall back, Caspar took quiet, careful steps and leaned back against the wall, an arm length away from James.

James knew Caspar was harmless, but he could still feel his body tense up with anticipation.

He locked his eyes onto the floor.

"Sorry," he said faintly. "For hitting you."

Obviously, it was aimed to Lyall.

"There's nothing for you to apologize for," Lyall answered from the other end of the room.

James flicked his eyes to Lyall. Leaning on one of the tables, Lyall silently looked between him and Caspar.

"When I make it clear that I don't want to talk about something," James said slowly, each word deliberate. "It's for a reason. I'm not being difficult for the sake of being difficult."

"Duly noted," Lyall said simply.

James went quiet, feeling the unspoken tension in the air that still had yet to dissipate.

He wished he could be invisible.

Slowly, Caspar wandered back to the shelf. He took one of the heavier tomes from up top and slapped it against Lyall's chest with a pointed look. With a quiet huff, Lyall sat on the table again and opened the book somewhere in the middle. Satisfied with Lyall's compliance, Caspar went and dropped back onto the couch, face up to the ceiling.

James knew this was his fault.

His fault for not being able to answer a simple question - and now his body was rigid, frozen in place all too inconveniently in front of the door he'd tried so hard to get out of. And now Caspar and Lyall were stuck with him like this.

His head started to hurt as he tried to muster up the will to pry himself off the ground. It took far too long before he finally managed to drag himself to his feet.

And he felt his head starting to spin the moment he got to his feet, too.

Reahing out for the nearest chair, he leaned his weight on it before he carefully slid into the chair.

He was across the table from Lyall. Lyall kept his eyes turned down to the text in his lap.

"Do you ask all of your new arrivals for the details of the horrors that brought them here?" James asked quietly, cutting through the silence.

"I'll admit," Lyall said without looking up, "I don't often push as hard for information." He shut the book and set it aside to meet James's eyes. There was no challenging light in Lyall's gaze, just perhaps lingering guilt of his own as well as a renewed determination.

"I apologize for prying so tactlessly," he said earnestly. "Truly. I only ask these things out of concern. James, you, my sister, and a very dear friend of mine were nearly killed by Ivar and that hunter. You don't need reminding, and I'd much rather put it behind us myself. But the threat hasn't fully passed, and we're pressed for time now. When a man of Ivar's rank goes missing, people will come looking. And I don't know anything about that other fellow, so I won't be able to gauge what else may be coming our way."

Lyall slid off the table and took the chair across from him. "I'm sorry, James, but we really do need to talk about this."

"Butch is dead," James said, the words flying out of his mouth more like a desparate wish than a confident declaration. James stared down at the table.

"And I don't make a habit of talking about people who torture me," he snapped bitterly, only to stumble at the taste of his own words leaving his mouth.

He blinked slowly as panic rushed through him.

He hadn't meant to let that slip out.

"He has a family that will notice he's gone," James said suddenly, his words flooding out quickly to change the subject. "But his kids are still young. Unless law enforcement takes it upon themselves to find a missing hunter, I don't know who'd go out of their way to come looking for him. I suppose it's possible his wife could hire someone. But that's all conjecture."

Glancing sideways, Lyall's brows pinched together as he turned over this information. "And you said this was all back in Ruddlan?"

"He lived in Ruddlan," James answered. "So does his family."

Lyall nodded once. "That's all I'll ask for," he said quietly. "Thank you."

James didn't know what that was supposed to mean, and he didn't want to.

"Sure," he said stiffly, eyes flicking to the side.

The door was available now to leave, but James still wasn't sure he wanted to risk running into anyone at the moment.

Lyall stood, but lingered by the table. He idly drummed his fingers on the surface.

"I need to further discuss with Mel about what this may mean for everyone. I'm probably the last person you want to hear it from," he said slowly, "but, if you didn't have any future plans, you're more than welcome to stay with us."

James stared blankly at Lyall.

The news took several long seconds to even process.

"Just letting you know that's an option," Lyall added. He mustered a small smile and nodded. "You can take time to think about it." Then he turned and headed for the door.

James's stare didn't move as Lyall left. One moment, he was staring through Lyall's head. The next, he was staring at the wall.

There was too much in his head at once, and it was all so loud it mixed together in an unholy cacaphony.

He could stay.

They knew he'd been tortured.

He could stay.

Lyall would've deduced by now where some of the scars came from.

But he could stay.

But they would only find out more.

With Lyall gone, and Caspar the only one left in the room, James gave up on trying to keep a certain appearance and let himself crumple onto the desk, burying his head in his arms.

Silence filled the room in Lyall's absence, leaving James with his thoughts, and the distant awareness that Caspar was nearby. His nerves were still on edge, anticipating violence even though in his mind, he knew it was over.

He didn't know how much time passed as he drowned in the muddy lake of his own mind. When he finally managed to swim to the edge and look up into the room, he felt like he'd been dragged through the mud. His gut ached where the bullet once was, even though the wound itself was fully healed, and his lower back started to burn.

He knew it wasn't real, but it still felt so.

Pulling his arms a little closer to himself, he looked out over them as Caspar stepped around the table and took the chair across from him.

James avoided meeting his eyes, keeping the lower half of his face hidden behind his arms as he leaned over the table.

"That didn't go well," he mumbled.

"I'm sorry about that," Caspar said quietly. "He-- he means well, he just... He shouldn't have pushed like that."

James pressed his lips into a thin frown that Caspar couldn't see.

"Could've been worse," James said. "He apologized. It's over now."

Caspar only half-shrugged and mumbled incoherently. He leaned back in his chair and lightly drummed his hands on the edge of the table. "Do you need space right now?" he asked softly.

James looked down at the table.

"I don't know," he whispered. "I don't know what I need."

Nodding slowly, Caspar said, "That's okay. Just... If something does come up, you can let me know."

James nodded slightly, and let out a deep breath through his nose.

"I think... he meant to talk to both of us," James murmured.

Twisting around, Caspar tipped his chair back a little as he reached for the shelf behind him. He pulled The Isle's End and set it on the table in front of himself. "He seemed pretty intent on speaking with you," he said.

"Yeah," James muttered.

Intent enough to provoke him into a physical altercation.

With a grimace, Caspar added quietly, "M'sorry I didn't...intervene, I--" He scratched the back of his head.

"It's different," James said. "Lyall wasn't trying to hurt me. Not like that, anyway. I can handle myself."

Caspar nodded again. "Right, yeah. Of course."

James was quiet again for a moment.

He couldn't help but think back to their last conversation when they'd tried talking about what happened with Butch and Ivar. It had ended in yelling, and tears, and gone an entirely different direction than James had expected - not that he knew what he was expecting in the first place.

Caspar kept his eyes trained on the book cover as he carefully traced the worn edges. Then he opened it to the first chapter where he left off.

Before Caspar could start reading, James spoke up.

"Are you..." he started hesitantly. "Do you still not want to talk about it?"

Caspar glanced up at him, and closed the book again. "What about?" he asked slowly.

James swallowed.

"What... what happened," James said. "With Ivar."

He had to push to get the next name out of his mouth.

"And Butch."

Setting his jaw and shoulders tensing, Caspar glanced off. He exhaled heavily through his nose. "I..." He shrugged. "What's there to talk about? We both-- we know what happened, and it's done with..." Scratching behind his left ear, he looked back to James again. "I mean, if you want to talk it out, I'm here."

But he didn't want to talk about it himself.

James couldn't be upset at him for that. He himself hadn't spoken of most of the things that had happened to him in the last five years, or even most of his life. He was always sweeping everything under the rug, no matter how dark, or horrific, or terrifying it all was.

It was a big rug, but it was getting crowded under there.

Harder to ignore.

Maybe Caspar had less to ignore - not that such things could even be measured. Or maybe he just wasn't ready. Not that James felt ready either.

James realized he'd gone quiet again, receding into himself as the room seemed to grow smaller.

Caspar simply sat, silent. His gaze wandered back down to the book cover, but he didn't move to open it again. He scratched at his ear again as his eyes grew a little distant.

"I'm not afraid of dying," James said quietly, not knowing where to start. But he decided to start there.

Snapping back to attention, eyes alert once more, Caspar tilted his head. "Okay," he answered, slow, seeming a little confused. "That's..." Then he fell quiet again, waiting.

"But when I thought I was going to die, out there on the forest floor," James continued. "I was afraid. Afraid of dying alone."

Inhaling slowly, Caspar shifted in his seat and visibly swallowed. His brows pinched together, and his gaze turned troubled, like just the thought of it cut him deeply.

James felt like he shouldn't have said anything.

"Sorry," he said quietly. "I should..."

"S'fine," Caspar murmured, "you can... It's fine, I'm listening."

James took in a deep breath again. Okay.

"It felt different this time," James said, barely audible.

A beat of silence passed. It felt like all the air was sucked out of the room.

"How's that?" Caspar finally asked, tentative.

James couldn't even look in Caspar's direction.

"Last time... I didn't want to pull through," he said, his voice still barely above a whisper.

There was another, longer pause. Caspar didn't move, didn't speak, not for a while. James couldn't bring himself to say anything more.

He didn't know how.

He didn't know if he should've even said anything. The sad truth was that Caspar had been right, and figured it out weeks ago already, back in Ruddlan. James did have a death wish. He'd had one for a long, long time, and most days he'd learned to ignore it, and live with it. But sometimes, it pulled on him stronger.

Having other people around usually helped. At least, if they were decent people. If anything it at least put on this invisible, outside pressure to keep him from doing anything he'd regret.

But that wasn't the case the last time he'd nearly died.

He'd recovered alone.

He didn't even know how, looking back, seeing as he hadn't even wanted to.

"I--" Caspar started quietly, finally breaking the silence. He hesitated, then carefully finished, "I understand."

James finally pulled away from the table, sitting up straight. He kept his hands and elbows on the table, folded over each other.

Still keeping his eyes down, he swallowed.

He wanted to ask if Caspar understood in the way that he suspected he did. More than just an intellectual understanding, but understanding that came from personal experience.

"Have--" James started, carefully forming the words in his head, saying them slowly as he cautiously looked up. "Have you ever... felt the same?"

Caspar hid his hands under the table. "...Yeah, actually," he answered lowly. "It..." He held onto his right shoulder for a moment, digging his fingers into it almost, then shoved his hands into his pockets. "I-- After Manning, and before the ranch..." Bowing his head, he uttered, "Infection should've set in at that point."

"Your shoulder?" James asked.

Caspar's brows drew into a hard line, and his eyes flicked back up. He nodded once. "Uh, yeah. That," he said absently. "Somehow they-- it never--" His shoulders sagged as he huffed through his nose, looking impatient with himself now. "I...honestly hoped it would."

Jamed nodded slightly. He intentionally held his hands together to keep from rubbing at any old wounds like Caspar.

"How long had it been healed when you took the job with Gregor?" James asked.

Caspar sighed, deflating, and turned his eyes up to the ceiling in thought. "I don't... I didn't really keep track."

"I understand that," James said quietly.

Huffing a hollow laugh, Caspar looked back down at the table. "Still can't wrap my head around it-- though..." He dropped his voice to a mutter. "...that's hardly new. It was... There was no reason for him to hire me."

"I don't think he hired your skills," James said quietly. "He hired you for the person."

"But he didn't know me," Caspar argued, though there was hardly any heat in the retort. "There was no way I made a decent first impression, I looked-- I don't know, I felt like hell--" He snapped his mouth shut and scrubbed a hand over his eyes. "M'sorry, we were-- we're supposed to be talking about you."

"I don't think we have to label things under 'supposed to's," James said quietly.

"Right, no, I didn't mean-- I just meant--" Leaning on the table with his elbows, Caspar hid his face in both hands.

James let out a soft sigh.

"I know," he said.

He watched as Caspar dropped his hands to the table and fell back into silence.

"What are you thinking?" James asked after a few seconds passed.

Caspar pressed his lips into a thin line. He finally brought himself to meet James's eyes and mustered a slight smile.

"M'thinking I could probably use a, uh, drink or something," he answered, voice quiet and with forced brevity. "What about you?"

"Just... getting a little hungry, I think," James said, tapping his fingers lightly on the table.

It wasn't entirely true, but James found that it wasn't helpful for him to dwell on things like this for too long, and he didn't want to be swallowed up in his head when they would inevitably have to go join the others for lunch.

"Did you ever drink... often?" James asked.

He knew that, considering Caspar's past, he likely didn't have too much access to drinks in the wilderness, but it seemed that Caspar liked to have some on hand. Likely for moments like this. To take the edge off.

Caspar's unsteady smile faltered further. "I, um... Why do you...ask?"

James's eyes dropped to the table again. He wasn't able to hold Caspar's stunned gaze, like he'd been caught in the middle of a secret exposed.

James wasn't sure how much he should share. Or how much he wanted to share. But he didn't know how to justify the question with the simple cover of "concern" when, in truth, his reasons for asking the question were just as personal as they were empathetic.

His fingers absently tapped on the back of his other hand with a dull, anxious rhythm.

"I used to drink a lot," James said. "It's... why I can't anymore."

Or shouldn't, rather. Wouldn't. Won't.

Circumstances had forced him to go dry, and he hadn't looked back since. In some ways, despite it all, he was grateful for the dangers that kept him away from the instruments of his own misery, which he was far too prone to take advantage of if given the opportunity. He had more self control now, gained in the forced journey of sobriety, but he still couldn't trust himself.

Caspar stared at him quietly, then seemed to stare through him, t. He dropped his head down onto the table. "I-- I'm trying not to," he mumbled. "I mean, I had to if I wanted to-- M'sorry, I'm trying..."

"Cas," James said softly. "I didn't ask just to shame you over it."

"I know," Caspar said softly, "I know." He turned his head so that his cheek was pressed against the table. "We can just...go eat lunch or something. If you're up for that yet."

James offered Caspar a very small, meek smile.

"Sure," he said. "Let's get something to eat."

He pushed the chair out with his legs and got to his feet, waiting for Caspar to rise. Caspar lingered as he was, looking honestly very defeated. He eventually pushed himself upright too and weakly gestured to the door.

James only nodded toward the door with his head as he turned, and quietly, the two of them headed into the hall for lunch.

He knew this conversation was far from over, and he wasn't sure he wanted to have it himself, but... if he wanted to stay -- and he did think he wanted to stay -- then... this was for the best. As messy and uncomfortable as it was.

He'd just have to keep reminding himself of that.

Standing out in the woods after lunch, Caspar found the tree with the notch in it. Eir shook her mane and stood patiently beside him.

His head spun from the talk. From everything, really. In the silence, alone, he drew in a steadying breath and settled his thoughts for a moment, just enough to begin unpacking it all.

Lyall must have had...a reason for approaching the way he did. Caspar had yet to talk to him about it. Lyall mentioned needing to discuss next steps for everybody with Mel, so perhaps closing the door and trying to keep a light tone as he pressed (relentlessly) for information was his way of keeping from...sounding alarms, maybe.

Looking down and around at the forest floor, Caspar couldn't find anymore evidence of Butch's existence out here. With a hum, he supposed Mr. Elrick must have taken care of that some time ago.

The sounds of steel slicing through the rain, then finally landing in the hunter's skull, lingered in his ears. Then a single gunshot fired, and left him with a deafening ringing in his head. His side ached, and his shoulder locked up.

The forest flashed with red.

He knelt over the coffin, staring helplessly into James's empty eyes. His side was torn open again. Caspar tried speaking, to snap James out of sleep. Broad, icy hands clamped around his throat, slowly strangling the words before they could come out.

Leaning heavily against Eir's side, Caspar yanked off the scarf from around his neck, throwing it to the ground. Breath shaking, he raked his hands over his head.

It hadn't hit him until Lyall said it out loud. Though he couldn't ignore it, it was easy for Caspar to gloss over, to downplay.

He could have died. Butch nearly had him, twice.

Caspar dropped his hands and stared at the tree with the notch.

The hunter was dubbed 'the Butcher'. Caspar didn't want to dig into it as they were fleeing Ruddlan, so he was left to wonder what exactly Butch did to earn such a title.

Now he had a firm answer. James was so quick to move on, it must have slipped out on him.

How long had James been trapped with that monster? How did he manage to get away? Was he alone? Was Butch working with anyone then, too? How often did the hunter's twisted smile haunt him?

Caspar's eyes hardened at the notch in the tree. He picked up the scarf, brushing the dirt from it, and tucked it away in the bag on the saddle. Then he took Eir's reins and, as he led her away, spat on the ground by the tree at Butch's memory.

He was familiar enough with the area now to know the way back to base. Eir followed close at his heels.

Lyall extended an invitation for James to stay. Up until now, Caspar was actually beginning to wonder when he would.

There was a slight hesitation when his friend spoke, with something akin to remorse lingering in his eyes for a second. Like perhaps he felt he shouldn't be the one to offer after the altercation. Caspar felt it was best Lyall did anyway, in order to clearly communicate that he held none of it against James.

Caspar just hoped James wouldn't in turn hold it against himself. He did that far too much as it was, with too many things that were far beyond his control.

Hurting so deeply, and lost without any clear explanation as to why, he knew it was easy to turn blame inward. Because, when they inevitably searched for all the places where their lives went wrong, tearing back every layer of their circumstances as they tried to make some sense of the mess, they were always left with a single common denominator. And they both seemed to reach the same conclusion, that that single commonality from every disaster of their lives ultimately needed removing.

Caspar's heart was rent in two at the thought of James wishing for death. James had such a bright soul, a brilliant mind, and he cared so deeply for other people, often at his own expense. His loss would be devastating, whether or not the world knew.

Eir gave him an abrupt nudge to his shoulder. Caspar bit back a grimace when it jostled the fragments that stuck with him.

James knew about that now, too.

Mustering a smile despite the sharp stab of shame in his chest, he gently patted her face and put her away in the shelter for the afternoon. She was in good spirits, likely from all the walking done with James and Hild, and now Caspar.

He stood by the bunker entrance, debating whether or not he even wanted to go back and face people yet. Despite the sleep and the fresh air, his limbs felt like lead, and his mind fogged over.

His feet carried him down the stairs. He managed to pleasantly greet a few other residents on his way back to the common room. Taking The Isles's End from where he left it at the table, he settled on the couch again.

The words blurred together. Blinking hard, he tried to keep them in focus. He was distantly aware of others coming and going.

Lilya ran in at one point with Cy close behind. Splitting, they dashed to the far corners of the room and hid. Caspar set the book down to watch as Jordan shot in shortly after.

The young man took exaggerated, lumbering steps around the room, shouting victoriously as he found each of the girls hiding behind various pieces of furniture. With peals of laughter, the two double-teamed him and threw themselves around his legs. Jordan, refusing to admit defeat, took slow strides, swinging his arms to push himself forward, and headed back out into the hall with Cy and Lilya weighing down on both of his feet.

Drawing his legs up onto the couch, Caspar lied back and held the open book up. He found himself having to reread some of the dialogue. The tension of the argument in the scene was lost, and he drifted out of the story.

With a quiet sigh, he let it drop to his chest and stared at the ceiling instead. His shoulder twinged when he set his arm down. His bag still sat by the bookshelf.

He couldn't remember when it became a problem. It honestly didn't feel like one until he ran out of whiskey in the wilds.

Caspar knew he wasn't at his best for a while then. He despised himself for it, wanted to crawl out of himself and become a different person, someone better. Maybe even someone whole and worthy of his kid's trust.

He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed in slowly through his nose. He clasped his hands tightly over his uneasy stomach, holding himself down as he fought the urge to throw himself to his feet and grab the flask.

He lied rigid, his mind swinging like a pendulum between sinking deeper into the guilt that festered in his gut, and trying to appease it with some semblence of logic.

He wouldn't let anybody else entertain such thoughts. But it was always different with other people, always easier to hold himself to a different standard.

Why should he, though? Well, why not?

Caspar was being dreadfully inconsistent, he knew. But, as the common denominator of every disaster in the sorry tale of his life, what else was there to do with himself?

Holding himself down, tension building in his frame as he lied motionless, he fell into a fitful sleep.

In fact, he fell backward into the hole in the woods. Already dug out deep, though the shovel wasn't anywhere in sight.

Biting back a groan, Caspar pushed himself to his knees. The coffin was covered in mud. The rain did little to help wash it away. He wiped down the rough wood with his hands and traced his fingers over the name carved into the top.

Then he tore through the wood. It splintered, cutting his hands, and stained red when a gunshot sounded. His ears rang as his shoulder and side bled. Though the wounds seared white, he kept pulling the coffin apart.

It was empty.

Caspar stared blankly into it.

Bloodstains lingered at the bottom, where the bullet tore through Eindride's chest.

When Caspar opened his mouth to speak, to call for someone who was no longer there, a shadow fell over him. He went rigid, didn't dare breathe.

A blade sliced the skin behind his ear. Gritting his teeth, Caspar twisted around and fell back into the coffin. The figure that stood over him blotted out the darkened sky until they were completely surrounded by inky black.

He couldn't see anything anymore, but he heard something loom closer. Cold air puffed on his face. Broad, icy hands clamped around his throat, choking him. Caspar didn't fight it, couldn't find a reason to. His kid was gone, he had nothing left.

He was nothing.

Thunder cracked like a breaking mast, and lightning flashed. With the blade of his own axe still wedged into the side of his face, Butch leaned in close, smile twisted and eyes unseeing. A pistol pressed against his temple. Caspar caught a glimpse of Ivar's icy stare in the darkness above.

But...

Where was James?

Caspar's lungs burned. Clawing uselessly at Butch's wrists, he began to fight for breath and struggled under the hunter's crushing weight.

He couldn't give up, not now. If James wasn't here, then he had to be somewhere else, alive. Caspar had to be sure he was okay, and a promise to keep.

The safety of the pistol clicked off. Caspar wanted to cry out, to beg for just a little more time, but Butch's thumbs dug into his neck, strangling the words. Baring his teeth in a snarl, Ivar pulled the trigger. There was a bang--

Flinging himself upright, Caspar scrambled until his back hit the couch. The room spun, and his head pounded. Their cold eyes still bore into him, and the unsettling cold of Butch's hands still lingered on his neck.

Scrubbing shaking hands over his face, Caspar realized he was sweating. He wiped off his forehead with his sleeve. His heart thundered in his ears, and panic gripped his lungs, making his breath short. He swallowed thickly and tilted his ears out for any activity outside the room.

The lights were dimmer than before, and the rest of the bunker was quiet. Caspar could faintly hear Lilya in the next room over before the door eased shut, but that was it. No bustle across the hall in the kitchen. The extrance was securely closed, and everything settled for the night.

Caspar drew his knees to his chest and buried his face in his arms. He tried swallowing down the rest of the fear, but it stuck in his throat. He choked out a low sound, trying to keep quiet.

Ivar and Butch were gone. They couldn't-- they weren't around anymore.

James was alive. He was still okay, and hopefully asleep by now with everyone else.

Lifting his head, Caspar pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. The hunters' faces were seared into his mind. Trying to shove it all back for now, Caspar twisted around to look at the couch. He must have fallen off at some point?

His side twinged when he straightened. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of someone shift at one of the tables by the bookshelf. He froze, holding his breath.

"Is your head alright?" Mel asked softly, looking up from a large book lying open on the table in front of her.

