LSS: Before the Wave Breaks

The scent of smoke faintly clouded the door outside Sparrow's office. A smoking habit was hard to accomodate in the depths of a windowless Gallery, but since it never got too hazy in or outside of his office, there were rumors he had an air mage recirculate the air in the area whenever he was done. It was a rumor Mireya could never confirm or disprove for herself, since whatever mages who worked among the Blue Suns were closely guarded secrets. Even after today, she wouldn't have that kind of clearance to learn about it. But it was still a step up.

The same Three from the other day was at the door, and he looked her up and down with an assessing eye before checking his watch. He always pretended not to recognize returning visitors, but Mireya gave him a beaming smile and wave anyway.

"Name?" he asked.

"Mireya Kaltrina."

As always, the Three knocked on the door three times, waited three seconds, and pulled it open for her. Taking a deep breath, Mireya stepped in.

Sparrow was smiling the moment he saw her. As she took her seat, he extended his hand to her for a handshake. She grinned as she accepted it.

"Why, why, Mireya," he said admiratively. "I had high expectations and you exceeded them anyway. Your work was most impressive."

Mireya tipped her head with a grateful smile. "Thank you, sir."

"Is it true you released a bull as a diversion?" Sparrow laughed. "Very creative. I would've loved to be a witness to that."

Mireya nodded. "I hear they're still looking for it."

"Maybe it'll keep running circles around the militia as a legacy of your success." Sparrow shook his head in amusement. "An operation like that deserves some commemoration. What would you say to paying Wilson a visit in a few minutes?"

Mireya grinned wider. Wilson was the person who took care of all the Blue Suns tattooing. She even did it for herself, which was impressive-- but believable, since she had a steady hand. She'd done Mireya's first two rays, and the lines had come out perfectly smooth. "I'd be honored."

"Then it's an honor which you certainly deserve," Sparrow said warmly. "Your work has helped the group tremendously. This supply of guns will give us a leg up in this city, and it'll make our operations safer if our members can go better armed. Soon, everyone will learn to leave us alone."

Mireya nodded eagerly. Then, because a thought wouldn't leave her head, she asked curiously, "Is it alright if I ask you a question?"

"Of course, Mireya," Sparrow said gently. "You're free to ask me anything. If it's in my power to answer, I will."

"Have you got any specific purposes for these guns?" Mireya asked. "Besides general workplace safety, I mean?"

Sparrow hummed softly, nodding as he considered her question.

"They will also help with some targets that are dangerous to us, and who we haven't been able to eliminate safely," he said. "Which protects us in more than one way-- we'll be safer from having them gone, and there will also be less risk in doing so. I'll sleep easier at night when I'm assured of the security of the brave people doing the dangerous work."

Mireya nodded with understanding. "Of course. Thank you."

"Always." Still smiling, Sparrow waved to the door again. "Now, Mireya, are you ready for that promotion?"



"Why does he always call it a 'beam' and not a 'ray'?" Mireya asked Wilson, kicking her feet as she waited in the tattooing chair. "I mean, everyone else says ray, but he's so weirdly stringent about it."

Wilson smirked, holding up the tattoo gun beside her with one hand on her hip.

"There's a story about that," she said. "But I think you need at least one more beam to hear it."

Mireya pouted. "A promotion to hear about gossip? I don't think so."

"See, I'd tell you," Wilson said with a tilt of her head. "But I don't think the big guy would be too fond if I did. And I'd like to stay in the boss' good graces."

As Mireya sighed sadly, Wilson spun the tattoo gun in the air, pointing it at Mireya's arm.

"Now, where do you want this beam pointing? You've got two next to each other already. Want me to just keep going around?" she asked.

"Yeah, why not?" Mireya said, looking over at her shoulder. "Some people make theirs look spikier by spacing them out, but I think that's just cluttered."

"On the left or right side?" Wilson asked, pointing to either. "I'm thinking right, so it looks more balanced."

"Artist's choice," Mireya agreed.

"Right it is," Wilson said. "Before I go about poking, do you need something for the pain? Or are you a bad bitch like I keep hearing about?"

Mireya snorted. "Oh, I'm a bad bitch, alright."

"Taking it sober, it is," she said. "Now, hold still."

With one hand on Mireya's arm, Wilson went in with the needle, injecting the dark blue ink into her arm with a sting. The stinging sensation was repetitive as the ink worked into her skin slowly, but Mireya held fast with hardly a clench of her jaw. Wilson sat still on her stool as she focused.

"I heard about the bull incident," she murmured. "You did the job with Andy, right?"

Mireya grinned, remembering not to nod so she wouldn't move. "Oh, yeah. Worked spectacularly."

"You thinking of keeping her around?" Wilson asked. "As a partner, I mean."

"Well, we do everything together right now," Mireya said. "We're even roommates."

Wilson whistled. "And they were roommates," she said with a suggestive undertone.

Mireya snickered. "Oh my gods, they were roommates."

"For real though," Wilson said. "You swing that way? Or are you two just friends."

"Yes, and yes," Mireya said. "I do swing that way, but I'm not with her. We're actually just friends."

"Yeah," Wilson murmured. "I feel like Andy has a new boyfriend every week these days. Always see her with someone new."

"More like three new boyfriends a week," Mireya said. "I can't keep up."

"Someone's gotta tell that girl to slow down," Wilson said, blowing on Mireya's arm for a moment. "Like, I get sleeping around. Do whatever the hell you want. But you don't gotta call them boyfriends."

Mireya snorted. "I've tried. She disagreed."

Wilson pursed her lips. "I just call them bedfellows," she said. "When I'm being proper."

"That sounds so old-fashioned," Mireya teased.

"Yeah, well, when I'm talking to my pals I call them fuck-mates," she said.

"Better," Mireya said. "I should just introduce that term to Andy."

"Knowing her, she'd run with it," Wilson murmured with a smirk.

Catching a glimpse of her arm, Mireya could see the new beam fully outlined, already mostly colored in.

"Why were you asking if I'd keep her around?" she asked.

Wilson hummed. "Just talking," she said.

"Uh huh," Mireya drawled.

"She's a two, right?" Wilson asked.

"That's right."

Wilson only hummed in response.

Mireya raised an eyebrow. "Getting some weird vibes from this 'just talking'."

"There's Bency, too, right?" Wilson asked instead. "She's that One that follows you guys around like a lost puppy."

Mireya hummed. "Yeah. I wouldn't say we're really friends though. At least, not until she gets the hang of things and stops causing us problems. She might be more likeable then."

"I know Andy's supposed to train her," Wilson murmured. "But... you should probably keep an eye on her."

"Maybe if I get paid to," Mireya said.

Wilson huffed. "Don't you get enough money hustling drugs around here? What, no pity for a baby sun?"

Mireya snorted. "How many people took pity on you as a One?"

"One," Wilson said, but didn't elaborate.

"Well, that's one more than most," Mireya said. "She's gotta learn somehow. The deep end helps with that."

Wilson nodded. "Right," she said. "Everyone's gotta earn their keep."

She then blew a puff over Mireya's arm.

"Oh, look at that," Wilson said, pulling the needle away. "Beam's all done."

She spun around in her stool as she reached back on the table, grabbing a sanitary towel and cleaning it up quickly.

"You know the drill while it heals, right?" Wilson asked.

"Of course, of course," Mireya said with a wave of her hand.

Covering it for her with a bandage, Wilson finished up and pulled away.

"Then I guess that means you're good to go," Wilson said. "Congratulations on your promotion. I hope it works out well for you."

"Thanks, Wilson," Mireya said, pulling her arm off the armrest. "See ya around."

Year 1102, five years ago.


Eve wrung her hands together, feeling a little nervous now that the sun was dipping below the building skyline. Normally, she'd find this sight to be pretty, especially being in the quieter part of Goulon. It was nice to be away from the hustle and bustle of city life, for once.

Maybe someday she could explore the scenic rolling hills of the countryside... but for now, she was happy to have settled in the new village with her parents. They seemed happy with their new jobs here too. The law firm was doing well.

"Come on, Raya..." she said under her breath, glancing back at the firm. The pointed corners of the roof cast a spreading shadow against the redwood walls of the building, signaling that it was going to be sunset soon. "Where are you?"

They always walked home together... always. And Raya was never late... ever.

True, she could have taken a little longer than normal to mop the floors, but...

"Hnnng..." she moaned softly, nervously eyeing the door. "Okay... okay, okay."

Pattering up the stairs, Eve nervously pushed open the doors, poking her head around the dark hallways before entering them. "Raya...?" she called uncertainly, her soft footsteps echoeing behind her. "Are you still here?"

She froze, feeling her blood grow cold when she turned the corner and locked eyes on the strewn bucket with water splayed around it. Pointing towards the exit door was the mop, fallen and abandoned.

The worst possible option wormed into her brain and grappled her with fear.

"Raya!" Eve called in a panic, erupting into a sprint. She nearly slipped and tripped on the water as she skidded around it, bursting out the door. "Raya!"

Her heart felt like it was going to leap out of her chest. Oh, no. No no no no no. Where had she gone? She wouldn't leave her like this. She wouldn't--

There! The long silvergrass behind the firm was pushed away on opposing sides, like someone stomping through.

Or dragged through.

Eve barely had time to swat away any grass in her way as she stormed through the path, feet softly trudging through as quickly as she could.

"Raya!" Eve cried, vision blurring. "Raya!"

Was she kidnapped? Hurt? Or was she wandering? No, this was too cryptic. What if it were mage hunters? Raya wasn't very careful with her magic. No, Eve told her she had to be careful. She promised she'd be careful!

Breaths heavy, Eve came to a screeching halt as a piercing laugh echoed in the air, causing the black birds in the trew to caw and fly away. Breath catching her throat, she blinked back the tears, pushing down her emotions.

She had to stay steady.

With light feet, she hid behind a thick focus tree, careful to not trip over its roots deeply embedded in the field.

"Not so magical now, are you?" a woman's voice taunted.

Then a heavy splash of water.

"Bet you she's still going to try," a man said with no emotion.

"And fail," the woman said with a laugh. "It's not like she's going to magic her way out of this one."

Eve closed her eyes, pressing her shaking fingers against the rough textured bark. Biting back a lip, she forced herself to be stronger. This could mean nothing. This could mean anything. They weren't talking about Raya. No. This couldn't be happening.

Hot tears streamed her face even through closed eyes, and she emitted a quiet whine, unable to hold back her cries.

She had to know. She had to know if what she was seeing was really what she was hearing.

With blurry vision, she sharply turned to peer around the tree.

And it was in this moment that Eve received her answer.

But sorrow consumed her body, and in its place, stood regret. Regret that she turned the corner to look, because she wished she could forget and instead not know what happened.

Upon hearing the knock at the door, Eve slammed her extensively documented notes shut, knowing that she was only going to get pushback from Bo. Pushback that she handled the situation recklessly without the true big picture in mind.

She did have the big picture in mind. That was all she ever had in mind. But in that picture was not the King's Hand. Not cold-blooded murderers. It was not an unreasonable justification. Surely, he had to understand.

And if Bo was angry with her? If he was unapproving? Disappointed? Desired punishment?

So be it. She stood by her actions. She would take it in stride.

"Come in," she called, steeling her nerves as she clasped her hands together, awaiting her supervisor to come in.

Bo stepped inside with a small smile.

"Hey, Eve," he said, coming in and grabbing the sturdiest chair in the room, pulling it up to sit down by her desk. "You wanted me to come in early. What's up?"

Eve extended her arm out with the folder containing the notes, offering it to him to take. "My report from the lumshade farm investigation," she explained. "You are welcome to take the time to read before discussing."

Bo took the folder with a nod. "Oh, sure. Yeah. I'll just be a moment," he said, flipping the folder open. He tapped the side of his head with his finger. "Slow reader. Please forgive."

"That's fine. I can wait," Eve said patiently, even though the rhythmic tapping of her pencil against the desk said otherwise.

"Thanks," Bo said, turning his attention to her notes and silently taking them in with a neutral expression.

Begging her patience to prevent her from saying anything, Eve stared at him in quiet agony, the quiet secondhand of the clock behind him ticking away, growing louder with each passing minute.

Finally, Bo finished flipping through the files and looked up, leaving it open on the last page.

"How are you feeling?" he asked softly.

"Fine," she answered, setting the pencil down and clasping her hands together again. "What are your thoughts?"

"I think this report is excellent," Bo began. "For a simple follow-up, you really went above and beyond here. Not only did you jump on my hunch, but you found us a very big potential lead, here. It was a good call to send Jordan out to meet with Elias. The meeting with Tiberius might be a bit of a snag, but I think we could make it work."

Eve faltered, feeling like he was avoiding the question with peppered compliments. "What are your true thoughts?" she asked instead.

Bo blinked. "I mean, I wasn't done," Bo said. "But, those thoughts were true."

Eve sighed, feeling a headache forming. "I know you don't approve of how I handled the situation," she said plainly. "You can say it."

"You're referring specifically to what happened with Kirk, right?" Bo said.

"Yes," she said, once again steeling her quickly-disappearing patience.

"I think you handled yourself really well, all things considered," Bo said. "I think it's unfair to set up unrealistic expectations for yourself, here. From what I read, it sounds like you felt very strongly about things in the moment, and the fact that you were still able to keep your composure is a testament in and of itself. The same can't be said for all our agents. There's been some unfortunate disasters when people have lost their temper, or otherwise lash out."

Bo looked back down at the file, flipping through it again. The brief second of silence was the tipping point for her patience to run dry.

"You want me to go back and talk to him," she said tiredly, now glaring at him. "Don't you?"

"I do think you should reach out again," Bo said plainly. "But I don't think you should beat yourself up over this. It sounds like Kirk is surprisingly open. I don't think it will be difficult on his end."

"Bo," Eve cut in, trying to level with him. "I don't mean you any disrespect. But I strongly advise that we not work with anyone involved with Verna's death."

Bo pressed his lips together for a moment, taking in a deep breath.

"I'd expect you of all people to understand," Eve added more quietly, recalling how close Bo and Verna were.

Bo let out a deep sigh, looking down at the file.

"I do understand," Bo said. "And I'm not happy about it either - Kirk's connections to her, or that day. But I don't want to let that get in the way of something that could actually help us get our people back. I know it's a risk, but at this point, having him involved helps us more than it hurts us. He has access to things we don't, and the more information we have, the better prepared we will be to infiltrate the Blue Suns' operation."

Bo leaned forward in his seat, resting his arms over his knees as he looked at Eve with a gentle gaze.

"I understand how painful it is," Bo said sincerely. "I've had to enter many spaces where people have hurt my friends personally to follow a lead, and the desire to withdraw is very, very real. I don't want to diminish that at all. I know this is difficult, Eve. And one thing I've always respected about you is how firmly you hold to your convictions. But the sad truth about our line of work is that sometimes, personal bias has to be set aside so we can get answers and move forward."

Eve almost wished that Bo responded harshly so that she didn't have to admit that he was right. Again. With patience, and empathy, and kindness that she found unsettling and uncomfortable.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, knowing that he was gazing back with open empathy and concern. Even though she wanted to stand her ground.

"He gave me his contact information," she said lowly, since it wasn't explicitly said in the report. She stopped there, not wanting to say the implication out loud.

Bo tilted his head.

"Do you still have it?" Bo asked.

"...I do," Eve answered after a brief hesitation. Though, she had been very close to tearing it to shreds that day.

"Would you be willing to try reaching out again?" Bo asked.

"I just..." She sighed again, eyes resting on the knot of wood on her desk. The headache was coming in now. "...I need some time."

"That's alright," Bo said. "We have that."

"When do you want me to reach out?" she asked lowly.

"How long do you need?" Bo asked, softer.

Forever, ideally. But Eve knew that wasn't the right answer here. Strategically, this week wouldn't be the best time to reconvene anyways since the Summer Solstice Festival was kicking off. People from all over Nye were visiting. The streets were going to be crowded.

After the festival, though, the crowd was localized to the City Center, where the Griffin Games took place. Therefore...

"I can reach out to him next week," she answered steadily.

"That sounds like a good idea," Bo said.

Fine. They found a resolution. There was nothing else to discuss.

"Is there anything else?" Eve asked wearily.

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to, but I'm wondering how you're holding up after being in the field for the first time in a long while," he said.

Eve stared at him uncertainly, only glancing at the clock to gauge the time. It felt like he had been here for a while, now.

"Or -- if you'd rather we unpack that later," Bo started.

"I-- it's fine," Eve quickly answered. It was a basic question, after all. "It was standard. I don't have much else to report."

Bo nodded. "I meant, more, like -- how you're doing emotionally, not really all the report details," Bo said, lifting up the file and setting it on his lap. "But I guess I could've made that clearer."

Eve stared through him with a furrow of her brows. "I'm emotionally well," she said with no emotion.

Bo's lips trembled like he was trying to hide a smile.

"What?" Eve pressed with dismay, frowning.

"Ah, yes," Bo said, trying to steel his features. "It's just your lying isn't very convincing. I know I shouldn't be amused by it, sorry."

"I--" She stared at him, pressing her lips together with greater dismay. Then affirmed more stubbornly, "I'm not lying."

"I mean, it's okay," Bo said, lifting up his hands. "I'm not going to judge you for how you felt it went. Missions are hard, and there's always hell of a lot more to process than any of us anticipate. You don't have to talk to me about it, but I want to give you space to process if you want. I'm a sounding board, not a juror."

Eve figured the humorous irony was intentional, considering her law background. But she was far too tired to consider humor right now.

Bo was right. Putting aside her personal biases was a hard-to-swallow truth. At the same time, she wasn't very comfortable talking about these biases out loud with someone who only looked at her with endless, unfounded empathy and kindness. She was going to lose her composure, and she'd really rather not do that again.

This was a stepping stone. A stepping stone to leadership. To ambition. To the greater good.

"I'm fine," she said more confidently this time, meeting his eyes. "But thank you. I appreciate your concern, but I have other 'sounding boards' I can talk to. Namely, Jordan, who will be coming in any minute now. You don't need to look after me, Bo. I can handle myself." She inclined her head downwards and affirmed, "I'll follow up with Kirk next week. Thank you for stopping by."

"Alright," Bo said gently. "Should I step out and come back in a few when the others get here?"

Eve shook her head. "No need. I can handle the meeting."

"While we wait..." Bo said. "You got a pencil and paper?"

Eve glanced at her drawer where all her notepads, sketchbooks, and pencils lived. Hesitantly, she opened the drawer and pulled out her notepad designated just for meeting notes, flipping to a clean page.

"Yes?" she said expectantly, pencil in hand.

"Oh, it's not for anything serious," Bo said with a little smile. "I just feel like doodling while I wait."

Uncertainly, she glanced between him and the paper. Then wordlessly offered the paper and pencil to him.

With a small smile, Bo took it and contendedly began to draw with little thought to the prior conversation.

He really was just... sitting here. Drawing. In silence. In front of her. She tried not to stare too long, but frankly, she didn't know what else there was to do.

He was drawing... a werewolf. With wings. Breathing lightning.

She assumed it wasn't for him. Or maybe it was. Eve had no idea anymore. She couldn't tell with Bo, sometimes.

Bo lifted up the paper, turning it to her.

"I needed to get it out of my head," he said. "It's been sitting in there all day. What do you think. Too scary? I tried to draw it more campy."

Eve stared blankly at the drawing, evaluating it. "Could use more teeth," she offered.

"Teeth," Bo said, pointing the pencil at her. "Good point."

He started adding more teeth.

"And bigger claws," she added. "For increased threat level, if that's what you're going for."

"Not too scary," Bo said. "I'm going to show it to Finn, later. He wants to be one of these when he grows up."

Ah. The energetic six year-old who lived in the safehouse. Which also made for an efficient cover, considering no one suspected a deaf mother with a six-year old to be safeguarding mages.

"I really should just get myself a sketchbook again," Bo said. "But I keep forgetting with everything going on. Sorry. This will be the last time I borrow your paper."

"You can just..." Eve weakly shrugged. "Keep it. It's only my notes from the meeting, anyways. But I can get you one without stationary lines if you prefer that."

"Psh," Bo waved a hand. "Lines enhance the flavor. I happily receive this gift, thank you."

"...Maybe don't go forward with the teeth or claws, though," Eve amended.

Bo erased quickly. "No... teeth," he said to himself.

Just as she was about to comment that he ought to give the wolf normal blunted teeth, another knock rapped on the door.

"Eve?" Jordan called through the door.

Finally.

Normally, Eve enjoyed starting the meeting with Jordan coming in early so they could catch up. But she bored a strict glare through his eyes, silently demanding that he keep their conversations impersonal while Bo was here.

"So uhh," Jordan said, taking a seat with a little awkward glance at Bo and his drawing. "You look. Like you normally do."

Eve nearly facepalmed with both hands from the terrible introduction. "Thanks," she said flatly instead, completely unimpressed. "So do you."

Jordan squinted at her, frowning in a pained sort of way. Likely embarassment from his own awkwardness. She squinted back, then raised her brows, trying to have a conversation without words.

As is, act normal.

Jordan raised his brows too, biting his lips as he nodded, already doing a horrible job. Eve had to stop herself from releasing a long suffering sigh.

"I saw them setting up for the festival today," Jordan said, reaching for something. "It's bigger than its ever been. All the uh, stands and stuff. Tomorrow's market will probably be crazy busy."

Eve nodded. She hated small talk. "The festival kicks off with an evening musical concert at the City Park amphitheater, right?" she asked, even though she already knew the answer was yes.

"Yeah," Jordan said. "The park's blocked off right now while they're decorating, but it'll open in the evening."

Eve nodded again, slowly. She glanced at the clock. "Sounds like it will be a big crowd."

"Yeah. Really big crowd," Jordan echoed in a way that was unnaturally stiff for conversation. "We could be part of that crowd, even."

Eve stared at him, slow-blinking. "Yes," she said, just as slow. "We could."

Bo ducked his head down and suddenly let out a snort as he lifted a hand to hide his face from view.

Jordan looked over at Bo nervously, then at Eve. He mimed in gesture to Bo, mouthing: "Did I say something wrong?"

Eve sighed in response, shaking her head as she rested her dead stare over to the door, willing it to open. Anyone. Even Hendrik. Tula, even.

"Please," Bo said with a small wheeze, like he was trying not to laugh. "Don't let me interrupt."

