Young Writers Society

Melting into an entirely incoherent pile of mushy brains and flesh on top of a wide array of folklore books, Lyall tried rubbing away a migraine-level headache from his temples with a soft groan. He barely had the capacity to think of how much he hated this island, nevermind take in new information about literal cannibals.

Oh gods, actual cannibals. What the hell was wrong with the DMV?

According to a staggering majority of these texts, Lyall had evidently not been nearly as frightened as he should have been the night prior. No wonder poor Cyrin broke down...

How long had he said he'd known? James told Cyrin... just the day before yesterday? Right? How long had James known? Why hadn't he told more people about something that posed a serious threat to literally everybody here? Did he only have an unfortunate run-in with an escaped creature, or was this yet another highly-orchestrated, long-term situation?

These questions, among hundreds of others, spun at dizzying speeds through his mind. He wanted to ask more about it last night, but he couldn't in good conscience press Cyrin for answers. Regardless of the fact that they were willing to provide them.

Alright. James knew first. As far as Lyall could tell anyway. The implications, then, were thus, in no particular order:

1) James indeed had a run-in with such a beast, and there was no reason under this sun for him to have not left the encounter at the very least shaken to his very core;

2) he hadn't told as many people yet due to being so frazzled, or alternatively--

3) he hadn't told as many people yet because he was determined to face the threat alone, which would be a severely...disappointing alternative;

4) the monster was a confirmed being of sentience-- cunning, even, which was far more terrifying--

Lyall shook his head. He reached for his coffee mug-- but, mentally compromised as he was, misjudged the distance. Hissing out a frustrated curse, he hastily gathered the books to keep from getting spilled on.

Without a word, Cyrin drew over a roll of paper towels, tore one off, and slapped it down on the counter stain without looking up from their own book they were intently reading.

With a quiet sigh, Lyall picked up the soaked paper towel and wrung it out over his mug. Then dropped it back in the coffee puddle to rinse and repeat, until it was sufficiently sopped up.

Pull yourself together, he thought sternly at himself.

Now that this was a very real threat to everyone the island, they needed a plan, proper defenses. Potentially offensive moves, if this was a relentlessly aggresive creature. Fire was a solid option. According to Cyrin, and then confirmed when Lyall managed to step in.

Lyall had never been so confident in his own abilities to wield magic. In fact, he'd staunchly avoided its use, fearing the worst. Having experienced a misfortune due to negligence. Now, as it turned out, it was their best defense. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Maybe he'd need to meet up with Mel about that, ahm... What did she call it? Suit. Thing. Sooner, rather than later.

No, wait. He had to check in with James, first and foremost. This new monster issue, piled onto... actual torture, apparently, as well as so many years of trauma and sleep-deprivation prior to the island, had to be taking an immense toll on the man's sanity.

Glancing up from the newly-dried counter, Lyall studied Cyrin beside him. Their expression was somehow unfocused and extremely intent at the same time, and their knuckles were white from how they were pinching the page they were on.

Lyall's first instinct was to reach for their hand, try to soften their grip.

He rested his hand on Cyrin's arm instead, and their gaze flicked up to him questioningly.

"I got this," Lyall said gently. "You really should try to rest."

"I can't," Cyrin said softly. "You know that."

With a small, sad sigh, Lyall nodded. Yes, he supposed he did know suggesting as much would be futile. There was no reason for them to feel truly safe until the threat had been dealt with. However that looked.

Withdrawing, Lyall offered Cyrin a small, reassuring smile-- hopefully it was far more confident than he felt-- before taking his mug of counter-coffee to dump in the sink. As he washed it and a few other lingering dirty dishes, he jumped slightly when Kaya practically snuck up on him to slide her hands over his shoulders.

"Why won't you sleep either?" she asked softly in Sweede, resting her chin on his shoulder.

"I'll nap later," Lyall lied, but knew she couldn't be fooled.

Kaya wrapped her arms around him to hug him close from behind. "You're not invincible," she gently reminded him.

Of course. Logically, he knew this. And he wasn't trying to be.

"Can I help somehow?" she asked, standing on her toes to press her cheek against his.

Turning his head, he softly kissed the corner of her lips. "I have this handled," he promised her.