Caspar lifted a hand to his forehead again, where Ivar pressed his pistol. "I, um." Had Caspar bumped it? "S'fine," he said faintly.

"Would you like to come sit with me?" Mel offered. "I imagine it'd be more comfortable than the cold floor."

Caspar looked down at himself. "Ah. Well. Maybe I like the floor," he said, without really thinking.

Mel grinned.

"I suppose that's alright," she said. "But I did save some food for you, since you missed dinner. Are you hungry?"

"I'm..." Caspar swallowed, and his throat felt scratchy. "I'm not sure."

"Maybe if you saw the food you'd get a better idea of your appetite," Mel suggested. He watched as she slid a covered plate to the edge of the table, in view.

Slowly gathering his wits about him, Caspar silently took stock of himself first. He didn't feel as unsteady anymore, so he pushed himself to his feet. His side ached, and the floor threatened to tilt under him. Taking deliberate steps that were too heavy for his liking, he took the chair across from her and uncovered the plate.

On one side sat a pile of cubed potatoes, golden and crisp. The other side of the plate was covered by a medley of asparagus, red bell peppers, mushrooms that were just browned at the edges, translucent onions, and seasoned white meat. It was a generous portion, and what he assumed was an appetizing aroma drifted upward with the lingering heat.

He wondered how long ago dinner was.

Mustering a weak smile, Caspar looked up to Mel. She was already holding out a fork and knife for him to take.

There was still a bit of a disconnect between his head and his stomach. Regardless, it was a lovely looking meal, and he couldn't find it within him to decline. Nodding his thanks, Caspar took the fork and knife and started with some of the greens.

And, just like that, he couldn't stop. It was like a switch flipped or something, because suddenly the emptiness in his stomach was stark, and it desparately needed filling. He did manage to pace himself this time, though.

Caspar ate through the potatoes a little slower, trying to savor them for as long as he could. And. Also maybe to put off conversation, since that felt like a natural follow-up.

Mel had returned to her book while he ate, so he felt less self-conscious than the first time he did this in front of her.

Soon enough, his plate was empty. Caspar placed the utensils on the dish, then quietly set the cover back over it. He cleared his throat a little and murmured, "Thank you," as he absently tapped the edge of the plate.

"Of course," Mel said, looking up from the book with a soft smile. "Couldn't let you go hungry, and you clearly needed your rest, so we didn't want to wake you."

Caspar nodded and trained his eyes downward at the table. "I really appreciate it. Um, how long ago. Was that?"

"Dinner?" Mel asked. "Oh, it's been about two hours or so. Most everyone's in bed now or on their way to it."

He nodded again. "That's good. Uh, sleep, that is. Everyone..." Caspar shifted, sitting a little straighter. "You didn't have to stay up."

"But I wanted to," Mel countered gently. "And I did. And I'm glad you got to eat."

Flashing a slight grin, Caspar forced himself to meet her eyes. "Thanks. I won't keep you any longer, though."

"I'm not too sleepy just yet," Mel said. "I don't mind staying if you'd like some company. I'm sure having slept through most of the day, you're going to be up for a while, now."

Caspar fell quiet.

Some company would be nice, actually, if only to ground him for a little while longer. At the same time, he wasn't sure that he wanted anyone around if something else struck him out of nowhere and led to another...whatever that was when he apparently threw himself off the couch.

Caspar glanced out around the room. "M'good," he answered, "I don't mind either way."

Mel hummed, and closed the book in front of her, sliding it off to the side.

"Have you ever played rummy before?" she asked. "It's a card game."

Caspar blinked. "Uh, no. Never played... I've heard of it?"

"I play it with my brother all the time," Mel said. "We have a set of cards in here, if you think you're up for learning and want to play. It can be a nice way to pass the time."

He managed another small smile. It came a little easier this time as he answered, "Yeah, sure, if you're willing to teach."

Mel grinned wide.

"I'd love to," Mel said as she got up from her chair and turned around to the bookshelf on the wall, leaning down to pull a stack of cards out of a basket on the lower shelf. Already shuffling them deftly in her hands, she sat down across from him.

"Do you do better having things explained on the front end or do you need to do something as you learn it?" she asked.

Caspar slid the plate aside to make room on the table. "I can learn on the way." He shrugged and smiled timidly. "Just maybe go a little slow for me?"

"I can do slow," Mel said with a little smirk as she shuffled the deck once more, cards clattering into a controlled stack in her hands. "I just can't promise to go easy on you."

He huffed a laugh. "S'fine, I'm up for the challenge."

"Good," Mel said, sounding pleased as she started to deal, creating two stacks between the two of them.

"Alright. Take your cards," she said as she set the rest of the deck face-down between them and then flipped up one card beside it. "The goal is to get rid of all of the cards in your hand and get the most points possible. Each card has a different value. King is the highest, then Queen, Jack, and descending from 10 to 2. Ace is the lowest. To get cards out of your hand you want to make a set or sequence of cards..."

They went through the rules as they went. Mel patiently repeated a few things when Caspar inevitably had to ask because it was a lot of information at once.

They started out as slow, which helped, and the second and third rounds came faster as he gradually grasped the game better. He lost all of the rounds thus far, but it was fun and a good distraction, and Mel was great company.

"You could actually add the Ace to that as well," Mel suggested in the middle of their next game, pointing to the seqence he'd already laid down with three clubs, 1,2, and 3. "Then you'll only have two cards left instead of three."

At the moment, she still had five cards in her hand. They started with ten.

"Ah." Caspar gladly took the suggestion with a small smile and a quiet, "Thank you."

"Hey, you might actually win this round, Caspar," Mel said with a little grin. "I got a really lousy hand this time. And I keep drawing bad cards."

He flashed her a grin. "I got lucky this time, then."

"Guess we'll see how long that luck sways in your favor," Mel said as it turned to her turn, and she laid down a set of four, leaving her with one card. With laughter in her eyes, she bit back a smile and dealt her last card on Caspar's sequence of clubs.

She won again.

Caspar barked a laugh. "That was cruel," he said. "Congrats to you, anyhow."

Mel's whole face lit up and she shook her head, laughing. Caspar felt his own smile brighten in turn.

"I'm sorry, Caspar," she said, laughing through her words as she started scooping cards back up to re-shuffle. "Okay, okay. I won't give you any tips this time. You're on your own now. I think you're getting the hang of it."

"Really tossing me to the wolves, now," he said with an exaggerated sigh. "I'll give it my best."

Mel, still smiling, started dealing out their cards again.

"You know, I'm sure you'll get better with practice, just like with anything," she said. "That is, if you don't get sick of playing against me and all."

Caspar turned his eyes down to the cards and half-shrugged. "I couldn't get sick of it," he said sincerely. "If anything, you'll get bored with winning all the time."

Mel laughed lightly at that.

"Well, if we really want an interesting game," Mel said. "You should drag Lyall in. We're both so competitive, and Lyall talks so much during the game. It gets entertaining. Though between the two of us you might not be able to keep up. If you want a more relaxed go at it, then Maisy's your gal. She'll give it her best go but is such a good sport about whatever the outcome is. No stress playing with her."

"I'll be sure to seek her out for a match, then," Caspar said with a slight smile. "I'd really like to see a game between you and Lyall. Throw in Hild, too. Would make for an exciting event."

"Exciting, yes," Mel said, sliding Caspar's cards to him. "Add in my brother, and we've got a whole competition."

Caspar's grin broadened. "The rest of us could place bets."

"Oh, no need for that," Mel said straight-facedly. "I'd win. Obviously."

Caspar laughed. "My money's on you, then."

"Good," Mel said. "You first."

Caspar playfully mumbled, "Digging my own grave..."

The remark suddenly felt more grim than intended as the dream started coming back to him in a trickle. Shaking it away, he obliged and picked up a card.

Just as he did, there was scraping sound of earth shifting down the hall. Ears pricking, Caspar sat alert. It was a sound he'd grown to associate with the mornings and nights, when Elrick would use his magic to shift the boulder over and away from the door to the surface.

But Mel had told him everyone was asleep by now.

Mel sat up straighter at the noise, already setting down her cards as she got to her feet. Caspar quickly followed as Mel hastened to the door and into the hall.

In the dim, flickering lamplight at the end of the hall, three figures came down the stairway, out of the shadows. The first was a man who resembled Mel, but stood a few inches taller, and leaner in his wiry frame. He wore a dusty traveler's cloak and had a pack on his back that hung heavy on his shoulders. The moment the man - presumably Raj - met Mel's eyes, his previously somber expression lit up with a tired but relieved smile.

Mel ran to him, and they met at the bottom of the staircase with a tight embrace. The hug lasted several seconds as another figure stepped out from behind them, this one much smaller, almost frail-looking, standing next to the two of them.

It appeared to be a young woman, with short brown, messily-cut hair that only reached to her chin. She had olive tone skin and an oversized cloak that looked frayed where it met the ground. She watched Raj and Mel with a neutral expression, but when her gaze drifted to Caspar, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. Caspar opted then to linger by the door to the common room.

Mel and Raj pulled away from one another, and Raj looked between all of them in the hall.

"It's good to see you, Mel," Raj said, still with a hand on her shoulder. He gestured to the young woman beside him. "This is Raya. We just got her out of Woodhearst."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Raya," Mel said with a warm smile. "My name is Mel."

She turned back to Caspar, and nodded for him to come closer. Caspar stepped out into the hallway, hands tucked away in his pockets, but kept a small distance.

"This is Caspar," Mel said. "A friend of Lyall's we found by luck while you were gone."

Raj flashed Caspar a small smile.

"Welcome," he said, though he seemed distracted, and his gaze flicked back into the stairwell. Mel looked up there expectantly as well.

After another second of delay, someone else started down, footsteps heavy.

"Bo's gonna need you," Raj said to Mel. He stepped to the side and quietly gestured to Raya for her to follow him, and they both started down the hall in Caspar's direction. With a small nod of acknowledgement, Caspar stepped back, out of the way.

Mel had her attention fixed on the man who stepped down into the hall, ducking his head down to not his head as the ceiling height shifted.

The man, Bo, was huge. Dressed in all black with a vest that left his arms exposed. He was well-built. He stood so tall his buzzed head just barely scraped against the ceiling, and his face remained partially in shadow.

He and Mel exchanged a few words too quiet for Caspar to make out. Shifting his weight between both feet, Caspar looked askance, debating if he should make himself scarce now.

Raj and Raya disappeared into the kitchen. Meanwhile, Mel started to hurry down the hall with Bo towards what Caspar assumed would be the infirmary.

Bo looked down at Caspar as they passed, holding a hand against his side. As they made eye contact, the man's face came into full view, revealing a set of three nasty scars slicing diagonally down his face from his forehead, over a non-existent eye, down his cheek. The scars stopped just before his short beard.

"Oh, hey," he said. "You're new. What's your name--"

Mel grabbed Bo's hand, since he'd started to slow down, and dragged him.

"Caspar, why don't you just come along," Mel said in passing as the two hurried to the infirmary door.

"Yeah," Bo said as he looked back at Caspar over his shoudler with a smile.

Caspar blinked. "Uh--" He wasn't sure what good having him there would do. After a second's delay, he fell into step behind them.

"I'm Caspar," he answered quietly. "Mister Bo, I presume?"

Stepping into the infirmary, Bo moved to sit down on the nearest bed and started to take off his black vest, which had a few tears in the left side.

"That's me," Bo said, sounding oddly cheery.

Mel was busy grabbing some supplies from the cabinets, but looked back to Caspar for a second.

"Can you get the door, Cas?" she asked. "I don't want to wake the others."

Stepping into the room, Caspar carefully closed the door behind himself.

"Things were going real well until we ran into a few angry griffins," Bo said as he pulled off his last layer, which looked like it'd gotten stuck and crusted around the relatively fresh wounds. They looked like claw marks, a few of them more shallow, but one very deep that looked like it was starting to bleed again now that he'd disturbed it. Caspar quickly glanced off to the side when he caught himself staring.

"They really got me good," Bo said. "Snuck up on me and everything. I didn't want to hurt 'em too bad, though. They're just a bunch of overgrown birds."

Mel hurried to his side and pushed on his shoulder.

"Lie down," she ordered.

He did so, but kept looking to Caspar, talking.

"I think they thought we'd be an easy meal," Bo said. "Do you think I give off 'easy pickings' energy, Mel?"

"Bo, they're griffins," Mel mumbled. "Gods."

The rest of her words turned into an unintelligible mutter as she hurriedly but thoroughly cleaned the wounds.

"Hey, Caspar," Bo said. "When'd you get here? Last two or three weeks? Had to be after we left I assume."

Leaning back on the wall by the door, Caspar nodded and only briefly met Bo's curious gaze as he answered, "Almost two, I think."

"Have they been treating you well?" Bo asked. "Just tell me who I need to give a good talking to if they're pushing you around."

Managing a slight smile, Caspar shook his head a little. "Everyone's been amazing. Are you...?"

"I'm the base leader for this team out here," Bo said. "What a first impression, I know. I'll be alright, though. Mel's a great healer-- OW."

Mel rolled her eyes as Bo flashed a goofy smirk.

"So, how'd you end up here, Caspar?" Bo asked. "Mel, you guys didn't go on any other missions while I was gone, did you?"

Mel glanced at Caspar.

"We found them out here. Caspar and Lyall go way back. They're old friends," she explained.

Bo's eyebrows shot up.

"Wait, you're that Caspar?" Bo asked with a wide smile.

Ah. That's right, Lyall must have mentioned him at some point or other. Bo's tone indicated that it was more than once, and Caspar wondered how much Lyall shared. Not that he had much to hide from anyone here, he just. Wasn't sure how to feel about being spoken of as frequently as was suggested. Which, he supposed, was inevitable, but it made him feel self-conscious.

Caspar shifted in his spot and mustered another, less-sure smile. "I guess," he murmured.

"If you're not sure, maybe you can convince Mel to do a genetics test," Bo said.

"Bo," Mel chided. She cleared some of the bloody rags out of the way as she laid her hands over the worst wound, and her hands started to glow.

Caspar just huffed a quiet laugh. He took a step deeper into the room. "Is there...anything I can do to help?" he asked quietly.

"Keep him distracted," Mel muttered softly.

"If I move she'll kill me, but also she won't because she has a great moral compass, and we love you for that, Mel," Bo said.

Mel proceeded to ignore him, keeping busy.

"So, Caspar," Bo said. "Lyall never mentioned if you were a mage yourself. You got any magic?"

Caspar supposed he was staying for a bit, then. He pulled over a chair and sat by Bo's other side.

"No, no magic here. Just." Caspar lightly drummed his hands on his knees. "Ordinary."

"Hey, just because someone has magic doesn't make them more special or interesting," Bo said, tilting his head towards him. "But that's cool. Did you grow up around mages or were the Ashlunds your first real experience with magic users?"

Caspar nodded. "The Ashlunds were my first, direct introduction to magic."

"Fun, fun," Bo nodded. "You know, when I first met Lyall he was still struggling a lot with controlling his magic, but he's grown so much, especially in the past two years. You'll have to ask him sometime to show you some of the exercises I've taught him. He's becoming a really solid mage."

Caspar paused at this.

Bo had to have taken Lyall under his wing when he found him and his family. And Lyall must have trusted him enough to accept instruction, and was now at least working toward fully embracing what he always had trouble even simply acknowledging.

Caspar felt himself smile warmly. "I think I will," he answered. He hesitated, then added softly, "I'm happy that he's had you guys all this time."

Bo flashed a smile.

"He's been a real gift to us," Bo said. "Have you two had any time to catch up since you've been here?"

"Yes, we have. It's been nice," Caspar answered.

He hadn't broached everything with Lyall yet, but they fell back into their old rapport quite easily. It was nice having that part of his life still intact.

"Ah, um." Caspar bounced his leg a little. "Where were you most recently? That you've been gone almost a month."

"Ah! Yes. Well, Raj and I went out to follow up on a tip we got from one of our spies that there may be a mage living undercover in Woodhearst at a carpentry shop. Information like this is usually very time sensitive, so we hurried out there to piece things together before anyone else did. Thankfully, this time things weren't too rough insofar as getting her out of the town, we just ran into some trouble on the way here with, you know, being off road and in the wild and all," Bo explained. "Raya took a lot of warming up to before we were able to gain her trust and she accepted our invitation to join us, but I'm happy she did. I think it'll be good for her. Something about living undercover for that long just wears on you, you know? It's nice to feel free to be your full self and not have to hide this big huge secret and all."

Caspar once again found himself simply sitting in awe of their work. He nodded and said, "Run-in on the way back aside, I'm glad it's worked out."

Bo smiled. "Yeah, me too."

He looked over to Mel, who finally pulled away, looking drained. Bo reached out and patted Mel's arm.

"Thanks, Mel," he said. "I owe you another one."

As he started to sit up, he glanced at Caspar and mock-whispered, "I'm racking up debt."

Mel chuffed a soft laugh as she patted Bo's shoulder in return and turned away, going to the counter to wash her hands and clean up.

Bo picked up his bloodied layers of shirts, inspecting them like he was contemplating what to do with them.

"This was my favorite vest," Bo said with a small pout.

"You could ask Lyall's sister to sew it up for you," Mel said from the counter. "Hild. She's here too. She was traveling with Caspar, along with a man named James."

"Ohhhh, more people to meet," Bo said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Exciting."

He looked to Caspar.

"Who's this James fella?" he asked.

"Another good friend," Caspar answered with a faint smile.

"He a mage or is he another non-magical guy?" Bo asked.

Hesitating for a second, Caspar said, "No magic. He's...I suppose in the same boat as myself."

"'Mage sympathizer?'" Bo said with air-quotes, like he resented the term.

Caspar glanced off. "Uh, yeah."

"I think I like this James already," Bo said. "I shall have to meet him in the morning."

Bo turned his head to Mel, who turned around with her hands on her hips as she leaned back on the counter. She looked like she was really starting to fade, now, as her eyelids were heavy with weariness.

"Why don't you go get some sleep, Mel? I can take care of the rest in here," Bo offered.

Nodding, Mel didn't argue.

"Alright," she said quietly. She looked to Caspar and flashed a tired, grateful grin. "You two get some sleep too. At some point, at least."

The last comment seemed directed at Caspar as she met his eyes. He mustered a half-smile.

"No promises," Caspar answered quietly. "I think I've slept enough of the day away."

Mel scoffed lightly as she made her way to the door.

"You'll turn into a bat at this rate," she joked.

"My hearing's decent enough for it," Caspar agreed with a laugh.

"Well, I'll see you in the morning," Mel said as she opened the door. "If you're not fast asleep. Goodnight."

With one last weary smile, she turned away and closed the door behind her.

Caspar sat stiffly in the chair. He was honestly still tired. The hours he did get weren't very restful at all, but he didn't want to go back.

Bo got to his feet and started searching through the cabinets, putting a few things away.

"You don't have to hang around if you don't want to," Bo offered. "Up to you. I'm just going to be wrapping myself up like a mummy. A very alive mummy."

Caspar pushed himself upright as well and padded to the door. "I'll leave you to, um...wrap up in peace."

"I'll cas you later, then," Bo said, spinning a roll of bandaging around in his hand.

Caspar glanced over his shoulder with a tentative smile. "Pleasure meeting both you and Raj."

Bo looked to Caspar with a smirk and snorted.

"Nice," he said, walking back to sit on the bed.

Huffing a quiet laugh, Caspar nodded. "See you in the morning, I guess."

"See ya!"

Clicking the door shut behind him, Caspar sighed quietly as he lingered in the hall by the door. He wondered for a moment if Raj and the newcomer Raya were still in the kitchen.

Stepping out of the common room, Mel paused and met his eyes.

"Ah. You should get headed to bed as well," she said.

And before he could think to argue, she reached out and grabbed his hand, tugging him along with her to the sleeping quarters.

"Come along," she said, and though she sounded tired, her voice told him there wasn't any room for disagreement anyway.

Caspar felt the way she sounded, and just didn't have it in him to argue.

As the door shut behind them, she pointedly gestured to the empty cot that had been allotted to him along the wall. Casting Mel a weak smile, Caspar padded around cots filled with various sleeping forms. Mel departed and found her own cot, where she quickly lied down and curled up under her blankets.

Caspar slowed by Lyall's bed. Lyall held an arm loosely around Lilya, who lied sprawled out like a little star next to him. Curled up small, Cy tucked close into her father's other side. Smiling fondly, Caspar lightly ruffled Lyall's hair and moved along to the wall.

He dropped heavily into bed, and deflated with a weary sigh.

Butch's grin flashed in his mind, and his hands grasped Caspar's throat.

Pushing himself to sitting, Caspar ran a hand over his hair, then slid it down to the side of his neck. Pressure built in his lungs. He took slow, quiet breaths to steady himself.

He scanned the dark for James.

James was two cots over, with Hild between them. He was sleeping on his side, with his back turned away from Caspar.

James was still here, still okay.

Manning's pistol pressed to Caspar's temple.

Ducking his head, he raked both hands over his head and held them there, curling up defensively. His heart hammered in his chest. He breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth.

He was fine, he told himself, everyone was fine. Everyone was asleep, he needed to get a hold of himself.

In, out.

He really didn't want to sleep, as much as it pulled on him, tried dragging him back into the winter thicket. Butch's grip on his throat tightened. He hauled himself to his feet again and quickly left the room.

Alone in the hall with the door shut again, Caspar leaned on the wall. His side stabbed whenever he breathed in too deeply. Tilting his head back rubbed at the healed wound, trying to ease it.

Across the hall, he heard the kitchen doorknob turn, and Raj stepped out with Raya following close behind. Caspar quickly straightened, swallowing hard as he willed himself to stay steady.

Raj flashed Caspar a small look of concern.

"You alright, man?" Raj asked, glancing him over.

"He doesn't look it," Raya said lowly, speaking for the first time he'd seen her. She watched him with a calculating eye, like she was still wary.

"M'fine," Caspar managed to answer. His voice didn't betray him, but he was sure there wasn't a point anyway. He couldn't hide anything to save his own life.

"Raya, why don't you go grab an empty cot and get some sleep," Raj said. "It's been a long day."

Raya gave Raj a chastened look of annoyance but silently listened, dipping her head as she brushed past Caspar and slipped into the sleeping quarters.

"Want some water?" Raj asked, pointing back to the kitchen with his thumb.

Caspar's breath was still short. He stumbled back slightly when he meant to take a step forward. He reached a hand out for the wall and leaned sideways on it.

"You mind if I help you into the kitchen?" Raj asked, reaching out but hesitating to touch him.

Swallowing again, Caspar shook his head. "You're probably tired from-- from travel," he said quietly. He gestured with his other arm in the direction of the bedroom. Caspar withdrew, leaning more heavily on the wall. "You can just go rest."

"You really don't look well," Raj said quietly. "I'm going to grab you some water. Don't run off."

Raj turned back into the kitchen, leaving the door open behind him. Unable to even walk, Caspar felt glued to his spot. He pressed his eyes shut. No one smiled back at him in the dark this time. His lungs were still tight.

Raj returned under a minute later, footsteps steadily approaching Caspar.

"Here," Raj said, now standing in front of him, bending down to offer him a half-filled wooden cup.

When Caspar had to look up to meet Raj's eyes, it hit him that he slid down to the floor. He didn't remember that happening.