"What kind of uppity fuckin' city doesn't let you drink at a concert?" Hendrik's voice boomed through the door seconds before bursting through.

Finally.

"One with a lot of young kids?" Cyrin suggested, following after him. "It's family-friendly."

"Hmph!" Hendrik marched over to the biggest chair in the room this time, sinking in. "Everyone's an alcoholic, some way or another. The kids need to buck up and learn the truth. Expose them while they're young."

Raj followed in after, quiet as ever. He took a seat next to Cyrin. The rustling caused Hendrik to look over his shoulder with a frown, which immediately turned to a grin when he instead caught sight of Bo.

"Boss man!" he cheered, getting back up on his feet.

Bo finally looked up from his drawing and flashed Hendrik a big smile as he closed the notebook and got up.

"Hey, Henny," Bo said, pulling him into a hug and patting Hendrik on the back.

"So glad you're here," Hendrik said with an approving grunt, pounding two pats against his back before pulling away. "I was just talking about you."

"That so?" Bo asked, sitting back down.

Cyrin huffed, elegantly sitting down and crossing one leg over the other. "Come on. You were complimenting him to death."

Hendrik towered over Cyrin, staring down at him with a deep frown. "And is that so bad, laddie?" he said with a thinly threatening voice.

"Not at all," Cyrin said, completely unfazed by the bravado. "Bo's an easy soul to compliment and deserving of it."

"That's right," Hendrik said with two approving nods, heavily sitting back on his chair again. "An easy, gentle soul. And a fearless leader."

Bo made a silly grin, like he was trying to hide it, and glanced over at Eve. Eve only quietly sighed in response, opening her mouth to speak, but was once again beaten to the punch by unexpected chaos.

"Fuck you, old man!" Tula screamed as she burst through the door, marching in the room. "You're not my fucking teacher. You're an ugly dog." She angrily sunk onto her chair, crossing her arms with a fierce scowl.

Unlike all past weeks, Tula was dressed... tame, this time. She wore simple ordinary clothes and blended in, completely ignoring Robin pattering in behind her in his wolf form.

Robin looked around the room with the most long-suffering eye roll a wolf could ever give. "And you're disrespectful," he said with a sigh. "As always."

"The hell you wearing, gothic?" Hendrik spat, frowning as he looked her up and down.

"Oooohhhhh, here we go!" Tula said incredulously with a bored frown, rolling her eyes as she threw her arms in the air. "Time to get a lecture from the drunk man because I am following dress code this time! Because gods forbid I have boobs!"

"Hendrik," Robin said flatly, sitting on the floor at Bo's feet. "Don't."

"It's the year of our lords and dragons 1107, Hendrik," Cyrin said. "For the love of Bo, please stop dress coding people."

"That's right, drunk man," Tula shot back with a smug smile. "Listen to your gay icon."

"Fuck you, you teenage brat. I was just pointing out what everyone was thinking!" Hendrik huffed angrily, which only made Tula smirk some more.

Bo made an even goofier suppressed grin, but still said nothing.

"I think you look fine today, Tula," Jordan said neutrally, like he was hoping it would help.

Tula glared at him. "Shut it, water boy. I'm not interested."

Jordan shot a look to Eve, begging her to just start the meeting. Which Eve was ready to do at the very beginning, but she much preferred to wait until everyone burned through their excessive energy. She resisted the urge to rub her temples from an incoming headache as Hendrik and Tula continued to yell over each other. Again.

Fortunately Mel Aradis stepped in with an apologetic bow of her head, grabbing a seat quickly by her brother. The last one to enter, Leilan quickly followed with a sorry smile, taking the last chair available.

"Where the hell have you been, sparky?" Hendrik asked curtly, now ignoring Tula's daggering glares.

"Morning, Hendrik," Leilan greeted pleasantly, getting settled. "I wasn't here last week because Barlowe dispatched me for the exact time we planned to meet. Not to worry, I sent Eve a letter well in advance."

"Gods be damned," Hendrik grumbled, crossing his arms with open disapproval. "If I'm not here next week, it's because I was catching the silver fox at the exact time we planned to meet."

Bo reached over and patted Hendrik's arm as a silent indication that that was enough jokes for now. As expected, Hendrik understood his superior's silent words and immediately straightened up in his chair, nodding. Leilan shrugged helplessly, unoffended.

"...Let's begin," Eve said, resisting a sigh. She readied her pencil over a new notepad, turning her attention to Hendrik. Best to get his story out of the way first. "Status update, Hendrik?"

"Yes, ma'am." Hendrik vigorously nodded as he settled into his rigid soldier-updating persona, puffing his chest before diving in. "This week I spent my hours consistently tracking Alexander Kingsman's whereabouts. The silver fox has already begun work sniffing out the mages around Ruddlan, and infuriatingly ran a healing mage out of town. I would've intervened were it not a fucking public spectacle. Aside from catching the mage and later taking them to DAMG, Alexander has been snooping around the city's taverns, chatting up the barkeeps and paying off the homeless, likely for information. I have reason to believe he's been tipped off about several people in the city on the DAMG watchlist and is going on a campaign to track them all down."

Hendrik paused, deep frown settling in. Eve stopped writing, knowing this was when his crucial information ended.

"Not only that," he continued with a threatening tone, "but when I had a personal run in-with him, the damn silver fox winked at me." He scoffed, shaking his head. "The fuckin' audacity! Eugh! Nerve of that sorry man!"

"Was it a friendly wink?" Bo asked curiously.

"No," Hendrik said solemnly. "It was a flirty wink, boss man."

"Is that so?" Tula mused, a slow grin creeping across her face. "Did you wink back?"

Hendrik only shot her a dirty look, scoffing in offense.

Tula rolled her eyes, bored. "You drunk idiot," she groaned. "This was a perfect opportunity to get in his pants and get your precious information. And of course you let it go."

Hendrik slammed his fists down on the arms of the chair, riled up from rage. "I shall do no such thing!" he snarled.

"Playing hard to get," Tula sighed, tsking. "Silver boy is probably into that."

"I HAVE DIGNITY! I WILL DO THIS MY WAY!" Hendrik's voice boomed in the small room. Eve tried not to tense from the sudden loudness, though she was also unsurprised.

"You don't have to take it further than you're comfortable with," Bo said calmly. "But if you can manage it, swallowing your pride for a bit and entertaining it could be an open door for gathering information."

With raised brows up to his forehead, Hendrik whirled around, staring wide-eyed at Bo. "Boss man," he said calmly, pleadingly. "You want me to flirt with the silver fox?"

Bo shrugged. "It might be the best approach for talking to him," he said. "I've had to do it before. Like I said, it doesn't have to lead anywhere."

"Wait." Tula leaned closer towards Bo, scrunching her nose in belief. "No. No. You're lying. You don't flirt with anyone. You're too ugly."

Bo bat his eyelashes and tilted his head to the side with another shrug.

"Some people are into that," he said with a smirk.

"Oh my gods," Tula moaned, quick to turn away and press her palms over her ears. "Shut up. Now."

Bo zipped his lips with his fingers, though he looked pleased for having ruffling Tula's feathers. Cyrin hid a laugh by resting their chin on their fist and covering their mouth with their knuckles.

"Consider it," Bo said after a beat. "That's all."

Hendrik pressed his lips together, holding back a groan. "Yes, boss," was all he grumbled in response.

"Tula," Eve called, catching her attention. "Status update?"

"Ugh." Tula swished her low ponytail over her shoulder, crossing her arms. She couldn't repress the growing smirk as she announced, "I made Aksel my bitch."

"Oh my gods," Hendrik groaned. "Here we go."

"Give me two more weeks," Tula went on with a sly grin. "Then I'll have him wrapped around my pretty little finger." The grin quickly turned hostile as her eyes strayed down to Robin. She scowled, snarling, "If this freak gets off my fucking back!" Robin snarled back, which prompted Tula to hiss, "I can feel your creepy old man eyes staring at me when my tongue is deep in his throat." She grinned again, this time teasing and sinister as she lowly finished, "But I bet you liked that, don't you, wolfy creep?"

"I loathe every second I've been obligated to supervise you," Robin said. "With no exceptions."

"Tula," Eve cut in before Tula could erupt into a tantrum. "Did you learn anything?"

"Yes," Tula said through her teeth, still glaring at Robin and obviously agitated. "I learned that he has severe daddy issues and likes to be tied up."

Eve kept her reaction neutral, quickly adding more pleasantly for necessary context: "Specifically about why he's here, please."

Tula rolled her eyes, sighing again. "Yes," she said again, more impatiently this time. "Aksel is here on behalf of his father, Ivar Hansen. He will do anything--" She paused for extra dramatic effect, holding her finger out and making eye contact with everyone briefly. "-- and I mean anything-- for his father." She shrugged, leaning back against her chair. "He's a spineless but good, obedient boy. I've snooped through his private documents and am guessing he's here to manage a transaction of some sort, based on the strange trends I noticed of his finances. He's taken a vow of silence, but I'll get him to crack." Tula grinned, a devlish glint in her eyes. "I always do."

Eve took down quick notes, glancing up and noticing that Bo was giving a thumbs up, directed towards her. She couldn't help but stare back flatly, shaking her head and flipping to a new page.

"Thank you," she said, glad to move on. "Cyrin, Raj. What are your updates?"

Cyrin and Raj exchanged a look.

"We also trailed Alexander Kingsman," Cyrin said. "He had captured a mage-- who we think is probably a healing mage, for reasons we'll get to-- and was taking him back to the DAMG, where he passed him over to Conway Balfour. As they both went inside, Raj sensed one of them walking through an underground tunnel that pointed towards the city center. We followed it from there."

A beat of silence. Cyrin sighed softly.

"It connected directly to the Gallery," they said. "This means there's an official-- even if secretive-- link between the DAMG and Blue Suns. The Blue Suns aren't kidnapping healing mages off the streets. They're getting them hand-delivered by the guild."

"Oh, fuck me," Hendrik said through grit teeth, fiercely opening his flask in a rage and glugging down his his drink.

Robin started growling. The rest of the room fell soberly silent as the reality sunk in.

"Gods damn it!" Hendrik shouted angrily, throwing his now-empty flask against the wall.

Thankfully, Bo's hand gracefully shot out and he caught it before the glass could shatter all over the floor. Reaching back to Hendrik, Bo pointedly offered the bottle back with a look that said Hendrik could only have it if he wouldn't throw it again. Displeased, Hendrik snatched it off his hands, quietly simmering in boiled rage.

"So it's either Conway or Kingsman who delivered the mage to the Blue Suns personally," Bo said seriously.

"Yes," Cyrin said. "At least one of them is in on this. And we don't know who."

"I'll dig in further with Aksel," Tula said cooly and seriously. "At least with him, I can eliminate whether Conway is or isn't related to the trafficking."

"And I'll catch Kingsman," Hendrik added tersely. "Even if I have to lose my dignity and flirt with the man."

"Thank you, both of you," Cyrin said solemnly. "Raj and I will keep working on it too."

Eve had already read their notes, and so none of this came to a surprise for her. But she was glad that everyone else was on the same page now, and that this could inspire the team to work together.

"Thank you, Cyrin," she said with a slight nod of her head, turning to a new page of her notes. "Leilan, would you like to go over your update?"

Leilan nodded, taking out his other copy of his report.

"I also have something on the Blue Suns," he said. "Only slightly less infuriating. I was listening to a conversation between Barlowe and a visitor-- Barlowe called her Rita-- and I realized she was speaking to someone from the Blue Suns. They discussed a transaction of a significant amount of money as well as the trafficking activity, and the gang is definitely paying Barlowe to look the other way when it happens. She's complicit."

"Hmph! Of course she is," Hendrik said with a disapproving shake of his head. "I've never bought her spiel on peace and change. She's a poltician. Of course there'd be corruption in Ruddlan."

"Have you seen Rita around the estates before, or was this the first time?" Bo asked.

"She's been over before, although this is the first time I can stay for sure she was paying Barlowe," Leilan said. "Most of the few times she's been in, it's to call in a favor. From what I can tell, given the importance of her visits, she's at least a five in the Blue Suns. Obviously, she's not flaunting her tattoo."

"Thank you, Leilan."

The Blue Suns had embedded into Ruddlan more than anyone knew. Eve couldn't help but wonder when everything would boil to a point of no return. The Blue Suns only destroyed communities, poisoning them from the inside.

It was no wonder Kirk Fayek wanted to ally with an unknown to increase his chances of getting rid of them, too. She wondered if he knew that they were also tied to politics as well.

"Jordan," Eve called, nodding to him. "Your update, please?"

"I met with Elias," Jordan said. "The farmer you ran into, Cyrin. Long story short, he's willing to be an informant for us and give us information on the Blue Suns woven into the Lumshade farm's staff. But he has one condition: he wants to personally meet Tiberius Hemming. I honestly have no idea what his real motives are, but considering it was his only request apart from our lowball payment, I told him we'd make it work. At least, for one meeting. I have no idea how we're going to, though. It's not like you can walk up to the Moonlight Kingdom manor and arrange a play-date. Even though Elias definitely made it sound like that with how ridiculous the guy was."

Cyrin raised an eyebrow. "Isn't he strange? I've never heard him say something normal."

"I wonder if his goofy exterior is all an act," Jordan said, folding his arms with a huff. "I felt like he was trying to play me the whole time just to be funny."

"My, my," Tula cooed. "It appears the spy list is ever-so-growing." She grinned, adding, "So let's kill him."

"Not escalating to murder yet, Tula," Bo said simply.

"Ugh." She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "You need to trust water boy's instincts, cyclops."

"I do," Bo said. "We'll keep an eye on the farmer kid. And any information he gives us, we'll verify. But it'll give us a place to start."

"I have a way to arrange this meeting," Eve said. "We should take this lead."

Jordan looked to Eve with a quirked brow.

"Seriously? I was thinking of bailing on him, honestly," Jordan said. "You really think it's worth it?"

Eve tapped on the report that Jordan had given her yesterday. "You said he knew the head chemist. Correct?"

"That's what he said, anyway," Jordan said.

"The head chemist, Aaron Keller, is a five-ray member of the Blue Suns," Eve said neutrally.

"Oh," Jordan said, blinking.

"And," she went on, "he has another connection. A four-ray member, as you mentioned, which Mr. Bennett leveraged in your negotiation. Cyrin thinks this connection is Wilson Song, a known lumshade smuggler for the Blue Suns. He drew her tattoo for me, which matches our records for her. Based on further stakeouts I assigned to agents, it appears they are seen together frequently in their off-time." Eve folded her hands on top of each other. "He's absurd and strange, yes. But it's a lead."

"Ah," Jordan said, nodding as he didn't have much to say now that he'd been corrected.

"All this to say: the Blue Suns have infiltrated the lumshade farm as well," Eve added for context. "They are moving fast."

"I'm supposed to meet with him tonight," Jordan said with a wince. "Should I just tell him... we're working on it? The uh. Meeting with Tiberius Hemming, that is."

Eve stared at him for a moment, thinking. She sighed. "Yes," she said. "I'll get you an answer by next week. Let's wait until after the festival."

Jordan nodded. "Okay."

Eve nodded back, averting her gaze from Bo, even though she could feel it on her. "Does anyone else have any comments?" she asked.

"If anyone needs a disguise for the masquerade dance at the end of the week," Mel said. "Let me know."

"Can I get a mask with two eyes?" Bo asked, looking at Mel with a coy smile.

Mel suppressed a smirk. "I'll think about it," she said.

"No, thank you," Hendrik said simply. "I don't dance."

"You might have to if you're asking Kingsman out," Jordan murmured.

"Aww. How cute," Tula cooed. "You and silver boy can be me and daddy boy's double date."

"That's it!" Hendrik growled, standing straight and marching towards the door. "I'm getting another drink."

In the flickering firelight of the camp, everyone looked like ghosts. James could still remember the feeling of the bodies going cold in his hands as they moved them, burying them under six feet of earth. One by one, the evidence was swept up, until they found something they hadn't meant to.

Leaving before they finished the job felt like a crime. But it wasn't his call.

It was Carter's.

James sat by the coffin at its head, staring at the words etched in a dead language on the sealed lid. The wood was unlike anything he'd ever seen: once it'd been cleaned off, it was pristine, as if it hadn't aged a day for however many decades it'd been in the earth. It had to at least have been a few seasons since it'd been buried, because there were no signs of disruption in the earth above: no lack of plant life, and no fresh dirt.

How long had this person been buried? Why were they stealing a dead body?

If the grave had been marked, maybe it would've made sense.

But there'd been no headstone, no name, no date, nothing. Just a heavy casket with only one word James could read: Dragon.

He should've kept his mouth shut, but it was too late now. Fleeing with a coffin in tow, they were miles away from the battle they left behind with bodies half-buried, blood covering the dirt, and Verna's body left for all to see.

James had never questioned Carter's leadership more than he had in the past 48 hours.

Sitting still and hugging his knees, James watched as the rest of the camp laid down for a restless sleep. Having just escaped the fear of death at Verna's hand, no one was going to be sleeping well tonight.

But James wasn't going to sleep at all. And Carter knew it.

The familiar heavy footfalls apprached slowly, and Carter sat at James's side in silence, staring with him at the fire in front of them. It was dying, now, and they were going to let it as night fell. Soon, everyone would become a shadow. For a few minutes more, as the last of the sun's light painted the sky purple, there was just enough so James could see Carter's face.

It was like stone.

"What are you going to say when we get home?" Carter asked quietly.

Quietly enough that James knew he didn't want the others to hear. James felt his blood run cold, and it was a feeling he never thought he'd feel in the presence of his friend. Carter didn't sound worried, or concerned.

This felt like a threat. And to ask for clarification would be like pressing his neck up against the knife, begging for blood.

"We were ambushed," James said, just above a whisper.

Carter's piercing eyes locked onto him.

"We were ambushed," Carter repeated. "And you escaped. You returned and saved us."

James nodded, trying not to reveal how much Carter's words felt like a noose.

"There was no smoke bomb," Carter said again, his words steely. "There was no smoke. And there was no accident. We were going north, as planned, and we were blindsided."

James's head bobbed again in agreement, but he could feel his gut sinking with guilt and fear.

"You took out twenty resistors on your own. You're a hero, now," Carter said, his words laced with venom. "And you will not deter from this story. Understood?"

Forcing himself to face Carter with a comfort he didn't feel, James mustered a bare smile as a show of camraderie, trying to reach for his friend and not his superior as he put his arm around Carter's shoulder in a brief embrace.

"I would never expose you," James found himself saying, pulling Carter in.

Carter stiffened for a moment, but eventually sunk into James's side.

"I'll cover you," James said softly. "It's going to be okay."

The sitting room had become an office the morning that a representative of the Ruddlan Read came to interview the King's Hand. Carter had explained the day before that he'd read up on the paper, their biases, and their reputation. Like any other city news outlet, the Ruddlan Read was first about getting readers, and second about getting news. Carter had a suspicion that the reporter coming to interview them was going to do everything he could to sensationalize them, their history, and their motives. Fortunately, the Ruddlan Read historically never wrote anything too harsh of the Moonlight Kingdom because of the kingdom's ties with Ruddlan.

Barlowe had never been too fond of the Moonlight Kingdom's involvement, but she'd always been open to friendly relations. The Ruddlan Read was allegedly an independent journalism agency, but Carter knew any newspaper was always under the sway of local government.

So, it was going to be simple.

That was what Carter said. Be smart, be vague, and only answer the questions you wished they asked. Carter had been trained to think like a politician from youth, so it was only natural that he'd think this would be easy to navigate. And somehow, everyone else seemed to agree.

But it didn't matter how much prior press training or lack thereof that James had been prepared with.

Mr. R. Santiago was intent on asking about the war, not their positions.

Sure, the latter came up. But it was clear from the start when he sat down with Carter where his priorities lied.

Everyone else seemed to respond to the questions easily, and in reality, it really wasn't that hard. Reporters did this all the time: they pressed for details they didn't deserve, and they asked questions they had no relational grounds for. But that was the job of a journalist. They were supposed to dig, and they wanted to.

Anything to get a good story. Anything to get the next paycheck.

And of course, the King's Hand was big news.

James felt like he was watching a child interact with zoo animals. He was an object in a room, not a person. If he was a person, it was only as a source; a means to an end, and the more the morning went on and Santiago cycled from person to person, the more James felt the noose around his throat tighten.

Secrets were suffocating, and James wished he could've convinced Carter to give him an out on this one.

His head was already killing him today, and it had for the past three days, but Carter didn't care. Nobody cared anymore. Using his migraine as an excuse worked for a day, and then they grew tired of him, as they always did. So now, he was sitting in the living room, feeling the tense swirl of conversation like a pulse in his own skull.

The morning light was painful. The level, steady words exchanged were like repeated thumps against his mind. Tapping at memories he'd rather leave buried, with the bodies he left behind. The ones he didn't get to finish laying to rest.

If he'd been left alone, he'd have spent the next few hours sitting in the living room, staring at the same space by Dr. Lyall Ashlund's feet with the same level of absent intensity he'd drifted into since this awful setup began.

He didn't even know why the doctor was here. Only that Dr. Ashlund was used as a messenger boy for Santiago.

He didn't have time to ponder what stakes the doctor had in all of this, though.

Someone called his name.

"Mr. Hemming. Mr. Hemming?" a voice faded in.

Fuck it, he was already going to get talked to about this later, wasn't he? Blinking away his daze, Santiago came into full view, now sitting in front of him.

The man was young. Early 20's at least, mid 20's at most. He was dressed nicely, in a minimalistic, understated way. Something befitting of a journalist who wanted to impress when visiting the estates, and representatives of a king. This was probably a big deal for him, getting to interview the King's Hand, and he could already tell from the focused intensity of his gaze that he was watching James closely.

On the man's notebook, he saw Santiago had opened to a new page that only read: Tiberius Hemming. Underlined.

James looked up, meeting Santiago's eyes. "Sorry," he apologized.

Having leaned in, Santiago relaxed his posture as he leaned back, tapping the pencil on top of his paper. "You are a war hero. I'd like to dive into that," he said straightly.

In that instant, it was like the air got sucked out of the room. Without casting him a glance, Ingrid, Hellen, and Fonzi already moved to clear out of the room and escape. Kirk lingered in his seat by the window across from Carter, who, though not looking at James, was visibly listening intently.