She didn't argue. Just sighed and deflated tiredly against his back. "Alone?" she quietly pressed, worry in her voice.

"I'll call on some friends for help," he answered honestly. He mentally reviewed this list for the umpteenth time.

They let silence settle over them. A little heavily, with the weight of an entirely unexpected threat now looming.

Lyall finished cleaning up the sink, then slowly twisted around in Kaya's grasp so that he could hug her back.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, switching to Common now, "that this was how you're welcomed to the place. Not a very warm reception..."

Kaya smiled gently at him. "I'm okay," she tried assuring him now. She rested her hands over his heart. "If anyone can handle this, it's you."

He managed a grin, despite the reminder of the immense new task ahead of him. "Right," he said with some bravado, "of course. 'Tis but another in a long line of minor inconveniences."

He did have a vague plan forming. Once he had officially reached out and hopefully made alliances, he'd have a few other brains to meld with. Consult those with differing perspectives, so they could discover other viable paths forward that he couldn't see himself.

He was just. Tired at the mere thought of coordinating it to begin with. And not just because of the lack of sleep.

On the counter by the books, his phone vibrated. Alerting him to a text message. Reaching back, Kaya grabbed it and held the screen up for him.

"Vik's awake," she said with a slightly easier smile.

Leaning back, Lyall squinted at the words. The screen's light felt harsh on his eyes.

"He has Alan," he murmured blankly.

Alan? Since when?

Why. Why was he with Vik, and not here? Or. With the Alvaros?

Lyall looked up to Cyrin and repeated aloud, "Alan's on his way back."

Cyrin perked up at that. "He is?" he asked hopefully, then looked nervous. "Oh, shit. He's on his way back."

Lyall blinked.

Oh. Shite.

"What..." Lyall glanced at the stairwell. "What do we tell him?"

The truth. Would be the best route. Obviously.

"...When--" But Lyall stopped himself short. That was a stupid question too.

"What?" Cyrin asked with a frown.

"Would," Lyall slowly tried again, "you like for me to explain?"

Cyrin hesitated.

"Maybe," he said. "But I could... jump in, at parts, if needed."

"Alright," Lyall concluded, flashing them a small grin, "I'll take point then."

Cyrin managed to smile back, just barely.

Kaya patted Lyall's chest with both hands, before slipping out of his grasp. "And I'm going to get changed before they get here."

"And do hurry back, my love!" Lyall playfully called after her. "Tis a cold world, an unfeeling place outside of your warm embrace!"

Giggling quietly, she just waved him off as she disappeared upstairs.

His own lightness fading a bit again once she was out of sight, Lyall sighed as he looked down at himself. He ought to get changed too, but he couldn't fathom battling gravity to go upstairs just yet.

And, he hadn't wanted to leave Cyrin. They were... "Recovered" wasn't quite the word. Improved? Marginally. Enough to function. But Lyall still worried.



They must have ran or something, because it really didn't take long at all after the text for Vik and Alan to make it back.

Taking himself and Cyrin into account once more, Lyall nodded as he decided, yes. They were both a right mess.

Alan, from the moment he stepped in the door, was another, different kind of chaos of his own this morning. His hair was the most disheveled it'd ever been so far, he did not have his glasses (a blessing at the moment, Lyall decided), his clothes were entirely different from his usual wardrobe (colours! plus black), and he had an unfamiliar food container and set of pajamas stacked in his hands.

They all certainly had... times. But Alan was so damn chipper, that Lyall had a hard time gauging how rough it was, and for how long after he fled the cabins.

"Well, good morning, sunshine. Look who I ran into this morning," Alan greeted with a smile, playfully elbowing Vik's side.

Viktor waved. "Hey, brother! Kaya! Mister Cyrin! I was Alan's guide."

"Hey, Vik," Cyrin greeted, with what enthusiasm they could muster. "Welcome to our humble abode."

Seemingly unphased by the mess of the cabin, Alan set his belongings on the kitchen counter, glancing with everyone with a squint until he landed on Kaya. He beamed, quick to close the gap between them.

"You must be the lovely Kaya," he said with an embrace, wrapping his arms around her to give her a quick hug before pulling away with a warm smile. "It's so nice to finally meet you! Lyall has told me so much about you. Only good things, of course."