Raj squatted down in front of him, still quietly holding out the cup. Tucking up his knees to his chest, Caspar took the cup with a small nod. His hand shook, so he gripped it tighter to keep still as he slowly drank.

Raj sat down next to him, giving him roughly a foot of space. He silently waited for Caspar to finish.

Once the cup was drained, Caspar set it down between them. Voice thin, he said, "Thanks."

"Yeah," Raj said. "Don't worry about it."

They sat in silence, for which Caspar was grateful. He didn't trust himself to say anything more right now without...devolving into something incoherent and blubbering, and this was a bad enough first impression as it was.

The water helped. It soothed his throat and helped flush out some of the murkiness in his head. Caspar loosened his hold on himself, letting his arms fall slack from around his knees to his sides.

Tilting his head sideways, he finally murmured, "Thank you. M'fine, you can go rest."

"You feeling any better?" Raj asked instead.

Caspar nodded. "Yeah."

"Think you can get some sleep too?" Raj asked.

Caspar didn't know how to answer that honestly without revealing too much. He half-shrugged and settled for, "I think so."

Raj hummed, and slowly got to his feet, stretching out his arms in from of him.

"A lot of us have struggled with sleep at some point, if we aren't still," Raj said quietly. "There's no shame in it. Sadly, it just often comes as a result of our circumstances."

Raj twisted from side to side, stretching out his back.

"Just let us know if you need anything," Raj said. "It's cool."

It felt like they'd already given him far more than enough help at this point. Not wanting to argue, Caspar simply nodded and managed to draw up to his full height as well.

For something else to focus on for a moment, he noted that he and Raj were more at eye level with each other than either were with Bo.

Caspar hid his hands in his pockets. Dropping his gaze downward, he idly traced a pattern on the floor with his toe. Raj was quiet for another few seconds, unmoving as the two of them stood in the hall.

What ended up breaking their shared silence was Bo stepping out into the hall, pulling a loose long-sleeved shirt over his head. It took a moment for Bo to realize they were there as he looked at the floor at first, and by that point his long strides had already carried him only a few feet from them.

He slowed to a stop, offering Raj and Caspar a small smile.

"Is it midnight snack time?" Bo asked.

"Something like that," Raj said as he bent down to pick the cup off the floor.

"Ah," Bo said with a small nod.

Caspar glanced sideways down the hall, then back to his feet. The panic subsided by now, and he was left with just his usual state of uncertainty. Hyper-aware of himself and unsure of what to do, his stomach turned a little.

Bo took the cup from Raj's hand, and there seemed to be a wordless exchange between the two of them.

"Night," Raj said with a dip of his head. "Catch you guys in the morning."

He weaved between Caspar and Bo and quietly slipped into the bedroom, leaving Bo standing in front of Caspar, playing with the cup in his hand.

"I don't know about you," Bo said. "But when I get hurt pretty bad and I'm all patched up, I get mad hungry."

Caspar forced a slight smile. "I don't know how much is leftover." He nodded down the hall. "You can go check, I won't keep you."

"You going back to sleep?" Bo asked.

That seemed to be the new default question. It was a simple and perfectly legitimate, but Caspar was becoming less sure of what to make of it. Perhaps that was also the fog threatening to roll in, cloud his mind again.

"I--" he started tiredly, but was cut off by a slight pang and a sharp growl in his stomach. Ducking his head, Caspar just wanted to fold into himself and disappear.

"I see," Bo said. "Well put. I agree. We should raid the kitchen."

He turned and waved for Caspar to follow as he walked into the kitchen and made a bee-line for the cabinets where leftovers were stored. Delayed at first, then ushered along by what was now undeniably hunger, away at last from the uneasiness of the darkened corridor, Caspar trailed behind and poked around for utensils.

"Ohhh," Bo said with a smile. "You guys had potatoes!"

He pulled out a decently large bowl he'd uncovered, revealing a sizeable amount of the potato cubes Caspar had eaten earlier.

Caspar silently offered a fork. Eager, Bo took the fork and stabbed as many potatoes as he could manage before eating them all in one go.

Mouth full, Bo leaned the bowl in Caspar's direction, motioning for him to partake with a wave of his fork. Caspar hesitated, glanced at the fruit bowl on the counter, and back to the potatoes. Then found a fork for himself and tucked into the potatoes with Bo.

Soon enough, the bowl was empty.

Bo set his fork down and leaned on the counter, patting his stomach. He let out a satisfied sigh.

"That hit the spot," he said with a small grin.

Grabbing the wash bucket from under the counter, Caspar busied himself with cleaning. He simply hummed in agreement.

"I could still eat more potatoes," Bo said. "Can't get enough of those. Mel made 'em real nice this time too. I bet that were even better when they were fresh and warm. I would've heated them up if it wasn't a whole ordeal to get the wood stove going."

Caspar nodded with a faint smile. "They were excellent."

Bo rested his hand over his heart, making a silly pouty face.

"A shame I missed it," he said with a pretend sniff, poorly imitating a cry.

With a small shrug, Caspar set the cleaned bowl aside. "They weren't too different cold, though."

Bo gasped in mock offense.

"Please," he said, clearly exaggerating. "They're hardly the same. Food when it's fresh is so much better. Only a few things taste better a day after making it, and one of those is lasagna."

Caspar huffed a laugh.

The brevity of Bo's company managed to dissipate some of the pressure building in his chest, and Caspar could breathe in easier.

He wondered for a moment what lasagna was even like.

"If you say so," he said.

"Have you had lasagna before?" Bo asked.

With a shrug, Caspar wiped down the forks. "Haven't encountered it," he answered.

"It's this pasta dish with layers of pasta and cheese and meat," Bo said, miming layers with his hands. "If I could, I'd make it for you to try in a heartbeat. Sadly, cheese and flour for pasta are hard to obtain out in the middle of nowhere."

"That's kind of you," Caspar said, casting him a slight smile. "S'good, though. The food here's the best I've had in a bit."

Bo smiled warmly.

"Well just wait 'til I make breakfast tomorrow," Bo said, pointing his finger at him. "It'll knock your tastebuds off. In a good way."

Caspar raised his brows a little. "Something to look forward to, for sure," he murmured.

"Exactly," Bo said with a grin. "Making food for people? That's probably one of my greatest passions. It's the simple joys in life."

"That's nice," Caspar said, quieter and mustering another smile as he dried everything off.

It was a dull response, he knew, but he found his grasp on the conversation slipping a little. He was past tired by this point, at least, yet regrettably the fog in his head rolled back in, and words were out of reach again.

"You know," Bo said. "I think I'll make us some tea."

While Caspar tucked away the dish and forks and dried off the counter, he quietly watched as Bo busied himself.

He started grabbing a few things out of the cabinets, setting a pot of water on the stove top, taking out a jar of a mix of herbs and a mesh bag. He set up the tea in the bag and stuck it in the water, and then bent down to fiddle with the wood stove's furnace. It looked like there was wood already in there.

Bo snapped his fingers, and Caspar saw a spark emit from them. It didn't quite resemble fire, as it was peculiarly blue in hue, but it seemed to catch into a flame. Breathing on it, Bo fanned the flame to life before shutting the furnace door.

"It'll be a few minutes, at least," he said, stepping back. "I like to make tea before bed. Calms my soul."

Caspar leaned heavily against the counter. "Tea's good," he agreed. A beat of silence, then he tentatively asked, "Have you tried using pine needles before?"

When James got up, he'd been up for a while. He'd heard the arrivals in the middle of the night, coming down the steps, walking between rooms in the hallway, whispering to one another. He couldn't make out much besides the fact that they were friendly, but he remembered Mel mentioning a few times that her brother was out on a mission with someone else and expected to return. Context clues gave him enough information to decide it was better to stay in bed and pretend to be asleep than to add more chaos to the reunion by potentially disturbing the others sleeping in the room.

He hadn't been able to fall back asleep entirely, but he at least got some shut-eye and had been able to rest. When he got up, it was early. Elrick was up with the baby, taking her out before she started to babble and wake anyone. Robin's cot was empty already, and two other cots had been filled by a young woman and a man who he could only guess to be Mel's brother.

There was only one dim lamplight in the whole room, so James couldn't make out too many details, even with his glasses on, but it looked like everyone else was still asleep. Including Caspar, who, though being absent the night prior, was sprawled out face-down on his cot.

Sneaking past him and Hild, along with Lyall and his daughters, James slipped into the hall. He saw that the kitchen door was propped open, and poked his head in.

Elrick was in there, sitting at the table with Leah, burping her over his shoulder. He also caught sight of someone else at the kitchen counter, who appeared to be cooking or preparing to.

Though he tried to depart before he was seen, Elrick caught sight of him and invited him in. He was introduced to the giant of a man who was making food and learned that his name was Bo, and he was the leader at this location.

Though he was still waking up, he politely engaged in conversation with the two of them before excusing himself to go tend to the horses, since Elrick had already opened the door for the morning.

He kept himself busy before returning for breakfast, and by then the room was bustling with people. The new arrivals were awake, and that meant more introductions. He met Raj, Mel's mellow, soft-spoken brother, and Raya, their most recent recruit. Raya had a pretty cold demeanor, and even more so with him, but James decided not to take it personally. He didn't expect everyone to trust him or treat him amicably - and honestly, his experience at the base so far had been a great big exception to his norm. When people knew who he really was, he was always met with some form of hostility. Frankly, a little hostility was due.

Fortunately, he was able to give Raya plenty of distance, and he sat with Hild for breakfast at the opposite end of the table. He did notice that Caspar was the only one still missing, and he assumed it was because he was still asleep. Everyone seemed to be in quiet, unanimous agreement that Caspar needed the rest, so no one disturbed him.

Bo joined them at the end of the table and flashed a smile to both of them.

"So you're the famous Hild that Lyall's been telling me about all these years?" Bo asked as he sat down. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

He stretched his long arm across the table to Hild, offering his hand for a shake. With an arched brow and slight smirk cast her brother's way, Hild reached over and lightly shook Bo's hand. Bo's hand practically swallowed hers for the second they shook.

"A pleasure to meet you as well," Hild said with a polite smile. She withdrew and folded her hands in her lap. "I'm sorry to say that I haven't heard much about you, though, despite being here for about two weeks now." And she shot Lyall another pointed look. Lyall just huffed in response.

Bo smiled and shrugged lightly, poking at his full plate with his fork.

"I'm Lyall's mentor," Bo said. "I've been teaching him in the ways of magic for a little over two years now."

Upon saying the word "magic," he wiggled his fingers.

"I'd say he's getting pretty good, now," Bo said with a little smirk sent Lyall's way.

Puffing out his chest a little, Lyall opened his mouth to weigh in, but Hild cut him off before he could begin.

"'His mentor'?" she echoed, her eyes glinting with mischief. "You have my deepest condolences, then. He makes for an insufferable student. Impatience, enormous ego--"

Leaning an elbow on the table with a smirk, Lyall butted in, "You're hardly an improvement in that department, dear sister. Couldn't keep the same piano instructor for more than a month with your sunny disposition."

"Lyall has made for an excellent student," Bo interjected with a soft smile. He reached over to Lyall beside him, pulling him in for a quick, tight side-hug. He ruffled Lyall's hair and then pulled away. "It's been a pleasure to teach him."

Bumping his shoulder to Bo's arm, Lyall grinned and turned his attention back down to his plate. "She's not too far off the mark, though. You've been incredibly patient with me."

"We all could use a little more patience, I think," Bo said. "Especially when we're learning."

Hild's teasing smile softened a little as well. "I'm glad he's had someone like you around," she said sincerely, picking up her fork. "I presume, then, that you harness a form of magic as well. If it's not too forward, may I inquire what kind?"

Bo laughed lightly.

"Lightning magic," Bo said. "Electricity. I know, it's quite shocking."

James blinked slowly as he looked to Hild to watch her reaction. Predictably, she looked to be suppressing a groan as her smile turned tight-lipped. Lyall actually groaned, loudly, in response.

Bo smiled widely, snorting at both of their reactions.

"I admit it's a little over-used," Bo said. "But this--" he pointed to Lyall. "Never gets old."

"At the very least," Lyall pleaded, pinching the bridge of his nose, "find some new ones. Every time you insist on the same terrible jokes, another small part of me somewhere dies inside."

"Always so dramatic," Bo said with a grin, patting Lyall on the back. "You'll be fine."

Muttering incoherently, Lyall stabbed at his food with his fork and took a big bite in defiance.

Hild managed to appear less-ruffled. Leaning sideways toward James, she murmured, "Brilliant, now there's three of you."

"I'm not that bad, am I?" James whispered back, leaning in so only she could hear.

She stared at him flatly. "Is that a legitimate question."

James pouted his lips and widened his eyes, but only for a second before he shrugged and returned his gaze to his food.

"So, James," Bo said. "I've only been filled in a little bit about you. You're a friend of Caspar's, right? He said you've been traveling together for some time."

James nodded, though his mouth was full, so he didn't verbally reply.

"And you hopped in," Bo went on, gesturing to Hild. "A little while later to join them?"

"Unexpectedly," Hild replied lightly, "but ultimately for the better."

"I can see that," Bo said with a smile. "You all seem to get along well."

James flicked his eyes to Hild, then back to Bo.

Lyall's eyes suddenly brightened, and he sat straighter. "Yes," he said, pointing back and forth between James and Hild, "those two especially. So well, in fact, that they started dating very recently."

Hild leveled him with an unamused look. "Yes, this much is true."

"They didn't wait very long after their arrival," Lyall added. "It must have been a long time coming, because she usually doesn't--"

There was a thump from under the table. Lyall recoiled with a yelp as Hild glared daggers at him.

Bo turned his smile from Lyall and then back to them.

"Well, congrats!" he said.

"Thanks," James said with a polite smile as he looked at Lyall. He kept any annoyance hidden away, because it was bound to come up at some point anyway, but it was awkward for someone else to be parading his relationship around. He supposed it could've been worse, though. At least he seemed to have Lyall's approval.

"So what do you like about her?" Bo asked with a wide grin, looking between the two of them. He took a big bite of food and watched James expectantly.

Pausing, James looked to Hild.

With her head slightly bowed, she kept her eyes trained on her plate as she stiffly tucked her hair behind her ear.

Eyes softening, James offered her a small smile.

"Well," he said slowly, wanting to form his words intentionally. "First, she is brilliant. She gives her all to whatever she puts her mind to, and works hard without complaint. I enjoy her humor, and though she's a fine conversationalist, she's also a great listener. She's humble, honest, and sincere, and I quite enjoy her company."

Looking down at his plate for a moment, he continued.

"She's a great friend. And, of course, she's very beautiful too," he said.

He turned his eyes back up as she tentatively looked his way as well, her cheeks flushing red. James smiled at her again, his smile small but warm.

"That's wonderful," Bo said, still beaming. "What about you, Hild? What do you like about James?"

Sitting straighter and squaring her shoulders, Hild nodded determinedly. "Right, yes. James is brave. Often bordering stupid, but truly a trait to be admired. He always puts others' needs before his own. He is fiercely loyal, witty, charming. Perceptive, passionate, incredibly resilient."

With her chin tilted up, she met James's eyes again and went on firmly, "Though he'll deny it, he's a noble sort. Someone you want in your corner, and someone who you'd gladly fight for in turn."

James felt his own cheeks burn a little as he looked away from her.

"Forgot to mention she's competitive too," James added.

"It's nice to learn about other people from the people closest to them," Bo said, looking to Lyall. "Everyone's always so modest when talking about themselves. I like this better."

"Far more telling this way," Lyall agreed, nodding sagely.

"Well, I won't bother you two about that anymore, but thanks for indulging me," Bo said with a kind smile and a nod. "Though I'd love to hear a little bit more about your travels if you're willing to share."

"The majority of it was very mundane," James answered. "A lot of riding on horseback, camping in the wilderness, and mediocre meals."

"A tragedy," Bo said with a sympathetic nod. "About the meals."

"Staying here has more than amended for it," Hild said warmly. "Your cooking is excellent."

Bo smiled. "I'm glad you're enjoying it."

Enjoying it might've been an understatement, and James had already devoured his plate of food because it was all delicious.

"When did you pick up cooking?" James asked.

Which led Bo into a whole story about his journey with food. James was sure that Bo was dramatizing it a little bit, but the gist of it was that, as a kid, Bo grew up with bland, boring food, and the first time he had a quality, home-cooked meal, his whole world changed. It was entertaining to listen to, at least, and Bo happily engaged with any questions and comments along the way. Lyall interjected a few times with playful jabs and witty quips here and there, and watching Lyall and Bo play off each other was very amusing.

Eventually, the conversation died down as the kitchen started to clear out. Dishes were collected, and everyone helped clean everything up before they started slipping out to go about their daily chores.

Just as James was about to step out with Hild to go to the stable, he was stopped by Bo coming up behind them.

"Hey, James," he said. "Do you mind hanging back for a bit?"

James flicked his eyes to Hild just ahead of him. She lingered by the steps that led outside, tilting her head curiously as she glanced between him and Bo.

"Sure," James said carefully, picking up on the fact that Bo was trying to be discreet. "I'll catch up with you later, Hild."

She inclined her head. "Very well," she said simply. She hesitated, then disappeared up the steps.

James watched her go and then turned back to Bo, who tilted his head for James to follow. Bo led him down into the common room, where he saw Mel waiting, sitting at one of the tables.

"Sorry to pull you away like this," Bo said. "I just thought it'd be easier to talk in a more private setting. Would you like to sit?"

Bo gestured to the table, where Mel offered a small smile.

Hesitantly, James took a seat at the table, and Bo took the seat next to Mel on the other side of the table, sitting diagonally across from him.

"I did get to talk a little bit with Mel and Lyall," Bo said. "While you were out this morning. They got me caught up on your situation, being wanted by the Moonlight Kingdom and all. I know Lyall mentioned he extended the invitation for you to stay with us, and you were hesitant to reply at first. If you haven't had enough time to think on it, that's fine, but for however long you will be staying with us, there are just a few things we'd like to discuss."

"It's really just security concerns we have to consider," Mel jumped in, speaking gently but clearly. "We're responsible for protecting and preserving the lives of everyone put under our care, and it's important that we're made aware of any potential threats to the security of our base and the discovery of the mages we're sheltering."

"I have a few contacts in Ruddlan I can reach out to," Bo added. "Who could let me know if anyone else was alerted to your presence there who might be on the search for you, aside from the two hunters - who I've been told we don't have to worry about anymore since your last confrontation. It sounds like the nature of their pursuit of you and Caspar was an open-ended quest -- one that wouldn't have a particular timetable for anyone waiting on them to return back home. That gives us a little bit of cushion to figure out how to move everyone from this location before anyone comes looking for them, where they could also stumble upon us."

"Of course, seeing as it's difficult to confirm that presupposition with fact," Mel said as if seamlessly continuing the thought. "We'll still be keeping guard around the base more intensely, now. Just to be safe."

James sat quietly, taking in all of the information.

This felt like a security briefing, but he knew that he was here not just to be informed, but to answer questions.

"Really, we just have a few questions," Bo said. "Cool?"

James nodded slowly.

"Understandable," James said. "What would you like to know?"

"The man called Butch," Bo said. "Do you think he would've tipped off any other hunters that you were around?"

James shook his head.

"It would be out of character if he did," James said. "He's not the type to want to compete over a bounty."

"But he does work with partners," Bo said. "Like Ivar. Head of the Hansen family."

"I believe that was a partnership of mutual interest. Ivar wanted to catch Caspar. Butch wanted to catch me," James said steadily.

Bo hummed, nodding as he thought over the information.

"But it was just them two? They didn't have any other partners?" Bo asked.

"I don't believe so," James said. "If they had, I think we would've run into them by now."

Though he supposed it was possible there was someone else who hung back and was waiting for them to regroup.

"There... were hunting dogs we heard but never saw," James said. "That may have simply been because we rode some distance away to flee before they caught up to us."

Bo and Mel shared a look like they were both thinking but it ended in a mutual shrug.

"I guess we'll just have to keep an eye out," Bo said. "Only thing you can do with hypotheticals is be as prepared as you can for them."

"Which means we won't be letting anyone travel above-ground alone," Mel concluded. "And we'll require you to stay within less than a mile radius. If something were to happen to you, we'd want you to be able to get help as quickly as possible."

"I know that makes it sound like we're going to keep you trapped here," Bo said. "But I promise you're free to leave if you desire. But as long as you're under our roof, we ask that you respect our rules for the sake of everyone's safety. Including your own."

There was a small pause like they were leaving space for James to talk.

James sat up a little straighter.

"I do want to stay," he finally said.

"And we'd love to have you," Mel said with a smile. "We accept outcasts of all kinds out here. Not just mages. It's just that mages are the most open to accepting help of our kind, and are the most open to being around, well, other mages."

"You'd be surprised how many criminals still hate magic or are terrified of it," Bo said.

"I really think I wouldn't be," James commented quietly.

Bo shrugged his eyebrows.

"You know, you're probably right," Bo said. "I'm assuming -- being wanted for so long -- you've run into all sorts of types."

James nodded.

"I guess the only real time-sensitive question remaining is if there's anyone else you think - either in your travels or otherwise - who would still be on your trail or would go out of their way to find you if they caught word of you being spotted in Ruddlan," Bo said.

It was a question, but it wasn't quite asked like one.

Still, James understood.

A memory resurfaced in his mind. His second encounter with Alexander. The one that ended in Caspar beating him bloody, but also ended in a chilling conversation, though brief.

Alexander had been hired to catch him. He hadn't come on his own accord.

If he was hired, that meant his employer would be expecting him... and with how much time had passed, Alexander likely already missed the window he was meant to return.

The problem was, James had no idea of knowing where exactly the rendezvous point was, and how far out it might've been from the Desert Sands, and the Outlands.

He took in a deep breath.

"Captain Haddon sent a bounty hunter after me before we encountered Ivar and Butch. His name was Alexander. He's since passed... I don't know if his disappearance has been noticed yet. But if it is... I don't know. Haddon may send out another hunter. I can't be sure, but it seems he is becoming more determined to find me," James said, his voice steady and somber.

"All the more reason for you to stay close," Bo said.

"We'll get a rotation going keeping watch," Mel said. "You will be excluded from it because we wouldn't want you to be recognized and put in the way of danger alone."

"That's not up to debate, by the way," Bo said. "It's better for all of us that you stay close."

"We'll fill the others in on our new situation," Mel went on. "You don't have to explain all of this to them. We just wanted to talk to you first before making any big changes."

James nodded again.

His movement had already been limited around the base due to his recovery, but knowing he was essentially being contained in a small space did make him feel... antsy.

"Our goal will be to move us from this location in two to three weeks," Bo said. "Just so you don't feel like this set-up is forever. It's just for a little while, while we make preparations."

There was a small silence as James simply nodded again in reply. He watched as Bo and Mel shared another look and then nodded to one another.

"Well, that's all from us, for now," Bo said. "Any questions?"

James glanced to the door.

"If I leave the base alone... will there be any penalties?" he asked.

Bo laughed.

"You know what, that's a good idea. I could come up with somethi--" Bo started.

"If you breach our trust like that, we may not be able to let you leave anymore until we move from this base as a single unit. But we don't want it to come to that," Mel interrupted far more seriously.

James met her eyes for a moment, seeing that she was sincere.