"Let's talk about what happened the night of your heroic achievement," Santiago continued without pause. "The other papers have been vague, only listing generics. However, the Ruddlan Read takes pride in the details. Thus, I would like to write a story that paints the appropriate victory you deserve." He turned his pencil over, unrelenting without pause. "But first: some background on you."

James stared at the pencil in Santiago's hands. It tapped against the paper in anticipation.

"Mr. Hemming," Santiago called without an ounce of mercy in his voice, staring him down with watchful eyes and ears. "I would like to better understand your role in the Moonlight Kingdom military. What specific skills do you specialize in per your role as a soldier in the military?"

James nodded faintly.

"In my service I served as a translator," he said. "Which was the primary reason for me joining the platoon that crossed beyond the kingdom's borders."

"So your role in the King's Hand is the linguist," Santiago deduced. "Is that right?"

"Not exclusively," Tiberius said. "Of those in the King's Hand, I'm the only one who's been made a part of the king's counsel. So, I work more directly with King Blackfield."

"Doing what, exactly?" he pressed.

"The service of a counselor mostly involves... a lot of meetings," he said with a small shrug.

Santiago nodded, scribbling something in his notes. James couldn't read his half-obscured handwriting upside-down.

"In my discussions with your colleagues, I learned a great deal about their backgrounds." Santiago gestured to each person. "Mr. Fayek was the chemist. Ms. Price, the strategist. Ms. Lannom, weapons expert. And of course, Mr. Haddon as the united leader." Santiago turned his attention back to James with a slight furrow of his brow, studying him. "What, daresay, would you say sets you apart enough that you get to be involved in the king's counsel?"

It was a fair question. It just wasn't one James had ever had a decent answer to. He wished he knew, too.

"I don't think there's anything remarkable about myself," James said simply. "Aside from the fact that I was chosen, which was something I had no part in. All I did was say yes."

"Please, Mr. Hemming," Santiago said with a feigned, tight smile. "There's no need to be humble. You can tell the truth."

James couldn't fake a smile in return.

"I was picked by the counsel," he said.

"Because?" the reporter pressed.

"All I was told was that they trusted me," he said. "I was not present for their selection process."

Santiago nodded, jotting down more notes. "Who else is on the counsel?"

"It's on public record," James said with a bit of a withering tone.

"I know," he said, unrelenting, and still expecting a response.

This man wanted James to say back to him information he already knew. It wasn't an interview question. This was an intimidation tactic.

James could feel Carter's eyes land on him from the other side of the room. Obliging only to not cause difficulty, James listed off the members and their roles by name. But the last names rolled off his tongue like poison. Santiago nodded along, scribbling more notes. In the middle of the list, he stopped writing, watching James speak with patience.

"And Gabriel and Ruth Haddon," James said. "The head guildmasters."

"Parents of Carter Haddon," Santiago said neutrally. "Correct?"

This was redundant. James only nodded.

The reporter didn't once glance Carter's way despite his eyes being on him. "Would you say that they played a part in your selection process, Mr. Hemming?" he asked.

A pained smile wanted to work its way to his face. Instead, he forced his mouth to be still, and he shrugged with his lips instead.

"Possibly," he said. "But I am not allowed to view those records."

"Do you have ties to the King's Peak DAMG Headquarters, Mr. Hemming?" Santiago asked instead.

"No," James answered simply.

Santiago nodded then flipped to a new page, settling his searching gaze on him again. "How long have you been involved in the military, Mr. Hemming?"

"I enlisted at the age of 13," he answered. "Eleven years."

"Was there a reason why you joined?"

And, as expected, this was where the questions became more personal. James was intensely tempted to blow off the question and simply tell Santiago to move on, because the reporter was by no means entitled to that information.

What did Santiago want to hear? Telling him it was, at the start, for food, stability, and a roof over his head sounded like a grab for pity. And he didn't want pity.

"It was the best option," he said.

Don't make me say it.

"Because of what circumstances?" Santiago went on without pause.

Any ounce of friendliness left James's features as he became thoroughly done with Santiago's interrogation styled interview.

"I was orphaned, and I needed a place to go," he said.

Santiago was quiet for a moment, watching him without reaction. Then turned away to jot more notes. "Many families have been displaced by mages or monsters the last several decades," he said, underlining a word and then sternly holding his gaze again. "Does that statement resonate with you?"

James resented the wording of that statement, actually, despite the truth it held. But he wasn't going to say that, because every goddamn eye in the room was watching him for his reaction.

"I would say it rings true for many people out there," he said.

"You included?" the reporter asked.

James did not currently feel inclined to violence. But he did want to get out of here.

"Yes," he said.

Santiago nodded, scibbling down more notes. "Mages or monsters?"

"Next question," James said.

Santiago sighed, creasing his brows with a tilt of his head. "I'm only trying to understand your motivations, Mr. Hemming," he said calmly. "I will only paint you in a good light. Everything you say will shine a beacon of hope for the King's Hand, inspiring our readers. That is all I am doing here. To write an inspiring article that will reward the citizens of Ruddlan and the Moonlight Kingdom."

And of course, now Carter's eyes were boring holes into James's skull. Great. Just what he needed. More pressure. As if his head didn't hurt enough.

He wanted to tell the reporter that he thought he was full of shit. But that wasn't something he could let get printed in the press forever for everyone to see. Not as a representative of King Blackfield.

Another long string of curses cycled through James's brain as he forced himself to be reasonable.

Letting out a sigh, James looked down at the floor.

"...Mages," he relented.

He couldn't wait for this to be over.

Santiago nodded once, furiously writing away. "Thank you, Mr. Hemming," he said, but there was no sincerity in his words.

Thanks. Have fun writing your revenge story, Mr. Santiago. I can't wait to read it in the paper and throw it promptly into the fire while I proceed to hide in my room for the rest of this trip. Add that to the list of things he had to worry about.

Santiago flipped to a new page, indicating that he was about to pivot again. "Now," he began, "let's go back to the summer of 1105, the 5th of Sol. Do you recall the importance of that day?"

At this point, the migraine piercing through James's skull felt like it'd been matched by a ten-ton weight on his psyche. If he wasn't being constantly observed for signs of distress, James would've rubbed his knee, or picked at his fingers. Something, anything, to get the anxious energy out of his system. Instead, he felt stuck, frozen under a microscope he couldn't wait to get out from.

Did he recall the importance of that day? It was an insulting question. Insulting because everyone in the world knew about that day, and Santiago was formatting this like James was on the other side of an investigation, not like he was an interview subject.

Gods. Hadn't it been easy, with the others? Santiago had been so cordial.

This was what he'd been waiting for, hadn't it?

James looked at Santiago tiredly.

"I would greatly appreciate it," he said in the most painfully polite voice he could muster. "If you could ask only about what you don't know, instead of what you do."

"What I don't know," Santiago continued smoothly without missing a beat, "is a minute-by-minute play of what happened leading up to Verna Ferrera's death. Would you like to walk me through this, Mr. Hemming? After all, you are the leading war hero in this story."

Oh gods.

James felt... sick. Sick to his stomach. This didn't feel fair. This didn't feel right. The noose around his throat felt tighter.

"I... I'm not sure I'm comfortable reliving it again," he said, quieter. "I hope you can understand."

Santiago hesitated, finally glancing away from James. To Carter. James felt his breaths getting shallow.

"It's okay," Carter said gently, as if he was extending comfort instead of a knife. "Santiago, if he obliges this request, would you be content to end the interview once he's finished?"

Framing it as a gracious extension of mercy - buying his way out of it, so it'd be over soon. As a friend.

"Yes, Mr. Haddon," Santiago said with a nod. "This is my last question. I would like to better understand what happened, exactly, from Mr. Hemming's point of view."

Carter nodded to James expectantly, raising his brows to silently ask: "Well?"

James swallowed. He nodded.

"Alright," he said, even though giving in felt like he was suffocating to do so. "Where should I... start?"

"After your escape, maybe?" Carter suggested gently.

Right.

Sure.

He... he could...

James drew his hands together in his lap, closing his eyes as he tried not to relive the emotions that had embedded themselves into the memories. He just had to separate himself from the situation to retell it. This was just a story. This was just information. He wasn't there. It wasn't how it really happened.

"We'd been overpowered," he said quietly. "Outnumbered. And... I only escaped because I'd fallen behind. They missed me because I couldn't keep up. I was able to draw back into the shadows and hide. It was night. I had the darkness to obscure me. And I... I waited. For a very long time, I waited, to be sure there weren't any others lying in wait."

He clasped his hands together a little tighter.

"When I determined the area was clear, I slowly moved forward, following the tracks left behind. Many of my... my friends, had been dragged away, leaving a clear trail back to the rebel's base. I snuck up to their hideout slowly, so I wouldn't be detected, but I knew come morning, they would see me with the rotation of guards and scouts they had working around the clock. So I... I determined that if I were to have any chance of rescuing my platoon, that I had to act fast."

Closing his eyes, he found that it, slowly, became easier to speak as he distanced himself from the memory.

It was just a story. Just a story.

"I spent an hour watching their shifts and studying their camp, and when I'd learned the patterns I took the nearest opening - at the changing of shifts - to get in closer. I disposed of the two soldiers on guard at one end of the site, then the two at the other end. By the time I made it into the main camp I was able to catch two more by surprise, leaving... ten more."

He swallowed.

Santiago wanted a minute-by-minute retelling. The truth of it was, most fights were over in less than six seconds.

He didn't need to tell the man how every person was killed that day.

He didn't want to. He didn't have to. He couldn't.

"They were quick to respond. Ten times, I was lucky. Verna was the last one standing. I had to hold her off for what felt like an eternity before I could get close. And I... finally, was able to end it."

James kept his stare fixed on the floor.

"And when it was over, the first thing I did was check to see if my friends were still alive," he said emptily.

And the ensuing few seconds of silence made known the ringing in his ears. Santiago wrote extensive notes as he followed along, listening intently and filling in every detail.

Now that James was finally finished, Santiago closed his notebook and slipped it into his bag.

"Thank you, Mr. Hemming," he said, standing up and slinging the bag over his shoulder. He nodded over to Carter. "And thank you, Mr. Haddon, for allowing me this interview. You can expect an article in the next week."

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Santiago," Carter said pleasantly. "It was good to meet you."

With a final nod, Santiago ducked away, pleasantly uttering, "Have a good day."

"You as well," was all Carter said in return before Santiago was gone, leaving out the door with Dr. Ashlund. He still didn't understand Dr. Ashlund's reasons for being there.

But it didn't matter.

Wherever Ingrid, Hellen, and Fonzi had escaped to, James wished he was with them. Because the moment the room was left void of outsiders, Carter's polite persona nearly vanished. James could tell it was hanging by a thread.

"Kirk, would you give us a moment?" Carter asked gently, as if he wanted the space to check in on James after being pressured into retelling a traumatic event.

Kirk looked to James, an unreadable look in his eyes. James wasn't sure if it was concern, of if Kirk was trying to speak without words.

But he didn't know him well enough to know what he was saying. All James could think was: once again, the smoke bomb had gone without mention. Neither Carter nor Kirk had anything to worry about.

So why was he still here?

"Do you want that, Tiberius?" Kirk asked.

James caught the subtle twitch of Carter's brow.

"It's fine," James said quietly, trying to muster a weak look of assurance.

Kirk glanced at Carter.

"I think the others went out back," Carter said.

It was an unspoken suggestion that Kirk should join them. Kirk hesitated, and James frankly wished he hadn't. It only made the waiting worse.

"Right," Kirk said slowly. "I'll... see what they're up to."

And, finally getting up to leave, James and Carter sat still as the only thing heard between the two of them was the footfalls of Kirk's feet until he was out the back door.

There was a split second of quiet.

"What the fuck was that?" Carter asked lowly.

To which, James had no answer, because he didn't know which that he was referring to. Maybe it was one thing. Maybe it was all of it. Carter expected James to just know.

"I answered his questions," James said quietly. "I did as you asked."

"And you made it difficult for him," Carter said, sharper.

"He was grilling me," James said. "What was I supposed to do?"

"Be. Nice," Carter said. "Gods, even Ingrid put on a pretty face for the interview. Somehow you managed to stare him down the whole time like you were hoping he'd spontaneously combust."

Which wouldn't have been something James would've complained about.

But that was another matter.

"He wasn't being cordial," James said.

"He didn't have to be, he's a fucking reporter, Tiberius," Carter said. "He gets to ask anything he wants."

"Why is it that I'm always the one who ends up getting targeted to relive every second of the worst moments of my life?" James asked, feeling the buried anger rising to the surface. He pointed to the door where Santiago left. "Why does he deserve to know?"

"It's not about you!" Carter hissed. "Your life isn't about you anymore, Tiberius. You gave that up when you fucking made history all by your damn self. I don't care how much you hate it, you're in the spotlight now, and that's not changing. Ever!"

James got to his feet.

"I may be in a position of service to my kingdom, but that doesn't mean I owe them everything," he said cooly.

Carter got to his feet in turn.

"You represent the king, counselor," Carter said, now seething as he stepped forward, closing the gap between them. "You damn well do owe it everything. You owe us everything. You may have saved our lives but we made you. I made you. My fucking parents made you."

Carter jabbed his finger into James's chest.

"And you," he said. "Report to me. You lost your independence the moment you joined the army, Tiberius. Or did you forget your vow of allegiance?"

James's expression hardened. As if he could forget what he'd been made to say when he was only eleven, with no idea what it'd meant at the time.

He hadn't known just how much it'd control his life. How it'd become his life.

"This isn't about the interview," James said lowly.

"Fucking get a prize," Carter said.

"What is this about?" James asked. He knew, at this point, that he was goading him on.

"Is it the fact that no one knows you led us into a trap? Or that your parents chose me over you?" James asked.

And, he didn't know what he expected. But.

Carter's fist flew into James's gut, winding him.

Yeah. He guessed he deserved that for the emotional blackmail. He doubled over. Because Carter's punches fucking hurt.

James reached up to hold his side, but apparently Carter wasn't done. He grabbed James's shoulder and punched again. And again.

James didn't know why he didn't know what to do except take it. He stumbled back a few steps, stifling a groan as he let himself fall back into the couch.

Now both his head and his stomach hurt. It was disorienting. The room was starting to spin, a bit, but that was probably the migraine... right?

Carter shook out his hand.

"Don't disrespect me like that again," Carter hissed harshly. "And you will not speak of this to anyone, or I'll be sure Santiago gets a better story on the famous 'war hero' Tiberius Hemming."

Carter didn't have to ask if James understood this time. He already knew. They both did.

"And you're going with us to the concert tonight," Carter said, as if the shift in subject didn't feel like whiplash. "I don't care how bad your head hurts. Deal with it. We're making an appearance, and the Hawking boy is coming too."

Sinking back into the couch, all James could do was nod. It felt like his head weighed ten tons.

"Pick yourself up," Carter said. "I expect to see you in five minutes."

And finally, he marched out of the room, following in Kirk's footsteps to the backyard, where the air would likely be clear, and the tension he felt in this room wasn't present.

He could imagine it. They were talking about how boring the interview was. Maybe how they were glad they didn't stick around for his portion. Kirk was probably quiet. Too quiet.

James would be too.

But Carter... he'd go on as if everything was normal, like he always did. And no one else would know the difference.

James held his hand over his stomach, trying to count the seconds that had already passed, afraid to wait a minute too long. Because he knew there wouldn't be a consequence for it immediately; but he'd feel it, sometime later. When no one else was around to witness, or see, or care.

James closed his eyes, trying to set his mind on the only thing that was getting him through this until he got home.

It was the 11th of Sol.

Ten weeks, nine days. Fifteen hours. Until then, he had to wait.

Just a little longer.

The gate ahead was slowly dragged open by the man on watch.

Lyall glanced over his shoulder between his steely partner and what little of the Manor's roof he could see from around the other Estates buildings. He thought he'd secured an interview for Santiago, but what he witnessed was more like a criminal interrogation.

Watching Mr. Hemming sit in the hot seat felt almost exactly like setting loose a hungry hound upon a helpless hare. Lyall supposed. He wasn't a hunting man, but that felt an apt analogy.

Point being, it was one thing to know logically that Santiago was an editor and one of the top writers at the Ruddlan Read for his sharply-honed investigative skillset. It was another to finally see him in action, to personally witness the power behind his doggedness and deadliness of his sharp-shooting.

Letting out a slow, impressed breath, Lyall started, "So, that was--"

"Not yet," Santiago cut in, still sharply focused on briskly following the winding path outside the Estates. "Not until we reach the gate."

Lyall obediently nodded and happily kept pace. Until finally, the gate was well behind them.

Santiago sighed, stopping at the side of the road as a carriage clopped by. "That went well," he finally said, pleasantly and simply.

Quirking both brows, Lyall grinned at him. "That went brilliantly."

He took the liberty of taking him by the hand and starting across the road. Surprised, Santiago delayed in stepping with him and resisted his pull, but then curled his fingers around his hand and fell into a step beside him.

"How have I not seen you at work like that before?" Lyall asked.

"It was only a few days ago that you shared your connections to distinguished company," Santiago answered blandly. "The majority of my other interviews are not interesting."

Hm, true. Lyall had had socially and politically esteemed patients before, but he'd more staunchly refused to give Santiago an in with any of them, since-- Well, those patients were Estates residents full-time. The King's Hand was set to leave in a little under three months.

"Oh?" Lyall hummed. He slowed his pace, just enough so that he could slip an arm around Santiago's waist. "Would they not be made interesting simply by virtue of your very presence?"

Santiago glanced at him, studying Lyall as if he were one of his interviewed subjects. "I suppose that depends on the subject," he said, tearing his gaze away, though clearly distracted. "And what they have to say."

Lyall kept them on the road that bordered the Upper City and Mid-town, mentally charting the quickest route through City Center that didn't fall within the clinic's line of sight. Unable to help the hint of victory in his growing smile. Because, sharp-focused though Santiago was, Lyall still managed to throw him off-kilter sometimes.

Very much able to help it, and simply choosing not to now, he pulled Santiago in even closer to rest his chin on his shoulder. "What about the compatibility between the interviewer and the interviewed?" he asked curiously. "Does that play into the supposed dynamism of the conversation?"

Santiago's previously fierce focus seemed distant now. He kept his obscure gaze set ahead, almost like he was trying hard not to look at Lyall. Their steps slowed, and Santiago placed a soft hand over Lyall's, securing the grip around his waist.

"Only for you," he answered with a lower voice.

That was all Lyall needed by way of encouragement.

Some quick response about special privileges or whatever was immediately lost as they rounded the next corner. Slipping his arm out from Santiago's grasp, Lyall turned him by his shoulder without warning and pushed him back against the wall. He pressed close and quickly found the spot just under Santiago's jaw with eager lips.

"Lyall!" his love harshly whispered, sharply turned to gauge the alley entrance that exposed them to the public. The scolding tone implied resistance, but he loosely held on to Lyall, rather than pushing him away. "Not in public. Not here."

With his hands braced against the wall at either side of him, Lyall tilted his head up to pepper his cheek. "Yeah?" he lightly challenged between kisses, gradually trailing closer to his lips. "Want to interview me about that?"

Heat flushed Santiago's face as he finally met Lyall's gaze, his stony eyes now seeping with endeared affection. Snatching his hand, Santiago pushed out of his grasp and briskly led the way down the alley with newfound purpose.

He didn't need to say any more. Lyall knew where he was taking him.



"It's part of being an investigative journalist, Lyall," Santiago murmured with his back towards Lyall, pressing the heated metal iron against the sleeve of a collared shirt. "It's nothing personal. If anything, I may have been a little too gracious."

With a hand resting beneath his head, Lyall idly smoothed out the empty sheets beside him as he grinned at the ceiling. "I'll concede," he yielded. "It's your job. But on the most technical of terms, it became anything but impersonal as soon as you dug any deeper past his current work and renown."

"That's the whole point of the interview," Santiago challenged, placing the iron back on the burner. With both hands, he lifted up the wrinkle-free shirt by the collar, examining it from varying angles. "News must be different, otherwise there is no point in writing new pieces. Everyone already knows the story of Hemming. But I am certain that there is an opening for a new angle."

Satisfied with the shirt, Santiago stood up from the stool, slipping his arm through the sleeve. "And I intend on taking it," he finished firmly.

Lyall rolled to lie on his side, cheek propped against his hand as he admired his determination. Really, quite endeared by it. "I assume your eagle eyes have already found one such near-imperceptible angle, based on your tone," he said. He patted the space in front of him. "Come tell me about it."

Santiago hesitated, smoothing out the front of the shirt before sighing and relenting, padding back to the bed with the shirt still unbuttoned. He laid down quietly with a knee bent and his hand perched on top of his chest, focused on the ceiling. Careful of his open shirt to keep from-- gods forbid-- wrinkling it again, Lyall leaned over him, hand set by Santiago's side to hold himself up, and began trailing soft kisses up along his chest.

"Hemming wasn't who I expected," he murmured, deep in thought as he moved his hand to gently rake through Lyall's hair. "I expected... more."

"Honestly?" Lyall said, slowly making his way up his neck. "Hemming's about where I expected him to be."

Santiago creased his brows, loosely cupping Lyall's face. "Why?" he asked, turning his head to the side to give Lyall free reign. "What makes you think that?"

Did some of the story sound a little sensationalized for Lyall's liking? One man taking on an ambush of twenty single-handedly? And winning, not just that battle, but an entire war all on his own? Absolutely.

But the fact remained: Hemming was a soldier who survived a godsdamned war. Even if the rest of the King's Hand seemed to turn out all the shinier for it, no one truthfully came out the other side of that without some hidden baggage. Of which, Lyall as the doctor to one of them, even if for only a week, was not at liberty to expose.

"Nope," he said, tone turning playful as he hovered over him so that their eyes met. "You first. What were you expecting?"

Santiago sighed, head going limp as he locked eyes with him. "You are such a tease," he mumbled, rolling his head back. "Get off me."

Laughing, Lyall dropped back to lay next to him. "So?" he chirped, lacing their fingers together. "What's your new angle, Mister Journalist?"

Santiago brushed his fingertips against Lyall's, leaning his head so that it could gently rest against his. "For a war hero, Hemming's story feels... missing." Santiago sighed, setting his other hand on top of his chest. "Hemming is a linguist, Lyall. I've worked and met with plenty of linguists, and I understand how valuable they are. But to have risen that far in the King's Hand? To be a part of the King's Counsel? To be touted as Nye's greatest war hero of our generation?"