With an awkward laugh, Kaya managed to quickly return the embrace before he withdrew. "Same with you!" she said. "I heard you weren't feeling well yesterday?"

Alan nodded, big smile fading into a smaller one. "That's right, but I'm feeling a lot better now. Sorry I missed you all yesterday. I... missed a lot, apparently."

"Oh!" Kaya smiled apologetically. "No, sorry. It-- It's fine, you couldn't help it."

Glancing between Lyall and Cyrin, Vik's excitement faded a bit with concern. Clever wanker that he was, he was quickly catching onto the offness of... things. He fixed his eyes on Lyall, brows raised in questioning.

Lyall just winced as he frantically scrounged up what reasonable explanations he could without sending things into a panic.

"I know I just got here, but I'm still feeling a tiny bit under the weather, so I'm going to freshen up upstairs for a little bit. I'll be back in... maybe half an hour?" Alan suddenly announced placatingly to everyone in the room. "Does that sound good?"

"Ahm," Lyall answered haltingly, "sure! Sure, however long you need."

"Yeah," Cyrin agreed, equally hesitant. "See you then."

"Alright, see you in a bit," Alan said with a smile, giving them all a loose wave goodbye before disappearing up the stairs.

It was great to see Lyall. It was great to see Kaya, and Cyrin, and Vik. But honestly, Alan didn't really see them.

He was fucking blind, and it was starting to give him a headache. Where were his glasses? They had to be around his room, somewhere...

Alan stood by the doorway of his room, squinting at the familiar blurs. It wasn't like he was the tidiest person ever, but the state of this room was... a mess, to say the least.

Okay. Okay, they were probably here. Somewhere. He just had to look for it.

He first rummaged his hand above the nightstand, then stomped his hands over the bed covers, then his desk, then briskly searched his desk, then--

Crunch.

Alan winced with pain, pulling back his foot. Something... stabbed him. And he stared at it for far too long, trying to decipher what he just stepped on. Something sharp. Crunchy. Painful. Invisible.

Goddammit, he stepped on glass, didn't he? There was glass in his room? Why? No, that didn't matter. It didn't matter that this was the second time this happened to him. He should get cleaned up.

Biting back a groan, Alan hobbled to to bathroom with quiet steps, not wanting to bring more attention to himself. The four of them were weirdly all so quiet, waiting for him to say some kind of explanation, but Alan was far too tired to give them one. Especially since he didn't have any answer himself.

He closed the bathroom door behind him, squinting in the blurry blindness, so tired of only seeing blobs of color. And one of those blobs were a crimson red trail he left behind in his wake.

He should... clean that. But first, he had to get this damn shard off him.

Tweezers, tweezers... Where were the tweezers? Did they even have any? Fuck, he couldn't see anything. Alright. He could just use his hands.

Alan hopped to the sink, grunting as he stretched his foot up to the sink, squinting down at it. For maybe far too long.

This was going to go terribly, but he could deal with it.

Well. This interaction was, in a word, abrupt in its entirety.

Once Alan was well out of earshot--

"Guys," Vik piped up softly, turning a worried look back to Cyrin in particular, "you good?"

Cyrin flicked his gaze to Lyall uncertainly, as if to say, How do we answer that?

Suppressing a sigh, Lyall glanced over his shoulder to the stairs. "We..."

Shite, stop hesitating. Lyall drew in a steadying breath. Time to start pulling everyone into the loop. This was an incredible matter of safety. Vik needed to know.

"Last night was rough," Lyall started honestly, wincing again when his brother's expression completely fell with worry. "Evidently, a monster found its way onto the island. It attacked late in the evening." He glanced hesitantly Cyrin's way. "It's... still at large. But we're not completely defenseless against it--"

"Well, that's heartening," Vik replied, a little flatly.

Lyall huffed a wry laugh. "It's... Yeah, well, it's a work in progress, alright?"

Viktor hummed quietly. "Is it, like... troll-level dangerous?"

Ugh. Lyall wished.

"It's... a tougher pest to beat than that," Lyall admitted.

Viktor scrunched his nose a little. Looking back to Cyrin, he quietly asked again, "So, are you all okay? What happened during the attack? Anyone get hurt?"

Cyrin hesitated for a long time. A really long time, given that the answer wasn't secretive information.