"I understand," he said quietly.

Another pause.

"Anything else?" Bo asked.

James looked off to the side.

"Nothing else that comes to mind," he admitted.

"Well, if you think of anything, just grab me or Mel for clarity," Bo said, pushing up from the chair.

They all stood up and Bo dipped his head to Mel to dismiss her. She went for the door, giving James a small wave goodbye.

"Well, I guess I'll be your escort to the surface," Bo said. "Ready?"

James nodded stiffly.

If he couldn't leave without supervision, that left him with much less time to himself. He supposed he'd have to steal it away in other places below ground, in the bunker. But already, he could feel the uncomfortable lack of privacy.

Being protected and being supervised sometimes felt eerily the same, and he was far too used to the blatant distrust of the latter.

He wanted to believe that Bo and Mel were being genuine in their concern for his safety, but he couldn't help but wonder how much of it - if even only subconscious - was rooted in a distrust of non-mages. Or even just a distrust of his background.

He used to serve in the Moonlight Kingdom military. Though neither of them explicitly mentioned it, if they'd spoken with Lyall, he was sure they knew by now, and that meant they knew he was part of a system that strengthened and enforced the movement that set out to kill them.

Sure, he'd perhaps proven himself to not be that way anymore, but... as leaders of a base housing several mages in hiding, of course, they had to be careful.

He supposed this was just something he'd have to endure.

Because, in truth, he still did want to stay.

Caspar woke to the cot shifting slowly under an added weight on the edge. He shot upright, biting back a groan when the room spun and his shoulder seized up. Before panic could kick up and grab hold of him, a familiar set of hands rested warmly on his shoulders, grounding him. In the dim light, he made out the frizzy edges of Lyall's hair. Then his green eyes came into focus as Caspar blinked away the fog.

"Hey, sorry," Lyall murmured, "didn't mean to startle you."

Frame sagging, Caspar sighed heavily and dropped back again. Part of him wanted to ask how long it had been, then the other part of him figured it might be best he didn't know.

After tea with Bo, he managed to stave off sleep for several hours more. The rest of the night and the early morning was actually a blur. Bo had asked a few friendly questions, and Caspar was awake enough to just answer. Beyond that, though, the details were fuzzy and lost on him.

Lyall nudged his arm, then settled beside Caspar when he made room. Caspar faintly registered the door to the bedroom opening and closing as he, without thinking, rested his head on Lyall's shoulder and slung an arm across his middle. Wrapping an arm around him, Lyall patted his back with a hummed laugh.

"Guess what?" he murmured.

Caspar hummed.

"You slept an entire week."

Caspar lifted his head and stared wide-eyed at him. "I did?"

Lyall just grinned broadly at him.

"No," Hild cut in. She perched on the edge of the cot with the faintest of smiles. "Sadly, only about five hours, though I sincerely believe you could use a solid week of sleep at this rate."

Letting out a groan, Caspar dropped his head back down onto Lyall's shoulder. "I still missed breakfast."

"A very good one," Hild confirmed. "Bo is a skilled cook."

With a laugh, Lyall smacked a fond kiss to Caspar's forehead and ruffled his hair. "There'll be plenty more opportunities."

"Perhaps if you slept when you're supposed to," Hild went on, tone pointed, "you could partake in fresher meals."

Caspar only hummed again, playfully dismal. He felt better, though. Any tension from the night prior was completely gone. Now relaxed and warm, he felt himself drifting again, just a little. The lights turned a little brighter. He had to squint into the room to watch Hild flit between the lamps.

"Shall I inform Cy and Lilya of your status as a now solely nocturnal creature?" Lyall said. "They were asking when you didn't show again."

Caspar huffed a laugh. "No, I don't think that'll be necessary."

His eyes were better adjusted to the lights. The rest of the room empty. The image of the empty coffin flashed in his mind, and he suddenly asked, "Where's James?" Then sheepishly tacked on, "And, um, everyone...else."

Hild glanced him over, trying to figure out where that question came from, and sat on the edge of the cot again. "Still with Bo and Mel, I believe. Bo was trying to be subtle when he pulled James aside, but it felt like the beginning of a serious discussion."

Ah. Right, they were likely broaching the subject of James potentially staying, and the details that the change would entail.

Brows furrowing, Caspar tilted his head to look up at Lyall. "How much did you tell them, by the way?"

Pressing his lips together, Lyall glanced off toward the wall, deliberately avoiding Hild's narrowed gaze.

Caspar blinked slowly. "Did you not..." He glanced at Hild. "...tell her?"

Tilting her head, Hild shot her brother a tense smile and bit out, "Tell me what."

Lyall huffed. "Honestly, you're already mad at me, and you don't even know what--"

"I know you well enough to know it was likely something incredibly stupid," she countered.

Now lying tense, Lyall scrubbed a hand over his face and muttered, "It wasn't bad, it was just--"

"It was pretty bad," Caspar supplied.

Hild's gaze hardened. "What did you do."

Lyall in turn shot Caspar a glare, though more incredulous than heated. "We were just-- All I did was ask him a few questions, we needed--"

"Who--" Hild's eyes widened. "You mean James? Gods, Lyall, what did you say to him this time?"

"'This time'?" Lyall echoed indignantly. "I'll have you know--"

"He was asking James about Butch, incessantly," Caspar cut in again, before Lyall could attempt to steer them off-topic. "After closing the door. Nearly pushed him to the point of a breakdown."

"I didn't--" Guilt flashing in his eyes, Lyall pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes with his face pinched.

It was something that seemed to already weigh on him. Pursing his lips, Caspar decided to relent.

Not quite on the same page as Caspar, Hild's nostrils flared and she seethed, "You complete idiot!"

Jumping up, she paced furiously.

"You must have been able to tell that it was a delicate subject that he has great trouble approaching, but of course you would see all the signs and trample right through them like a blind ox, so obstinate in your search for information simply because you just can't stand the mere thought of not knowing everything--"

Eyeing the door, Lyall nudged at Caspar's arm so he could attempt escape. Caspar just rolled on top of him, resting his chin on Lyall's chest. Pressing his lips into a deep frown, Lyall pouted at him this time, but was resigned to listen as his sister ranted.

Eventually stopping beside them again, Hild cuffed the side of his head. "If you wanted to know more, you should've asked me, or even Caspar. Either of us could've filled you in just as well--"

Lyall, trapped under Caspar's weight, could only indignantly swat back at her. "Trust me, I would've if you knew something I didn't!" he retorted.

Hild was about to argue again, but Lyall was determined to be heard now.

"Look," he said, voice low, "you and I both know plenty about the Hansens-- too much, even, though one of you is still going to have to catch me up on why the hell it was Ivar out there instead of Manning-- but you're likely just as lost on the details of a Ruddlan bounty hunter as I am."

Caspar tensed at the mention of Manning.

Though her eyes still blazed, Hild silently clenched her hands at her sides. Lyall raised his arms in a pointed shrug.

"Okay, so I'm right," he said conclusively. Then he continued, in earnest, "Hild, I promise you, I wasn't trying to be a jerk just for the sake of it. I honestly didn't know, and the rest of us needed something to work off of because we're really running out of time here."

The fire in her eyes subdued. Still, she jabbed a finger his way and ground out, "Just work on your methods, and tread lightly from here on out."

With the way her eyes bore into Lyall's, it felt more like a threat than a simple warning.

Lyall evenly held her gaze and said quietly, "Of course."

Tilting her chin up and crossing her arms, Hild narrowed her eyes at him again, but said nothing more on the matter.

There was a moment's pause.

Lyall visibly hesitated, then finally asked, "So what did happen to Manning?"

Wrapping himself a little tighter around Lyall, Caspar rested his head sideways, trying to hide his face from view.

Mustering a lighter tone, Lyall went on, "Abrupt career switch? Too ashamed that he managed to lose all eight of us in one fell swoop? You know, he never did have the same nerve as Ivar. He was never his own man, couldn't find his own direction, so a swerve in his career path legitimately wouldn't come as too much of a surprise--"

"He followed me into the wilds," Caspar uttered. Squeezing his eyes shut, he finished, "I made it out. Alone."

Lyall fell quiet. Idly rubbing small circles on Caspar's back, his mind almost audibly whirred as he mulled this over. Caspar couldn't bring himself to expound, much as he wanted to.

Lyall just quietly set it aside, likely for another time, and said, "While you're both here, I may as well go over the matter of amended security measures."

Hild sat on the edge of the bed once more, then carefully settled back with her head resting against Lyall's shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her more fully into his side.

"For the next few weeks as we prepare to relocate," he said, voice dropping to a murmur, "we'll be implementing a...what I like to tell the kids is a buddy system. If you go to the surface, you need to partner up with someone. That said, I recommend cutting back on above-ground activity as much as possible."

Caspar sighed wearily, without meaning to, and Lyall gave his shoulder a sympathetic pat.

"I know. Our walking radius will be restricted to a little under a mile now as well, so stay aware of your surroundings. We'll get a rotation to keep watch rolling pretty soon, if not today. Your friend will be excluded from it."

"All reasonable measures," Hild replied.

"Required, too," Lyall added very seriously. "Neither of you are as apt to do something stupid where others' safety is concerned, I know, but it bears emphasizing. Moving everyone out at once will be a delicate process, especially with the kids in tow, and we're not willing to take more risks than necessary."

"Understood," Hild said, resolute. Caspar nodded, and Lyall inclined his head likewise.

"Good."

The prospect of having to stay underground almost entirely wasn't thrilling. A part of maintaining his own sanity, Caspar felt, was being able to breathe clear air and exist on his own among trees in the daylight for a while.

As established, though, such safety measures in these circumstances were simply life-preserving for everyone.

The image of the stained coffin nagged at him.

"Now that that's out of the way," Lyall went on, slower, carefully, "have you two decided if you'll actually be joining us for the move?"

Turning his eyes up, Caspar caught Hild's unsteady gaze. Catching onto their uncertainty, Lyall frowned slightly.

"You can be honest," he urged softly.

"That," Caspar started slowly, turning his head to look at Lyall, "would, uh, depend. On what James decides."

Lyall just stared back, unreadable for a moment.

"We were going to decide together as well," Hild said. "Once we were both sure of...your standing on him staying."

Her brother turned the same blank look to her. Then cast a slight smile toward the ceiling. "He's got a big decision ahead of him, then."

With Bo, Raj, and Raya at base now, the kitchen felt like it was bursting at the seams. Stepping in, Caspar stumbled over apologies as he narrowly avoided bumping poor Masil over again, and was promptly cut off by Cy and Lilya as well as they dashed by to help set the table. He seemed to be the last one to file in for dinner. Everyone else was already either helping prepare, or lingering at and around the table.

Sitting at the end of one of the benches was Elrick, holding his baby in his lap as she curiously looked around the full room with wide eyes. Her eyes locked with Caspar's when she noticed him enter. Caspar offered a small wave and smile as he found his way to the counter to offer assistance.

And was immediately shooed away by Hild.

"Sit down, Calder," she ordered, "we have enough hands on food prep here."

Caspar shrank back with a quick, "Yes, ma'am," to avoid the knife in her hand as she gestured to the table. He managed to get a quick hair ruffle in as he stepped away again, and may have grinned a little at her indignant yelp.

The table quickly filled up. When he noticed Leah was still watching him so intently, Caspar found himself gravitating toward her and Elrick's end of the bench.

Elrick smiled up at Caspar, patting Leah's stomach.

"Hey there, big guy," he said. "How's your day going so far?"

Caspar smiled politely back as he sat beside him. "S'good, thanks. Uh, yours? Busy, right?"

Elrick nodded, starting to pat Leah's back. She started humming as he spoke.

"It was rather busy, yes," Elrick said. "Robin and I did a lot of scouting the area, and I had to do some extra cover-up work with Maisy. Moving earth, increasing foliage and cover, making it more difficult and less desirable to get to us and all. Subtle things."

Caspar nodded. "Very thorough work."

"We had Masil and Jordan look after the garden while we were busy," Elrick went on. "And Hild's always been quick to volunteer with the horses, which has been super helpful. It's also nice to have Mel and Bo back. They usually do a lot of the cooking and meal preparation, which can end up being a whole day's work when you're making three meals for a group of our size."

He paused, flicking his eyes around the room, and then leaned in a little closer. Caspar bent likewise and tilted his ear down.

"And don't tell the others I said this, but Bo's cooking is definitely the best," Elrick said with a little smile. "You don't miss what you have until it's gone."

Caspar huffed a laugh. "There's been a lot of buildup to it. I'm definitely looking forward to trying."

"Well, all of the praise is well deserved," Elrick said. "I don't think you'll be dissapointed."

As though on cue, wide bowls with serving spoons and platters piled high with baked vegetables were set on the table. Elrick turned to start attempting to put food on his plate with one hand while he held Leah steady in his lap with the other.

With a second's hesitation as he watched, Caspar offered, "Hey, um, I can hold her a minute, so you can. Take a real breather, and just eat."

Elrick turned and flashed a relieved smile.

"You're comfortable with holding her?" he asked.

"Yeah," Caspar said warmly, "of course. And you could probably use a quick break."

Turning to Caspar, Elrick lifted Leah up out of his lap and offered her to Caspar.

"She'll probably drool on you," Elrick said. "Just warning."

With his hands supporting underneath her and around her back, Caspar carefully took Leah and leaned back to make room for her on his lap. "S'good," he said, "that just makes her the full package."

Elrick laughed, and with his hands free, started to more adequately fill his plate with meat, vegetables, rice, flat bread, and a steaming orange sauce.

Meanwhile, Leah was watching her father intently as she started to - as predicted - drool. Having turned her around so she could watch the goings-on at the table, it started dripping down onto Caspar's hands. For a brief moment, he wished he'd kept his gloves on.

Leah settling comfortably caused him to soften, though, and release tension he didn't even know he was holding in his shoulders. He bounced his leg a little and idly asked her, "Busy day for you too?"

Leah started to giggle lightly as she continued to bounce, eyes still on her father. Elrick turned his attention to her with a bright smile and leaned down a little to pinch her full cheeks.

"Very busy," Elrick answered for her. "Full of crying and pooping and refusing to nap with uncle Raj! It's been exhausting. She was finally pacified an hour ago after getting her dinner."

Leah laughed, and patted Caspar's arm with her hands, completely oblivious to the conversation overhead. Caspar smiled at the top of her little head. "I get it," he said faintly. "Everyone telling you to sleep all the time when all you really want to do is just eat something."

"Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference," Elrick said, patting Leah's head before turning to his plate, and then looking to Caspar.

"Do you mind holding her a little longer while I eat real quick?" he asked.

Caspar laughed. "Please, take your time."

"Thanks," Elrick said, before piling food onto his fork, digging in. He seemed to be very hungry, at the rate he was shoveling food down.

Caspar kept playfully bouncing his leg intermittently, and changed up the pacing a little to keep it interesting. Leah contined to giggle, but eventually she looked up at him with an unblinking stare, almost surprised. Caspar offered an apologetic smile.

"Yeah," he murmured, "not quite the face you expected to see, huh?"

Leah blinked, and looked over at Elrick, then back at Caspar.

"If it's too much of a shock," Caspar said gently, "we can just admire the food."

Leah held his eyes a moment longer before she looked away, as if forgetting he'd said anything. She reached out for the table and the edge of his plate. Her little fingers curled around the curved edge and started pulling it her direction. Caspar nudged the plate back, out of reach.

Evidently needing something to do with her hands, she then resorted to pulling on his sleeves, digging her fingers into the fabric.

"Are you used to being around kids?" Elrick spoke up between bites, looking to Caspar curiously.

"I suppose," Caspar answered, only briefly meeting Elrick's gaze. Holding a hand over Leah's stomach to keep her steady, he unwound his scarf with the other and offered that to her. "Not too often, and not usually this young."

Leah accepted the scarf with eager hands, pulling and stretching it as she ran her hands over the texture.

"In what context?" Elrick inquired. "Family? Friends? Something else?"

Exhaling slowly, Caspar dug back into the past years. "Uh, back with Lyall's practice. A lot of patients had kids or were kids. I would visit with them sometimes whenever I was over to see Lyall."

Caspar turned his eyes back down to Leah as she chewed on the scarf. He wondered for a second where James was, but couldn't bring himself to look.

"Family too, at one point," he added, a little quieter.

"Do you like kids?" Elrick asked.

"Yeah, they're great," Caspar answered, casting him a slight smile. "They're fun little stinkers."

Elrick chuckled at that.

"Stinkers, for sure," Elrick said, looking to Leah. "Though it gets worse when they start eating real food."

Caspar laughed. "Yeah, there's that."

"If you ever have a baby of your own," Elrick said. "You get used to all of the bodily fluids really fast."

Across the table, Maisy broke from her conversation with Raya to interject.

"Stop talking about that stuff at the dinner table," she chided.

He flashed her an apologetic smile, and then turned to offer his hands to Caspar.

"Sorry," he said. "I can take her now. I'm all done."

And sure enough, he'd already cleared his plate.

"S'fine," Caspar said, casting Maisy a quick grin. He handed Leah off back to Elrick. "I've had far more in-depth conversations about that kind of stuff over dinner. Kids find ways to bring it up one way or another."

"Fair," Elrick nodded as he got Leah settled in his lap, where she continued to chew on Caspar's scarf that she held firmly in both hands.

"I don't think you'll be getting your scarf back very soon," Elrick said as he looked down at her.

Amused, Caspar shrugged. "She can hold onto it."

"I'm sure she'll get bored of it in an hour," Elrick said with a sigh. "But -- hey, now it's your turn to eat."

Nodding, Caspar quickly portioned food for himself. "Hear that?" he said to Leah. "You've been allotted an hour by your dad. Do as you will, make the most of it, even."

Leah looked up at him with the scarf still in her mouth. She's already drooled all over it by this point. Caspar smiled at her.

"Yes, time to eat," he agreed.

"A much anticipated moment," Elrick said. "I'll happily be a witness."

The food looked great, he assumed it smelled just as nice, and, by gods, did it live up to the hype. As soon as he took a single bite, the plate was empty in an instant. He was tempted to grab a second portion.

"Help yourself to more," Elrick encouraged him, catching his hesitation. "There's plenty."

With an appreciative nod, Caspar did.

The day seemed to go by at a snail's pace. Slowly, everyone was brought into the loop as Bo and Mel continued to meet with those at the base, and after he lost Bo as his escort, he remained underground for the rest of the day.

Dinner felt like a storm of sound, filled with light conversations that all blended together. By the time it was over, he felt his head was in a stranger daze as everyone started filing away - most of them to head to bed once the kitchen was cleaned up.

Brain too loud to fall asleep, and energy too low to be surrounded by people, James found himself retreating to the infirmary - not because it was familiar, or ever that it served a comforting presence, but solely because it was the only room empty at the moment aside from the storage closet, which he wasn't looking to call home. It was dark and cramped in there, and he was already feeling trapped as it was.

He continued to tell himself it was temporary, but he couldn't help that there was an instinct ingrained into him out of necessity to always be in a position to run. Underground, with the only plausible exit being blocked by a boulder in the night hours, and the only means out being under the careful watch of others, he could already feel the natural panic in the back of his mind.

But he kept it quiet and subdued. At the moment, his means to accomplishing that was by continuing to read the wordy academic book on traumatic wounds.

Not exactly light reading, but it was enough to distract him from his own thoughts.

Leaning on the wall behind a bed, hidden from sight from the doorway, James sat practically in hiding, slowly flipping from page to page.

A nagging voice kept wriggling into his head whenever he'd see different diagrams.

It was Lyall.

"I imagine you've had first-hand experience with some of the injuries detailed here."

It made something inside of him squirm, and any time he ran into something in the pages that did feel all too familiar, it became harder and harder to read.

Eventually, he had to give up.

Closing the hefty book, he set it down on the floor beside him and tilted his head back, closing his eyes with a sigh.

He thought about going back into the common room to grab a different book, but last he saw, Caspar and Lyall were in there, and though he logically didn't think they'd do or say anything to bother him, he still couldn't get Lyall's comment out of his head.

His eyes shot open when he heard someone step in through the door.

He had no reason to be alarmed. Hell, no reason to be hiding, for that matter. But he found his heart beating faster as the anxieties he'd been trying to keep at bay all day leaked to the surface from a simple sound.

He couldn't seem to bring himself to move.

There was a light knock on the doorway, and Hild's voice softly called, "Hawke? You in here?"

Some of the tension building in James's chest seemed to dissipate.

Feeling a little embarassed, James poked his head over the bed and flashed her a forced smile.

"Yes?"

With a slight smile of her own, Hild tilted her head and said flatly, "Such an answer should sound a little more confident. May I come in?"

James mustered another smile.

"Sure," he said. "I'll work on my delivery next time."

With her legs tucked underneath herself, Hild settled on the bed above him. She rested her chin on her hand as she looked him over. "Is there anyone in particular you're hiding from? Or just everything."

James looked down, eyes flicking to the massive book beside him.

"Everything may be the most accurate answer," he said quietly.

Hild hummed softly. "Calder told me about my brother's idiocy."

James blinked, and he slowly looked up at her as he pieced together what exactly she meant.

She was talking about their... confrontation.

"Oh," he said, forcing his voice to be neutral.

"Before you insist it is," Hild said firmly, "it was not fine. I'm sorry he did that, and it's likely it won't happen again."

James flicked his eyes away again, uncomfortable as he played the events back through his mind.

"He's okay... right?" James asked.

Hild's gaze sharpened as she studied his face, and quickly softened once more. "Yes. Peachy, in fact. Don't worry about it."

James nodded slightly as he looked at the floor.

"How much did they tell you?" he asked faintly.

Hesitating, Hild carefully slipped down onto the floor beside him and drew her knees up. "Nothing in great detail."

So really, nothing at all.

James let out a small, quiet sigh, and looked over at Hild without meeting her eyes.

"I hit him," James said lowly. "I didn't mean to. It just... happened when he grabbed me to try to keep me from leaving."

She tilted her head, trying to meet his eyes more directly. "The fact remains. He's really fine, James. You don't have to worry about that."

Considering he saw Lyall walking around later that day unhindered, he found himself less worried about Lyall having recovered and more about what caused him to lash out in the first place.

He wished he had more control over what seemed to throw him into fighting, even if it wasn't the right context.

Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath, trying to summon any amount of courage he could muster.

He wanted her to know too.

He just didn't want to say it.

He opened his eyes, looking down into his lap.

"It all came about when Lyall started asking questions about Butch," James said quietly.

Leaning back against the bed, Hild waited quietly. He'd half-expected her to prompt him more, and he found the following silence hung heavy between them.

"I didn't share much, really," he said, voice even quieter. "Though he was persistent."

He paused again, stumbling over words for how to approach the dreaded truth he wanted to convey without having to admit it outright.

"He... he made this comment," James said. "I was reading this book," he said, gesturing to the volume beside him, resting his hand over the cover. "He said that he imagined I had first hand experience with some of the things detailed inside."

He stared down at the book, eyes losing focus.

"I didn't know what to say to that," he whispered. "Because... he wasn't wrong. But..."

James pulled his hand away from the book, folding his arms loosely over his stomach.

"I'm sure it doesn't take much imagination to... to deduce," he continued to whisper. "That Butch played a part in it."

The silence that followed this time was overwhelming.