Before continuing, Santiago paused to shake his head, visibly displeased. "It doesn't make any sense. Hemming wasn't involved in DAMG whatsoever, and yet, he was favored over Carter Haddon, whose parents are the guildmasters. On top of that, I have a hard time believing that a linguist would be a greater war hero than the world's best war strategist and weapons master-- at least, without any aid. I truly suspect that vital information is withheld. I just don't know what."

Lyall hummed. "Well, greatness is sometimes born in unexpected places."

Though, he couldn't deny that the very opposite of nepotism within such a high-ranking family was a bit odd.

"And you know better than anyone that governments are gardens rife with weeds," he went on. "Of course they're hiding something crucial."

"Why hide it?" Santiago murmured. "Or perhaps it isn't information I am missing. Perhaps the information is a series of falsities. In that case: why lie?"

Lifting their entwined hands, Lyall pressed a kiss to the tops of Santiago's knuckles. "Reputation?" he guessed.

"Whose?" Santiago pressed.

"Shall I schedule another interview for you?" Lyall lightly teased in answer.

Santiago sighed, tiredly pushing back the wavy hair across his forehead. He laid still, staring up at the ceiling, hand in hair. "The article will be positive," he said smoothly. "New details will be revealed that will place the King's Hand in a greater light. If there's a greater story to tell, by all means, I would gladly write it. But I can't justify this interrogating behavior to my boss or myself. Gut feelings aren't enough to go anywhere."

Lyall let their hands drop back down between them. "When's it set to print?"

"I'll write it this week. So, after the festival," he answered.

Tilting his head, Lyall offered an encouraging grin. "That's plenty of time to turn up something."

Santiago turned his head to meet Lyall's eyes, his gaze turned searching. "What do you know?" he asked.

"As of now?" Lyall brushed his fingertips to Santiago's jaw as he pecked him on the lips. "Nothing. But! I have one last scheduled visit with Hemming, and more still with other patients in the Estates. That's more than enough opportunity to chase down some of the King's Hand for some friendly chats in the, what? Next few months? They'll still be here."

Santiago was quiet, reaching up to brush his thumb against Lyall's cheek, silent endearment pooling in his eyes. "Only if you want to," he replied softly.

Of course, when he looked at him like that, Lyall only wanted to more.

"If I get anything," he first clarified, "it won't be directly from Hemming, of course. But, I've not found anything stated in our records or policy about those adjacent to a patient." He gave a confident, playful wink. "Just give me the week, love."

With that, Santiago cupped Lyall's side of his neck, pulling him in so he could plant a warm kiss on his lips. Tilting his head, their kiss deepened, especially as Santiago held his face while also trailing his fingertips down his chest. His touch left sparks dancing across his skin in its wake, and...

Well, ironed-shirt be damned.

The amphitheater had gotten a makeover for the festival. It was still the same familiar sprawling venue, with steps cutting through the four seating sections and leading down to the stage, but now red velvet curtains hung at the sides where there usually were none, and the stage and nearby trees were decked in brightly-colored streamers-- red, orange, pink, yellow-- that made everything feel alive, summery, and floral. The pathways were lined with lanterns and torches, bathing the amphitheater in a warm glow, and the calm music floating over from the band made the event welcoming. The residents and visitors had shown up en masse, and were flooding the aisles, in search of seats.

Shane glanced over his shoulder as he kept walking down the stairs. Tiberius, Carter, Ingrid and Hellen were all behind him, while Kirk and Fonzi led the way. It seemed like Shane would be sitting between Kirk and Tiberius if they followed this order-- which was perfect.

"Did you go to the festival last year?" Kirk asked with a small smile.

"I did," Shane said with a smile. "I really liked the concerts, market and play. I'm excited to see what they perform this time around."

"It's always a treat to see live music on this scale," Kirk said, putting his hands in his pockets at he matched Shane's pace comfortably. "Especially with a full orchestra. There really is nothing like it."

Shane nodded eagerly in excitement. "You can always tell the musicians have worked hard on the performance and that they're eager to share it with us. Live music of any kind is exciting, but the more people involved, the more awe-inspiring."

"And it's just-- a wall of sound," Kirk said, spreading his hands out in front of him. "Hardly do you ever hear music of that magnitude. So full, and so powerful. And in an amphitheater like this one, that feeling will only be augmented by the structure, as the sound travels up."

"Oh, and this place has great acoustics," Shane agreed. "You're in for a treat."

Kirk closed his eyes with a blissful, serendipitous upside-down closed-lipped smile as he gestured with one hand in the air, visibly and comedically pleased with this information.

"Perfect," he said.

Shane let out a soft laugh.

"This row!" Fonzi touted excitedly, claiming a row in the left-most middle section, about halfway down.

Carter led the way with Fonzi, going to the end of the row together. Ingrid and Hellen followed behind, leaving Kirk beside them. Shane slid in with Tiberius taking the end. It was hard to tell, but Tiberius seemed... even more distant than usual. He sat down heavily. Shane wondered if he'd gotten enough sleep.

"After the concert, we're thinking of getting food together," Kirk said to Shane. "I heard there's a good Terran restaurant in city center. Have you been? I've missed Terran food. My dad cooks it all the time, but I haven't had it in ages. Especially since this trip started."

This would happen to me, Shane thought.

Well, this was okay. It was okay. He just had to... do some good luck ritual beforehand in hopes that the waiter staff would be different tonight. Because he was pretty sure he would die on the spot if he walked in there and was spotted by the same waiter.

"I'd be delighted," he said with a warm smile. "Are you thinking of Sage & Saffron, by any chance? It's a great spot."

"Yes!" Kirk said with a snap of his fingers. "Sage and Saffron. That's what it's called. So you've been, then? Is their food good?"

"Oh, yes," Shane confirmed. "It's to die for. Everything tastes homemade and they manage to get ingredients fresh."

"Okay, hold on," Kirk said holding up a hand. "I'm stopping you there. I'm already getting hungry just by you talking."

"Apologies," Shane said with a grin, holding up his hands innocently. "Then I won't tell you about their souvlaki. Mmh-mmh."

"Stooooop," Kirk pleaded with a small pouting smile as he put his hand over his stomach.

"I'll leave out that it's always served with the best pita, too," Shane said, barely keeping from laughing. "So nice and warm. I can almost smell it from here."

Kirk pouted even more, letting out a performative whimper.

"You're torturing me," he said playfully. "I miss home and you're torturing me."

"I'm so sorry," Shane said, but he couldn't wipe the grin off his face. "That was simply cruel of me. If it helps any, now I'm hungry, so we're suffering together."

"I suppose that's not as bad, then," Kirk said. "At least you feel it too."

It was at that point, Hellen leaned over from her seat, looking at Kirk and Shane with a small smile.

"Are you boo-hoo-ing with him about Terran food?" Hellen asked. "He's been doing that all month."

"I am justified!" Kirk said in mock offense.

Shane let out a laugh. "Not only that, but I appear to be making his cravings worse. Sorry. You might be hearing more longing for the best food in Nye from him."

"Ugh, well at least we'll get it out of his system after this," Hellen laughed lightly. "Are you going to join us?"

"I'd love to," Shane said warmly. He was about to say it had been a while since he'd been, but that just wasn't true, so he quickly said instead, "I'd be a fool not to."

"Oh, good!" Hellen said, brighter. "I feel like Kirk's been hogging you. I want a chance to get to know you more too! Especially with how much your dad bragged about you. He basically said you're the most perfect son in the whole world."

Shane looked at Kirk amusedly.

"Did he now?" he asked Hellen with a chuckle. "What did he say?"

"Well, he told us about you making a play-museum in your childhood home when you were little," she recounted. "And about the time you woke up at 2am to try making breakfast for your mom on mother's day but you started a fire. Ray said since then your kitchen career has been error-free."

Shane barked a laugh, covering his face in his hands. "I told him not to share the mother's day breakfast story. I told him."

"It really made the baklava all the more impressive, though," Hellen said with a small smirk. "You've come a long way."

"I started at the bottom," Shane said with a playful smile. "Not sure I'm at the top, but I'll take the improvement."

"You'll work your way there," Kirk said playfully, patting Shane's knee.

"Hey, it's better than I could do," Hellen said. "I can only make simple things. Baklava's so complicated."

"I can confirm this," Kirk said.

"I'll leave it to the professionals," Hellen said, gesturing to Shane.

"Confidence is half the battle, really," Shane said with a chuckle. "Phyllo dough is the monster of Terran baking. Why we put it in sixty percent of our food, I'll never know."

"Because it's good," Kirk said.

"Having had his dad's cooking, I can't really argue, but also, he's biased," Hellen said.

"Is it really a bias if you're right, though?" Shane mused.

Kirk pointed to Shane in vindication.

"Wow," Hellen said with an amused roll of her eyes. "The two of you. As if I'm going to win this argument."

"I think I speak for both of us when I say our appreciation of Terran cuisine is unshakeable," Shane said, grinning again.

Hellen was about to reply, but Fonzi leaned over their row, waving them down with a loud: "Shhhh! It's about to start!"

Shane peered down, and he, Kirk and Hellen all went silent with excitement. The orchestra was filing in, taking their seats and setting up there sounds. He heard the strings warming up, tuning their instruments-- a sound that was almost a symphony in itself. To his surprise, Alan was the one in the violin first chair, setting up his sheet music with diligence. It brought Shane relief to see he seemed well after his recovery.

A moment later, the conductor walked onto the stage, and the audience began to applaud. Shane knew the man to be snobbish from university gossip, and sure enough, the man's face was very smug as he turned to face the crowd.

"Esteemed guests of Ruddlan and the surrounding kingdoms," the man began, projecting his voice powerfully over the crowd. "It is my pleasure to welcome you to the first day of the tenth annual Summer Solstice Festival!"

Lifting his hands up in the air, the crowd broke into roaring applause.

The conductor lowered his hands, and the crowd obediently died down.

"Thank you, to all of our donors, supporters, musicians, and staff that have all worked tirelessly to prepare for this momentous occasion."

And after listing off each sub-category of thankee's, the crowd would erupt into another burst of applause.

"We are so grateful to have each and every one of you here - to our faithful Ruddlan locals, to those who've travelled far and wide to reach us for this special day. Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Once again, the crowd cheered with excitement. The conductor raised and lowered his hands once more, controlling the crowd with an effortless, though somewhat snobby charisma.

"With great gratitude and full hearts, the Ruddlan City Orchestra presents to you a night of lively songs, in celebration of the life and joy that summer brings. Our first song to you this evening is titled The Dance of the Twin Rivers, and hopefully as you hear it you can picture the rivers of Ruddlan and their waters - the lifeblood of this city in the heart of the desert. Now, without further ado --"

With a bow, the conductor took the front of the stage. Each orchestra member had their eyes on him as he lifted his hands.

And from the first note, music filled the air with beautiful, harmonious notes, flitting about on the strings as the brass section filled out the lows with a crescendo.

Kirk turned to Shane with a gleeful smile that met his eyes.

Shane found it impossible not to smile back with the same amount of excitement. By the time he turned back to the stage, his cheeks almost hurt.

It appeared that Alexander Kingsman had a stalker.

Or, at the very least, a very, very devoted fan.

Normally when Alexander had people following him it wasn't good news. Being a mage hunter meant making some enemies, but being on the right side of the law as he was, he was well within his rights to take matters into his own hands where necessary. There was, however, always the outlier of someone with genuine interest in other matters - you know, besides vengeance and bloodthirsty murder.

Personally, Alexander was hoping it wasn't a case of "I'm going to kill you because you killed my daughter," or something like that. Those were always PR messes for the DAMG, and Alexander really wasn't the best person to clean up those kinds of messes. He was just doing his job, after all, and if people's feelings got hurt in the midst of it, they needed to take it up with DAMG, not him.

Besides, Alexander was busy. Really busy. The Ruddlan Guild had brought him in after he was on a mission in the Moonlight Kingdom because they'd dug up some old ancestries on Ruddlan residents and needed someone experienced to investigate. Apparently, there were potential full-grown mages living under their noses, some of which weren't just holding the position of your average poop-scooper (though one, was, indeed a poop-scooper, which he found amusing).

He'd memorized the list and the descriptions before he'd come to Ruddlan.

Alan Alvaro
Alistair Alvaro
Flora Dvorsky
Darius Knowles
Shaniece Knowles
Leilan Akamai

In the past week, he'd already been able to do some research, asking around town. Things always got a little easier when he flashed his DAMG credentials, but he didn't like to use those. Instead, he liked to find the city gossips. The homeless, in particular, were an invaluable resource with a little bit of money involved, because they saw everything. In what felt like no time at all, he already knew where everyone lived, where they worked, and if they swung both ways. According to word of mouth, that was.

What was nice about all of this was that, with all of the gathering people were doing in public, it gave him a lot of opportunities to spot people in crowds and observe from afar. Festivals were the perfect time to meet strangers: people were more open, often tipsy, and the events were built to connect people.

If he was going to find out that anyone was a mage in hiding, now was the time.

And it would have been perfect, too, to swoop in and introduce himself to Darius after the concert.

Except that he had a shadow.

Pursing his lips, he glanced over his shoulder at the tall, bearded man who looked like he devoted himself to a lifetime of lifting weights and spitting on children. The man was a good ways off, and not looking his way at the moment, but Alexander had seen him from afar off all week. Watching.

He didn't need a tail to scare off his prey. He needed to nip this in the bud now, before it became a problem.

Alexander flowed with the crowd climbing up the steps of the ampitheater, back out into the city park. He didn't send another look the man's way until he broke from the flow of foot traffic, approaching the tree the tall man hid behind.

Fortunately, the man wasn't a coward, and didn't run off as Alexander slinked up around the tree, setting a hand on the trunk as he leaned over to look up at the man cast in shadow.

Tilting his head the side, Alexander raised his brows with a playful grin, dragging his eyes up from the man's feet to his face.

Up close, Alexander finally got a good look at the man. He was younger than he expected; his beard aged him from afar, but up close, it looked like the man was probably 30. He just carried himself like he was older, and dressed like it too. Complete with a fatherly collared button-up tucked into blue jeans and dusty loafers. Frankly, the outfit wasn't doing the man any favors - because it looked like despite his horrific sense of style that he really did have quite a lot of muscle to show off. Unfortunately, his overall murderous energy and I-eat-nails-for-breakfast attitude detracted from his more appealing physical features. It didn't help that he was crossing his arms to boot. Way to take a defensive stance.

He noted that, perhaps the only redeeming evidence of self-care and pride in his appearance was the fact that his dark beard was meticulously well-kept in a rather flattering shape for his jaw. With sharp, angled features as he had, the beard softened them just a tad.

Hopefully Alexander didn't have to kill a pretty face, but he would if he had to.

"You want to introduce yourself to me?" he asked with a lilt. "I can tell you've been dying to."

The man's frown deepened into a scowl as he glared at him, tensing up. "I will do no such thing," he growled, taking a dramatic step backwards.

Oh, so this fellow liked personal space, hm? A shame. Alexander was not intent on keeping him comfortable. This was not a game of comfort. Not where intimidation was involved.

Stalking a little closer to close the gap, Alexander swayed his hips, keeping his hand on the tree as he rounded it to face the man more directly.

"A mystery, then," he said. "I do like a hard catch."

The man took another hard step back, now frowning with open disgust.

"Careful, dear," Alex said. "Frown any further and you'll break your beautiful face. It's really the only thing you've got going for you, too, dressed like that."

"How I'm dressed?" the man scoffed, clearly offended. "I'm not the one prancing around like I'm on a goddamn catwalk."

"Well, clearly you like something about me enough to admire me for days on end," Alexander said, resting a hand on his chest. "Or do you think I didn't notice your lumbering figure around every street corner? You're hardly inconspicuous, sweetheart. If you want to meet me just come out and say so."

The man clenched his jaw, seething through his teeth, glare hardening. "That's right. I'm watching you, Kingsman," he said cooly.

"Already on a last name basis and I don't know yours," Alexander cooed.

"You shut your yapper," the man barked.

"Make me," Alexander said, drawing in close again to lean in with a challenging smirk.

The man leaned away and took another half-step back, puffing up his chest. A half-step. That was progress. Maybe this man would have the balls to face this head on.

"You better watch your goddamn back," he threatened. "You're up to no good. I know it."

"Me?" Alex said innocently. "Don't tell me you're one of those."

He pouted, looking the man up and down again to really memorize his appearance. Yeah, he'd ask about this man later. Someone in the city had to know him.

"One of what?" he pressed, growling through his teeth.

"Now, dear, don't play dumb," Alex said with a tilt of his head. "You seem a decently smart man, even if you channel none of that intelligence into your fashion sense."

"That's right. I am a decently smart man," the man affirmed.

"Oh look at you!" Alex chirped before he could continue. He reached over and patted the man's arm.

It was firm.

"You just needed a little validation!" Alexander said with a smile.

The man bristled with the touch but stood still, his glare boring holes through him. Then, with extreme hostility, he hissed, "Do you want to go on a fucking date or what?"

Alexander's smile remained plastered on his face as his brows shot up and his eyes widened, frankly equal parts surprised, delighted, and absolutely about to lose it in a fit of laughter.

"Dragons above," he marvelled with laughter itching at the back of his voice. "Is this hilariously furious demeanor a facade? Please don't tell me you're, gods forbid, ashamed to ask out a man?"

The man snarled with disgust. "I would never ask if you were a woman. That's disgusting."

"Oh, my apologies," Alexander said with a gleeful snicker and a bow. "See, I would be absolutely delighted to take your company, but I have this strict policy wherein - were I to give anyone my arm for an evening - I must first know their name."

The man muttered several curses under his breath, clearly not wanting to give this information out, despite having asked him on a date.

Oh this was just delicious.

Obviously, this man didn't want to do this. He was acting as if this task was put upon him, and it was so painfully obvious. Alexander knew this man clearly was not asking out of genuine interest, but now Alexander was invested.

Who sent this guy? He was a mess. Alexander almost felt bad for him.

Finally, the man settled on a neutral frown, focus turned back to Alexander as he offered a stiff hand. "Hendrik Friedrich."

Alexander's expression went awash with recognition.

"Hendrik Friedrich," he repeated, taking a step back to look the man up and down again. "My gods. Don't tell me -- you're the Hendrik who infamously pummeled Tiberius Hemming into the ground and got banned for life from the Three Seasons?"

"Hmph!" Hendrik tilted his head up, eyeing Alexander. "That's right. Damn bouncer won't let me back in, even though I made them famous."

"A damn shame, surely!" Alexander echoed.

"Hmph. He was frail, like a ginger wafer. No war hero in him," Hendrik tsked, shaking his head. "Beat the shit out of him because his face pissed me off."

How believable.

So, this was the suspected mage sympathizer who assaulted Mr. Hemming. Maybe this all was about to make sense.

Alexander's presence in the city was making mages nervous. Wasn't it? Hendrik's presence here was only a confirmation of it.

Now he had to bite.

"If we can't go to the Three Seasons," Alexander said. "Then what did you have in mind? I mean, you do have a plan, right? For our date?"

Hendrik faltered then glanced behind him. "We're in a park," he said, like it was obvious.

"Oh, come on, Hendrik," Alex teased. "You've got to have more class than that. An upstanding citizen like you, I'd expect more."

"Hmph! Yes, of course I have class," Hendrik scoffed in offense. "I asked you just now because this week has many events." A pause. "Tomorrow is the dance. You have until then to prepare."

Alexander's eyes brightened.

"A dance," he said, looking at Hendrik's gods-awful shirt that made him look like he belonged in a dirty office instead of a battlefield. "I do like a good dance."

He playfully reached out again, dancing his fingers over Hendrik's rolled up sleeve.

"Hm," he hummed. "And you, I assume, will dress the part?"

Hendrik slapped his hand away, displeased. "I will wear clothes, yes," he confirmed, clearly annoyed that he even had to say so.

Well he was just no fun.

"I'm only saying," Alex said, more sultry. "Because with arms like yours, they really ought to be... displayed."

"My gods," Hendrik said with a deeper frown. "You're horny as hell. Who's the one with class now?"

Alexander shrugged innocently. "I'm a simple man who knows what he wants. Besides, I didn't do any of the asking. You want me, don't you?"

"I asked for a date, not to get in your pants," he barked. "Do you know what that is?"

Alexander pursed his lips.

"Ah, yes, the traditional type," he said. "So sorry. I will respect your wishes to take it slow, Hendrik. I am capable of great restraint when I want to be."

"Yes," Hendrik said slowly. "Yes, I am sure you are. We will eat food and talk. Like dates do."

"And dance?" Alex asked hopefully.

"Yes," Hendrik confirmed unpleasantly. "And dance."

"Good. I look forward to it," Alexander said. "I will see you tomorrow. Where and when shall we meet?"

"Beef 'n Bread," Hendrik answered gruffly. "Seventeen o'clock."

"I'll be on time," Alexander said with a grin.

"We were fourteen," Hellen said with a laugh. "I didn't know how to flirt! I didn't know anything!"

"She threatened the guy with a training sword," Kirk said with a smirk.

"It wasn't a real sword!" Hellen desperately defended herself.

"The poor kid almost pissed his pants," Kirk added helpfully, much to Hellen's visible embarassment.

Shane grinned with amusement. "Well, did he say yes?"

"Noooo!" Hellen groaned, rubbing her reddened face in her hands.

To which, Kirk laughed heartily.

Sage & Saffron was livelier tonight after the concert, and they'd had to get here pretty fast to still get a table. Now that they were all here, they could enjoy the warm, comforting mood lighting with the energy the restaurant conversing diners provided to the atmosphere. They'd placed their order, and Hellen and Kirk hadn't waited long afterwards to start a new conversation, where Shane learned they had been childhood best friends well before meeting the rest of their group.

"Sorry, Hellen," Shane said, trying not to laugh while still smiling. "Not everyone's into being threatened with a sword."

Hellen laughed too, wiping the side of her face. "Yeah, I learned that the hard way!"

"After several. Trials and errors," Kirk added.

"Several? You tried that again?" Shane exclaimed.

"She's stubborn," Kirk added.

"I am predictable," Hellen bemoaned. "But hey, my charms worked eventually. Not that I -- well, we don't have to go there, tonight."