"Just..." he started. "The person who was in monster form did."

Vik's brows furrowed. "'Person'...?"

"A wendigo," Lyall clarified in a murmur. "Have you...?"

Viktor shook his head. "Not familiar, no."

Ah... That was alright then, Lyall could start at the begi--

"It's a cannibalistic monster," Cyrin explained, in a solemn tone. "Not just carnivorous-- every wendigo is also a person. They're driven by hunger and bloodthirst, and when it gets too much for them, they'll shift into a monster. It looks... It doesn't look quite like anything else. Very skeletal, very thin, almost starved-looking, with antlers and sharp claws and teeth. They can spread their condition to others-- which was probably why it was here."

Viktor scrunched his nose again, with more distaste than anything. "Like... a vampire? Dude, that's nasty." Then let out a breath through his nose, visibly troubled. "It came inside? And you had to fight it off? ...You know, this is probably why Hild insisted on walking back with me."

"I did," Cyrin said quietly. "It... wasn't fun."

Vik's expression softened further. "God, I'm sorry, man," he murmured.

Lyall could only blink, hoping for a moment he was simply drawing a wrong conclusion here. "I'm sorry," he said slowly, "our sister... knows already?"

Vik lifted both hands placatingly. "I-- It's okay!" he hastily offered in their sister's defense. "I think she was trying to keep me from freaking out. Just said there was some rabid animal on the loose, and that she wanted to make sure I got back safe." He shrugged. "Same difference, right?"

No. Not really. Not in the slightest bit.

Lyall pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to calmly remind himself: This wendigo situation was still new, as of yesterday. No, the day before. New either way.

Cyrin and James, the first two to be directly affected by it, were likely still reeling from it. They were in survival mode. One can only do so much in such a state.

But Hild...? Fine. Okay. She wasn't trained to methodically respond to emergency situations, nevermind monster situations.

But, gods, phones existed! Tell someone!

He made a mental note to text her about this, assuming they didn't run into each other first.

No wait, Lyall had to bring Alan into this loop while be was here. He couldn't in his right mind let the musician run around the island, completely blind to the fact that there was--

Oh. Shite, Alan arrived without glasses. Shane probably still had them.

Lyall took out his phone and skimmed his contacts. No, wait. Pocketing it again, he slowly ran his hands over his hair as he bowed his head. One thing at a time.

"Wendigos are weak to fire," he eventually started again.

Immediately, Vik brightened with a hopeful smile. Lyall felt his own tension melt somewhat with affection for his brother, and felt emboldened with the younger man's silent yet radiant confidence in him.

...Okay. Yes, this was doable. One solid line of defense thus far. Lyall could do this for his family, his friends.

"I'm going to pull as many people into the know as I can," he went on, more self-assured. "Starting with Alan."

He looked back to Cyrin, then his beloved Kaya. Feeling still as though he couldn't simply... leave them.

Oh, ugh... And of course! Of course this would all come up the one week he had with Kaya! Go figure. He wasn't even allowed this short time to invest entirely in the love of his life, whom he missed the past weeks with every fibre of his being.

Gently, he asked, "How are you two holding up? Will you be alright if I stepped out for a bit?"

Perched at the kitchen island with a coffee in hand, Kaya smiled softly and nodded. "I'm okay. Let me know what I can do to help."

"I'm alright too," Cyrin added, albeit softly. "Go find him."

Lyall nodded.

He still felt bad. But he'd be back as soon as he could. He wasn't leaving them for the entire day. He'd be back.

As he bounded up the stairs, Lyall pulled up the messaging app again, and shot off a quick text to Shane.

Lyall wrote:The Alan has returned. He seems alright. I think. Do you perchance have his glasses? He arrived blind as a mole.

And, coming in hot with the fastest text reply known to man was...

Karaoke King (S. Hawking) wrote:I've got them. Should I bring them over?

Lyall wrote:Please do! Don't even bother knocking. Thank you. :)

Karaoke King (S. Hawking) wrote:On my way :)

Perfect. Alan's vision: en route.

A fresh splatter of red on the floor of the hallway past the device in his hand caught his eye. Lyall froze, alarmed, following what turned out to be a small trail with his eyes all the way to Alan's bedroom. Whirling around, it lead into the restroom.