"I'm sorry," Hild eventually said, voice thin and only just audible, "James. It's... Words fall short of just how..."

She went quiet again, seeming at a true loss, then earnestly asked, "Are you alright with me staying here, or would you prefer some space?"

Upon searching himself for an answer, he found he only had one: he didn't quite know what he wanted, but he knew that being alone only meant he'd be alone with the thoughts in his head.

And he still didn't think he could face that.

"Please... stay," he said softly.

With a gentle smile, Hild inclined her head. "Alright."

James nodded, more to himself than to her.

He cleared his throat.

He didn't want to linger here.

"In-- in other news," he said weakly. "I've decided to stay."

With brows raised, Hild smiled brighter. That was enough, for him. It was a lifeline, pulling him out of the pit in his own mind.

"That's wonderful," she said, lightly resting a hand on his arm for just a moment. "It's truly a nice community here."

"That," James said. "And I didn't want to figure out how to maintain our relationship long-distance. Imagine trying to write and deliver letters to a secret address. It would be maddening. Though, I could be convinced to write letters regardless of distance."

Hild hummed a laugh. "That effort would've hardly been necessary. I would have gone with you."

James finally looked to meet her eyes, his expression soft, and sincere.

"Hild. I don't want to come between you and your family. Nevermind be the reason you're forced to separate from them again."

"You couldn't force that," she said with a slight grin, "I would've chosen, knowing that my family is being cared for."

"I know you would've chosen," James said. "But the only reasons I have to go are selfish, anyway. Hardly justifiable, in my book, and I do think it's good for Caspar, too, to be here. I think it's best for all of us. After all the trouble we've endured in only a few months, it's a relief to not have to watch my back all the time."

"I'm sure they're perfectly legitimate reasons. I do agree that this will be good for all of us," Hild said, eyes sparkling. Leaning sideways on his arm, she hummed and added, "You should probably let Caspar in on the plan fairly soon, then."

James felt his stomach start to flutter, and he almost didn't process what she said at all. He looked down at her, too afraid to move and ruin the moment.

"I will," he said. "Later. I'm sure he'll be up for a while, anyway. There's no hurry."

"True," she conceded. "At least before he starts to panic and plan all the proper ways to say goodbye."

"But-- he told me he'd go with me either way," James said, realizing she wasn't talking about him as he spoke. Hild turned her head, resting her chin on his shoulder, and stared at him pointedly.

"Ah... sorry," he said. "You meant the others."

"My brother in particular," she said.

"Of course," James said with a forced, small smile.

Flashing an amused smile back, Hild then straightened. "Will you be alright with the lockdown?"

"I don't think I have much choice in the matter, now that I've agreed to the terms," James said with a small shrug.

Tilting her head, Hild glanced him over. "Not quite an answer," she said softly.

James hadn't even deflected intentionally.

He looked back to the floor.

"I'll be okay," he said quietly. "It's just temporary."

"Hopefully only a couple of weeks," she agreed.

"I'm hoping for less," James said. "But I'm willing to wait for however long it takes to make sure we can travel together as safely as possible."

With a faint smile, Hild's gaze warmed. "It shouldn't be too long until then."

That was what he kept telling himself as the days passed by.

Just wait a little longer, then soon enough, they'd be back on the road before they knew it.

Despite the base being on lockdown, everyone was kept even busier than usual with preparations for the move and added security sweeps on top of their usual chores and daily needs. Bo and Mel took turns moving things out of the storage closet into the common room, where they were reorganizing and packing travel bags for everyone. That meant sufficient rations, emergency supplies, clothes, money, water, and the list went on.

Raj, Robin, and Raya were posted most frequently on watch around the base, doing sweeps of the area in ten-minute rotations in alternating pairs.

Lyall was kept busy with Lilya, Cy, and Leah most of the day, but would frequently be recruited with his daughters for packing purposes by Mel or Bo.

Elrick and Maisy were kept busy with the garden and creating natural deterrents to conceal the base for when they left and increase protection for the rest of their stay. They also had to keep up with the garden, where Maisy expended a lot of energy trying to get as much out of the harvest as possible so they had plenty of food on the road. Masil helped with the harvesting and preserving of the food for that purpose, but for the most part, she and her brother Jordan helped fill in the gaps where help was needed.

Hild, James, and Caspar were handed the responsibility of keeping up with all of the horses and making sure they were prepared for the journey ahead. Their hands were more full now, because they had three extra horses added to their care.

One was a large ruddy brown draft horse that belonged to Bo by the name of Rusty. Rusty was well-behaved and seemed to be just as mellow as Bo, which made working with him easy.

There were two more horses, each belonging to Raj and Raya. One was a moody black mustang (ironically Raj's steed, given Raj's level-headed presence) named Midnight and the other was a muddy brown quarter horse named Rhubarb. She belonged to Raya and was contrastingly one of the sweetest, overly-affectionate horses James had ever met.

That left them with six horses and a pony. Altogether, they had their hands full making sure each horse got fed and had ample time to roam around under supervision - since they were no exception to the small radius of exploration rule.

Yet, as busy as they all were, they still found pockets of time to relax and wind down.

In the afternoons, right after lunch, James would retreat to the common room with Hild, Caspar, Cy, and Lilya, where they'd take an hour or so to read. It gave Lyall a little break from the girls, and it was a nice reprieve from mornings filled with hard labor in the still-warm sun. Though, the days were starting to cool off a bit.

Sometimes (or often) Lilya would get distracted from her reading attempts, and James would end up having to read with her, but he didn't mind it. On some occasions, he just ended up reading softly for her when she begged him to read her a "big kid" story. Unfortunately, she would always ask him to read from the books he was digging into, which weren't exactly stories, or meant for children.

So what he ended up doing was pretending to read, and instead just made up stories for her as he went. Since she couldn't tell whether the words on the page matched his words, it worked just fine.

Cy caught on to the trick immediately, but thankfully didn't comment on it. So he kept that routine going.

In the evenings, when everyone was winding down before bed, they'd all often end up congregating in the common room. With everyone in there, it'd get a little crowded, and sometimes James would retreat to be alone, but he did like to stay when the others would play games. Sometimes he'd jump in, but he also liked to watch.

The most entertaining night on record was when Raj, Mel, Hild, and Lyall all faced off against one another in a very intense, fast-paced game of rummy. It drew everyone around as a small audience while they watched the pairs of siblings spout off trash talk and sharp insults -- well, all except for Raj, who, for the most part, kept his mouth shut. But when he did speak up, his quips were cutting and made everyone in the room laugh and "ooh" in reaction. Almost comedically, Lyall would always jump in to try to one-up him, but ultimately would only end up trying to talk as a distraction to everyone else during gameplay.

It was satisfying when Raj won that night, but Hild, Mel, and Lyall were all so defeated. Mel mostly joked about her loss in a lighthearted manner, but he could tell Lyall and Hild were competitively serious when they demanded a rematch.

Either fortunately or unfortunately, the stars didn't seem to align again for a rematch on that scale. But they all continued to play games and scratch the competitive itch when given the chance.

During meals and in-between duties, James couldn't help but observe.

He noticed how Caspar seemed to be softening up a bit more (were that even possible), namely with a select few people. Those included Mel, Robin, Raj, and Bo. Often James would catch Caspar chatting with some combination of the four, and it was nice to see him settling, laughing and smiling more. Caspar, of course, was still often caught with Lyall as well, but that was neither new nor a surprise.

Hild also seemed to be making a few connections, though at a slower pace - which felt right, and he expected as much. She and Raj seemed to hit it off once they got to talking about tailoring and sewing, which seemed to be an interest they shared, and it resulted in a few collaborative sessions where they patched up people's clothes together and sometimes discussed new creative ideas.

It also came to their attention that Raj knew how to knit, and knitted different articles of clothing for everyone in the colder months. In the middle of that discovery, Cy interjected to tell them that Raj had knitted her, Lilya, and Lyall all matching winter hats. At that, Lilya of course went to fetch them and showed them three purple hats with pom-poms on top. Then, of course, she made Cy and Lyall wear them with her for show.

It was a priceless moment, and there was something about seeing Lyall with a pom-pom topped hat shoved down over his eyes that was endearing.

It also seemed to help ease some of the lingering tension between the two of them -- though James wasn't sure when it would be entirely resolved.

Though he and Lyall were getting along just fine, he couldn't help but note that Lyall went out of his way to never be speaking to him alone and to always keep his distance.

It made mornings a little weird.

One of the things he'd incorporated into his daily routine was by Bo's invitation. In the early mornings, just before the break of dawn, Bo would take Lyall out to the surface for training. Though the training was, at the end of the day, for magic, Bo explained that Lyall was learning different fighting forms. Something about needing to be able to sustain a movement physically before incorportating control of magic on top of it. It made sense, even though James had no personal experience using magic.

It was mostly excercises to build muscle memory and increase agility and strength. Still in the process of recovery from his bullet wound and following surgery but itching to be active again in some way, James eagerly took the invitation to join them.

Bo seemed happy to fold James into the lessons as a magic-less student, and James was just happy to get to be outside, see the sunrise, and get moving. Lyall was always a little grumbly and groggy with it being so early, but he was amicable. He and Bo would sometimes go back and forth, like they were competing as much in wits as they were competing to outdo one another in whatever exercise Bo was leading them through.

Of course, Bo normally won out, but sometimes Lyall would "win." James wondered how much of Lyall's "winning" was intentional on Bo's part, though, but thought it best not to comment and poke holes where he didn't need to.

With so many things keeping James busy and requiring his attention, James found that before he knew it, fourteen days flew by. It had been about a week and a half, and it was already mid-Sil, just another week and a half or so before the autumn equinox, marking the beginning of fall.

He could feel it in the air.

It was cool enough that he kept his jacket on, unlike days past where he decided to keep it off, since he'd end up working up a sweat anyway.

He was out with Caspar, watching Eir and Rhubarb graze among a small patch of grass that Elrick and Maisy had kept clear for the horses.

Rhubarb and Eir seemed to get along best with one another. Rhubarb's happy disposition put Eir at ease, and Eir helped to keep Rhubarb from being too curious or distracted and wandering into things. Of course, they still kept an eye on the two, but they tended to work things out amongst themselves.

James stood leaning against a tree. Caspar lingered closeby, carving into a narrow, twisting branch he'd found on the ground.

They'd stood in comfortable silence for some time, but James watched Caspar curiously, trying to figure out what he was making. Eventually the curiosity formed its way to his tongue.

"What are you carving?" he asked.

Lowering his knife, Caspar held the branch out at arm's length to look it over. "It's, uh, hopefully going to be a weasel."

James pushed his glasses up his nose and leaned in closer, squinting at it.

He supposed it was vaguely weasel shaped. It didn't have a lot of detail at the moment.

"Any plans for it once you're done?" he asked.

Pursing his lips, Caspar half-shrugged. "No plans, no practical purpose for it."

On the end of the branch where the head was roughly carved, he slowly marked two dots and a sideways 3 as a guide. It was a small thing, but the cat-mouthed, dot-eyed weasel face made James chuckle.

"Maybe Lilya would enjoy it," James suggested. "I'm sure she'd play with it."

Caspar smiled faintly at the thought. "I could offer. Not sure if she's as taken with woodland creatures, though."

"No way to know unless you ask," James offered. "I know I would've enjoyed things like that as a kid. Especially if it was a gift."

Casting him a slightly broader grin, Caspar said, "You wood have?"

James stared blankly at him for a moment, but then his face broke in a smile and he shook his head.

"Wow," he said with a small laugh in his voice.

Caspar huffed a laugh. "Sorry, I had to." He turned his eyes back down to the weasel-to-be and began shaping the paws. "So far, the woodland theme has been well-received--" He stopped, then added quieter, "Yeah, I might ask her."

James tilted his head to the side, wonderinf what thought Caspar almost led into that caused him to cut himself off. Before Caspar could explain himself, James found that he was already piecing probable explanations together. If Caspar had offered woodland creatures to someone else before as a gift, it was likely a child -- which was why it would even come up due to association.

The only kid James knew Caspar ever had was Jack.

And he was gone.

He paused for a moment, watching Caspar work.

"Did you make a lot of wooden creatures for him?" he asked hesitantly.

Caspar nodded once, and smiled weakly at the branch in his hand. "I guess so. Birds, deer, squirrels--" A quiet laugh rumbled in the back of his throat. "He still liked the bear, even after the break-in."

"It's a good thing he wasn't the type to hold grudges," James said with a soft smile.

With his mouth drawn into a thin line, Caspar nodded again. "Yeah, he's-- he was forgiving like that." Sucking in a breath, he glanced at James as he quickly went on, "He liked the rabbit quite a bit, too. He, ah, liked to think he was fast like them."

James hummed, his mind drifting to all of the loose little rabbit sketches Caspar filled his sketchbook with. They danced across the corners of pages, filling in the gaps in-between.

He wondered if Caspar still felt like that. Like he found Jack in every pause, in every margin, in every in-between.

James knew he felt that way with his father for a long time. It was like everything around him would call back to memories of his father. Not quite haunting him like a ghost, but more like he was still in the middle of a bad dream, waiting for it to be over.

It was hard to believe that someone could be gone for good. It sounded like Caspar was still, if only in part, in denial.

He couldn't blame him for that. What he knew of the circumstances around Jack's death, he knew it weighed on Caspar with more than the shock of a young life cut short.

He felt like it was his fault.

James didn't see it at first, because he didn't know what he was seeing.

But now, he could see how Caspar carried the guilt with him. In every conversation. In his subdued manner. In his sleepless nights. In his quickness to affirm others, but never himself.

In the back of James's mind, there was a nagging voice reminding him that he wasn't any better. Worse, it told him. He was far worse.

But it didn't change the things James saw and picked up on.

"Was he?" James asked after a small delay. "As fast as them?"

Caspar hummed, eyes fond. "He came pretty close."

"Impressive," James said with another small smile. "I bet he ran circles around you, then."

Caspar's smile warmed. "Yeah, sometimes literally, actually. I'd have to chase him as this big lumbering bear while he ran around me and the trees."

"I'm sure he had fun with that," James said with a small smirk. "Giving you a workout."

"Left me winded," Caspar agreed. After a moment of quiet shuffling in his spot, he continued, "It was a game I think he played with his father. He, um..."

James tilted his head, but with the given context, he was able to fill in the blanks.

"Was he an orphan?" he asked quietly.

Caspar nodded slightly, gaze still turned downward. "Not for long, I think." Then he shrugged. "Illness took his father shortly before, and he never said anything about his mother, so she was just...completely out of the picture, I guess."

James nodded. Sadly, running into orphans or people with absent parents in the Outlands was common. There were many fathers who didn't want to be parents, and didn't want to be there for their kids, nevermind step up as fathers for someone else's child. He was glad that Caspar took Jack in, but it was tragic that it had ended the way it did.

"Well, I'm glad you were able to be there for him," James said with a small, soft smile.

Glancing up, Caspar only smiled back, tightly and just for a split second. Sorrow then drew a deep frown as he ducked his head again. He idly rubbed a thumb over the weasel's ear.

James's expression softened as he watched Caspar, eyes full of sadness and empathy.

"A decent man might step up to father his own son, but it takes a great one to be a good father to a child who has none," James said gently. "For what it's worth, I think you're a good man, Cas. And I'm sorry for your loss. Jack sounds like he was a real gift, and I know words don't offer much by way of comfort, but..."

He hesitated, and then inched up towards Caspar, stretching out his arms to welcome him in for a hug.

Looking up once more, Caspar stared at him, hesitating. He looked askance, unable to meet James's eyes, and swallowed thickly. After another silent beat of internally warring with himself, he pocketed his knife and fully enveloped James in his arms. James pulled Caspar in, hugging him firmly.

This one, he'd leave it up to Caspar to decide when he was ready to pull away.

"You're not alone in this," James said quietly into Caspar's shoulder. "You don't have to grieve alone."

Because, gods, did James know how that felt.

He remembered what it was like. The death of his father was an open wound he'd been forced to staple shut as his mother and sister fled with him to a foreign city, away from everything they'd every known, with no stability to fall back on.

There was no time to grieve because he had to grow up... and, well, he'd failed at even doing that.

Caspar let out a shaky breath as he held on a little tighter. James rubbed his back lightly.

"We're in this together," he said, his voice still low. "You don't have to carry this on your own."

"You're a good friend, James," Caspar said, voice thick, "and I consider it an honor just knowing you."

James huffed a weak laugh through his nose.

"Don't inflate my ego too much," he said.

Carefully pulling away, Caspar rested his hand on James's shoulder and smiled warmly at him. "Not much to do with ego," he countered gently, "just. Saying it as it is."

James looked up at Caspar with a small, but equally warm smile in return.

"Well," he said, looking away. "You should still be careful. I'm feeling dangerously important at the moment."

"Well." Caspar's eyes brightened as he said simply, "You are."

James huffed again through his nose, and reached out to lightly bump Caspar's arm with his fist.

"So are you," he said, pulling his hand away.

Caspar glanced down with a quiet laugh and murmured, "Alright."

James took a small step back, putting his hands in his pockets.

"Well, now that we're both clear on that, I guess you can return to whittling," he said.

Caspar nodded. "I guess-- Oh, that reminds me..." Tucking the carved branch under his arm, he mumbled to himself as he dug through his pockets.

James tilted his head curiously. Caspar twisted around in a small circle as he reached for a back pocket, then stopped with a victorious look on his face as he held out a small wooden bird.

It was a hawk, just a few inches long, with its wings partially folded in as it stood upright. Its head was turned slightly, and its eyes were piercing. The surface of the wood wasn't completely smooth, but the details of the face and feathers were clear.

James stared at it for a moment, taking it in, and then looked up to meet Caspar's eyes.

"Wait," he said. "Did you make a hawk because--"

"Yes," Caspar said, positively beaming, "I did."

James let out a laugh.

A hawk for Hawke. Hild would hate it, but James couldn't help but find it funny.

He gingerly plucked the hawk out of Caspar's hands and looked it over. Lifting it up next to his face, he looked to Caspar.

"Do you see the resemblance?" he asked.

"Both very commanding," Caspar said with a small nod. "Despite your..." He held a hand up at his shoulder. "...lacking height."

James gave Caspar a flat look.

"I'm not that short," he said. "You're just tall."

Laughing, Caspar shrugged. "All relative."

James scoffed, but smiled slightly.

"Yeah. Next to Bo you look average," James said. "And next to Robin you're a giant."

Caspar nodded, his smile still bright. "I think--"

A gunshot echoed in the forest.

A bullet whizzed by him at an angle, and struck Caspar in the chest. Brows furrowing, Caspar watched as blood bloomed across his chest. The branch dropped to the dirt. With an unsteady step back, his legs gave out. The ground caught him as he crumbled.

For a moment, everything slowed to a stop around him. The air went still, and every thump of his own heart was like the rumble of a thunder. The strung out hit of a slow-beating drum.

He stared down at Caspar's fallen body and a picture pushed to the front of his mind, barreling through every defense, forgetting it was intentionally forgotten.

He was holding onto his mother's waist as he looked back. His mother's warning to keep his eyes forward echoed in his ears as he watched his father step in front of a goblin, with dozens following behind it.

A spear skewered through him, and James watched as it was yanked out, taking parts of his father with it before his father's lifeless body fell to the ground.

Helplessly, he'd only been able to stare as the horse sped away, leaving his father behind.

Something clicked into place in James's head, and in a second, a rush of thoughts flooded through his mind all at once.

Someone was hiding. Someone had found him, or Caspar.

Caspar was dying. Caspar needed help. He was bleeding out. He--

James looked back into the forest, his chest swelling with panic.

"Hild!" he shouted, voice fraying at the edges.

It was the only name that came to mind.

Falling on his knees beside Caspar, his eyes darted around the forest, desperately searching for a source.

"James," Caspar choked out, thinly, panicked, "go."

James looked back at Caspar with blurring vision. Head tilted, Caspar stared back, eyes fading fast.

"Go--"

James didn't see anyone or anything that could've possibly been the source, and before he could form any words, he felt a stabbing pain in his thigh. And then another in his back. And his arm.

James ripped a dart out of his arm, and blood started gushing out of the deep hole left behind.

No.

No.

He could already feel the rush of lumshade entering his system as the sedative worked all too fast. Desperately, he looked back down at Caspar, opening his mouth only for nothing to come out.

He heard footsteps ahead of them.

Looking up, instead of seeing help arrive, he found himself staring into a hauntingly familiar face he'd only ever seen in his dreams since five years ago, when James had left the Moonlight Kingdom capital, never to return.

Carter stared back with cold, calculating eyes.

His hair was longer. His eyes more empty. But deep within, James could see the seething rage under the surface.

And then a smirk.

"It's been a long time coming," Carter said as James's head started to spin. He stumbled onto his elbows, but his arms gave in, going numb.

In his last moments of consciousness, he saw Carter's shoes, and Carter's voice sung overhead like a distant echo.

"Let's take you home."

The urgency and utter panic when James yelled through the trees pushed Hild to run, full speed in an instant. Not once had he sounded like that in her company. Her mind flew through all the possible causes. She kept her breath even, shoving down the quickly mounting dread in her chest, as she tore through the underbrush and jumped jutting roots.

Caspar was on the ground, drenched in red. Eir paced restlessly on the edges of the clearing, urging Rhubarb to stay under the trees. James was nowhere to be found.

On her knees at Caspar's side, Hild ripped at his shirt, frantic as she assessed the wound.

Bullet. Narrowly missed his sternum, expertly aimed.

For a second, she was kneeling by James again in the storm.

Her hands hovered uselessly over the wound in Caspar's chest.

Crashing through the trees, Robin came flying out into the clearing, breathless. He caught one glimpse of Caspar, then met Hild's eyes.

"I'll get Mel," he heaved, before he darted past her, disappearing beyond the clearing.

Just as he left, someone else came bursting through the trees. It was Raj. The earth shifted under his feet, as if he commanded it to catch him and slow him down, and he looked to Hild, then to Caspar.

"Did you see anything?" he asked.

Hild shook her head, unable to find her voice. She scanned the area for signs, clues, anything. "James isn't here, he's just-- Not here."

He would've stayed with Caspar.

Someone had to have taken James.

Raj nodded sharply.

"I'll go look for him. Stay with Cas," Raj said steadily as he whirled around, eyes scanning the clearing before he was off, following a path Hild didn't see.

She felt compelled to warn him to be careful, but her voice had left her again, and Raj was already out of sight.

Caspar was still breathing. Barely, and unsteady. His eyes stared out to the side, blank.

Hild found the mind to try to slow the bleeding. Her hands were covered in another friend's blood. Her breath hitched.

Rustling was heard again, this time in the direction of the base. Hurried footsteps - these ones less quiet than Robin and Raj - carried Mel into the clearing. She slowed her pace but didn't stop moving until she slid down next to Hild, not having stopped to catch her breath.

"Move," she huffed out heavily, pushing Hild aside.

Mel laid her hands over the gaping chest wound and closed her eyes.

A golden, vibrant light started to emanate from her arms, flowing down her shoulders to her hands, where it shone with a flash of blinding light.

The light flooded into Caspar, as if his body was absorbing it. It sunk into his chest like veins of gold that faded deep into his skin, and Hild could see the bullet wound visibly stop bleeding under Mel's parted fingers.