Her smile waned as she waved off the subject with her hand in the air, taking a quick drink of water. Shane watched her, realizing that conversation thread probably went somewhere painful. It wasn't the night for it, and he definitely wasn't going to press.

"Anyways," she said. "I wish Kirk had been as awkward as I was. Unfortunately he was too careful as a kid to have anything too embarassing said about him. Mr. Goody-two-shoes."

Kirk shrugged. "Guilty."

"Only thing he's guilty of is pining from afar," Hellen said with a small smirk, to which Kirk sent her a narrowed gaze.

"And being way smarter than me!" Hellen added quickly. "He helped me pass my classes, thank gods. I never did well on the schoolwork side. The physical training was always my strong-suit."

"Nothing wrong with that," Shane said, amused grin still lingering. "Did you help him with that in return?"

Hellen's smirk grew as she looked at Kirk in silent gloating.

"Yes," she said. "I built this from the ground up!"

She patted Kirk's shoulder beside her, and Kirk gave her a flat look. His endeared grin betrayed him though.

"It might not look it now, but I used to be the least physically capable in my class," Kirk said.

"Really?" Shane asked with a surprised laugh, honestly astonished. "Because-- your arm muscles are the size of my leg muscles."

"Yeah, well--" Kirk tried to answer, before he was interrupted.

"You were cuuuute," Hellen said to Kirk, reaching up and pulling at Kirk's cheeks. "I miss the pudge!"

Kirk's face went red and he batted Hellen's hands away.

Still cute, Shane thought to himself.

"Stop that, we're in public," Kirk said flatly.

"Look at this," Hellen said, gesturing to Kirk's bicep. "I trained that. I can do anything."

Kirk continued to look at Hellen with a slightly embarassed frown.

"I'm glad someone else can appreciate all of my hard work," Hellen said with a loose gesture in Shane's direction.

Shane grinned affectionately. "I applaud your efforts and results. He may well be the strongest chemist out there now."

"That's what I'm saying!" Hellen said with a bright grin. "Now you've got brains and muscles!"

She lightly punched Kirk's arm, and he merely rolled his eyes.

"This is what you get when you know each other this long," he said. "You just keep collecting dirt on each other."

"Hey, she couldn't find one embarrassing thing to say," Shane said with a laugh. "You got lucky."

"I'll count my blessings," Kirk said with a small smile.

"And I won't pester you for any embarassing stories from childhood," Hellen said to Shane. "Since it seems like your dad already shared those for you."

Shane sighed with mock disappointment. "He always beats me to sharing it. Anytime he meets someone before me, I have to go through the process of figuring out what dirt they already have on me. Let me tell you, it's an adventure talking to someone after him and realizing they know I let a deer into the house when I was four because I thought it was going to be my pet."

Hellen burst into laughter, and Kirk let out a snicker.

There was a noisy uproar of laughter from the other end of the table too, and Shane glanced that way. Carter and Fonzi were bellowing with laughter, but it appeared to be from something else. He realized with a bit of a start that Ingrid was intently listening in to their conversation. After Carter and Fonzi's laughing died down, Tiberius stood up, silently leaving to head out back, presumably in search of the restroom.

Kirk shot a brief glance in Tiberius's direction. One that subtly read as worry. Shane felt the same.

"You seem really close with your parents," Ingrid spoke up.

Shane smiled warmly. "Oh, yes. They're pretty incredible. They're busy people with a lot of importance, but family always came first to them when I was growing up-- I always knew I could trust them with anything. Their relationship is so strong, too. They've been married for two and a half decades and they're just as loving now as when they started."

"Wow," Ingrid said, sounding genuinely surprised. "That's really special. Sounds like you had an enviable childhood in many ways."

"I got very lucky," Shane admitted. "That's a popular sentiment."

"Guess it must be Shane who's the little good luck charm," Hellen said with a fond smile.

Shane let out a timid laugh. Yeah, right. The other night here suggested otherwise. "I'm not sure about that."

"Well, all luck aside," Hellen said with a shrug. "Your parents did a good job. You turned out great."

"Compliments to the chef," Kirk joked, but with a genuine smile. Shane smiled wider at that.

"Do you think you'll ever move back to Lettera?" Ingrid asked. "To be close to them again?"

"There's a good chance," Shane said. "Ruddlan is just right for where I'm at, but the Cypress feels too big for just me and my cat most of the year. So I could definitely see myself moving back eventually, either for them or for work."

"Work?" Ingrid asked with a tilt of her head. "Do you have plans for what you want to do after schooling?"

Shane shrugged sheepishly. "If it all works out, I'd like to be an advisor for King Margrave."

Hellen clapped her hands together lightly in excitement. "Oooooooh!" she said. "If you're an advisor that gives us a great excuse to come visit you again!"

"It'd be a long trip," Ingrid said, looking at Hellen with a dampening stare.

"Well, after this campaign we're all going to be splitting up on the road, anyway," Kirk said. "Travel will be a big part of our job. So it's totally possible."

"If you stay in Ruddlan, especially," Hellen said. "We'll have to pass through here anyway to go anywhere."

"You know what they say about the roads to here," Shane agreed. "Either way, wherever I end up, I'd be delighted to see any of you again."

Hellen pumped her fist in front of her. Kirk smiled, first at Hellen, then at Shane.

"Likewise," he said.

Their food arrived and they chatted their way through their meal. Everyone seemed to like what they'd ordered, although Shane and Kirk were of course the ones to praise it the most. It wasn't until Carter asked for the check that Shane realized Tiberius's plate was getting cold without him back.

It had been a long time.

Shane turned to Kirk with a concerned look.

"Do you think he's okay?" he asked in soft Terran.

The whisper and the language were quick to grab Kirk's attention, pulling him away from what had turned into a full table conversation, mostly dominated by Hellen, Fonzi, and Carter.

Kirk's brows drew together.

"He's had a migraine for the past three days," Kirk said softly in return. "He's probably outside to escape the noise."

A pause. Shane winced in sympathy.

"I don't know why he forced himself to come," Kirk said, quieter, his eyes flicking to the group.

Shane looked back too. The other four seemed distracted from the two of them, laughing at a new joke.

"Expectations, maybe," he said, looking back at Kirk.

Kirk nodded sadly.

"Do you think it'd be a good idea to check on him?" Shane asked. "If nothing else, to let him know we're leaving soon?"

"I could go with you," Kirk offered.

Shane nodded, a little relieved. "I'd appreciate that."

Kirk nodded, reaching over to tap Hellen's shoulder as he got to his feet.

"I'm going to grab Tiberius," he said softly. "We'll be back in a few. We'll meet you outside by the carriage."

"Okay," Hellen said, looking up with a waning smile, concern pooling in her eyes as she noticed Tiberius's untouched plate at the end of the table. "See you soon."

Waving Shane along, Kirk led the way through the crowded restaurant, weaving through the busy tables into the hall that passed by the noisy kitchen and led to the back porch. A sign on the wall pointed with a restroom to the back door, reading: "Outhouse."

When they stepped outside, Shane realized just how late it was with how dark the sky had become. The stars were sprinkled along the moonlit sky, and the sounds of the city center were starting to die down. It seemed that the rest of the city was in agreement; it was time to head home for the night.

Kirk followed a neat stone path, dimly lit by some standing torches. It let out across a small backyard to a line of three outhouses. Seeing as Tiberius wasn't seen anywhere on the back porch or in the yard, he had to be hiding in one of them.

"Tiberius?" Kirk called. "We're leaving soon. Are you alright?"

There was a creak heard within the middle stall.

"Yeah," Tiberius said faintly, in a unconvincing manner. "One... one second."

Kirk glanced at Shane, his lips pulling back into a brief, concerned frown. Shane pursed his lips worriedly.

Tiberius stepped out of the outhouse, his body wobbling for a second. He planted his feet and stood up straight, visibly tense and trying to maintain what was probably intended to look like a normal posture.

Tiberius lifted his hand and made a thumbs-up gesture.

"Ready to go," he said, squinting into the darkness with his eyes barely open.

Kirk briefly flashed Shane a skeptically worried side-eye.

"Are you good?" Kirk asked.

"Amazing," Tiberius said.

"We can take a moment if you need it," Shane said softly.

"I have taken all the moments," Tiberius said, beginning to walk with the swagger of an old man who was in pain. "I am done with the moments. The moment is over now."

Okay. Shane had been concerned. Now he was vaguely alarmed.

"I'm assuming that's poetic code for 'take me home now,'" Kirk said, walking up to Tiberius's side and matching his pace. He redirected Tiberius a bit, pointing his finger to go around the establishment instead of through.

"Yes," Tiberius admitted tiredly. "I want to go home."

Shane nodded in understanding.

"Do you need anything for pain?" he asked gently, joining them.

"A lobotomy," Tiberius said, hobbling into the alley beside the restaurant.

Kirk had subtly moved his arm behind Tiberius, to steady him if necessary.

"I meant something more like pain medicine," Shane said apologetically. "Do you have that at the manor?"

"Medication," Tiberius mumbled. "If that worked I wouldn't be here."

Shane blinked in minor confusion.

"Maybe you should try something," Kirk suggested. "Just see if it helps, even a little."

"I am trying something," Tiberius said. "My bedroom looks like a seance."

Kirk let out a weak laugh. "Right. The uh, aromatherapy isn't working out for you?"

"I smell more and I smell less," Tiberius answered like it was a riddle. "But my curse remains."

"Oookay," Kirk said, now shepherding Tiberius around the building out front, where Caspar had the carriage parked close to the entrance. Caspar was somewhere inside, hopefully finished with a meal of his own.

"If you'd stayed for the meal," Kirk said as they stopped at the carriage. "I'd be tempted to think you weren't sober."

Tiberius walked straight into the carriage and bonked his head lightly against the side door, standing there with his face squished against the glass window.

"It's okay," Shane comforted him, although he didn't know what he was talking about at this point or what the 'it' was.

Tiberius didn't say anything. Instead, without moving his face from being flush with the door, he blindly reached out for the handle. He had a few false grabs into the air before he found it, tugged on it, and nothing budged.

"It's locked," Kirk informed him.

"Thanks," Tiberius said.

Kirk let out a sigh. "I'll grab Caspar," he said, looking to Shane. "Will you two be okay out here?"

Shane nodded. "Don't worry."

Tiberius gave no such assurances, but he did drag his hand down the door before letting it flop to his side.

Kirk hurried off.

Shane took a deep breath of the cool night air, watching Kirk until he was gone, before turning back to Tiberius.

"Are you sure there's nothing I or anyone else can do for you?" he asked softly.

"Pray," Tiberius said. But he didn't sound like he meant that sincerely.

Shane managed a weak huff.

"Never really been my thing," he said.

Finally pulling away from the door, Tiberius rolled around so he was leaning against it with his back.

"Yeah," he murmured. "Not mine either."

Kirk returned with Caspar and the others in tow. Once Caspar unlocked the door, the seven of them piled in the carriage, and soon they were setting off across the cobblestones.

The trip back was lighthearted, mostly, aside from Tiberius's silence. By the time the carriage stopped and Caspar announced they were at the Cypress, Shane was regretful to leave.

"I'll walk you out," Kirk offered as Shane moved to slide out the door. Kirk glanced back at the others. "See you in a bit."

Shane flashed Kirk an appreciative smile before waving to the others. "Thanks. This was nice. I'll see you all around!"

"See you!" Hellen said with a smile.

Kirk closed the door behind them, and the carriage rolled off to the manor. Which, really was only next door.

"It's a pretty short walk," Shane said amusedly, glancing from the Cypress's door to Kirk with a smile.

Kirk shrugged with an innocent smile.

"Can't be too careful," he said. "What if you get lonely for the fifteen feet it takes to get to your door?"

Shane grinned softly. "Well, you've spared me that dismal fate. Thank you."

Kirk swung his arm towards the path. "Shall we?" he asked.

"We shall," Shane agreed.

They took the path through the cypress trees at a relaxed, slow pace, and Shane got the feeling that maybe both of them were trying to draw it out. He took his time getting out the keys from his pocket, but didn't turn them in the lock just yet.

"What are you doing tomorrow night?" Kirk asked.

Shane paused, mentally going through his schedule. He didn't have anything on his calendar for that time, but if he remembered right, that evening had the first of the festival's dances.

"Nothing planned," he said with a soft smile.

Smiling softly in turn, Kirk's eyes turned hopeful.

"Would you join me, then, for the first dance of the festival?" he asked.

A beat.

"As my date."

Shane felt the smile on his face widen with delighted surprise as he kept on watching Kirk. For a moment, it was like he was both wordless and he knew exactly what he was going to say. He just wanted to bask in the soft, hopeful, touched feeling this gave him for as long as he could.

He hadn't expected to hear it. He hadn't even known he was hoping to hear it, really, until now. But now that he had...

To say the words thrilled him was an understatement.

"I'd love that," he said softly.

Kirk smiled wider.

"Great," he said. "We can go together, then. The two of us. I can pick you up around six, and we can walk over there. Does that sound good?"

"It sounds perfect," Shane confirmed. "I'm already looking forward to it."

"Me too."

Comfortably plopped on the floor, Elias threw the ball against the wall, bouncing it to ricochet back to him. "Hey, does Ruddlan have sports teams?" he asked curiously for Wil to overhear in the kitchen.

Wil paused in her humming whatever fun song it was she was quietly singing to herself.

"Elias, I've told you this already," she said flatly.

"Oop. I forget," he answered, bouncing the ball again.

"In the fall they use the arena for Netball," she said with a huff. "You've literally seen people playing it before. Kids play it all the time on our street, even."

Elias hummed, getting into a rhythm with the throws. "Maybe we should play sometime," he mused.

Wilson barked a laugh. "Elias, I am not a sporty person," she said. "Find someone else to play with. I don't know, someone who actually likes running."

Elias hummed again, squinting at the ball, entering deep thought. "Do you think Tiberius Hemming would play with me?" he asked.

There was a clatter from inside the kitchen. A few seconds later, Wilson walked out of the kitchen into the living room with her hands on her hips, looking confused or perplexed. He wasn't sure which.

"Everything okay?" Elias asked, snatching the ball after it returned in his hand.

"Why are you asking about that guy?" she asked. "You always act like I know everybody. I don't fuck with politicians, Elias."

Elias stroked his chin, in thought. "He looks like a fun guy though. I think I've seen his face around before. Maybe."

Wilson huffed. "He still got that black eye?" she asked. "I heard that bar fight really fucked him up."

"Hmmmm... that's not really a fun face quality," he murmured.

"Yeah, well," Wilson said with another huff. "I don't think anyone thinks he's a fun guy. He may be a 'hero' or whatever but I don't hear anybody saying he's friendly."

"So..." He squinted up at her. "You think he won't play netball with me...?"

Wilson laughed again, this time throwing her head back as she turned around, walking back into the kitchen.

Elias threw the ball again, bouncing it again the wall. "Do you think he'd be the runner? I dunno, I think I might be a better runner. The other day I ran a full mile."

"He was a career soldier, Elias," Wilson said from the kitchen. "I'm sure he knows how to run."

"A soldier, huh?" he mused, in thought.

"God, you really don't pay attention to anything!" Wilson said in good-natured agitation.

"Hey, I pay attention sometimes," he said with a smile. "Like that you really like the bathroom to be sparkling clean."

There was a pause.

"Yeah, well, that's normal," she said.

"And that you don't like bread crusts," he went on, grinning. "More for me, though."

"That's because the texture's wrong," she said more sharply.

"Yeah... you also have a lot of opinions."

"No shit!" she said back with a laugh.

"And I like to hear them," he added, smiling again.

That made her quiet for a moment. The ball clattered against the wall again, and each bounce sent a new thought through his head.

"Hey, do you think Tiberius and I could be friends?" he decided to ask.

"As if you'd even get to meet him," Wilson scoffed. "He's literally famous. That's like if you wanted to meet the king of Lettera or something."

"But if I did," he insisted, "do ya think we could be buddies?"

Wilson let out a loud sigh, then was quiet again. Probably to think.

"I don't know, Elias," she said quietly. "Maybe. Maybe he's just as much a freak as you are."

Elias hummed, mulling that over. "What about Egbert? Do you think we could be friends?"

That got a loud bark of a laugh out of Wilson.

"Yeah, no," she said. "Good luck! He hates everyone."

"How come?" he asked curiously.

"Some people just choose to fill themselves with hate instead of love when shit happens," Wilson said matter-of-factly.

"Hmm... what about his daughter?"

"You're really nosy," Wilson said. "Why don't you go find out yourself?"

"Ooh." Elias nodded eagerly, catching thr ball and turning back with a grin. "That's a good idea. I'll do that later."



Elias picked up his doodle and held it close to his face, examining it.



Hmmm... Yes. This drawing of Egbert and his daughter may be his best work yet. He now just had to find Egbert's daughter, using this sketch as a reference point.

Crumpling up the paper, Elias smashed it deep in his pocket and then flew out of his seat, on a mission. Like a spy. Yeah. He was going to find Egberta.

Sitting cross-legged on the porch, Elias eyed people coming in and out of the neighboring building across the street. That was where Wil said Egberta lived, yeah?

Hm... he should get closer.

So now he was sitting on the building's porch, waving hi to people who passed by. A grandpa. Little boy. Man in a wheelchair. Not anyone who looked like the Egberta he sketched out.

Until...

He squinted at a young woman walking down the corridor. Hair was short, like Egbert's. Good sign. Red-haired and blue-eyed, which wasn't like Egbert, but hey, genetics sure were weird. She also looked like she would survive a shanking from Buggy, which wasn't like Egbert, but hey, who was he to judge.

"Hey there," he greeted, scampering to his feet. "Do you have a minute?"

The young woman stopped in her tracks, frowning confusedly as she looked his way. Her brow was creased.

"Do you want money?" she asked slowly.

"Oh, no, I already have lots of money," Elias assured, then remembered that he had documentation to show. He sank his entire hand in his pocket, pulling out his sketch. "I was just wondering: do you recognize these people?"

He uncrinkled the paper, smoothing it out before proudly displaying it with both hands.

The woman blinked, staring at the paper. Her expression looked blank before quickly turning incredulous.

"No?" she said. "I mean, there's not much detail, but I don't think so."

Elias hummed, examining his work again. "True... there could be more detail," he murmured, nodding. Then asked, "Does your father wear glasses?"

"No," the woman said confusedly. "Why?"

Elias hummed again, thinking. "Well, I was thinking this drawing was you. But I think I got the wrong person. Sorry about that."

The young woman was staring at him like he was insane. Elias glanced over his shoulder, just in case there was a crazy person behind him.

"How could it be me?" she asked, baffled. "We don't look anything alike. And that's not my dad. He's bald, for dragons' sake."

"Ohhhhhhh," he drew out, crumpling the paper and then shoving it in his pocket again. "That's a good point. Egbert definitely isn't bald."

"Who?" she demanded.

"Egbert," Elias answered. "He's not your dad, though. No worries there."

"There's a lot of men who aren't my dad," she replied flatly. "All but one, actually."

"Huh... yeah." He nodded. "Dang. I'm gonna have to investigate so many people. You're only the first one."

The woman's eyebrows slowly went up.

"Sounds very unproductive," she said.

"True... do you have suggestions?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said dryly. "Give up now."

Elias grinned. "Okay then." He grabbed the ball of paper in his pocket and threw it over his shoulder. "Done."

"Good for you," the woman said, starting to turn away again. "You're going to have so much time on your hands."

"All thanks to you," he said with a proud smile. "What's your name?"

Eyebrows still raised, she glanced over her shoulder, looking like she had no idea why he was asking.

"Why do you want to know?" she asked.

"Because you're pretty?" he offered with a smile.

The woman huffed in what was maybe amusement, maybe incredulousness and started to walk away from him. "Seneca," she said without looking around again.

Elias grinned, pattering after her. "That's a pretty name," he mused.

"No, you stay there," Seneca said, not slowing. "For the love of the gods, don't follow random people around."

"Oh. Right. Yeah, sorry." He stopped in his tracks, watching her bob away, then cupped his hands around his mouth and instead offered, "Well, I should probably find Egbert's daughter. Maybe I'll see ya around?"

"Yeah, yeah," Seneca said dismissively, now getting pretty distant. "Good luck or whatever."

He should find the paper he threw out. It had to be somewhere. Or maybe he could draw a new one, this time with more detail.

Elias turned back around to sit back in the porch again, but just missed colliding with another young woman.

"Whoa there! My bad," Elias said as he swooshed out of the way, arms in the air.

Pivoting on her heel, she laughed good-naturedly as she swung a heavy-looking bag the opposite way around him. "Hey, man! Give a quick warning next time," she said jokingly.

Elias squinted at her, thinking back on the sketch he had thrown away somewhere.

Hmmm... was she Egberta? Then again, she had long hair. Egbert had short hair. She had darker skin, Egbert had lighter skin. She looked like she could throw a punch. Egbert looked like he was the punching bag.

So... nah. But also? Hm... if he squinted, really squinted... Yeah, he could see it.

Elias was squinting so hard his eyes were nearly closed. Smile faltering just a bit, the woman's brows furrowed in confusion. Now that was distinctly an Egbert expression.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" he asked, brightening up with a smile. Now, not squinting.

Her eyes flicked to the front door, but she answered amicably, "Uh, yeah, sure."

"Do you have a dad?" he asked, deciding to start easy. Since diving in with Seneca didn't really work out.

The woman tilted her head, her smile fading faster. "Yyyeah."

"Cool. Me too," he said with a nod. "Does he wear glasses?"

"Uhm." Nose and cheek squishing a bit, she stared at him with some skepticism now. "Yeah?"

A piece of paper picked up in the breeze, rolling on the ground and hitting Elias's feet. It was his crumpled drawing.

Oh! There it was. The wind had great timing.

"Maybe this will help," he said with a smile, excusing himself to bend down and snatch the paper ball. "One sec..."

He unfurled the paper a second time, but now it was very wrinkly and the pencil lines were smudged, so sadly it was now outdated. Still, he held it up in front of him, glancing at his sketch of her, then as the possible-Egberta.

Hmmm...

He stroked his chin, deep in examination thoughts.

"Dude," she said, tone hardening, "is something wrong? Can I help you or whatever?"

"Sorry. Yeah." Elias glanced at the sketch again. "Well, I'm looking for someone who might be your dad. But this drawing might not be the best reference. So I'm trying to think of how else to show you."