Backtracking, Lyall urgently tapped his knuckles on the wall, keeping his gaze fixed on the red staining the floor since the door was slightly ajat. "Alan?"

There was shuffling from the other side, and a few seconds later, Alan opened the door fully, leaning his arm against the edge.

"Hey, Lyall," Alan greeted casually with a small smile and a squint. "What's up?"

Uh oh.

Lyall managed a light grin as he calmly replied, "Hey, everything okay?"

"Yeah," Alan said with a nod, hesitantly looking down at his feet. "Yeah." He paused. "It's fine. I think I stepped on glass."

Right. Yes. Because they... neglected to clean any of the upper floor after each disaster. That was next on his to-do list. Or. Somewhere on his to-do list.

Lyall leaned a shoulder on the side of the doorway opposite to Alan. "How about I take a quick look at that?"

Alan paused, and the expression of his face clearly told Lyall that he did not want help. But after a brief hesitation, Alan opened the door wider for him, broadly gesturing for him to come in.

"Sure, yeah. But only because you're my friend," he said with a weary smile.

Grinning back, Lyall ducked inside with a pleasant, "Well, I thank you kindly, friend."

He was partly glad that Alan was basically blind at the moment. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he grimaced at the checked luggage-sized bags under his eyes.

"Have a seat," he invited easily, gesturing to the toilet as he poked around under the sink for the first-aid kit he'd stashed away.

Alan quietly sat down on top of the toilet seat, extending one foot out as he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, watching Lyall rummage through the cabinet.

"I'm surprised you're awake at this hour," he said. "It's a pleasant surprise, of course. But a surprise nonetheless."

"I'm back on a work schedule," Lyall half-joked.

Dragging over the rubbish bin under the counter, he sat cross-legged in front of his friend, and propped up Alan's foot on the lid.

"Staff told us they had a healer," Lyall said as he tilted his head to examine the slice. Then winced.

Yeah, that... He put his full weight on that.

Alan slightly pinched his brows together, straightening up. "They do?"

Lyall looked up in concern while he deftly wiped off the red and pressed a clean washcloth to it. "...Did they not heal you?"

"Oh." Alan let out a faint laugh as he sat back against the toilet seat, idly wiping his knee with his palm. "Right. Yes. That's what you meant. I was healed, yeah. It actually wasn't clear to me if she was staff, but that is a fair assumption. It's good to know in case anyone gets hurt."

"Yes, good to know," Lyall absently agreed. He looked back to the cut. "...Have you washed up yet? I won't cover it if you've still yet to do so."

Alan shook his head. "That's a good idea. I haven't yet, since I've been trying to find my glasses first. Have you seen them anywhere, by chance?"

"Shane still has them," Lyall answered, trying to bite back an endeared laugh at Alan's logic. Or. Lack thereof. "I invited him over to deliver them."

"Oh... good," Alan said with a relieved sigh. "I thought maybe I lost them. I was mentally preparing to not have my sight for the rest of the summer."

Lyall had to let out an amused breath now. It was nice to genuinely smile, despite the current disaster on their hands.

"I'm sure it wouldn't have come to that," he murmured.

"Maybe they have an optometrist on the island," Alan mused out loud.

Seemed they had every obscure thing on this island.

...Maybe they even had a therapist. That'd be nice. If some of them didn't need one going into the DMV, then they'd all most certainly need one going back out.

"I'll let you get to it," Lyall decided to move on, patting Alan's foot before pushing himself upright again. "Give me a shout when you're ready, okay? I'll be close by."

Cleaning as much of the hall and rooms as he could, but he bit down the elaboration. Wanted to spare Alan the sense of obligation to help.

"Thanks, Lyall," Alan said with a smile, planting his feet on the ground to lift himself up. "I won't take too long, so I'll see you in a bit."

Casting him a grin he couldn't see, Lyall echoed, "See you," before closing the door behind himself.

Alright. Onto the next mess.

The floors was hardwood, which was a blessing. The blood washed up no problem.

After scrubbing all that up and picking up tainted remnants of broken things on the floor in Alan's room, Lyall peeled off the plastic gloves and tossed everything into a small trash bag. He was tempted to just. Burn it all. But that was a needlessly drastic measure, so he just tied it off and left it in the hall for now.