When the light completely dissipated, Mel's frame suddenly sagged. Heavily, she swayed to the side, falling into Hild's shoulder. Hild grabbed her, holding her steady. Mel wasn't holding herself up anymore.

Glancing down at Caspar, Hild swallowed and said faintly, "Help is-- should be coming."

"He'll... make it," Mel whispered out, already sounding like she was fading.

Nodding, Hild pulled Mel's arm around her neck as she pushed herself to her feet. She held Mel firmly and started back for base. Bo and Lyall rushed past. Hild kept her eyes fixed forward.

Just as the stable came in sight, Mel's legs gave out, and she went completely limp. Hild leaned to the far side to compensate, just managing to keep them both upright. Jordan rushed out in time and lifted Mel off her feet before Hild's own legs buckled entirely.

"What happened?" Jordan asked as he turned to the stairwell, but cast a worried look to Hild. "Do you need help?"

Masil, it appeared, wasn't far behind. She came running up with wide eyes and brought an arm around Hild's shoulders. Hild stood tense, barely registering her touch.

She glanced back in the direction of the clearing. "Caspar's been shot, James is missing," she said, and internally cursed at the waver in her voice.

Masil's eyes got even bigger, and Jordan faltered in his steps.

"I'll get Mel to her bed," he said distantly. "Masil... they might need Hild in the infirmary. Take her there."

Jordan hurried down below, leaving the stunned Masil behind.

Masil blinked rapidly and started to pat Hild's back, gently nudging her to the stairs.

They'll need help.

Squaring her shoulders, Hild drew in a breath and stood straighter.

She had work ahead of her.

Robin was already a flurry of activity as he prepared the infirmary. Hild helped where she could, but he'd done most of the preparations by the time she arrived.

Bo and Lyall carefully brought Caspar in.

Her brother was on the verge of unravelling. His face was drawn tense with worry, anger burned in his eyes. His voice just above a mumble, he rambled quick, non-stop reassurances to Caspar. His words fell on deaf ears.

After Caspar had been laid out on the operating table, Bo turned to Lyall squarely and planted his hands on Lyall's shoulders.

"Caspar's going to be okay, Lyall," he said, his voice gentle, but firm. "Mel's got him stable. He just needs your steady hands, now. Robin's taking the lead on this, but he'll need you. Alright?"

Brows knitting together, Lyall looked up at Bo, desperate. "What about James? We'll need to go find him, I can help."

Bo took in a deep breath and turned his gaze to Hild.

"Can you help here with Robin?" he asked.

Hild nodded and answered firmly, "Yes, of course."

"Then we'll leave you to it," Bo said. Pulling his hands away from Lyall, he turned to the door.

"Lyall, come with me," he ordered with a wave of his hand.

Without hesitation, Lyall followed close. Over his shoulder, he hastily but earnestly called, "You're good, you can do this!"

With another sharp nod, Hild only replied, "Bring James back!" just as Lyall and Bo disappeared into the hallway. The door closed behind them.

Hild turned and steeled herself. "Tell me what to do," she said.

Robin came around the other side of Caspar, pulling a small table on wheels alongside him. Atop it were several surgical tools.

"You can start by taking a deep breath," Robin said.

The light blotted out so only shadows danced before his eyes. Caspar was floating in the dark, cold. The dampened sounds of a current filled his ears. He was in the ocean, off the shore of Herron.

Which struck him as odd. No one was waiting for him above the surface. His father's boat was gone. There was a house, but it surely sat empty with nets that still needed mending. There was his kid by the water's edge, but six feet under a pile of stones and a roughly hewn cross.

The water was deep. When Caspar tried swimming up, he found the surface unreachable. His lungs burned as the pressure of the ocean threatened to crush them.

The current, once peaceful, turned tumultuous as a storm rolled in.

Caspar had wanted this. Only ever wished to take a boat out into the water and let the ocean take him as it did his father, because that was where he felt he'd finally find home.

Now the desire to belong somewhere pulled on him from two different directions.

The storm tossed him around, beating him against rocks and throwing him into an undercurrent that just dragged him deeper. Old wounds stabbed and ached, and his chest was on fire. He curled in on himself, helpless as the ocean steadily killed him.

Then it stopped, as quickly as it came. He heard a voice faintly call for him.

"Jack?" he rasped.

A gentle light filtered down through the surface, then turned blinding when he opened his eyes.

He was. In a fairly fuzzy room. Details were lost on him, but the air felt familiar. A little chilly, but it wasn't salty anymore at least.

Though his chest stopped burning, it was as though the water was still pressing in on him.

Caspar was still floating, too. He couldn't seem to find his own body, and was stuck staring upward.

The room was familiar, and sounds-- voices-- he knew began to filter in through the cotton in his ears, but. Something was wrong, something was missing, and it wasn't Jack this time.

Get a grip, he told himself sternly.

On your feet, his father's voice ordered.

He would if he could even find his feet, Caspar thought bitterly.

Caspar curled his fingers. He was stopped short, though, by something pressed in his palm. Warm, and it wrapped around his hand in turn.

"Cas?"

Caspar felt himself frown a little. That wasn't right. Lyall had disappeared after the house burned down, he shouldn't be here.

Tilting his head sideways, sure enough, he found Lyall sitting beside him. He looked a little worse for wear, and his eyes were tired. He flashed a relieved smile, though, and scooted closer.

"Hey, it's good to see you," Lyall said gently. "It's been a minute, though that's to be expected. I'm actually surprised you're already awake."

Caspar's mouth was dry, and his voice was rough as he managed to reply, "M'surprised you're...here. Y'look..."

He looked different, though Caspar was sure he'd seen him like this just recently.

"Breezy?" Lyall supplied with a small grin. "Debonair? Devil-may-care? Don't let the charming wind-blown look fool you, I actually feel rather-- ah, not my best."

Caspar huffed in amusement. "S'fair, what with, um, the fire. And Hansen."

Lyall's grin faltered, and concern flashed in his eyes. Then he nodded slowly. "Right. Cas, we're not... Where do you think we are?"

Staring back up at the ceiling, Caspar actually couldn't say. He licked his lips and tried, "The...patient ward? Though--"

The patient ward was burned down with the rest of the practice.

Where the hell were they?

Lyall patted Caspar's hand. "That's actually not too far off the mark, but you're likely still hanging around the wrong time and place."

What other place could there be? Time?

Ah, wait. His-- his kid, Jack, was gone. But the fire was recent?

Fog hung thickly in his mind. Caspar struggled to make sense of the few fragments he could find in the haze.

Hansen was gone too, then, though Caspar couldn't feel the remnants of their final encounter.

"You look good, all things considered," Lyall murmured, eyes sharpening as he assessed him from where he sat.

His words went in one ear, and straight out the other as Caspar kept finding new pieces to the puzzle.

Hansen was gone. Both were, in fact.

Ivar was dead, and Butch was gone.

The bounty hunter's face with the axe wedged deep into his skull flashed behind his eyes. Caspar absently felt around his neck.

"He was just shot in the chest," Hild's voice cut in plainly, "and he looks like he was just shot in the chest. Don't lie to him."

Caspar turned his head sideways again. Hild nudged her brother's side, and perched on the other half of his chair when he made room with a huff.

"Left a sizable hole," she went on. "Mel, Robin, and I patched it up, though."

Caspar swallowed and nodded slowly as he echoed, "Mel..."

She and Robin had healing magic.

He'd been shot? Looking down at himself, Caspar tugged down at the hem of his shirt and, sure enough, there was a scar he didn't recognize right about where his heart was.

He'd been shot.

He never saw anyone, never heard anyone approach. He just remembered carving, talking, and eventually offering James--

Oh gods, James.

Eyes wide as they both watched the bullet strike him, James mirrored the shock that Caspar felt in that instant.

Ripping out of Lyall's grasp, Caspar shot up, and was instantly pushed back down by his shoulders.

"Nope," Lyall said, firmly pressing him back, "not just yet, bud, you ne--"

Caspar's heart pounded in his ears. Limbs still heavy, he blindly fought to get up again.

He hadn't been able to do anything once the bullet hit him, his mind was cut off from his body, but he was still present enough to register the terror in James's eyes, the sheer panic when he shouted for help.

That instinct to fight, to protect, reared its head, but Caspar was stuck on the ground, useless.

And now James wasn't here. He was what was missing.

Caspar threw himself sideways, forcing Lyall to switch from holding back to holding upright so he didn't fall to the floor.

"I'll be honest," Lyall said, sounding strained, "this isn't ideal--"

At last on his feet, Caspar tore himself out of Lyall's hands and stumbled back against the bed. "Where is he?" he demanded, desperate.

He bit out a curse when the room lurched around him. When Lyall reached out to help, Caspar tried side-stepping, but only tripped and displaced the bed.

"Where's--" Lyall started, hands held up, placating, and his brows drawn in confusion. Then it clicked. "Oh! Well, see--"

Another set of hands came in, this time lifting Caspar up off the ground with an arm behind his back and under his legs. The room spun again until he was facing the ceiling, and looking up into Bo's solemn expression. Pushing at his shoulder, Caspar fought his hold, but he felt his own strength quickly waning.

"James was caught," Bo said steadily. "We're not going to let it stay that way, but you're not going to do James any favors by rushing out of here blind. You've been out for several days, Cas. You won't make it very far on your own. We're putting together a rescue team, but we can't go barging into the Moonlight Kingdom capital with no plan."

He paused, before adding.

"You're on the rescue team, obviously. Once you're a little more on the other side of being fatally wounded."

Breath short and heart still hammering in his chest, Caspar tried twisting out of Bo's arms. "I don't need a plan," he bit out, and he knew he was bordering unreasonable now, but didn't know how to rein in the panic as he firmly went on, "I just need to find him--"

"You'll be able to find him with our help," Bo said, his voice still steady. "We have ways to get in to the city without giving ourselves away. Remember, you're still a wanted man, Cas."

"I--" Caspar's voice broke, and he cried out in frustration and rage and despair.

"I can't just-- I keep losing," Caspar shouted, voice raw and eyes stinging. "I lost Jack already, I can't just sit and wait here until I lose James too!"

Bo's expression saddened, and he glanced over to Lyall and Hild before he slowly laid Caspar back down on the bed.

"We'll get him back," Bo said.

Pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes, Caspar lied back in defeat, his shoulders shaking as he tried willing away hot tears.

He couldn't fail James, too. Caspar just knew he couldn't bear his loss. It was just too much, and he would have to finally concede that the world was truly too unfeeling and cruel for either of them to push on any longer. That Caspar truly wasn't enough, as he always feared, and that he was doomed to be forever pointless and utterly alone.

Curled up on his side, silently crying into his hands and unable to get a grip, Caspar tried hiding himself as best he could.

The bed shifted under an additional weight, and Lyall carefully lied back alongside him, his arm pressed warmly to Caspar's back.

No one said anything else. Caspar lost track of the rest of the room as he feebly fought to recompose himself. He eventually re-oriented himself with Lyall's solid presence behind him, and counted out deliberate breaths, calming his mind enough to perhaps think a little clearer.

James was caught, and being brought into the Moonlight Kingdom.

Water still pressed in on Caspar's lungs, but his breath gradually grew steadier.

James wasn't completely gone. They still had a chance to get him back.

Caspar loosened his hold on himself, and scrubbed his hands over his face. Small circles were gently rubbed on his back, giving him something tangible to focus on.

He didn't have to do it alone. Bo, Mel, and the others were already forming a team to help retrieve James.

Caspar kept his face hidden behind his hands, unable to meet anyone else's eyes, unable to say anything else.

Distantly, his father's voice prompted him to get up again, to get moving because there was work ahead of them. Caspar wanted to, so deeply, with everything he had, he couldn't afford to wait anymore, but he really didn't have much left in him right now.

"We haven't forgotten him," Mel's voice came from beside him, soft and gentle. He felt her hand rest on his shoulder. "And we haven't forgotten you. You're both family, now, and family doesn't leave each other behind. We just want to do this well. I don't think James would want us going in blind and getting ourselves killed. Then we'd all lose."

She paused, rubbing his shoulder with her thumb.

"It's not over. James is going to be okay. We'll do everything in our power to make sure of that," Mel said firmly. "But right now, we need you to get better so you can come with us with strength. We'll need you at full strength for this. And so will James. So... I'm going to ask you to eat. In a few minutes. Bo's made some soup for you, and I want you to do the best you can to finish it. Just remember it's all unto saving James. You're going to get better for him, okay?"

Pushing his hair back from his face and heavily setting his hands down, Caspar stared at her. His head still swam from all the pieces puzzling back into place, from this fog he couldn't seem to shake, from the storm of emotions still stirring in his ribs.

It's not over.

Get up, his father urged again.

Caspar took a breath. Twisting onto his back again, he found his hands once more and slowly pushed himself upright. Lyall slid off the bed and helped him from the side.

Hild lingered by the table in the room, eyes fixed elsewhere. Just past her by the cabinets, Bo's back was turned for the moment.

Caspar looked down at the patched-up hole in his chest.

Someone had ambushed them again, Caspar realized bitterly. He kept letting his guard down, kept missing things.

James was caught, and being brought into the Moonlight Kingdom.

Whoever fired that gun was an excellent shot. Caspar was tempted to poke at the healed wound. Remembering Mel, though, he opted not to. She was more than likely the main reason he was still alive.

He'd been shot. This time the bullet did find Caspar, but James was far from safe.

Caspar couldn't recall anyone else stepping into the scene after he fell. The sky blotted out too quickly for him to see. He could only wildly guess who might've found them this time, and the one name he was even only a little sure of, he hated to think of.

"Did you..." His voice scratched. He swallowed and tried again. "Did anyone see who it was?"

Bo flicked a look back at Caspar over his shoulder, but quickly looked away. A second later, he turned around, holding a bowl with a spoon sticking out of steaming soup. He walked over slowly, holding the soup next to Caspar.

"Not at first," Bo said. "But Lyall and I caught up with Raj, who'd been trying to track them down. The three of us managed to catch up after several hours, but... we were sorely outnumbered."

He paused, looking from the bowl to Caspar.

"It was Carter Haddon, in the company of a bunch of soldiers. Never been that close to the guy before, but we figured it out."

Caspar stared into the soup.

It was Carter.

Another voice-- Alexander's-- then prodded, whispering low threats of an endless cycle of death.

James was the farthest thing from safe.

Carefully taking the bowl in both hands, Caspar faintly nodded his thanks and set the soup on his lap.

Mel, who was sitting in a chair beside his bed, patted his arm lightly.

"Take your time," she said.

Caspar's stomach turned as he stared into the bottom of the bowl. Though sluggish, his hand was surprisingly steady as he idly stirred the spoon around.

The first bite, he didn't even taste. By the third or fourth, the uneasiness of his stomach turned out to be sharp hunger. The warm broth, though clear, was rich with flavor, and the bits of vegetables and white meat were tender.

Caspar had drained the bowl before he knew it.

"Perfect," Mel said with a warm smile once he was done. "Good job, Cas. I can always count on you to finish your food."

He managed a small smile in turn. It was hardly a chore, especially when the food was so good.

Gingerly, she plucked the bowl and spoon out of his hands.

"I'll bring you more later," Bo said with a soft smile.

"We'll see how this digests first," Mel said. "We don't want to overwhelm your stomach. You've been off solid food for a while."

"Like a baby," Bo interjected.

Mel looked over Caspar to give Bo a flat look.

"A really big baby," Bo said as if to amend the comment, but it only made Mel roll her eyes.

"Let me know how your stomach's feeling after a bit, okay?" Mel said, turning to Caspar, ignoring Bo.

With a quiet laugh, Caspar mustered a slight smile. "Yeah, will do. Thank you."

"I've got to go take care of some things," Mel said. "But I'll be back in an hour or so. You can stay sitting up until then if you'd like, but I'm not permitting you to walk around just yet. Clear?"

Nodding, Caspar murmured, "Sure thing, doc."

Mel smiled softly at that and gave his arm one more pat before she got up and pulled away.

"Lyall and Hild will stay with you," Mel said.

"I have to make more soup," Bo explained with a little shrug as he followed Mel backwards out the door. "Don't do anything too crazy while I'm gone. I don't wanna miss out."

"Activity will be kept to a minimum until then," Hild replied smoothly.

"Fantastic," Bo said with a large grin as he spun around and closed the door behind him.

Once the door was shut, Caspar closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the wall.

It was Carter.

Caspar slowly clenched his hands, then spread his fingers out to release the tension.

Hild sat by the table now. Her hands worked steadily as she tugged on a needle and thread. From where Caspar sat, it looked like patchwork.

Lyall had taken the chair by the bed. With his chin resting on one hand, he held up an open book with the other. His eyes scanned the page, intense as he already immersed himself in the text.

The warm broth soothed the rawness in Caspar's throat, making his voice easier to reach.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

After a second's delay, Lyall turned his eyes up. He blinked, then grinned a little. "I'm not the one laid up here, now am I?"

Slightly sheepish, Caspar glanced down at himself for a second. "Sure, okay," he mumbled. "But. I meant, um...from Carter Haddon."

Closing and setting aside the book, Lyall scratched the back of his neck. "Ah. Yes, that. See." He managed another quick, though-wry smile. "We were...not at all ready for that match."

Shoulders squared, Lyall sat straighter. "Raj had only just made sense of the trail by the time Bo and I caught up with him. Haddon and his group covered their tracks so...unnaturally well. We didn't find them until it was dark, after they'd set camp. I only managed a quick head count before they caught wind. Three to eight, we were outnumbered, which wouldn't usually be too much of a problem, but--"

Lyall glanced off, brows drawn in focus, likely rewinding the fight in his head to play it back by every step.

Caspar supposed it sort of made sense that someone of Carter's rank and standing had the means to be over-prepared for a man-hunt.

Still looking deep in thought, Lyall continued, "Haddon's henchmen were... It was like they'd fought against magic before. Which, sure, his family heads the entire guild, but why expend such resources on a man without magic?"

Caspar was just as lost on that, so he could only manage a weak shrug in response.

"I jus' know this is personal for him," he said quietly.

Lyall glanced at him at this. "More on that later," he said quickly, "I've got a story to tell and out-loud pondering to do, and you're fading fast, so we're on borrowed time now."

Caspar frowned. "I don't feel--"

"The two guards on watch caught on. It descended into chaos the next instant. During the brawl, I did catch a glimpse of Haddon himself."

Something sparked in Lyall's eyes as he grinned slightly.

"He was a small brick of a man. Couldn't seem to grow upward, so he built out instead. Never got to see if any of that body-building was usable, though, because he never even moved to step into the fight. And, ah..."

Lyall rubbed the back of his neck again. "Raj and I were eventually hit with lumshade. Bo had to grab us and run by that point." Brows drawn again, and eyes averted, his voice dropped to a murmur. "Which also strikes me as odd, the fact that we were let go."

"Single-mindedness," Caspar offered quietly.

Carter was only there for James. He had the means to fend off mages just fine. He didn't have to expend anymore time or energy contending with anyone else if he didn't want to.

Lyall nodded. He reached over and patted Caspar's arm. "Once your body's in better shape and you're less out of it in general, we can attempt something of a criminal sketch based off key witness descriptions."

Caspar mustered a grin in turn. "If it'll help, sure."

He wasn't sure that he wanted to draw Carter in detail, but it could possibly serve a practical purpose. Maybe. He didn't really anticipate simply running into him on the street, though.

Face softening, Lyall gave his hand a squeeze and withdrew. "We'll talk more later."

Caspar nodded, only slightly. The room was growing a little fuzzy again. The water still pushed inward on his chest, where the bullet struck him, but it wasn't enough to keep him fully cognizant.

On your feet, his father said, his voice a faint echo this time.

"M'trying," Caspar mumbled back. He felt too heavy, though. He tilted his head back again, eyes closing without him meaning for it. "Jus' need...t'sleep it off."

Rest for now, a different voice whispered. Softer, almost like a lullaby that he hadn't heard since childhood.

Runa's hand gently brushed the hair from his forehead, and he melted back into sleep.

With her brother, Mel, and Bo all on Caspar during his stress-- and partially drug-- induced breakdown, Hild sat back down at the table in the infirmary, where she left patchwork unfinished. She only glanced up when Bo crossed the room to the cabinets, then turned her focus back down to her work.

Mending holes was always a monotonous task that she rather disliked, but she was grateful for the monotony for the moment. It allowed her to withdraw from a situation that she couldn't help for the time being.

This was actually the third time she'd pulled new stitches from the hole left in Caspar's shirt, making this round her fourth attempt. Each time Hild finished, she found something wrong, small or even indiscernable as it may have been, and convinced herself it needed redoing.

Since patching up the hole in Caspar's chest, Hild actually withdrew quite a bit from interaction in general. Which, one might have suspected that would be hard once the bunker was almost completely locked down for the past several days, and there was hardly anywhere to entirely avoid the company of anyone else. But she found it was a terribly easy old pattern from even before Needle Point that she slipped straight back into.

Guilt twisted in her gut every time she caught herself respond to an innocent question or warm invitation to conversation in a particularly blunt or unfeeling way. She was quick to apologize, and even quicker to retreat to an empty corner somewhere, to remove herself from a situation before she could make it worse.

Silently sewing at the table, Hild listened as her brother filled Caspar in on the encounter with Haddon. It was her second or third time hearing it herself, and she already fixed the evidence left from the fight in the back of Bo's clothing.

It was a valiant effort, but the three were ultimately overpowered and forced to fall back.

Hild was able to firmly label James's absence as simply temporary and then push aside some of the nagging anxiety in order to continue fully functioning. In the face of Caspar's anguish, though, the full weight of nearly losing him again and James's capture by Haddon's hand started to press down on her.

Though Caspar was asleep and her brother too solemn to fill the silence, her focus was quickly drifting. She haphazardly packed away her sowing supplies and practically fled the room.



Mel and Lyall firmly insisted on a few more days of recovery time. Caspar kept petitioning to leave sooner. In the end, he'd been out of it for the better portion of a week, and Elrick and Raj ultimately held the metaphorical keys to the bunker, so. Yeah, suffice to say, he had to wait.

Just sitting and waiting around nearly drove him mad, so he wandered between the rooms and tried offering assistance with any preparations for the journey ahead. He was consistently turned back to the infirmary most every time, even by the kids. Lilya would lead him back by the hand, and Cy would set up books for all of them to help pass the time.

Reading only helped slightly. The letters on the pages were sometimes a little out of reach, and he had to reread a lot in order to retain anything before worry festered to the verge of making him sick.

When reading was beyond him, he tried drawing. But then opened up a whole other nasty can of worms, because he couldn't draw as legibly as he would have preferred. Stress frayed his nerves, and he'd dumped the rest of his flask awhile ago, after his drinking problem was finally aired out with James.

And just thinking of James would remind him of how he wasn't there, and Caspar would fall back into a state of terrible anxiety. It was an awful cycle.

There were only a few more days of recovery before they headed out, but it felt as though time was crawling along. Knowing that they were set back now eight days because of him, Caspar found himself shamefully short on patience, with himself especially.

Propped up against the wall in bed, he sat stiffly with his gaze averted to the side as Mel examined the healing wound in his chest. With his legs crossed, Lyall perched directly beside him to closely assess too.

It still felt like the ocean was pressing in on Caspar's ribs. Now about a week out from the incident, the pressure was gradually giving way to a dull but steady ache.