"What's the guy's name?" she prompted, pointing her chin at the paper in his hands.

"Egbert Keller," Elias answered. "But sometimes his buddies call him Aaron."

He then flipped the drawing around to show her. Except he flipped it the wrong way, so it was upside down for a second, but he quickly fixed that too.

She nodded slowly with an ever-growing frown, which was super scowly just like Egbert's. Yeah, she was definitely Egberta. "Who's asking?" she said gruffly as she drew herself to her full height.

"Uh..." Elias paused. "Me?"

She arched a brow. "And whom the fuck are you, anyway?"

"Oh right." Elias nodded eagerly, crumpling the paper again to shove in his pocket. "I'm Elias. I work with your dad. He got really hurt the other day and almost bled out in an alley, so I helped patch him up. He mentioned a daughter, so I thought I'd try to find you and let you know. He's doing better now, though."

Shifting in her spot, creaking the floorboards of the porch, she glanced back at the door looking conflicted.

"Hey, I'm sorry to have to tell you all this. I know it's hard to hear," he added more gently.

"How long ago?" she asked instead.

Uh...

"Five days ago," he answered confidently. It was a close enough guess.

Her expression turned worried, then finally softened again with something more appreciative when she looked back. "You work with him?"

Elias nodded. "Yeah, I help him get home most nights too."

She glanced at the door again. After a long pause, she nodded once more and held out a hand to him with a heartfelt, "Thanks, man."

Elias smiled and shook her hand. "No worries. Glad I could relay the message."

Withdrawing, her posture fully relaxed now. "Elias, yeah? I'm Shay."

"Shay," Elias echoed, tapping his chin. "That's a better name than Egberta."

Shay snorted at that. "Sure, I'll take it." She turned an open palm skyward in a shrug as she offered a friendlier smile again. "Seriously, dude, 'thanks' doesn't even begin to cover it. If there's anything I can do to pay you back." She patted the door. "You know where to find me, 'kay?"

"Well, there is one thing, actually," he said, glancing at the door. "If you don't mind."

Inclining her head, she agreed, "Yeah, not at all!"

Elias smiled. "Can you check in on him sometime? I think he misses you."

"Fuck, man," she said under her breath, "that ain't a real favor. I was going to tonight, anyway."

"Oh, nice." Grinning, he gave her a crooked thumbs up. "Favor, granted. That was fast."

Lightly punching his arm, she shook her head with a grin and turned away. "Offer's still there, alright, Elias? Take care, man."

"See ya!" he called back with a wave, shooting her one last grin before turning the opposite way.

He couldn't wait to tell Egbert about this later.



Huh. Maybe Elias did have magic mind reading powers. Curly actually responded to Curly. Who else should he try to guess?

Who was he meeting again? Joey? Hmmm...

For a second, Elias wondered if he could even remember what Joey looked like. But after squinting around the room, he recognized the same forgettable outfit the man was wearing.

Hah. That was funny. Elias remembered forgettable outfits.

With a smile, he sauntered over to the table, sliding across from him. "Hey, Joey," he greeted.

"Joel," the man corrected.

"Dang it. I don't have magic mind powers," Elias murmured.

"You did the first time," Joel said. "Guess you just don't have a magic memory."

"Maybe I could try guessing your friends and family's names?" Elias offered.

The man's brows raised and drew together and he frowned.

"Yeahhh, don't do that," he said. "I'm not here to play guessing games. I just want to give you an update."

"Ooh, about Tibby?" Elias guessed, smiling.

"Yeah," Joel said with a sigh. "Unfortunately, it's going to take us a bit more time to arrange a meeting with him for you. He's not exactly easy to access, but we mean it when we say we're going to make it happen for you. To be true to our agreement, we won't require you offer us your information prior to the meeting we promised. Sadly, that's all the news I have for now. So, you'll just have to wait."

"Oh, yeah, I can do that. Waiting," Elias said with a few nods.

"In the meantime, it would be easier for us if we knew a way to get in touch with you when we're able to get that meeting set up," Joel said. "I know you mentioned you're homeless, but do you have somewhere you normally stay where we could find you?"

"Oh yeah, I've got a lot of places I stay at. I don't think any of them would like visitors, though," Elias said.

"How about this, then," Joel proposed. "When we have a meeting lined up for you, we'll find you after you get off work at the farm. You still have the same shifts, right?"

Elias nodded. "Yeah, do you have a birdwatcher who works with you?"

Joel squinted at him.

"A birdwatcher?" he repeated, sounding confused.

Elias nodded again. "Yeah. Named Treeance."

Joel made a face, still looking deeply confused at the question.

"I don't think I've met anyone named Treeance," he said.

"Huh..." Elias stroked his stubble, in thought. "Yeah... I don't think I have either."

Joel's confusion seemed only to deepen as he let out a small laugh.

"Okay," he said. "Well, that's all from me. We'll find you when we're ready. Any more relevant questions?"

"Yeah, does Tiberius play netball?" Elias asked.

Joel snorted, getting to his feet. "If he does, I don't know about it. Save that question for when you meet him, though. I'm sure he'll get a kick out of that."

"Hah. Funny. A kick," Elias snickered.

Joel's expression fell flat. "Uh-huh," he said unenthusiastically. "Are we done?"

"Do you think tree birdwatcher person would know?" Elias asked instead.

"I don't know who 'tree birdwatcher person' is," Joel said tiredly.

"Treeance," Elias explained.

"No. I remember the name you said," Joel said even more wearily. "I just don't know a Treeance. Now, I'm going to leave. Goodbye, Elias."

"Oh, okay." Elias waved at him. "See ya later, Jo."

Joel raised a hand but didn't turn around for the wave as he walked off out the door.

Hm... he seemed fun. Though Elias had a feeling Tiberius was going to be even more fun.

Pacing up and down the second hall, Lyall pounded on all doors and walls, far louder than was necessary, calling, "Lunch in ten! Then I'm dragging you lot about town for the rest of the day! Hiding away in upperrooms like hermits is absolutely unacceptable."

Having just returned from the Estates for Mr. Hemming's final scheduled appointment, Lyall was traveling for the better part of his morning. Which turned out to be for naught, since Mr. Hemming himself was a no show. Amazing. Their carriage driver had to inform him at the door that the ambassador had disappeared way earlier that morning. He'd left only a hasty note in his wake that promised his return at no disclosed time, so...

To keep the trip clean across the city from being a waste, Lyall popped by the Bridgers' manor to extend an invitation to his good friend to join the Ashlunds for said outing.

Stopping by his own door, Lyall drummed rhythmically on the frame. "We are a family of high society!" he grandly declared. "We ought to make our appearances during the most celebrated season in the Sands!"

Two out of the expected three doors around him opened. His enthusiasm was met with a chorus of disgruntled groans and put-upon protests. His grin only turned cheekier for it.

"Needlework," Hild sharply began, holding up a jacket turned inside-out and shaking it ruefully at him, "of this calibre requires unbroken concentration--"

"Dragons!" Lyall exclaimed in mock aghast. He took up the edges of the loose lining and held it up to mournfully assess. "The poor creature, you've practically gutted it. No wonder you need to focus."

Her eyes narrowed by a sizeable degree, and she yanked her project out of his hands.

Around the corner into the main hall, Ulf poked his head and violin out from the opened entertaining room to whine, "Mid-song?"

"Practice, yes?" Lyall asked.

"Well, yes--"

Walking backwards, Lyall leaned across the doorway to the other brother's room, still addressing Ulf: "Then you may return to it easily enough another day!"

He peered in just in time to watch Viktor tumble out of the closet. He was of course still wearing that wretched ox horn by its leather cord, in addition to a rather irritated frown. He suddenly ducked under Lyall's arm and called out, "Only a few days, and you've already taken over!"

Ulf appeared around the corner, his violin tucked away in its case, and he turned to squeeze by both of them. "My academic pursuits--" he started in his own defense.

"Just barfed all over my stuff!" Vik finished, throwing his hands skyward as he turned and followed. "Aren't you going back once the week is done anyway? Why bring all of it here?"

With his back turned, Lyall took the opportunity to slip the musical horn up and over Vik's head.

"Hey--!"

"You're not taking that out," Lyall said flatly, reaching around him to toss the horn onto the younger brother's bed.

Vik pouted, but didn't argue the point. He did decide to flurther flog a well-deceased horse by grousing, "Why don't you ever share your room?"

"Because I'm the oldest," Lyall chirped smugly.

Viktor slumped back into the room in defeat. It never ceased to amuse.

Truth be told, Lyall's room wasn't really his own anyway. As much as Vik and Ulf found things to compain of about each other, Hild and Tove were a great deal more stubbornness than all of them. So over the past year-- quite slyly, Lyall would add-- Tove had gradually moved her things bit by bit to Lyall's room across the way. Lyall adored her too much to say no, and no one could defy his final decisions because ageism. Thus, the delicate balance of the Ashlund order stayed in balance.

Speak of the devil, his own door finally swung open. Tove darted out with urgency and her dragon companion cradled to her chest like it was her own child. Lyall side-stepped to avoid a collision.

"Emergency!" Tove announced. "Sorry!"

Cutting through the boys' room, she popped out into the first hall and into the bathroom before Ulf could make it. Delayed, he rushed to the door just as it shut on his face. He thumped his fist on it twice.

"By gods!" Ulf quietly cried in frustration. "Locked?"

"Sparkles needs privacy!" Tove insisted from inside.

For which Viktor did offer a sympathetic wince as he formed a que behind Ulf.

Backtracking, Lyall caught their other sister donning a day jacket and her work satchel. He picked up his pace and blocked the end of the hall before she could step out fully.

"Excuse you--"

"Excuse you, madame," Lyall said, voice lowered. "Perhaps I didn't make myself clear enough, but this is meant to be a family outting. A time to nurture togetherness?"

Folding her arms, Hild tilted her chin up defiantly. "As you've said last year. And the year before that. Seeing as this is an annual thing."

"And somehow it hasn't gotten through that thick skull of yours," Lyall sweetly retorted. "Truly astounding."

Grasping his wrist, Hild pushed his leaning hand up the wall, and ducked past under his arm. "I've already arranged to watch the shop on the Sommers' behalf," she explained evenly.

Lyall huffed irritably through his nose. "Hild," he said, sharper now as he followed, "you have prior obligations."

Back straighter, Hild faced him again, her own argument at the ready. The words died as her eyes flicked past him, and she politely inclined her head as their mother spoke up behind him:

"And she has new obligations that take priority," Mum said, voice soft but her stance unwavering as she glided past.

Hild cast him a look of smug, frankly unearned victory. It was short-lived, however, dropping the second their mother disappeared into the dining room.

Lyall watched, not quite understanding his sister's hesitance at the end of the hall, before she finally showed herself out to the foyer downstairs. Part of him actually wished he might be able to simply run out himself, nary a--

Shoulders bumping, Ulf murmured an apology as he fumbled his way through. Viktor was far less apologetic as he rushed behind Lyall, giving his recovered horn a rascally toot in Lyall's ear. Before Lyall could say anything to scold him, Tove shoved Sparkles the dragon into his hands as she veered the opposite direction of her brothers.

"Mister Dallas!" she squealed with excitement. "Can I help?"

Setting the toy down beside a vase of lavender, Lyall swung in to make sure she wasn't getting under the good fellow's feet as he worked.

But Dallas was his cheery, good-natured self as always, and the rosy-cheeked mustached man patted Tove's head with his oven mitt before lifting her up onto a stool by the counter. He slid a cutting board with a loaf of raw dough.

"You remember how 't knead it, right, Ms. Tove?" he asked.

"Yes, sir!" she answered dutifully, tapping her toes excited against the cupboard.

Dallas didn't seem to notice Lyall's presence as he tucked a pan into the oven, but as he turned around to wipe his hand on his apron, he met his eyes. With a bright smile, he waved with his mitted hand.

"Oh, Mr. Lyall!" he said. "Good morning!"

Grinning by the door, Lyall tipped an imaginary hat in greeting. "Good morning, Mr. Dallas!"

"It's a treat to see you! Are you lot going to the dance tonight? It's the talk 'o the town!" Dallas said.

"Isn't there a dance every night?" Tove asked with furrowed brows. She pushed back her sleeves and began smacking the dough with her little hands.

"Just a few," Lyall answered fondly, "and, yes, I certainly do." He ambled in to poke at the pots by the fireplace. "What about yourself, Mr. Dallas?"

"Oh, I'll be there for sure after my shift's up this afternoon!" Dallas said. "You'll catch me doin' a square dance for sure."

Plucking a spoon from the wall, Lyall snuck a taste of a simmering soup. "Going with anyone?" he asked curiously, humming his approval of the balance of seasonings.

Dallas let out a little laugh. "Oh, I'm going with Hendrik!" he said. "He's got a date but I'm going to keep him company."

Lyall paused, brow quirked. "And... you'll be accompanied by a date of your own?" he ventured.

Dallas smiled oh so innocently. "Oh, no I don't have a date!" he said like it was obvious. "Nothin' cookin' up in my love life these days, but thanks for asking!"

Head tilted, Lyall grinned in mild confusion at him.

Dallas quickly turned to the pot on the stove, stirring it once more before taking a quick whiff and taking it off the heat.

"What about yourself?" Dallas asked.

"I might rope in my own date," Lyall said warmly, bouncing on his heels at the thought.

"Mr. Santiago?" Dallas asked with a grin.

Grinning back, Lyall stepped around him to help clear the sink. "The one and only!"

"Well gee golly!" Dallas said. "If I see you two I'll make sure to give you a hoot and a holler!"

"I should like that very much!" Lyall said with a bright laugh.

"Me too!" Dallas said, turning his attention to Tove. "Oh, now, Ms. Tove! I think that's about ready to put in the oven, now."

Tove pouted her lips in thought, seeming unconvinced.

Flicking water from his hands, Lyall ducked down and swept her up to sling over his shoulder. "And now we say 'thank you, Mr. Dallas'," he said pointedly, straightening with an exaggerated grunt.

She kicked and flailed, then soon fell limp in defeat. "Thank you, Mr. Dallas," she drew out forlornly.

"Thank you Ms. Tove!" Dallas echoed back.

With a two-fingered salute, Lyall bid him, "Don't work too hard, good sir. Save some of that energy for the square dance!"

"Yes sir!" Dallas saluted with a spoon.

And, with that, Lyall carried her out to further prepare everyone for the noontime popup market.

Before anyone could wake up and tell him what to do, James snuck out of his room before the sun came up. He'd attempted to sleep long enough in a fitful torment as his head kept throbbing him to wakefulness, so he decided to give up. Embracing the suffering, he threw on the most nondescript outfit he owned, didn't bother shaving, and tied the upper portion of his hair back into a small bun atop his head. It was getting too long for him to bother.

He didn't care about impressing anyone today. He didn't care what anyone thought at all.

Creeping into the kitchen, James was relieved to find it occupied only by Ms. Marge. Unfortunately, however, she let out a loud yelp as he entered the doorway before he had a chance to announce his presence.

"Oh, dear! You can't do that!" she said, resting her hand over her chest, flustered. "I didn't hear you!"

He was sorry for scaring her, really, but he also couldn't help but flinch himself at the noise. His head hated him.

"Sorry," he said quietly, hoping that, with how sound traveled in this stupid manor, that no one overheard her squeal and woke up.

He'd rather not have to deal with anyone else this morning. Ms. Marge was, at least, predictable and had enough obligatory politeness to veil any of her opinions about his current state. Or anything else, for that matter.

"Did you need something, dear?" Ms. Marge asked with a small huff as she got her bearings again, returning to a roll of dough she was kneading on the counter.

"Do you have any leftover loaves from yesterday?" he asked.

"Oh, are you hungry now? I have some--"

James spotted a loaf sitting among other foods Ms. Marge had set out, likely for breakfast. He walked over and picked it up.

"Can I have this?" he asked.

Ms. Marge blinked. "Uh -- well, I suppose. But breakfast will be ready in a few--"

"Thank you," James said, already turning to leave.

He felt her puzzled stare on the back of his head as he walked out, but she didn't stop him. Since she usually made a few loaves for the day, he hoped no one would miss this one - because he didn't plan on sticking around for breakfast, and he didn't want to go hungry either.

Slipping out the front door, James let out a long sigh when he was met by the early morning darkness. The sun was going to rise within the hour, but for now, he had the mercy of night to at least partially tame the demon in his skull.

He took a bite out of the loaf and started walking.



The nice thing about the big city was that it didn't wake up until the sun rose. That gave James about an hour to roam the city streets that were mostly empty, free of judgment and prying eyes. He ended up stopping in the park to watch the sunrise until the light hurt his eyes, and then he resolved to lay in the grass until the worst of it was over. He thought he heard some faint noises of the city waking outside the park's walls, but after the concert last night, the only people in the park this early in the morning were ones who worked for the city, picking up after the mess.

Something was strangely calming about lying with his face in the grass.

Alas, all good things could not last forever.

Now he had to do errands.

Picking himself up off the ground, he forced himself to go be productive, relieved that no one was around to tell him what that meant. For him, it meant finally getting some practical things in order for when he inevitably turned his life upside-down. Clothes, among other things, were a necessity, and if he was going to be traveling for weeks on end the least he could do was put together things that would actually be useful for him.

So, a good, warm, multi-use jacket was one of those things.

He found his way back to the city center, walking along the dirt roads until he was close to the east gate. By the time he made it there, it was well into the morning - probably 10 am, and the streets were lively again. He saw a lot of people transporting goods to the city market, which would open by noon. No one seemed to notice him this time, and he had a feeling it was because he didn't bother dressing the part.

Noted.

He stopped at the storefront for Sommers' Stitch + Sews, briefly looking up at the wooden sign hanging over the door before he checked the door, seeing the sign in the window was flipped to "open."

When he stepped inside, a bell chimed above his head. Just like last time.

But unlike his prior experience, he wasn't met by the fawning eyes of Mel Sommers. Instead, it was Hild Ashlund, who sat behind the counter looking up at him with the most heated glare he'd yet received from her.

And frankly? It was a relief.

He was tired of the fawning, and the flattery. Hild at least had been professional, and straight to the point, even if she seemed a bit hostile for no reason.

Which was easier, today. Because he was exhausted, his head hurt, and his body hurt. And he didn't want to have to think about the right thing to say. He just wanted to get this over with.

He offered a small wave as he stepped up to the counter.

Closing a book and setting down her pen, Hild sat straighter and said in a monotone, "Hullo, welcome back to Sommers' Stitch and Sews. How can I help you today."

"I'm here to pick up a shirt and a jacket," he said simply.

"Excellent." Though there was no enthusiasm in her tone whatsoever. "Wait here, please."

And, with an almost distrusting glance over her shoulder, disappeared into the back.

James let out a small sigh and absently looked around the shop. There were two dresses in the display window on headless mannequins, and a suit jacket with pinstripes. The front entryway was pretty small, save for a bench for sitting and a worn rug. He looked down at his feet, noting how the pale reddish dirt had coated his shoes, turning them a different color entirely. He noted that the same ruddy tint had been worn into the carpet under his feet from all of the foot traffic.

Seemed the Sommers got a lot of business.

The curtain partitioning the front of the shop from the back muffled the sounds of scurrying and light digging. Hild mumbled something too softly to be heard clearly, but there was frustration in her voice. James wasn't sure if he should comment, so he decided against it.

Better to let her figure it out.

Clearing her throat, she re-emerged with his folded clothing neatly stacked in her hands. "I apologize," she said, stiffly holding them out to him, "for the delay. These had been misplaced."

James shrugged his shoulder.

"I'm not in a hurry," he said. "It's fine."

That earned him another fleeting look of skepticism. James was too tired to figure out the right response. What he managed to do with his face was a slow blink.

He reached out and took the clothes out of her hands, turning to set them on the counter beside him. Curious, and mostly just checking to see how it turned out, he lifted the shirt first, frankly amazed that they'd managed to restore the shirt to its previous cream color.

"Sorcery," he murmured, staring at the sleeve that used to be red.

"Niko," Hild corrected, "with the use of basic chemistry."

"Mm," he said. "Chemistry."

That was never his strength. That was Kirk's. Though, he'd never thought Kirk could use it for getting stains out of clothing. If things weren't so awkwardly tense between them all the time maybe James would ask him.

Alas.

James tried folding the shirt, but his body was moving a bit sluggishly at the moment. He could feel Hild's stare boring holes into the back of his head as he took longer than he really meant to get the shirt back into a decent shape. One he could carry.

Well. He was paying for this, anyway. So. He got to take his time. Right?

He lifted up the jacket, flipping it open to look at the inside.

Oh.

Yes. This was perfect.

He knew where to look for the pockets because he'd wanted them to be subtle and hidden, but he still checked for every one, making sure it was all secure and would hold up to repeated wear and tear.

"Sir."

James looked up, unaware of how long he'd been inspecting the jacket.

"Is," Hild asked slowly, stepping around to the side of the counter that was adjacent to him, "the work up to your standards?"

James looked back down at the jacket.

"Yes," he said. Then he lifted it, trying it on, since he'd also had it fitted. He stood there for a moment, stuffing his hands in the main pockets on the front, feeling content with how comfortably it fit.

Silence fell over the shop.

"Sir," she said again, sounding more unsure now than anything.

Maybe he was... losing track of time more than he was aware of. His head was throbbing mercilessly, and he may have been briefly caught up in the euphoria of having many pockets.

Lips pursed, Hild folded her arms as she studied him.

"It's perfect," he said with a bare smile.

"...I'm." She briefly and awkwardly glanced off. "Glad. Good."

James moved his hands in his pockets, patting his sides.

"How much?" he asked.

"Fifteen silver."

Ah. Right, right. One for each pocket. James reached into his pant pocket this time, pulling out a small coin pouch. He didn't know why he had to focus very hard on counting, but he did. He offered it to Hild.

She hesitated, then quietly corrected again, "Minus one."

James looked down in his hand. Damn. He really couldn't focus to save his life right now, could he? He plucked one out of his palm and tucked it back into the pouch, which he put back in his pocket.

Now he offered it to her. She held out an open palm, and he poured it carefully from his to hers.

Idly weighing the coins, Hild fixed another attentive look on his face, eyes narrowed in searching.

"Why the pockets?" she asked.

"Hm?" James asked.