Then he swept up the glass and dust that remained, and began righting the knocked-askew furniture. Inevitably dwelling on how he himself caused this, which lead into mentally rehearsing a proper explanation and apology for it all.

During his seventh draft, Lyall began gathering scattered papers across the floor by the desk. The top-most sheets were littered with Alan's usual loose scrawl. If a bit messier than normal, actually. It looked mostly like sheet-music or work-in-progress lyrics. Out of courtesy, he thus stopped paying full attention to them as he tapped the gathered pages on the desk to align the edges.

While he was still on his knees on the floor, a few stray pages under the bed caught his eye. But, when he reached to grab them, he noted how one was not like the others. Only the corner of what looked like... a sketch was peeking out from under another lyrics set. Which didn't seem right. Alan was a horrible sketcher, so this had to be from someone else?

Picking them up, too curious to not look--

Lyall blanched.

So. Alan did find it.

...Fuck.

"Lyall?" Alan called by the doorway.

Keeping a steady hand, Lyall neatly folded up the fucking nude sketch of himself and pocketed it before standing. The other pages he swept up and dropped off on the desk.

"You were supposed to call for me," Lyall said, plastering on a breezy smile, "that way I could help you out there."

He faltered a bit when it occurred to him that it evidently had not occurred to Alan to bring a change of clothes into the restroom with himself. So here he stood in the doorway, wearing nothing but a towel.

Good gods. Lyall needed one normal thing today. Just one!

"I'm fine. Really. I can take care of myself," Alan said with a soft chuckle. He paused, hesitantly glancing around the room. "Did you... clean my room?"

"That I did," Lyall said. Picking up the dustpan and broom by the wall, he made his way to door. "Tread as recklessly as you please, now." He paused. "Short of breaking anything else, if you can help it."

"I'll try not to." Alan smiled softly, stepping in to get out of Lyall's way, but keeping his gaze on him. "Thanks, Lyall. I'll call for you in a few minutes."

Lyall blinked up at him. "Uh, alright."

If Alan took care of the cut himself, then why would he call for Lyall afterward?

"Of course!" Lyall managed a grin. "I'll stay close by, then." Then finally slipped out.

In the hallway once more, alone once Alan closed his door...

Lyall padded into the restroom, slipping the folded up paper from his back pocket.

Gods, the DMV was... so absurd and petty.

Setting his jaw, he crumpled the paper in his fist and set it ablaze. Then dropped it in the sink. He leaned his elbows heavily on the counter. It slowly blackened, turning to ash.

None of their lives mattered. They were just playthings to the Trieus. To be stepped on, humiliated. They'd gone so far as to actually threaten their lives now. First James in secret, now everyone with this new wendigo issue.

Someone had to bring the Trieus down.

Lyall was going to need another coffee first, though.

Lyall blinked out of his storm of heavy, bitter thoughts when he heard Alan's voice softly call his name. Straightening, he ran his hands through his hair and drew in a steadying breath.

Scene 15: Confession Time.

Just as he was about to step out, Alan appeared at in the doorway, poking his head in.

"Hey, there you are," he said with a smile, softly knocking even though he had already made himself known. "Mind if I come in?"

Aaaand action.

Lyall leaned on the wall by the door frame, smiling a little easier than he anticipated he would.

It really was so nice to have Alan back.

"You sure you want a chat in here?" he asked lightly. Though, he wasn't sure where else to offer since... the rest of the cabin was an utter mess.

Alan shrugged by the doorway, still with that same easygoing smile that made the mess of everything else feel distant. "It's up to you; it doesn't really matter to me." He softly hummed, idly poking at the ivy draping against the wall. "Though, it feels like it's been ages since I last dropped by here, doesn't it? Even though that was only a few days ago."

"Indeed." A true short eternity that was exhausting just to think about.

Grinning anwyway, Lyall swept an arm inward. "Step into my office," he said lightly.

"Yes, doctor," Alan teased, inviting himself in to plop himself on his desk chair, swiveling it around with his leg crossed and arms relaxed on the chair. "Now, tell me about your day."

Chuckling, Lyall slowly ambled in after, hands in his pockets. No, he will not be doing that in full. Not yet, it wasn't a priority.