Mel gently laid her hands over his heart, and took in a deep breath.

"How's it feeling?" she asked.

Caspar turned his eyes downward and half-shrugged. "Still functional."

"I meant how is it feeling," Mel emphasized. "Pain symptoms, or anything else remaining."

Caspar hesitated, and answered in a murmur, "Just a... S'good, it just aches a little bit. Nothing to worry about."

"Okay," Mel said softly. "Good to know. Hopefully, this will be the last time you need this, and it'll all be uphill from here."

At that, gold drifted from her hands like candlelight, and the ache subsided for a moment. Caspar drew in a slow, deep breath, simply to savor breathing unhindered by pain while it lasted. When Mel pulled away, he exhaled again. His chest only tingled, like he'd sat in the sun a little too long.

Mel patted Caspar's shoulder and offered him a small, warm smile.

"How's that?" she asked. "Better?"

Lips quirking in a slight grin, he nodded, even as the subtle yet distinct throbbing returned. "Yeah," he said sincerely, "thank you."

"You said you know this is all a personal matter for Carter," Lyall said abruptly.

Mel turned to look at Lyall sharply.

"Lyall, really?" she asked with drawn brows. "Give the man a break."

Lyall shrugged with both hands, only slightly sheepish as he countered, "We could probably use whatever information we have available to us right now, and we'll be leaving shortly."

"We won't be running into Haddon for a while," Mel reasoned. "It's really not that urgent."

"Well, while we're just sitting here, then," Lyall tried.

Looking between the two, Caspar scrounged up what information he did have. Which honestly wasn't really in abundance, nor of any practical help.

"I don't know," Caspar cut in, quietly, "it's-- Yes, it's a really personal matter, and I'm not sure how much I should share on James's behalf."

Mind already running wild with possible explanations, Lyall turned curious eyes back to Caspar.

"You don't have to share anything," Mel reminded him. "Especially if it doesn't affect how we'll approach the rescue."

Lyall huffed. "Okay, so then it's simply to satisfy my curiosity this time."

"Good. Now you're being honest," Mel said simply. "You can continue, Cas."

Caspar huffed a laugh at Lyall's put-upon pout.

"I, um." Caspar scratched behind his ear. "They... They just go way back, is all. Things went down, and Carter's been out for revenge since."

Lyall nodded slowly, brows twitching inward as he silently turned over the implications.

"Very well," Lyall eventually said. He gestured to Mel and continued, "Since my good conscience and voice of reason over here is insisting I don't pry, I suppose it best that I leave it there."

The 'for now' was left unsaid. Mel gave Lyall a look. One that seemed to imply that she knew Lyall was simply waiting for a moment where she wasn't around so he could inquire more. Caspar only grinned with fondness, already quite familiar with his friend's tendency to incessantly dig for details.

Mel turned her gaze to Caspar, and the look in her eyes immediately softened.

"Would you like to rest? Or do you think you'd be up for a little walk to the horses?" she asked.

"Yes," Caspar answered quickly, then stumbled over clarification, "I mean, uh, walking. Sounds nice, yes."

He pushed off from the wall, and Lyall hopped off the edge of the bed. Caspar waved a hand in a vague gesture as he eased himself over the side as well and added, "Fresh air and things. And Eir."

"We'll go with you," Mel said, giving Lyall a meaningful stare.

Lyall in turn graced her pointed look with an indignant one of his own.

"Company's good," Caspar said, managing to suppress a sigh.

He had honestly hoped for fresh air to clear his mind alone for a moment, but. He supposed he was still on the mend from being laid up for a week. And, honestly, he was less likely to spiral too steeply into his own head with people around.



"You really shouldn't come," Hild said firmly as she strapped her packed bag to Penumbra's saddle.

Lyall huffed playfully. "Do you really still despise my company so?"

She shot him a half-hearted glare. "You're as irritating as ever."

He hummed a laugh. "And you're still so warm and fuzzy."

Hild scoffed and went on, more seriously, "You have two children. You shouldn't endanger them by coming so close to the capital. You and your family will be safe if you went with Elrick and Maisy, in the other direction."

The playful light in his eyes subdued, and he softened as he sighed wearily.

"Dear sister," Lyall said, almost solemn, "in truth, none of us are ever completely safe, even tucked away underground, deep in the woods."

Pursing her lips, Hild counted back all the times trouble doggedly pursued any of them into the wilderness. She couldn't argue this point, so she just groaned in long-suffering instead. Lyall only half-grinned as he tucked his hands in his pockets.

"I'm not nearly as worried for the girls, though."

He glanced over his shoulder as Lilya ran past the horse shelter.

With a delighted shout, Lilya threw herself at Bo. With a full crate hoisted over one shoulder, he easily caught her, and tucked her under his other arm. Once he set her down in the back of their wagon, she asked if he could catch her again.

Turning back with a warmer smile, Lyall added, lighter, "I daresay Lilya and Cy will be the safest out of all of us in such good company."

Mustering a smile in turn, Hild conceded, "You're probably right about that."

"What was--" Lyall cupped his ear and leaned sideways. "Sorry, I didn't catch that. What did you say?"

Hild stared flatly and swatted at his elbow. He recoiled with a laugh, and followed at a short distance as she led Penumbra out from under the shelter.

She didn't dare say it out loud again, but her brother was actually quite right. The girls shouldn't come into harm's way. And even if it did come to that, there were several fiercely protective mages to get through first.

Stepping away from Penumbra for a moment, Hild gently addressed Elliot. Though ever sweet in responding in kind, his spirits were considerably dampened. The poor creature was without rider once more, and he always seemed fully aware. With murmured reassurances, she led Elliot around to the back of the wagon and tethered him to it at a comfortable distance. Then, absently combing her fingers through his mane, she watched the final preparations around the bunker entrance.

The bustle of packing up soon slowed, and everyone gathered back by the entrance. As he passed, Lyall patted the back of his hand to her shoulder and nodded toward the group in silent invitation. Drawing in a sharp breath, Hild squared her shoulders and followed behind her brother.

All of the mages she considered very good friends by this point, and she ought to give a proper farewell to the other half of the group.

Mel was speaking with Maisy and Elrick, and Hild caught some details of their final review of their separate paths. With Lilya clinging to his back, Bo joined and shifted the conversation from plans to something more lighthearted. Everyone else clustered in and around the four, engaged in various individual conversations with each other.

Her brother then stepped away from her side and poked an elbow at Jordan, and the two laughed about something that she didn't pay attention to. She slipped around them to Masil, and the sincerity came easier as Hild wished the girl safe travels.

In the middle of firmly assuring her of things such as finding purpose and that she's where she's meant to be, Masil pulled her into a tight, slightly teary-eyed hug. Hesitating yet unable to begrudge her, Hild softened and patted her back as she loosely held her.

Over Masil's shoulder, Hild scanned the group.

After weaving between closely-clustered bodies, Caspar stood behind Lyall and leaned with his chin resting on the top of his head. Smiling brightly as he simply leaned backward in turn, Lyall kept fully engaged in conversation with Jordan.

Hild had to further relent on the matter. Caspar needed her brother around.

After many more warm goodbyes and well wishes, the group split.

Maisy and Elrick were to take Leah, Masil, Jordan, and Raya to a larger base elsewhere. The exact location went unmentioned, and Hild never asked.

Everyone else was headed for the Moonlight Kingdom.

Hild rode on horseback, as did Caspar and Raj.

The wagon, though not the most grand, was deceptively deep. In addition to their supplies, Mel, Lyall, and the girls fit comfortably in the back. Bo sat up front, holding the reins.

Brows furrowing, Hild recounted heads in the wagon, then looked over both shoulders.

Robin had gone missing.

She was about to tug Penumbra to a halt to say something when a dog-- no, a wolf trotted up alongside the wagon.

Hild yanked on the reins, and Penumbra jolted sideways, nearly colliding with Eir. Shaking her head with a disgruntled sound, Eir dug in her hooves. Caspar fell forward against the back Eir's neck with a grunt.

"What--" he started, but Hild cut him off with a frantic wave of her hand.

"That's-- it's--"

She devolved into incoherent stammering. For a second, she thought to reach for her pistol, but the animal wasn't acting oddly otherwise, so it felt like a unnecessary measure, but it shouldn't have come this close, though--

"No, Hild, it's fine!" Caspar said quickly once he seemed to finally notice what she was seeing. "That's just Robin."

"That's not a--" Not the bird, she realized.

Looking back, she realized that the wolf's posture was rather familiar, and her outburst had drawn everyone to a stop.

The wolf turned its head towards her, staring at her oddly as it flicked its ears to the sides. Hild stared back at it, her eyes still wide.

"Uhhh," the wolf spoke. "Sorry, uh. I. Forgot... to tell you I'm a werewolf."

She blinked, hard. "It just slipped your mind, to perhaps mention something so vital?"

Robin tilted his head to the side in what appeared to be the wolven equivalent of a shrug.

"I'm used to it. Do I have to keep track of everyone who's not?" he asked.

"Surely not everyone," she countered quickly, "but at least your travel companions."

"Are you... offended?" Robin asked slowly.

"A warning would have been nice," she said simply, though regrettably there was still an edge in her voice.

"Sorry for forgetting, then," Robin said. "You good, now?"

His even tone didn't quite settle nerves, but she was able to settle herself enough in order to match it.

Hild tilted her chin up as she sat straighter. "Fine. Yes, we're good."

Robin just nodded his wolf head and turned around. Bo started the wagon forward again, and Raj took the lead on horseback.

Trotting beside the wagon, Robin looked up at Lilya as she peered over the edge. He let out a low bark. Lilya giggled and waved excitedly at him. Robin wagged his tail in return, keeping pace beside the wagon.

After a second's delay, Hild started Penumbra beside Eir again and trained her eyes ahead.

Yes, this was.... This was good, she could now consider herself informed.

She exhaled slowly, further steadying herself. She found Caspar's unfazed presence beside her helpful, and she settled again for the long journey ahead.

In the mornings he was lucid.

Drenched in sweat, he could taste the blood from bleeding, chapped lips on his dried-out tongue. The skin on his wrists stung and burned where it had rubbed off ten times over from the cuffs perpetually holding his wrists behind his back. The sweat was salt in the open wound, and no matter how many times he tried to pull his hands through, even to break his thumbs to get free, their hold was unrelenting.

His ankles were no better. Bone against metal against bone, he could feel the bruising go down deep, deeper than the layers of skin that were peeling away. Deeper than the burning sensation, where iron met iron.

Every morning started the same.

A bucket of water splashed on his face to wake him, regardless if he was already awake or not. A needle in his arm. At first, several people would hold him still as he fought, writhed, and refused to take it willingly. He didn't know when he stopped fighting, only that he had.

The rest of his days were blotted out like water spilled over ink on a page. It all ran together. Spots of clarity only brought horrific visions into his sight. Sometimes, the world would be melting away, like it was made of wax. Sometimes, it would be overcome by sentient thorns. Sometimes, it would be on fire, and he would be on fire, and there was no way to tell what agony was real and what was imagined.

Every night, he would be laid out like a corpse, and Carter would lower a knife into his chest, twisting it until James couldn't scream anymore. When it seemed that his heart was insufficient, Carter would instead slit his throat, and James would gurgle until death took him, but never long enough.

Because in the morning, just enough of his senses would return to him to remind him he was real. Carter was real. And so were the friends he'd left behind.

And to remember what he almost had... to remember the pool of blood seeping out of Caspar's chest... it was too much for him to bear.

To know that it was his fault -- it was his own past that had caught up to him -- and Caspar had been treated as collateral.

And now he was dead.

The cruelty of his own narrow escape from death being followed by Caspar dying in almost like manner was an irony James hated with every fiber of his being.

It was just punishment that he suffered in return.

And he did.

Time stopped holding any meaning when he couldn't count on the sun to shine. Someday, sometime, always in the morning, they would beat him while lucid. It was "so he wouldn't run away," they said. Punishment for retaliation he couldn't remember. To crush his spirit, or what remained of it. To remind him of the filthy criminal he was.

And then Carter would intervene and call them off, like a savior, just in time. And he would apologize, and like a sickly sweet venom shot into his veins, the world would unravel, and the sky would give way. But at least he didn't feel anything anymore. Where there should've been euphoria, he only felt peace, like a numbing agent on his soul.

For a moment - an inexplicable moment - he forgot where he was. He was a weary soul at rest, on his way to meet his father, and his father would say: "Finally. I was wondering when you would come home after all these years."

And with a warm embrace, James would tell him sorry. Sorry that he's waited so long. Sorry that he'd forgotten what home was.

But that dream crumbled to pieces around him when one day he woke up lucid and stayed that way.

Feeling the full force of every ache, bruise, and cut surface, whatever brief moment of mental clarity he had was quickly drowned out by pain.

The next week was torturous as he was bled dry. Feverish and trembling uncontrollably, he sweat out the lumshade until he could sweat no more.

When he felt he finally came to his senses, he was cold.

Every sensation was sharp, and cutting, like the world was all too vivid and all too real. He wasn't sure if it even was. How could he be sure anymore?

The bare skin of his back was lying against something cold.

Every perceivably movable joint in his body was bound by rope or cold metal to an even colder stone seat that wouldn't budge to any amount of struggle. He was leaned back, partially, as the seat seemed to be angling upward to a dark ceiling. And he couldn't move.

There was no light in the room. No windows. Pure darkness.

He could smell the musty, stale air around him. It felt thick, and heavy, like it was normally undisturbed. It reminded him of the underground bunker, but deeper.

He couldn't remember how long he'd been here, or if this had even been his first time waking up, thinking it was his first.

For what felt like hours, he stared into the darkness. His stomach was past the point of hungry, beyond the point of pain and sensation. He was used to the emptiness, now. With nowhere to go, and no ability to move even if he wanted to, he sat in the still silence of his prison. Body stiff, and weary.

It was then that he realized it really was truly, completely silent. There was no white noise. No distant footsteps. No hums or buzzing or flickering firelight.

In the absence of any stimulation, James was left with nothing but his burning mind.

He couldn't avoid the flood of thoughts that rushed in, seizing the moment to remind him of everything in his life that had culminated into this.

The trajectory of his life changed forever when his father died.

Thrown into instability with the pressure to support his widowed mother and little sister, he desperately waded water, but only made it for a year. Carter had given him an out with a forked tongue, but he was too young to see it then.

If he'd never gone with Carter and the Haddon family to King's Peak - if he'd never joined the army - if he'd never run away--

Where would he be?

Still in Belleuch, with his family. Grafted into a family of blacksmiths through his mother's remarriage, if the marriage stuck. He'd probably be working in the trade if he wasn't afforded any other opportunities.

Would he be comfortable? Happy? Blissfully ignorant of what could've been?

What kind of person would he be if he never learned to fight? Never went to war, face to face with goblins? Never saw the king behind the curtain, and never knew what happened behind the scenes? Who would he be if he didn't know the darkness below the surface? If he was oblivious and had never had the opportunity to change anything?

Even though he'd failed to accomplish but one thing before he was thrown to the wolves. Forever marked as a wanted man. Forever a wanderer. Forever a drifter.

Dragging so many people down with him along the way.

Amy. Leo. Ron. Bella. So many others.

Now Caspar.

His heart felt a deep, hollow ache, but tears didn't come. Where he'd expected grief to overwhelm him, instead he could feel every emotion go deafeningly numb.

He had no reason to try to survive this. Wherever he was, no one was going to be able to save him. He was too far gone.

He supposed... if any good came of this, at least he couldn't hurt anyone anymore by existing.

That put him at peace.

He sat with that peace until there was a loud, low groan of metal. Stone scraping against stone. A warm, dim light fluttered in along the ceiling, and James could hear a pair of footsteps enter in. It sounded like two people, but the sounds also echoed off the walls, so he couldn't be sure.

Unable to lift or turn his head to see who'd arrived, he simply waited.

The light in the room grew brighter as if lamps had been lit in every corner but his own.

Finally, the shadow of a figure drew near.

His eyes were still adjusting to light being introduced to the room, but he soon recognized him.

Carter.

"I see you killed Alexander," Carter said, his voice smooth and casual as if they were anywhere else but a cold cell, somewhere miles underground. "It's a shame because he was a good friend of mine. Daresay he replaced you, though I suppose no one does quite measure up to your level of utter betrayal."

Carter reached out to him, placing the back of his hand on James's forehead.

"All these years, and now that I finally have you... look how easily you've already withered down to nothing. I thought this would be more fun," Carter said, disgust seeping into his voice.

James felt a small flame of indignance reignite, and he writhed, straining against his bonds at Carter's touch.

Carter smiled and pulled his hand away.

"There it is," he said. "Good. For a moment I thought we'd lost you."

James glared at him, but kept his mouth shut. Carter didn't deserve any words wasted on him. James knew he would only twist them and use them against him whenever the opportunity presented itself.

"I'd like to introduce you to someone," Carter said. "Someone with whom you're soon to be well acquainted."

As if on cue, a chair was dragged over, scraping loudly across stone, but no one attempted to lean into view.

"Introductions aren't entirely necessary," a slight voice mumbled, then hastily added, "But-- but by all means..."

"Aaron," Carter said, gesturing to the voice on the other side of James, just out of his view. "Do tell James what your role is."

"Ah." Aaron finally leaned over James, just slightly, and offered a weak smile and wave. "Hullo. I'm a, uh, a healer."

A healer. Only mages used that term. If Aaron had taken this job so he could avoid being leeched off by Blackfield, he couldn't blame him entirely - but regardless, he still had a choice.

James stared up into the healer's face, boring holes into the man's skull.

Despite the pale man's timid posture, he didn't wither under James's hard stare. With spindly fingers, Aaron took off his glasses and rubbed at the cracked lenses. Then pushed them back up his nose as he leaned closer, dark eyes turning assessing as he looked James over.

With another feeble smile, Aaron said, "We don't have to talk or anything. Just yet, anyhow. Heard a lot about you, so I am curious."

James's upper lip twitched in contempt.

"I imagine you won't make this easy for yourself," Carter said with an unsettling smile. "Seeing as you never do. So I'm sure it'll come as no surprise to you that I've instructed Aaron not to hold back. And he really is quite good at what he does. So that's something to look forward to."

Every survival instinct in his body screamed to fight. To run. To say something that might get him out of the inevitable. But the problem was just that: it was inevitable. Carter wasn't going to change his mind, and there was no way James was going to escape.

That didn't mean he had to just take it.

"I believe that's all from me for now--" Carter started, but midway through his sentence, James spat on Aaron's face.

Aaron didn't startle. Just leaned back as he wiped it off, and examined the wet now on his hand. "Mmyes," he hummed, "I've got it from here."

Carter met James's eyes for a moment, and if James didn't know any better, he would've read the look as pity.

"Take care of him, Aaron," Carter said as he turned away, leaving James's line of sight. He could hear the faint echo of footsteps and the scraping of the heavy door. Finally, the creaking of metal as a lock bolted in place.

James felt a surge of energy rush through him as he looked back to Aaron, steeling himself for what was to come.

Pushing his chair back, Aaron hopped up and bent over a table off to the side of the room. Uttering to himself, he clumsily picked through metal tools. They clattered until he paused and held up a pair of forceps to the light.

"He talks quite a bit," Aaron said, casting a faint, unsure grin over his shoulder, then turned back to the table. "Could've started by now if it weren't for the, ah, monologue."

James turned his piercing glare to the ceiling, not bothering to suppress the look of disdain painted on his features.

"And then we could be done sooner because it's been a bit of a long day." More loud picking through tools.

"What a shame," James said, his words drenched in vitriol.

Aaron shuffled back and took the chair again. He wheeled over another, smaller surface and dropped the rusty tools on top. "Aha," he said quietly, "you do speak. Excellent, because I truly am curious about you."

James only pointed his glare back at Aaron, expression entirely unamused and unimpressed.

Eyes sharpening, Aaron stood over him again. He leaned far, tilting his head to examine James at various angles, and began prodding at the scars scattered across James's torso. He tensed to the touch.

"This is good," Aaron murmured, more to himself this time, "lots to work with here."

James felt heat rise to his face, and to his chest. He tried, in vain, to shake Aaron's hands away.

"I think..." Aaron hummed absently as he quickly traced one scar on James's arm, as though he was measuring the angles of the cuts.

That one was from Reed. When James had been in the hands of a different torturer, five years ago. It felt like cruel irony - though perhaps it was fate - that he was back in that position now.

James looked away. He couldn't do anything to make Aaron stop, and he couldn't stop the memory from playing back in the corner of his mind, and Reed dug into the skin of his arm just deep enough so he could peel it back, and watch James suffer in return.

Aaron quickly moved on, rambling under his breath as he scrutinized and poked everything in view. His hands were icy as if he was often in dark cellars such as this one, and scratchy like he was constantly scrubbing his hands clean.

"Most people who come in are nearly blank slates," he eventually said. Gripping James's chin and turning his head sideways, Aaron brushed his fingers over the scars on his neck.

"With you, though," he went on slowly, sounding distracted. He then turned James's head back, forcing him to meet Aaron's cold, close-lipped smile. "We could be done by dinner."

James flexed his jaw but met Aaron's eyes challengingly.

"Does he pay you to come up with stupid lines like that too?" James spat.

Aaron chuckled. "Actually, yes." He let go and turned back to his tools. "Though it really will be dinnertime quite soon."

"Better hurry up, then," James said pointedly.

Pulling his chair over again, Aaron sat down with a scalpel in hand. "I agree. Wife's making soup tonight unless she changed her mind again--" He erratically waved a scalpel around, dismissive as he quickly said, "Boring, right. Extraneous. Anyhow."

The edge of the blade carefully tapped to the healed bullet wound on James's belly. Aaron offered another wobbly smile.

"This isn't your first encounter with a healer, is it."

Reed dug into the space between his ribs, slowly applying more pressure as he pushed deeper, threatening to puncture his lungs. He pulled at the metal binding his wrists even though he knew it wasn't going to work. It hadn't worked for days - and James couldn't tell how many had passed.

With pained breaths, he closed his eyes and grit his teeth, forcing himself into silence as the pain dragged on. He didn't know how long he'd been bleeding for, but the minutes felt like hours as Reed -- Aaron -- reopened old wounds, cycling through them as if he could tell which ones were most recent.

He'd started with the bullet wound in his gut. Then the stab wound, from Alexander's knife. Then every little mark Reed and Butch had left on him, one at a time, murmuring with morbid fascination.

James was back in the forest, in the fading light of the setting sun. His hands and feet were bound, and Butch had him pinned to the ground, face in the dirt. And they were laughing. Laughing as they took his arm and carved into it, taking their time. Oliver intervened as he always did: at the last possible moment, with a mousy voice drowned out by the mutters of his fellow hunters, who begrudgingly surrended James into his care.

And just as James thought his arm was going to bleed out, and his lung to collapse, there was a rush of energy and warmth that flooded into him. The pain of the reopened wounds started to subside, though some of it remained, and though his body ached all over with partially-healed revisited wounds, it provided him just enough clarity to open his eyes again.

He was back in the cell.

Dim light painted the gray ceiling behind Aaron's shadowed face as the man leaned over him, eyes looking hollowed and weary. His face was lined with exhaustion, and James had to ask himself: how long had he been doing this for?