"Or, I should say, why so many?" Hild went on, folding her arms again with another Look.

Ah.

"To hold things," he said.

This answer did not satisfy her.

"...Why so many?" she repeated. "Can't you purchase a proper bag, in which case? The likes of which, by the way, we also tailor in-shop."

He couldn't very well tell her he planned on having a life-saving kit built into his jacket in the event he needed it for emergency reasons without rousing further suspicion, so he shrugged.

"I can't wear a bag like I can a jacket," he said.

"Well. Perhaps," she conceded with an ever-present frown.

James mimed the shape of a bag settled on his hip.

"Bag," he said, miming his hand going in. "Accessible to horse."

He then zipped up his jacket, patting his hand against the zipper. "Jacket. Impenetrable."

Her brows furrowed in mild perplexion. "Are you often in the company of thieving horses, Mr. Hemming?"

"Yes," he said. "My horse back home. He likes to steal things."

Hild angled her head slightly to the side. Unsure of how to receive this response.

"How did you hear about this shop?" she moved on.

"The Sommers?" he asked. "Oh. The maid at the manor mentioned it."

"Fine," Hild said.

James wasn't sure why, but he felt like Hild was suspicious of him for some reason, but he didn't think he'd given her anything to be suspicious of. Aside from being guilty of having too many pockets. And, he supposed, being her patient for a night. Not that getting stitches was worthy of suspicion.

Or maybe it was. He didn't know what was going through her head.

"Do you sell overalls?" he asked, deciding to change the subject.

"We..." She took the seat behind the counter and folded her hands on the edge. "We do," she answered stiffly.

James found himself lagging as he stared at her, processing her correction on his preposition usage. This was... unecesarry? It was a genuine question. Why did she feel the need to absolve herself of being spoken to personally, and instead wrap herself into a collective "we?" It wasn't that deep. He was literally just asking.

Brows raised, she then said, "I don't recommend such fittings, however, for your current role."

It finally occurred to him that Hild wasn't taking him seriously. Maybe she thought this was all a joke. Some really weird joke.

"Oh," he said, more to that realization than to her comment. "I have uses for casual clothing despite my status."

It felt uncomfortable to say. It's been over a year and he still loathed acknowledging his status.

She nodded her understanding. "We have some pre-made, and Ms. Mel Sommers already has your measurements to make any necessary adjustments."

A shiver ran down his spine at the recollection.

"Are you interested in purchasing a pair, then?" Hild went on, spinning her chair around to access what looked like a written inventory.

"Yes," he said quickly. "I-- just one pair. It's... whatever you have that works. I'm not particular."

She set the opened book on the counter between them and ran her finger down an extensive list. "Very well." After scratching off a little box, she finally looked back up at him. "We have a set that would require very minimal adjustments, so you may return for them as soon as tomorrow if you want."

James's shoulders slumped a little at the thought of having to come in again.

"I... don't need them adjusted," he said.

He didn't really care about their fit. Only that they stayed on.

"Wise." She shut the book and tucked it away again. "It reduces the cost."

Except, for some reason, James had a feeling Hild was not remarking on his spending habits. It felt more like she was relieved he wouldn't be here again. Which, at this point, he'd be inclined to agree with. But... he didn't know what he'd done to have slighted her in any way.

So, it had to be his reputation.

"You think I'm a terrible person," he said as Hild turned to get up, presumably to find the overalls. "Don't you?"

Hild paused by the curtain. Then cast a truly hardened look over her shoulder at him, that barely veiled resentment shining full force. "Of course not," she said coldly. "You're an international hero, Mr. Hemming."

But there was venom in her words, and not an ounce of sincerity behind them.

For some reason, as Hild disappeared behind the curtain, James found himself oddly relieved. He was used to this feeling: of being hated, for various reasons. It was always something different, with the ones who knew him most. For Ingrid, it was how he processed grief. For Carter, it was his parents' favoritism and their secrets. For half of the world, it was the blood on his hands, and how he was lauded for it. Most people who fell into the latter category hid their disdain out of a sense of obligation or self-protection.

He looked down at his feet.

Hild, though she never spoke a word of him poorly to his face, was at least authentic enough to let it show in every other way possible. That, he could respect. Even if it stung.

Swiftly returning, Hild didn't even bother handing the clothes over. She set them on the counter beside him and retook the seat behind it.

"What interest does your brother have in politics?" James found himself asking.

Because, now that it was clear how Hild felt, he found himself confused. Lyall Ashlund was just his doctor, and he might have been far better at masking any opinions - if he, in fact, shared the same distaste Hild had for him - but his presence at yesterday's interview didn't make sense.

Lyall was a doctor. What was he doing at an interview with the King's Hand?

Hild's brows drew into hard lines at the question. "Why."

"He was at the manor yesterday, shadowing a journalist," he said.

Very very slowly, she gave a single, skeptical nod. "Was he." She pursed her lips, eyes narrowed. "Interesting."

So, this was news to her, then. James sighed. He wasn't going to get any useful information, was he?

"10 copper," Hild moved on, confirming his suspicion.

James blinked slowly. Ha. She was up charging him. If he cared, he'd comment on the price. But as it stood, he couldn't be bothered to bother. With a small sigh, he pulled out his coin pouch once more. This time, he counted it out on the counter, more visibly separating the coins so he didn't miscount again.

"You want to know what I'm going to put in all of my pockets?" he asked.

She scrunched her nose. "I'd much rather not. Nor do I care for the phrasing."

Okay. That was fair. James hadn't meant for it to sound like... ugh. Whatever.

"I was going to make a joke," he said a bit tiredly.

"There is literally no need," she said disdainfully.

"In my life, I need it," he murmured, more to himself. He picked up the overalls. And the shirt.

"Have a good day, Mr. Hemming," Hild said without feeling, already picking up her stitchwork again.

James pressed his lips into a small frown as he nodded, understanding that that was her polite way of telling him to get out of the shop. Turning away, he walked to the exit, briefly pausing as he set his hand on the door.

"You didn't have to lie to me," he said, casting a glance at her over his shoulder. "I know I'm not a hero."

The only indication he got that she heard was her pausing in her work. And he didn't stick around for anything more.

Uuuuggghhhhh! Mel was sooooooooooo boRED!

Finally, she was able to get permission to roam the market herself. Which, um, she shouldn't need permission? But Oscar was being suuuuuch a butt today. So what if she flirted with a couple of customers during working hours? Hey, they actually bought stuff, thanks to her! Plus, the guy had a girlfriend.

At least, she was sure he did. Otherwise he'd have asked her out. Eyeroll. 🙄

Where were all her friends at, anyways? There was always someone around she could nab.

Strolling around the plaza with her flouncy pink checkered dress with a sweetheart neckline, Mel flipped her bouncy hair over her shoulder, her wedge heels clacking against the stones. With a dazzling grin, she scanned the bustling crowd, sure she'd find someone in this sea of people that she'd recognize.

And sure enough, she did. She could recognize that fluffy head and cute little butt anywhere.

Grin growing brighter, Mel quietly giggled to herself and skipped over to her pal, greeting Lyall from behind by standing on her tip-toes and covering his eyes with her hands.

"Guess who!" she chirped with a giggle.

With a slightly startled laugh, he lifted both arms to shrug her off and faced her with a grin. "Ms. Sommers!" he greeted brightly.

"Ough, I told you not to call me that, silly!" she pouted playfully, eagerly poking at his shoulder. "I hear 'Mr. Sommers' alllllll day. You make it sound like I'm the mom! Ew!"

"Of course," Lyall said with a chuckle, pulling her into a quick, tight hug, "gods forbid! The marvelous Ms. Mel, then. A lovely surprise running into you!"

Ooh! He smelled like sandalwood! Of course he did. Lyall was always a classy gentleman~

Mel beamed, pulling away and twirling a curly strand of her hair around her finger. "Sooooo?" she began with an silly waggle of her brows. "Whatcha doing? Do you want company?"

Spinning on his heel, Lyall stood beside her to offer his bent arm. "Please, and thank you," he said with relief, as though rescued from his own grim fate with boredom. "The younger ones are currently per-occupied, and I've yet to spot an old friend of mine I'm meant to meet."

"Yay!" Mel gladly swooped her arm through his, leading the way to stroll through the waking plaza with musicians warming up. "I'm so glad I ran into you! I was just thinking of you the other day. Like, 'Where's Lyall? I haven't seen him in foreverrrrr!'"

"It truly has been too long," Lyall agreed, "since I was last graced by your sunny countenance--" He gestured with an open palm up at the sky. "The sun feels cold now by comparison!"

Mel squealed in delight, in awe over how he had a pretty way with words. "Awwwwh!" she cooed with a bright grin, eyes sparkling in amazement. She giggled, poking at his elbow. "That was soooo romantic! Awh, now I'm jealous that your man gets to hear this every day!"

He blew a raspberry. "Romantic? Hardly. It's a simple truth!" He nudged back at her with his elbow. "Off-duty, I'm supposing? Or did you sneak off again."

"Pffff!" Grinning, Mel rolled her eyes, dismissing the thought. "Sneaking off? Me? Never. I'm an angel~"

"Right you are." Lyall lightly jostled their joined arms. "Well, where might I find Misters Sommers? I might pop in later to say hullo."

Mel groaned, tilting her head back. "Euuugghhhh, Lyallll. You're always blabbing about work and blah blah blah checklists and to-dos and stuff." She grinned, tugging him towards the clothing vendors that hadn't unpacked yet. "Let's go shopping! Please? I'm around clothes all day but can't shop for any of it! 'Cause it's always for another people, and it's the worst! Like torture!"

With an amused laugh, he happily kept pace, letting her drag him along. "You mean to tell me it's already Sol, and you haven't anything new for the season?"

"I know, right?" she huffed, bee-lining towards one stand that had a pretty pink dress on display. "It's so lame and unfair!"

"An injustice!" he agreed.

Taking her by the hand, Lyall led her into a quick twirl so that she ended up standing behind the hanging dress. With a laugh, Mel lifted both edges of the skirt, curtsying with it. He grinned wide and bowed deeply with an exaggerated flourish in turn.

"Lyall, I love you. You are such a fun gentleman!" she giggled, feeling the fabric between her fingers. Sadly, it was low quality cotton, but oh so cute.

Hands in his pockets, Lyall leaned a shoulder on one of the stays. "And that is a lovely shade of pink on you," he commented with a grin.

"Hmm, yeah, you think so?" Mel hummed in thought, brushing the side of the dress. "It does match well with my skin tone..." Letting go of the thought, she shrugged and pulled away. "Eh. Material is meh. I'll keep looking though. And so should you!"

She stepped away and insead rifled through the rack of other dresses, not looking for anything in particular. Well, she was looking for something-- anything-- that could catch her eye. The bad thing about being a seamstress was that she had seen every piece of fabric and design, like, ever.

She wanted something new! Something fresh! Something ~trendy~!

"So," Mel said over her shoulder, smiling at Lyall as he perused through the opposite men's rack. "Where is Santiago, anyways? Are you two going to dance tonight? You're definitely dressed the part!"

Waving a hand with a flattered huff, Lyall answered, "Of course we will!" He held aloft the arm of a formal jacket, rubbing his thumb over the stitching on the sleeve. "All I had to do was bat my lashes at him, and he caved in record time."

Mel slapped her hand over her mouth to stop herself from snorting over the thought. "Really? Oh my gosh, show me. You must demonstrate this power."

He sighed playfully, but was quick to oblige. Resting his elbows over the top of the clothing rack, he propped his chin up on his interlocked hands and sweetly fluttered his eyes at her with a subtle smile.

"Is this a face you can refuse?" he purred.

Mel nearly died of laughter from the sheer silliness of this, but her eyes caught sight of something urgent. Or rather, someone urgent.

"Lyall!" she whispered, ducking behind the rack and peeking over it. "Don't look now, but there's a cutie at five o'clock."

But did Lyall listen? No, of course not, because he was in a silly stupid mood!

Brows quirked, Lyall shamelessly whirled around with a drawn-out, inquisitive hum. Mel facepalmed but still couldn't help but peek at the cutie through her fingers.

Standing at the booth across from them, there was a very tall man taking stock of a colorful feather boa, holding up with a goofy and charming smile. He flipped his full, volumous chin-length hair to one side as he playfully swung the boa over his neck and posed for the girl manning the booth with his hand on his one hip. The both of them erupted into laughter and the man slipped the boa off, setting it down and tucking some coins into her hand before he put the boa in the satchel on his hip.

When he turned around where Mel could see him more clearly, she got a good view of his broad shoulders, his toned arms, and his alluring, sleepy eyes. He had a confident smirk on his face as he began to scan the market, probably looking for where to go next.

Mel sighed longingly. Oh, to be the girl who laughed with him and gave him the boa...

Paying her discretion no mind, Lyall stepped out from the shade of the stand and made a beeline for the man. Mouth open in shock, and frankly, horror-- Mel stared at her friend, wondering what was going through his eye-batting brain.

"Mr. Heart!" he greeted with an outstretched hand. "A delight it is to see you enjoying the festivities!"

"What?" she whispered harshly under her breath, straightening up with a huff as she watched the interaction unfold.

Lyall knew him? Also, wow, his surname was Heart? Aw, she loved that!

Mr. Heart turned to look at Lyall with a bright smile. The charisma was just oozing off of him.

"Dr. Ashlund!" Mr. Heart said. "What a pleasant surprise!"

"Are you accompanied by anyone today?" Lyall asked as they quickly shook hands.

"Oh, just me, myself, and I! Not too many big spenders in the 'King's Hand,'" Mr. Heart said with a chuckle as he pulled his hand away. "Which is a shame, if you ask me. If anyone can afford to buy things for fun they're the ones who can!"

King's Hand? Did he say King's Hand?!

Ugh, Lyall better introduce her to this cutie, so help her gods.

"That is quite the shame," Lyall agreed. "We're hosting some of Ruddlan's finest artisans, all in one concentrated spot today. It doesn't get much easier than this to find yourself a memorable souvenir."

"That's what I'm saying!" Mr. Heart said emphatically, gesturing to Lyall in vindication. "Finally, a man of taste! See, I wish you'd told them that this morning when you stopped by. They never listen to me!"

"You flatter, sir," Lyall said with a gracious bow of his head. "I think it would've been a hard sell coming from me, in any case. What you really needed was the input of a life-long resident. Someone who practically embodies the spirit of this great city, at the height of its best season. The likes of a good friend of mine, actually." He briefly glanced over his shoulder Mel's way. "Might I introduce you two?"

Perking up, Mel grinned and stepped away from the rack, waving at them. "Wow, what an intro," she said with a faint laugh, finally taking the few strides to close the gap between them. She cast Lyall a beaming smile, silently appreciating his efforts.

Mr. Heart tilted his head in intrigue. His eyes turned to Mel, and his smile brightened.

"It's an honor to meet a real Ruddlan resident," Mr. Heart said with a silly bow of his head, as if Mel were royalty. "A true triple 'r'."

As Mel giggled, he straightened back up and offered Mel a hand to shake.

"What's your name, fair maiden?" he asked.

"An honor to meet you, great feathery knight!" she exclaimed, taking his hand and giving it three quick shakes. "I'm Mel. What's your name?"

"Fonzi," he answered. "Mr. Heart is my father. And my other father."

"Aw, oh my gosh!" She placed a hand over her own heart. "Same here! Except my last name is Sommers, like the season." Mel beamed, tilting her head with a lift of both shoulders. "Heart and Sommers sounds so cozy."

"And Sommers Heart sounds like the next big hit song!" Fonzi said. "Hey, maybe you should write it! Do you sing?"

"Yeah! Do you?" she asked.

"A bit like a dying donkey," Fonzi said with a laugh. "But I'll do it if asked!"

Mel hummed, placing the tops of her straightened knuckles under her chin. "Sooooo you'd sing if the three of us go to Stella's?" Her grin widened as she added, "It's sing-along night!"

"What? Hell yeah!" Fonzi said. "Damn, it's a shame we missed the sing-along when we tavern hopped last week. Had I known that was happening I would've picked that day of the week! But sure, yeah, they do that tonight at Stella's? I want in!"

Waving them both down, Lyall laughed, "As much as I'd love to join, I've already got a date planned for tonight." He took a couple steps backwards as he added, "In fact, I think I've left my siblings to their own devices for long enough. Mel, why don't you show Mr. Heart around for the afternoon?"

"Aw, are you sure, Lyall?" Mel asked anyways with forcefully raised brows to show her fake disappointment. "Aw. We'll miss you." She happily shrugged a shoulder, moving on quickly. "Well. You'll know where to find us if you want company, though!"

Grinning a bit dryly, Lyall bowed out with a two-fingered salute and silently mouthing to her, "Have fun!" Then spun around and threw over his shoulder a more audible, "Great seeing you again, Mr. Heart!"

Fonzi waved Lyall off with a smile, then looked back down at Mel.

"So Stella's, huh?" he asked. "You wanna hit it up before going to the dance? You don't seem the type to pass up the festival dances."

"You're totally right." Still beaming, Mel placed her hands behind her back and twirled in place, flouncing her dress over her thighs. "I don't have a date to go to the dance, though... And I'm all for girl empowerment, but you know, it's not always fun to go solo."

Fonzi let out a playful gasp.

"Well, we can't have that, Ms. Sommers! That would be a tragedy! One that I must rectify in this very moment, obviously," he said, this time very dramatically getting down on one knee in the middle of the market path.

"Dearest triple 'r' original Sommer gal of the city of Ruddlan," he said, holding up his hands together in a pleading gesture. "Wilst thou go to the Dance of the Summer Solstice Festival with me tonight? It's like this festival was made for you."

A beat.

"Get it. Because Sommers," he said.

Mel slapped her hand over her mouth again, repressing giggles. Ahhhh, Fonzi was so cute and funny! He seemed so fun, and so confident, too!

"Oh my gosh, yes, you silly!" she said through a laugh, playfully patting his hands. With sparkling eyes, she paused to draw out a hum, pointing at his feather boa. "Except I think I'm going to need one of those, too."

Waiting. So much of life was waiting, and even more so, when you lived for hundreds of years. Bo was only a tenth of the way through his life, and he still felt the itch of impatience. Mickey used to tell him that, even with lives as long as theirs, every day was a treasure; there was always joy to be found in it. That mantra was harder to hold onto on dark days, and painful to believe in when he knew mages were miles underground the city, being tortured and held captive like animals.

He wanted to storm in there. Right now. But he knew it'd be reckless, unwise, and irresponsible. Were he 50 years younger, he'd probably seriously consider it, but today, it was only a fleeting thought: one he knew was born of righteous anger, but not something he had to act on.

They had time.

Not a lot of time, because the mages would be moved out of the city eventually - and they still didn't know when, but they had some time.

Getting information, especially enough to make decisions based on, was always the hardest part. Once a plan was formed, he just had to do it.

Sadly, he didn't have enough information to fully formulate a plan. Yet.

Bo was broken from his concentration when Finn climbed over the back of the couch and landed on him, thwacking a pillow on his face.

"Rrrah!" Finn roared fiercely, for as fierce as a tiny five year old could be.

Bo pretended to be wounded, going limp under Finn's vicious attack with a groan.

"Oh no!" he wheezed. "I've been hit!"

To which, Finn giggled and hit Bo with the pillow again, once again drawing a comically pained "Grah!" out of Bo.

Finn then threw the pillow to the side, reaching in and poking Bo in the chest while he bounced on Bo's tummy.

"Zap!" he said. "I zapped you! Ultra powerful werewolf dragon unicorn mage attack!"

Bo made himself shake as if he was being electrocuted, letting out silly noises before he once again went limp, letting his tongue loll out the side with a loud: "Bleagh!"

Finn collapsed into a heap of giggles atop Bo's chest.

"Are unicorns real?" Magnus piped up, looking up from the book he was reading on the floor. "Can something be a unicorn and all those other things at once?"

Bo peeked his eyes open. Mel, who was sitting on the sofa beside the boy, looked up from the dress she was working on, pausing in her stitching.

"Unicorns don't exist," she informed young Magnus. "And unfortunately, neither do combinations of those creatures."

"Awh," Magnus sighed sadly. "That would've been so cool."

"But Sir Bo!" Finn whined, poking Bo's face to "wake him up," since he was still playing dead. "What about the picture you drew me of the flying werewolves?"

Bo regained his bones again and picked Finn up off of him while he moved to sit up on the couch, no longer lounging sleepily. He set Finn on the couch beside him.

"Sadly, it was just a drawing," he said, ruffling Finn's hair. "But, werewolves that are mages exist! They're the only mages out there that can have two types: shifting and elemental magics."

Magnus nodded attentively with a thoughtful expression.

"So I can be a flying werewolf?" Finn asked with glee, jumping to his feet in excitement.

"If you had air magic, yes," Bo answered.

"Yeeeeeesssssss!" Finn drew out, jumping off the couch like he was trying to fly. "I'm going to have air magic and be the most powerful flying werewolf mage in all of Nye!"

Perhaps, as expected, this sent Finn on his fifth escapade running around the room with his arms outstretched like wings. Finn blew out "flying noises" as he whooshed up and down the living room furniture and jumped off any semi-stable surface imaginable.

Finn blew past Mel, but she didn't even flinch in her sewing.

Bo and Mel had agreed to watch Finn this afternoon for Flora while she was out at the market running her flower booth for the festival. Cyrin stopped by to drop off his youngest brother, Magnus, aged 10. Bo and Magnus got along quite pleasantly, but Magnus and Finn were a bit too far in age to really find much interest in each other.

"Is there such a thing as a werewolf dragon?" Magnus asked, propping his chin up on his hands. "Would one be possible?"

"Unfortunately, no," Bo said. "Dragons have the only other form of shifting magic, and it doesn't overlap with werewolves. So, if a dragon and a werewolf had a baby, the baby would just be a werewolf. Not a dragon, too."

"That means there's a limit to the magical coolness someone can have," Magnus said sadly.

Bo nodded solemnly. "Unfortunately, all good things have their limits. It really is sad."

But, Bo was glad there wasn't anyone out there with all of the possible kinds of magic that existed living in one person. That kind of power in the wrong hands would be absolutely terrifying.

So, yeah, he was glad there were only six dragons in the world.

Well. Five. They still couldn't find the seventh, these past 100 years.

"Well, what is the coolest magic out there?" Magnus asked curiously.