As he pulled the armchair from the corner to the side of the desk, he quickly noted that Alan looked more like his usual self again, too. Hair neatly side-swept, clothes all light neutrals. The only missing component still was his set of glasses.

Shane was likely already here and downstairs with everyone else. With said glasses.

Down to brass tacks, then.

"I must first begin," Lyall said, slowly and trying not to sound too solemn, "with an apology. I believe-- My choices, for certain, during the last leg of the race directly impacted your mental state the morning that followed. Which directly led to you getting injured, and thus missing your family's arrival."

Once he started, it wasn't... easier, per se, but now he could work with this. He had to first swallow down the mess of emotions that threatened to spill over, though. He needed to remain composed for this.

"I was impulsive, and you suffered for it," he said more concisely, "and for that I am deeply regretful. I'm sorry."

Alan stared at him, the lighthearted smile fading as he felt the gravity of his words. Yet, he only managed to utter a soft, "Oh."

...Maybe this was too much at once.

"I--" Lyall sighed through his nose. "I don't need a response right away," he said, quieter. "I just. Needed to tell you."

"I... okay," Alan said with a nod, sitting upright with his hands on his lap.

Okay. Yup. One down, one more thing left to address--

"I'm not really sure I'm quite following this, but I'm not mad at you, Lyall," Alan went on, soft smile returning. "I really am doing okay, so there's no need to fret. I appreciate you telling me this, though. Really."

Ah. He'll... have to revisit this matter, then. Lyall didn't have time to go into full detail at the moment.

So he just nodded, absently accepting Alan's words, before forging ahead into:

"Something else you should know--"

How to say this in a... non-alarming way... Lyall scrunched his nose as he scrambled for the right words, the appropriate level of severity.

"A new problem arose," he said slowly, "with the upcoming week. There's a... monster. Loose on the island."

Alan stared at him, unblinking, still with the faint hint of the smile from his prior words. Processing. Hopefully.

"It's got a name," Lyall went on, turning his gaze down to his own folded hands. "A wendigo. So. It's a known thing. We can deal with it. It's just. We have to be vigilant until the threat is dealt with."

Alan slowly nodded. "Alright," he said slowly. "That's... good to know."

...This felt like a severe underreaction. Which felt. On par with an overreaction. Deeply worrying.

Hoping to gods that he was absorbing something, Lyall carefully went on, "Stay away from isolated areas, like. The jungle, the paths you and Hild usually take. Keep yourself and your family out in open spaces with other people, and a means of instant communication on hand. I'm not sure if this is a purely nocturnal creature, but it's consistently appeared in the evenings. So, perhaps try to avoid late-night or early morning excursions."

Lyall felt quite a bit like one of those monster and emergency alerts on the radio.

The only indication that Alan was still paying attention was the slow nodding as he spoke. Or. Maybe it was an indication that his brain had already checked out of the conversation.

"Uhm." Lyall scratched the back of his head. "At least keep your brother with you. I have his contact information, so..."

He didn't dare entertain the thought that something might befall the Alvaros. Anyone. He was holding out all hope that they could end this as quickly as possible.

"Right," Alan said with another nod, patting his hands against his lap a few times. "Does he know about this, ah... monster?"

Shit. He didn't.

"That's on my to-do list," Lyall said. "Letting him know, that is."

Letting everyone know.

Gods, how was Lyall going to do this? He had some of the contestants' numbers, but not everyone's. And what about the staff? He really didn't want to have to tell Alistair through text, but this was crucial information. Alistair-- everyone needed to be made aware sooner rather than later--

"Lyall," Alan cut in gently with an assuring smile. "It's alright. I can let Alistair know. He's not awake yet, but I plan on seeing him today. You don't have to worry about that."

Lyall nodded. "Right. Okay." Sitting straighter again, he let out a breath and tried smiling back. "Thank you."

"How are you doing, though? You sound stressed beyond belief," Alan said, concern finally washing into his voice and expression.

Huh. So, that, he was picking up on. Nice. Fabulous.

"I'm alright," he promised him. "I'm going to gather some friends to help, so I'm not going into this alone."

"Have you rested? You also sound so exhausted," Alan said more softly, gaze focused on him even though Lyall knew he couldn't see him very well.