The only time indicators James ever received were from Aaron, when he would make off-handed comments about his day, but they were never enough for James to really know just how long he'd been held here, unmoved from his chair, where he'd begun to stick to it with blood and sweat.

Dropping back heavily into his own seat, Aaron sat sprawled out. He raked a hand over his hair as he turned his now-ashen face to the ceiling.

"I jus'," he said between huffs, "need a second, apologies."

James was getting sick of the facade of politeness that Aaron kept going. The man was torturing him for gods' sakes. If he was going to apologize for anything, he should've been apologizing for torturing in the first place. He glowered at Aaron, feeling the well of anger in his heart only grow.

He didn't care that Aaron was tired and overexpending his energy. That was Aaron's fault.

Aaron, still sitting low in his seat, glanced down at his wrist. Then he unstrapped the watch as he eased himself back onto his feet and set it by James's head. He leaned on the arm of James's chair and quietly looked him over for a long moment. Then he looked back to his wristwatch.

"One last thing," Aaron said slowly, eyes calculating as he scanned James one more time, "then I think we can be done for the day."

As usual, Aaron vocalizing his plans was never comforting.

James tried to mentally steel himself for whatever the 'last thing' was.

Straightening, Aaron gestured broadly at James with both hands. "See, there's this-- The way it often functions-- how they allow it to function-- is... It's actually a two-way street, see. And, when you try to picture it, it's always a bit of a trippy thing, you know, but it works. It works, I've figured out the timing of it all. It just needs staggering, so it becomes this, ah..." He traced a wide circle in the air between them. "...a self-contained system, yeah? Like a circle. Let me just..."

He then set a clammy hand over James's forehead, and concentration drew his brows and mouth into hard lines.

At first, James didn't feel anything.

Then there was an overwhelming sharp pain that seemed to permeate every inch of his body, starting from his head and stretching down to his toes. It was most piercing where Aaron's hand met James's forehead, and the sensation was so overpowering James saw white, and his ears started ringing. The agony was prolonged for several seconds, constant and mind-numbing.

When Aaron pulled away, it felt like any energy James had was sapped out of him. Entirely limp, he laid back heavily on the chair, his head falling to the side as his vision danced with spots of light and darkness mingling together.

He barely had the energy to breathe. With breaths labored, all he could do was wait until his vision came back into some semblance of focus. When it did, he watched as Aaron lightly tapped the side of the wristwatch in front of James's eyes, then stepped back.

"I think I may have, ah," Aaron murmured, "gone just a second too long there. It's-- it is a science, and I will get it down. Some point or another. It is something I try to use sparingly."

James could barely comprehend what had just happened.

Before this moment, Aaron had only ever used his magic to heal, only to hurt again. He'd always given a certain amount healing energy to do so, but this time, it felt like he'd taken. Stolen something from him.

Already, James could feel his consciousness fading. Exhaustion was lulling him to sleep, but he didn't want to give in while Aaron was still in the room.

Eyes half open, he was barely able to perceive the blurry silhouette of Aaron wiping down his tools and the small side table.

"As promised, I'll bid you adieu for now," Aaron said, flashing a slight grin. "And, not to worry, it's nothing you can't sleep off for a bit."

James didn't even have the energy to reserve any anger for him. He fought to keep his eyes open, but exhaustion won over.

Before he knew it, he was out.

Each morning, they broke camp and took to the road again by 7 AM. To account for the children, Robin who walked for the most part, Caspar, and the horses, they allotted themselves four 30-minute breaks throughout the day.

Hild mentally noted that the children traveled quite well, which was likely a product of their overall way of life. Cy kept busy on her own for the most part, and engaged in conversation when hard pressed for something to do. Lilya was easily kept busy with a few idle games as they rode and being able to dash about on the ground to burn pent-up energy when they stopped to rest.

Sometimes the girls were granted front seats next to Bo for a while, an arrangement in which all three delighted. They would play 'I Spy'-- or as Bo liked to call it, 'Eye Spy'-- 'Twenty Questions', and other such guessing games.

Caspar kept quiet a lot of the times. Which wasn't a shift in behavior at all, Hild just wished he would at least speak up when he clearly needed rest before an anticipated stop. When any one of them insisted on stopping any sooner, he would in turn vehemently insist he was fine. Usually it was only Lyall or Mel who could effectively talk him into anything reasonable as far as his own well-being was concerned.

Passing over the Sands, the days became hot again, but temperatures dropped drastically come night. The land was dry and the wind dusty, and rain became scarce as they followed the river south.

The desert eventually gave way to plains as they crossed into the Moonlight Kingdom. And plains were gradually disrupted by majestic forests as they steadily climbed into mountain terrain toward King's Peak.

Hild couldn't recall ever encountering trees of such staggering heights before. They were brilliant, and hidden in their deep green boughs were birds warbling all sorts of songs.

Like the trees, the wildlife grew larger the deeper they ventured. Deer and even moose were frequently spotted as fellow travelers in the distance. At night, they ensured food supplies were well hidden so as to not attract any scavenging creatures or mountain lions.

The climate turned almost wintry. Hild could see her own breath mid-day. She wasn't quite as thrilled with the colder temperatures at first. Lyall occasionally said as much, wishing aloud for the warmer weather again as he bundled up and wore the purple hat that Raj made for him. Every time, Robin would flatly point out that Lyall was a fire mage, to which her brother would only grumble even more incoherently.

Among the tall pines, where the air was frosty and thin, Caspar seemed to breathe easier. His strength returned in full as well, and he was quick to volunteer to collect firewood. Robin accompanied him most often to help carry wood back to camp.

Gathered by the fire with their backs turned out toward the cold, before Caspar took first watch while everyone else settled for the night, a thought came in the form of a recent memory as Hild sat restless by her brother.

The overcast evening in a grassy clearing by the river, when James had asked her to dance. After he led them through a brisk, delightfully complex waltz, and when she found herself completely taken by his unabashed smile.

"If you go down south you'll find we like to dance a lot down there," James had answered, when she asked where he learned. "Keeps us warm when the weather is cold."

Hild listened for a moment as her brother traded light verbal jabs with Robin. Then in the middle of a retort, she grabbed Lyall by his arm and dragged him up to his feet.

At his put-upon look of confusion, Hild simply smiled as she briefly instructed him on the starting position for a mazur. With a spark in his eyes, Lyall quickly adjusted his posture.

"It's been a minute," he started to say under his breath.

"A good time to review, then," Hild cut him off smoothly, and she abruptly pulled him into the first running steps around the campfire.

"Oh! Are we dancing?" Bo asked with excitement, already getting to his feet.

"Raj, give us some music," Mel said as she too eagerly stood up.

On command, Raj whipped out a wooden flute. His eyes tracked with Lyall and Hild for a moment, as if measuring the tempo of their steps, and then came in with a rising, cheerful melody.

With Mel pulling Cy up and Bo inviting Lilya to dance, soon there were three pairs circling the fire.

Lyall eventually took the lead as the full dance came back to him. Side by side, facing the trees behind each other's backs as they held onto one another's waists, Raj's upbeat tune carried them into a series of spins as they kept turning around the fire.

"Did you find much opportunity to dance in Needle Point?" Lyall asked with a bright grin. "Your footwork is still quite sharp."

"It was a drab place," Hild answered, tilting her chin up with a small smile of her own, "but it had its moments."

With that, they broke away to switch partners.

Lyall grabbed up Cy in a tight hug and spun her around. Normally a rather solemn child, she burst into a bout of giggles. With careful instruction and many encouragements, he then led his daughter into the next part of the dance. With a look of intense focus, Cy followed his example as closely as she was able.

Hild and Bo smoothly spun into step beside each other, and took the same position as she did with Lyall just a moment ago. Bo's steps were quite a bit livelier than her brother's measured footwork, and his laughing smile was infectious as he incorporated more hops into their turns.

At that point, Robin shifted and stood on fours. He came up alongside Lilya and for a moment mimicked her as she made up her own little bouncing dance. Then the two of them dashed in a wide arc along the ring of light cast by the flames, Lilya laughing the whole way.

Caspar appeared content to simply watch from the sidelines. Mel reached down and pulled him off the ground rather forcefully, but with a broad smile as she dragged him into the merriment. Stumbling slightly with a nervous smile of his own, he clumsily tried matching her confident steps as she led.

Hild could've sworn she saw his face and ears reddening. She almost chalked it up to the chilly air, but then Bo cast frequent glances their way as well. So Hild tucked away the observation, for much later.

Between the campfire and the music and the laughter shared as they danced into the chilly evening, everyone kept warm.

Hild desperately wished James was there with them.

By the time Raj's tune ended, most everyone stopped with the same partners they began with. With a spirited smile, Lyall pulled Hild into a quick, tight hug, and ruffled her hair when she playfully swatted at him. Warm 'goodnight's were exchanged as the campsite settled once more.

Caspar took first watch. He silently drew by moonlight.

From her vantage point behind him, Hild caught glimpses of the softly-drawn faces on the pages. Even though Caspar was less secretive about his drawings of late, and even let the girls just flip through as they pleased at times, Hild did try to not look over his shoulder. She recognized that, in the midst of sketching, he actively sought solitude in order to recompose himself and process in private.

This time, though, she couldn't help but watch, because both their minds inevitably wandered to the same place.

Hild swallowed down a lump in her throat. She curled tighter under her blanket as she idly rubbed away a small smudge from James's glasses.

When Aaron was gone, in James's increasingly fleeting moments of consciousness, sometimes James would be woken up by Carter.

Be it by a hand wrapped around his throat, a sharp pain somewhere new, or waking to only be drowned and brought back again, he was always brought back to pain or some form of it.

Carter was uncharacteristically silent when he came to visit. He would put his own hands to the tools of torture, and when James was on the verge of losing consciousness, he would relent, and retreat into the dark. Sometimes, though, he would push it further, and James would be plunged into darkness. When he would wake next, it would be to another knife in another pair of hands.

Idly, though it bore no consequence, he would wonder if Aaron and Carter had spoken about his seemingly secret visits, or if Aaron only pieced it together based on the state James was left in when he'd return.

Sometimes he would hear Aaron mutter things under his breath when he'd see the marks Carter left behind, but it was never loud or clear enough for him to catch.

But did it matter?

Did any of it matter?

James could feel his strength waning.

His resolve to resist was losing fuel. Every time Aaron leeched off of his energy, regardless of how much "sleep" James could manage after, he felt like a piece of himself would slip away. Every day he wondered how much longer he would have to endure.

Would it be better to give up? To die faster? Maybe he could accomplish two goals at once. Dying to finally end the misery of his existence as a final end, and to spite Carter. At least he could accomplish that.

So he let himself slip away. Little by little.

He was on his stomach, now. He could never feel much on his back since his time in the jungle, but somehow, Aaron had found a way. Digging through past scar tissue, James had laid there numb until he hit a nerve - one James hadn't thought was still working - and his vision started to go black.

The sensation of pain grew further and further away, and he felt like he was falling. Like, finally, his body would give up.

And then suddenly, a burst of energy in his back, and the pain relented.

James felt like he was yanked out of the darkness. Desperately, he reached back towards it, but it wouldn't take him.

"Oop," Aaron squeaked, "didn't mean-- Uh, we haven't agreed on a, ah-- a departure time quite yet."

Too exhausted to care that his filter was completely gone, James let out a low groan.

And Aaron began to pace the room, almost frantic. Pausing by the table of tools, he exhaled slowly and glanced at the door.

"Seems like I should perhaps..." he muttered.

James could feel his eyes start to sting, but no tears came. He had the terrible thought that he wished Aaron would return, and walk back to him. So he could finish what he started.

Aaron wearily scrubbed a hand over his chin. Then recoiled, seeming to just remember himself, and glanced down at his bloodied hand with a resigned grimace. He swore under his breath.

"Of course," Aaron grumbled, throwing his hands skyward as he resumed pacing. "Brilliant. Of course, right when I need to face Carter."

To discuss James's 'departure,' it seemed.

James was beginning to wonder if he would ever be able to go on his own terms. With a healer constantly pulling him away from the edge, he couldn't go even if he wanted to.

With long, hasty strides, Aaron grabbed his coat from his seat and headed for the door. He called faintly over his shoulder, "We'll need to, ah, revisit another time," and slipped out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.

James found himself staring at the sliver of light pouring into the dimly lit room.

Idly, he imagined himself somehow breaking free and walking out into the hall. He'd make it as far as the door before he ran into someone standing guard if there weren't several posted throughout the corridor.

Impossible. Pointless. To even imagine it was vain. In a matter of weeks, he'd been reduced to little more than a sack of flesh, barely even able to talk anymore, never mind move.

Everything hurt, and he was just waiting for it to be over.

Eventually, the door opened, and Aaron returned. He practically flew around the room, tossing all of his tools into a pile after quickly wiping them down, and aggressively scrubbed off his hands with a bucket of water.

"I'll have to tap out early today," he said, sounding winded. He vigorously shook the water from his hands and shrugged his coat on. "Will likely be back shortly-- Well--" Aaron shrugged as he turned back for the door. "That actually depends, I don't really know that for sure."

James had not made a habit of responding to Aaron.

Aaron talked a lot, often, it seemed, to fill the empty space with his thoughts, as if he was only talking to himself out loud, and James was just an unwilling witness. Sometimes he would ask James questions, or make assumptions to prod, to pull something out of him, but James hadn't spoken a word since the first day.

Normally, torture was unto something. It was paired with interrogation. Searching for information. But he had a feeling that all of this was only unto his suffering and maybe that was how it was intended.

James tried to muster up the strength to speak this time.

"You're... scared of him," James said, his voice faint.

Aaron paused and stared at him, unreadable, for a second. Then mustered a grin. "Well, ah, he's..." He shifted in his spot and finished, quieter, "He's powerful."

"He's scared of losing," James said. His vision couldn't seem into focus, as it rarely ever did these days. Aaron was becoming merely a blur. "Always has been."

Aaron hummed in thought. "Fear drives us all," he answered simply.

"Only if you let it," James replied with labored breaths.

A beat of silence. Then Aaron quietly approached. After a second's hesitation, he took the chair beside him, bringing him closer to eye level with James. Aaron's gaze was intense as he peered over the rims of his glasses.

"It can't be helped, really," Aaron countered, "much as some of us think ourselves above it or even just able to manage it. Fear factors into every decision in some way or other."

"Is that why you took this job?" James asked.

"Of course," Aaron answered. "Just as it was likely why you ran in the first place."

Eyes flicking to the door as if checking for anyone in the corridor, Aaron scooted his seat a little closer and leaned his elbows on his knees. "What is..." He nudged at his glasses and, sharp gaze searching, murmured, "What's at stake for him?"

James knew Aaron was likely self-aware. Aware that James was baiting him with information about Carter.

It had been ten years that he and Carter had been friends, and then five where they didn't see each other at all. Though Carter hid many things from James about his true intentions, in the five years he'd spent away from him, he'd had plenty of time to reflect and look back on their history with a fresh perspective.

"There are two things in this life that Carter values most," James said, holding Aaron's gaze. "Power and reputation."

Aaron slowly tilted his head, looking off to the side as he visibly mulled this over. Then he studied James closely again. "Which of those did you nearly take from him?"

James paused, and with a heavy inhale, he mustered the slightest hint of a smile.

"Both."

Tilting his head the other way, Aaron seemed to stare through James for a moment as pieces fell into place for him. Then there was a glint in his eyes, and he flashed a faint smile in turn.

"I hope to see you tomorrow, James," Aaron said quietly.

Not waiting for a response, he abruptly rose and scurried out of the room, shutting the door behind himself this time.

James watched the door with an empty gaze, and for a moment, he wondered if he'd played the right hand. He didn't know what Aaron would do with that information, but James's hope was that he'd use it against Carter, somehow. If he could play them against each other... well, he didn't know exactly where it'd lead, but he hoped it would be something in his favor.

Perpetually drained, but in too much pain to sleep, James drifted into a state of near-consciousness with his eyes half-open, still facing the door. When the door opened again sometime later, it took him a moment to register what had occurred.

Carter had entered, and he took the chair where Aaron once sat, now abandoned, looking into James's face.

For a long, prolonged silence, they merely stared at each other. Carter's face was unreadable. James knew his likely looked far more transparent, at the very least revealing very visible exhaustion.

"Do you know why I brought you here?" Carter asked, his voice the only sound that filled the empty room.

James blinked slowly.

"You hate loose ends," he said lowly in reply.

"Because I'd like to make an example," Carter said. "Of you. For years, your evasion has been a stain on the otherwise spotless record of the Moonlight Kingdom and its ability to exact justice and enforce consequences for insurrection. You are infamous, and we are in part, to blame for making you so. But I'd like to bring your story to an end, soon. Just... in the right way. And until then, I'd like you to consider if all of it was worth it."

James stared at him as Carter's words sunk in slowly.

"Your family thinks you're dead, James," Carter said, his delivery cold and calloused. "They've moved on without you ever since you left them on your own accord with no goodbyes, but I do think they deserve to know the truth. When we have you publicly executed alongside this week's criminal mages, I will deliver them the truth. I'll tell them that their long lost son went on to defy the kingdom, become a rebel, and fight and die by the sword. And they'll see for themselves that was the life you chose."

Tilting his head down, Carter tried to meet James's eyes, but regardless of what direction James had been staring in, he wasn't present any longer. His vision lost focus again, and even though Carter's face was only a foot away from his, it turned into a fuzzy impression of the real thing.

His family.

Never forgotten, but always carried in his heart, he'd long since come to terms with the fact that he would never see his family again. But Carter made it sound like... like they were close by. It was entirely possible they'd moved in the past fifteen years and made the pilgrimage from Belleuch to King's Peak. Settling into the heart of the kingdom, where they'd be afforded the most opportunities for their life and business.

But that wasn't all that Carter said.

He planned on killing him publicly. Soon. A few days. Maybe less. It could be tomorrow for all he knew. That meant he had ten days at most before it was all over, but instead of it ending in secret, only known to him and his torturer, Carter wanted to put it on display for the whole kingdom to see.

For all James knew, his family would be in the crowd.

He felt his empty stomach start to spin, and his heart started to pound louder and louder in his ears.

He would've been able to die in peace knowing his family had made a life for themselves without him. He would've been fine if he'd never seen them again. But if the first and last time he saw them in fifteen years was on a platform in the city square before his head was severed from his neck--

"Do hang on for me," Carter said, louder, as if he was deliberately trying to drag James out of his panic. "For a little while longer."

James finally stared into Carter's blurry face, his eyes burning with betrayal.

The one thing Carter promised he'd never touch - in word or in deed - was James's family. James never expected him to uphold that promise after their fallout, but this... this...

Carter's chilling gaze locked with James's, and Carter reached out his hand, planting his thumb on his forehead as he curled his other fingers into James's hair. He then placed his other hand in between James's shoulder blades, digging in.

As Carter leaned in, James was suddenly struck with a sickeningly familiar sensation.

Pain. Pain all over, overstimulating every nerve and pulling at every muscle and bone, but unlike Aaron's magic, it was as if James could feel the visceral hatred ripping away at his soul. What little energy he had left was slipping away, and James found himself too shocked to even process what was happening.

Carter...

Carter was a...

... a mage?

The world was ripped away from him, and everything went dark.

It was over. Or it should've been.

From the darkness, there was a great light. It came in like a flood, and instead of the comforting warmth or the relief that healing magic normally carried, this felt like a rush of adrenaline, and when he came to, it was with eyes wide open, heart racing, and his body drenched in sweat. Any residual pain from the days of torture seemed to have disappeared completely. As if restored to full health, James felt like he might actually have the strength to fight. To run. To do something.

Head spinning, James thrashed against the metal bonds still pinning him stomach-down to the table. It took him a moment to realize Carter was still in the room, leaning back in the chair just beside him.

Panting, he stared wide-eyed at Carter.

Carter leaned back heavily into the chair, but his posture was calm and confident as he held his hands together in his lap and crossed his ankles. At first, James thought he appeared completely unaffected, but then he noticed the sweat on Carter's brow.

Eyes glinting with smug pride, Carter's mouth twisted into a menacing smile.

"You know," Carter said. "Criminals make great toys. Who's going to take their word over mine? 'Carter healed me.' No, no, James. That was Aaron. 'Aaron wasn't here?' I'm sorry James, but you're hardly in any place to say what is what. Is it the Lumshade withdrawl or the pain talking? Have you started to hallucinate things? Am I even here? All very good questions. A shame you won't have anyone else to talk to besides the man who's really healing you. And just as a little present, I'll leave you with this..."

Carter reached into his pocket and pulled out a syringe. James recognized it immediately.

Lumshade.

"This'll take the edge off, I'm sure," Carter said with a sickening smile. "And then some."

He too-gently twisted James's arm and didn't hesitate to stick the large needle in his veins. James gritted his teeth, forcing himself not to move his arm at risk of making the insertion wound worse. But it burned. It burned in his skin. It rushed right to his head. He had hardly any food or water in his system to dilute the drug shot straight into his system.

And he quickly realized that this Lumshade was without the sedative mixed in.

Still conscious, James's heart was still pounding as Carter pulled the needle away and pressed a ball of cotton on the crook of his arm, tying it up to stop the bleeding.

"There," Carter said in the same manner one might use with a child when putting a bandage over a skinned knee. "Now you're good as new, and I won't have Aaron running into my office worried about 'losing you.' Because, as I said, we won't be losing you without a show."

With a toothy smile, Carter pulled away. His movements were slow but deliberate, and James's mind was still reeling.

He... he had magic.

He had magic the whole time?

How? When? How did he not--

James couldn't have imagined it. Right? He couldn't have. But... but he...

How could he even trust his own eyes? He could barely remember over half of what happened in the last month. And he wasn't even sure if it had been a month, or less, or longer.

Could this... have been a dream?

He watched as Carter turned his back and walked out the door without another word. The door closed, and everything was left as it once was apart from himself.

Staring into the dim darkness, James started to feel the world around him shift and turn. Melting into the table holding him up, James watched as the lights went out, and the door opened once more, but with a blinding light.

Caspar stepped into the room, but following in behind him was his father. Allen.

Caspar hurried up to him. Whispering soft reassurances. Loosing the bonds around his hands, his ankles, his waist...

Everything was spinning as he was sat up and embraced by his father. Caspar. His father. He couldn't comprehend who was who. James was too numb to move and simply leaned into the embrace with his eyes barely open.

The room was rumbling, like an earthquake was coming.

They were underground. It could cave in on them.

His father rubbed his back, and James could feel the wet tears on his shoulder as Allen held him close, his grip unrelenting. James wished he had the capacity to hug back.

"I'm taking you with me," he said, his voice an unsettling mix between the voice James thought he remembered and Caspar, but Caspar's voice won out. "I'm taking you home. I'm getting you out of here. It's going to be okay."

"I'm going to die," James said emptily, not sure why he felt compelled to say so. "Two months before my 26th birthday. Was that how old you were when you died?"

His father's embrace didn't relent.

"Just about," he whispered back.

James nodded into his father's shoulder. It felt like he was surrounded by a warm, thick blanket, but it was nearly smothering.

"Okay," James said, closing his eyes, letting the darkness consume him.

The blanket seemed to get heavier, and James felt like he was buried in it.

"Take me home?" he whispered.

"You're almost there. Almost there."