Finn nyoomed past Magnus and Mel loudly, zooming back across the room again.

"I guess that all depends on what you think is cool," Bo said. "But if we're talking purely about power, a dragon's magic is the most powerful. Hence, why they're regarded as gods in much of human history. And why there are so few of them."

Magnus looked up dreamily at the ceiling.

"That sounds so cool," he said longingly.

"I'M GONNA BE A DRAGON!" Finn shouted from the other end of the room, jumping off one of the loveseats and running onto the carpet on all fours.

Bo huffed a laugh as Finn ran around the room like a monkey.

"Eh," he said with a shrug. "It may not be as cool as you think. Dragons are ancient beings, and being alive that long comes with a lot more complications."

Magnus nodded seriously.

"I guess so," he said. "It would be weird if my siblings kept growing up and I didn't. I wouldn't want to be the youngest by that much."

Finn ran and rolled into a ball, rolling across the carpet rapidly before hitting Bo's legs. He popped open onto his back like a pill bug, sprawling out on his side with more giggles. Bo helped Finn get to his feet by picking him up by his shoulders, and the moment Finn was upright, he was off again.

Zooming.

"Yeah," Bo said.

Magnus would never know the irony of this conversation, but Bo supposed he could take a part of this interaction and call it funny. Mickey would get a kick out of it later, for sure.

"And with that much power," Bo said. "You have to be really careful, too. The same goes for any mage, but especially as a dragon. Dragons helped make all of Nye, remember? They have to be careful to help keep it, too. Mistakes on that scale have greater consequences."

Magnus tilted his head.

"Well, do only good people become dragons?" he asked. "Does fate pick people who don't make mistakes?"

Bo smiled faintly.

Magnus didn't fully understand what kind of question he was asking, because, much like the majority of the world, he didn't understand what dragons really were, or how their magic worked. It was something mystical, and even dragons themselves were still trying to comprehend it.

But he knew one thing for certain: dragons still made mistakes.

He knew, because he was one of them.

"Dragons are still people, just like you and I," Bo said. "I don't think their magic is a statement about their character - but maybe, more of their potential - and the person they could become."

No longer really reading, Magnus reflected on this, kicking his legs idly behind him.

"So... they could either be powerfully good, or powerfully bad?" he guessed. "And that's up to them?"

"Yep!" Bo said. "Just like anyone else in this world. You get to make your own choices."

"I don't want to be bad," Magnus said, looking down at the floor.

Finn jumped up on the couch behind Mel, rolling down the back directly into the cushion beside her with a crashing noise.

"I want to be good!" Finn said. "The goodest gooder to ever good."

Magnus nodded. "Yeah. Me too."

Finn seemed to be finally be crashing, because instead of sprining up off the couch again, he began to snuggle down into the cushion at Mel's side, much like a puppy curling up.

"I'm gonna be... so good..." Finn started to say, evidently already drifting off.

Bo huffed faintly, with a small smile. He looked to Magnus, holding up a finger to his lips.

With a slight smile, Magnus returned the gesture, raising his eyebrows conspiratorily.

All it took was ten seconds of silence before Finn passed out on the couch, fast asleep.

"Seems we're going to have to be quiet, now," Bo said with a grin.

"Okay!" Magnus whispered. "I can do that."

With a small nod, Bo contentedly smiled as Magnus tucked up at the base of the couch Mel sat on, pulling his book back up to where his thumb had been tucked in, saving his place. It was a fiction book Bo had pulled off of Flora's shelf - one he knew she'd put within Finn's reach because it was safe to read. It was some kind of heartwarming adventure story. It had some pictures, too.

When Bo looked up, he caught Mel looking up at him with an affectionate smile. Briefly catching her eyes, they both quickly looked away.

For a moment, Bo wanted to look back up at her and steal another glance.

But as always, he hesitated. Instead, he looked at his lap.

He'd known Mel for seven years now, and he'd watched her grow into the woman she was today from when he first met her and her brother. At first, they'd been isolated, surviving with a deeply tied reliance on one another for years. When the resistance found them it took a while for Mel and Raj to grow in trust, and even longer for them to relax and realize they didn't need to keep their guard up.

Mel used to be an overbearing older sister, and Raj had been suffocating, trying to protect the two of them with his magic.

Now, they were both their own people... and, it was comforting to see. Raj was independent, strong, dependable, and hard working. He was one of the best earth mages they had working in the rescue division.

Mel, well, she was a prodigy...

Bo hadn't seen another healer with her capacity or her potential. And it would be simple if he could leave it at that, as only a business relationship.

He suppressed a sigh.

He wished things didn't have to be so complicated. He wished he'd met Mel sixty years ago, when he hadn't already loved and lost so much. He was committed to keeping his heart open to loving his friends, over and over, even as they aged without him.

But anything more than that...

Gods. He didn't think his heart could take it.

He wished he was stronger than that, but he wasn't.

Bo looked back up, flashing Mel a small smile when their eyes met once again, but this smile was sadder. She was sensitive to that, though, and her own smile waned with concern.

Neither of them said a word as she searched his eyes for an answer. He offered another sad smile, this one smaller than the last.

Letting out a sigh, Mel turned down to the project in her hands, then lifted it up for Bo to see. It was a small, child-sized winter hat with ear-flaps and wolf-like cloth ears sewn on top. Immediately, Bo knew that she's made it for Finn.

His heart softened, endeared at Mel's thoughtfulness, knowing Finn was going to love that hat to death.

"It looks perfect," he mouthed.

Just like her.

"How about this one?" Alan asked, pulling out a sunflower sundress from the hanger. He daintily rifled his hand across the fabric, glancing between his doll of a girlfriend and the dress he picked. "Flowery and floral."

Lara tilted her head to the side, humming as she reached out, feeling the fabric.

"Ohhh," she said. "It is soft. But I have a feeling it might cut a little lower than most of the things I usually wear."

She gestured to the swooping neckline. "I don't have nearly enough of a chest for this," she said with a slightly shy smile.

Well, that was certainly one thing Alan didn't really have a gauge for.

"I'm sure you'd look beautiful in it," he said anyways with a smile, leaning in to gingerly peck the tip of her nose. "You always do, in anything you wear."

Lara's cheeks reddened as she leaned into the touch with a small smile.

"I don't think I have quite that much confidence," she said. "But if you really like it..."

Smile lingering, Alan tilted his head to examine the dress some more, noting the vibrant summery colors that contrasted against the black of the dress. The craftsmanship involved in seamlessly patching the assorted sunflowers against the silky fabric was impressive. He faintly shrugged, offering the dress to her anyways. "At the very least," he said softly with a smile, "you could wear this just for me. It's up to you, my love."

Lara held the dress for a moment, looking down at the dress, then up at Alan with a thoughtful, but affectionate gaze. She gestured to the curtained dressing room that was set up by the Sommers' booth. It was tucked away behind their stand, so it wasn't in the middle of the busy market.

"I could go try it on?" she suggested, glancing back at Teagan, who'd glanced their way while Oscar dealt with a customer.

Alan followed her gaze. It was a valid suggestion, but this was also a low-cut dress, which seemed like something she ought to not wear in the public's eye.

"Good idea," he said anyways with a smile, offering the dress. "I'll stand by."

Lara nodded, quickly exchanging a word with Teagan to ask if the dressing room was open. Cheerfully, Teagan smiled and nodded, waving her over and encouraging her to go try on the dress if she wanted. With a shy smile, she nodded in turn and went in to try it on.

As promised, Alan stood by the curtain booth, idly taking in his surroundings as he waited for her to finish. The shop was not particularly busy; Teagan was folding clothes and Oscar was counting coins by the register. Alan was keenly aware of the booth behind him, with only thin fabric walls separating Lara from the rest of the world.

Other people attending the festival had strolled by, merely passing through. For a fleeting second, Alan felt like he was invisible, watching as one passerby waved for Teagan's attention. For at least a few minutes, both shop owners truly wouldn't be paying him any mind.

Absently, he turned his head over his shoulder, fingertips brushing against the thin cloth. "Lara, darling," he softly called through the crack of the curtain. "Do you mind if I step in?"

There was shuffling on the other side. "Oh -- sorry, I'm not dressed yet!" she said.

"Can I step in after you put on the dress?" he asked instead.

More shuffling. "Sure," she said. "I think I'll need help buttoning the back..."

Alan glanced back at the shop owners, confirming that they were still busy. "Alright. I'm coming in," he announced, quietly and seamlessly slipping through the curtains to join his lover.

Lara stood at the back of the dimly-lit booth, arms spread across her chest to securely hold the front of the dress. Shyly, she angled her back towards him, displaying her open back. There was a wide gap where the back of the collar needed to be buttoned together.

"I can't bend my arms back like that," she said with a faint laugh.

With an assuring smile, he stepped up and caressed her shoulders, moving in slowly to gently tug the corners of the back part of the dress together. "You've asked the right person to help. Hold still," he instructed.

With a quiet focus, he wordlessly looped each button through the corresponding hole. It only took ten, fifteen seconds. When finished, he gently patted down the back of her dress, smoothing the soft fabric.

Lara hesitated before turning around, her adorably nervous, bashful expression ever-present in her expression as she peeped over her shoulder. Her arms had not moved positions, still held over her chest.

"I don't know if I could wear this anywhere," she murmured, sounding bashful and embarrassed.

She truly was the most beautiful woman in the world.

With deep affection, Alan ruffled his fingertips through her dark brunette hair, daintily pushing a strand behind her ear. "Luckily for you," he softly whispered in her ear, "you're not just anywhere. You're here with me."

Lara's cheeks reddened again, and her gaze flicked to her feet. Hesitantly, she lowered her arms away from her chest and stood even stiffer, like she didn't know what to do with herself.

"It fits," she said with a shy smile.

Alan gently swept her hair over her shoulder, holding eye contact with her, absorbing the depths of her blue eyes that starkly contrasted against the yellow of the dress. He cupped the side of her face, thumb brushing against the edge of her lip.

Lara was shy. She was sweet, beautiful, soft. A gentle, quiet soul that entwined with his so that they could create art. Music. Life.

Even so, she didn't know what to do with herself. But that was because they needed each other to determine purpose and destiny. She needed reminders to remember the beautiful, magnificent, lovely person she was and will be.

"I told you that you're beautiful no matter what you wear," he whispered, leaning in until their lips brushed against one another.

Closing his eyes, Alan lost himself to the moment and kissed her deeply and passionately, inserting every bit of love he had through this connection. Lara kissed in return, gently wrapping her arms around his waist. He did the same, placing one hand on her hip, the other still holding her face.

Was the dress too low? Maybe. Though she could be wearing nothing right now, and it made no difference to him. Admittedly, he was much more allured by the thought of kissing in a forbidden place. He hadn't done that with her before.

In fact, it had been a while since he did anything this spontaneous with Lara. She was usually more reserved and averse to risk. Alan didn't particularly mind that, especially because he wouldn't dare do anything that would make her uncomfortable.

And so they had been moving slow. At least, slower than others he knew about. He was perfectly fine with that. So was Lara.

But their two year anniversary was coming up. They were going to get married. Move in together. Have kids, eventually. Build a family. Live life together.

So naturally, they would have more time alone. More time to be together. More time to love. To make love. To be in love.

And so Alan pulled his love closer, hand placed against the back of her head, his other hand pressing firmly against her back so the gap between them would be diminished. So that he could adore her, kiss her, love her.

But then Lara suddenly pulled away, flustered and out of breath.

"We shouldn't--" she said in a hushed voice with a nervous laugh. "We're in a dressing room! I'm wearing a dress we haven't even bought yet."

With a huff, she patted her dress down, nervously regaining her lost composure. "I should change back into my clothes."

Quick to react, Alan securely held on to her shoulders, grounding her. "Lara, we're okay. I'm sorry, that was too much," he assured gently, trying to meet her eyes. "It's alright. I only wanted to kiss you. That's all."

Biting her lower lip, Lara nodded. The relaxed look she conveyed was one he knew well: she believed him wholeheartedly. Relieved, she let out a small sigh and rested her forehead against his shoulder. He combed his fingers through her hair, giving her a moment to collect herself and rest.

"Sorry," she said softly. "I don't know why I freaked out."

"There's no need to apologize, Lara," he said, more compassionate. "We'll have a lifetime of kisses. Next time, it will be somewhere a little more scenic. I promise."

Lara huffed. "Thank you, Alan," she said, wrapping her arms around him for a hug.

Alan hugged her back, smooching the top of her head. "Of course, love."

"Now, I really should change," she said. "Before anyone thinks... well, I don't know."

He faintly chuckled, pulling away. "Sure. I'll step outside. Take your time."

And so he slipped away, quietly pulling back the curtains and sighing. That was that.

Hesitantly, and admittedly with a strangely raising heart rate, Alan casually turned around, scanning the area of the shop again. As expected... no one seemed to notice.

Except for Oscar, who turned away when they caught each other's gaze. Alan had visited the shop enough to know that him frowning was not out of the ordinary, but this one seemed to be even more... disapproving. Disapproving, judgmental, and critical.

Alan was just as quick to turn away, crossing his arms and paying him no mind.

At least he wasn't invisible.

Cyrin snatched up a bread roll as they entered Flora's living room, already hearing the soft sound of Bo's snoring. A look around told them he wasn't the only one passed out: Finn had dozed off on the couch, his head resting on Mel's lap, and Magnus had curled up onto a chair, eyes peacefully closed.

Mel was the only one awake, and she was quietly sewing together a suit piece: one Cyrin knew was for someone going to the festival masquerade at the end of the week, but it was unclear who it was for. She looked up and met their eyes with a small smile, glancing over at Bo with a small nod.

"He just dozed off," she said softly. "You can wake him."

Bo looked like he'd fallen asleep mid-thought. He was leaned back into the couch with his head hanging back and his mouth partially open.

"Are you sure?" Cyrin asked, though they knew Bo got plenty of sleep. Probably because he took so many naps.

Mel huffed lightly through her nose, pointing at Bo with her sewing needle. "It'll stop the snoring," she joked.

Cyrin smiled gently, stepping over sketches of lightning werewolves that were scattered on the floor to move over to Bo's side of the couch, before tapping him gently on the shoulder a couple of times.

"Hey there, big guy," he said affectionately. "I'm here to collect Magnus."

Bo jolted slightly, and his snoring stopped abruptly as his mouth shut and his eye fluttered open. Bo blearily looked up at him, but already seemed to be caught up to speed the moment he saw Cyrin. He reached out, patting Cyrin's arm with a faint hum of agreement.

"Child collection," he murmured. "Yes."

Then he looked over at Magnus, who was still snoozing on the chair.

"You may have to wait," Bo said. "You wouldn't interrupt an angel's rest."

"I wouldn't dare," Cyrin agreed. "He's too adorable."

"Gee, I think it runs in the family," Bo said with a little smirk. He pointed at the loaf of bread in Cyrin's hand. "You try it?"

Cyrin raised a finger, biting off a chunk and chewing. It was no longer very warm, but unquestionably good and fresh bread.

"Another winning loaf," he confirmed after swallowing.

Bo clenched his fist in victory. "Yes," he said quietly, then patted the space on the couch beside him.

Smirking, Cyrin sat down next to him, tearing off another piece of the bread.

"And how were the angels?" they asked, glancing at Magnus and Finn.

"Well, Finn had about an hour of endless energy, crashed, and Magnus followed soon after," Bo said. "Prior to that, though, we had quite an enlighting conversation on the different types of magics and the potential consequences of immortality."

A beat.

"The latter half was more with Magnus, though," Bo said. "Finn mostly chimed in to remind us that he's going to be the coolest mage out there. Obviously."

Cyrin huffed softly with laughter.

"It's been a topic of curiosity for him," he said. "Not an encouraged topic at home, though. It's good he's getting his answers elsewhere."

"Probably for the best he doesn't ask them at home," Bo murmured, looking at Magnus with more weight.

"Agreed," Cyrin said, following his gaze.

It wasn't like everyone in that house was a bad idea to ask. He could answer these things. So could Allison, to some extent. Everyone else, though... He didn't want Magnus learning too much from them.

"He's a smart boy," Bo said, softer. "Absorbs things like a sponge."

Cyrin nodded, a little more solemnly.

"Maybe too well," he said, also quietly.

Bo hummed faintly, a hint of sadness in his eye. He turned to look back at Cyrin, offering a small, if sad, smile.

"How was your morning?" he asked gently.

"Pleasant," Cyrin said, crossing one leg over the other. "I found Lyall at the market, and we bought too many things. You know how it goes. You look at one pair of pants, and suddenly you've bought a candle, jam, earrings, and a scarf that you know you're never going to wear because it will never get that cold out here. It's a terrifyingly effective market."

"They pull you in," Bo said with a nod. "What always gets me is the shiny things..."

He reached out in front of him, like he was grabbing something in the air, rubbing something invisible between his hands.

"I just like shiny things, you know?" Bo said. "A good spoon. A rock. A knife even, if it's pretty."

"I have so many pretty knives," Cyrin said. "It's an addiction."

"And you are so right for that," Bo said, patting Cyrin's shoulder.

Mel let out a huff of amusement, not looking up from her sewing.

"Now if only you could go shopping with him and convince him to get different clothes," Mel murmured quietly.

"What's wrong with my clothes?" Bo asked, gesturing down at his all-black-and-grey-as-usual garb.

Mel looked up and met Cyrin's eyes with a flat look that said more than any words could. Bo wore, essentially, the same thing every day, just in a slightly different shade.

"Well, with variety being the spice of life," Cyrin said, "your wardrobe could use a little more flavor. Because right now it's looking rather salt-and-pepper plain."

"I have been accused of being boring," Bo said. "I can't believe it."

"Hey, you're not boring," Cyrin said. "Which is why you should have not-boring clothes."

"Maybe I should get a very tall hat," Bo suggested, clearly looking to Mel for a reaction: and he got one. She rolled her eyes.

He smirked.

"Or what if I started wearing a fake beard," Bo said. "Over my real beard."

"I think neither of those address the real issue here," Cyrin said.

"I will upgrade from gray," Bo said. "To slightly lighter gray."

"Wow," Cyrin drawled. "How the tables turn."

"Or maybe I'll just send you out with money to find me an outfit because I hate clothes shopping," Bo suggested.

"You're hard to shop for," Mel murmured.

"Not my fault they don't make clothes for tall people," Bo said.

Mel waved a hand at him dismissively.

"One day I'll wear a color and you'll all be sorry," Bo said, but then turned to Cyrin and clasped his hands together, like he was done talking clothes now. "Anyways. We were talking about your shopping spree. How was time with Lyall?"

"Very nice," Cyrin said with a bit of a smile. "He left more fashionable than he arrived, which is saying something."

Bo squinted, and Cyrin had a feeling that Bo's understanding of what that meant was not the same as Cyrin's.

"Mm," Bo hummed. "Yes. And you left..."

Bo gestured to Cyrin. "Less... wealthy?"

"Yes," Cyrin said. "My wallet is substantially lighter."

"Did Lyall seem like he was doing alright?" Bo asked.

Cyrin nodded. "I believe so. I hadn't seen him for a few days now, but he seemed well."

Bo nodded. "What about you?"

Cyrin paused for a moment as he glanced back at Magnus.

"Oh, you know," he said, with a bit of a chuckle. "Holding the family together at day, taking down the Blue Suns at night."

Bo smiled faintly at that, also casting at glance at Cyrin's sleeping brother.

"You wanna step into the kitchen?" Bo asked. "There's more snacks in there."

Cyrin nodded, realizing what he meant by that. There was more privacy there.

"Sure," he said.

Bo nodded, getting up and exchanging a quick look with Mel, who merely nodded as he stepped out of the living room and out into the kitchen. Bo went in by the kitchen counter, leaning by the kitchen sink as he reached over and plucked an oatmeal cookie off a plate and took a bite.

"Sorry," he said with a small shrug through chews. "I should've waited to ask."

Cyrin shook his head with a faint smile, reaching for a cookie as well, but not biting into it just yet. "It's okay. He's still sleeping."

"Sounds like things are still pretty much the same at home?" Bo asked.

Cyrin hummed, noticing some of the levity fading from the conversation. They looked down at the cookie in their head.

"There's little new," they said. "We're all stuck in our ways at this point."

Bo seemed further saddened by that as he looked down at the floor.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said softly.

Cyrin shrugged, a little helplessly.

"There's not much to do anymore," they said. "I might have to just wait it out, hope things calm down. We seem to go through phases. Maybe we're just in the phase of a hard one."

It wasn't quite true, though. While the tensions felt a little more bare and exposed currently, they were never gone. And there was never a time of year where Casper's lip didn't curl back into a contemptful glare for him or his father didn't look at him with disappointed coldness.

"I know more pressure falls on you, being one of the oldest," Bo said, softer. "How are you managing?"

Cyrin let out a quiet sigh.

"I've not been trusted with very much, actually," they said. "Absences become unreliability."

"Has that been hard for you? Being away, more often?" Bo asked gently.

"No," Cyrin answered honestly. "It can actually be a respite. It's just..."

He swept his fingers back through his hair, gesturing helplessly.

"The more I go away, the less pleasant it is to go back," he said. "And the more I want to leave again, as a result."

Bo nodded with understanding.

"You don't spend much time at home at all, anymore, do you?" he asked.

Cyrin pressed his lips together, shaking his head.

That was all there was to say, really.

"I'm sorry," Bo said, softer.

Cyrin had half a mind to push away the sympathy. Instead, he let out another sigh, allowing his shoulders to sink tiredly. Bo opened his arms, offering a hug.

Cyrin gave in, moving towards him and accepting the hug, throwing his arms around Bo's back. He let himself take a few deep breaths, fighting back the sudden ache in his chest.

Bo hugged Cyrin tightly, pulling them in and gently puting his hand behind Cyrin's head.

"I wish I'd come back sooner," Bo whispered softly. "I'm sorry you've been bearing so much of this alone."

Cyrin let his forehead fall weakly on Bo's shoulder.

"I'm just glad you're here now," they murmured.

Silence for a moment. Then--

"Did Bo make more cookies?" Finn asked loudly from the living room.

Magnus yawned. "I don't know. I think I smell them?"

Bo sighed, pulling away slowly from Cyrin with a sad smile.

"If you need anything," Bo said. "You know where to find me."

Cyrin managed a faint smile in return. "That I do."