Gods.

Lyall wanted to be honest. But if he stopped to openly acknowledge it, he feared he'd crumple under the weight of literally everything that had dogpiled on him in the past 24 hours. And he couldn't afford that.

"I got some sleep," he answered. Truthfully. He did sleep. Just.

"Some sleep," Alan repeated. "But not a lot. Is that right?"

Lyall huffed a wry laugh. "I'm okay," he insisted, lifting his hands in a placating gesture. "Really."

He couldn't dwell on this. He needed Alan to not dig into it right now.

So Lyall got to his feet and gestured an arm toward the door. "I believe I heard Shane's arrival a few moments ago. He has your glasses for you." He put on an easy grin, idly swinging his arms. "We shouldn't keep him waiting any longer."

Alan was quiet for a moment, but he lifted himself up from the chair, closing the gap between them so he could place a hand on his shoulder, offering a gentle smile. The smile became harder to maintain the closer he got, and Lyall wanted nothing more than to reach out and grab him in a hug.

He silently kept the mask steady.

"For some reason, I don't believe you when you say that you're okay," Alan said with an almost teasing voice. "I wonder why."

Lyall held back a resigned sigh.

"But you're right," Alan went on gently, patting his shoudler before pulling away. "I can go down to meet Shane. Though you, my friend, don't need to. Why don't you stay back and relax? I'll handle everyone downstairs. If you want, I can even say you helped me with my clumsy accident, so the focus is not on you. I don't really mind."

"No need," Lyall insisted with a dry grin. "I need another coffee, then I'm out and about for the day."

Alan huffed out a puff of air, bumping his shoulder against his with a sly grin. "Are you seriously making me contemplate being your coffee delivery man? Because I'll be your coffee delivery man."

Dropping his gaze down to their feet, Lyall huffed a quiet laugh. Some of the tension in his chest loosened a bit. "I'd normally accept this proposition. However, I haven't the appropriate currency with which to tip you for your services."

Alan hummed, tapping his chin before grinning again. "How about hugs? That seems like a fair currency."

Looking back up to his friend, Lyall grinned, more genuine again. "I will keep in mind you accept hugs as payment. For another day." He patted Alan's shoulder and nodded toward the door. "Right now, our audience awaits."

"No, no, no," Alan said playfully, stepping in the way and placing his palm against his chest to gently shove him back. "You're staying here on mandatory nap break. Where's your phone?"

Brows furrowing, Lyall tilted his head with a more put-upon grin. "Alan, I have far too much to coordinate. I cannot--"

"Phone," Alan cut in, palm extended out with his fingers curling towards him.

Was... Was he serious right now?

Huffing with half-amusement, Lyall lightly pushed Alan's hand away and made for the door, though Alan kept blocking his way. "I'm not doing this right now," he said easily. "Okay? Later. I promise."

"One hour," Alan pressed, matching his pace in front of him until he blocked the doorway. "Just one hour of rest. That's all I ask of you. Now, may I please have your phone? Just for a moment."

Pursing his lips now, Lyall narrowed his eyes at him. "...Why?"

"So I can set an hour-long timer. Just in case you forget," Alan said, also narrowing his eyes at him.

"I..." Lyall looked at the ceiling, praying to the bitter deities whom he despised. "Alan, no," he said more firmly, dropping all lightness. "Not right now."

Alan's smile faded into open concern, brows slowly pinched together as he gave him the barest of nods, stepping to the side. Lyall felt himself deflate with guilt now.

"Okay. I won't push it," Alan said gently. "I just care about you, is all. But if it makes you feel better that we go down together, then we can do that." He paused, turning to take a few steps out of the room, but then turned back around with another smile. "Thank you, by the way."

Letting out a weary breath now-- there was no point in trying so hard to hide it anymore-- Lyall hid his hands in his pockets as he looked down again, unable to meet Alan's eyes. "Yes. Anytime." He took a hesitant step toward the door, adding a sincere, "Thank you, Alan. I'm really glad you're back."

Alan turned by the doorway, leaning an arm against it as he smiled warmly back at Lyall. "Me too."

Alan felt immensely better after he cleaned up. It was amazing how much fresh new clothes, a cold shower, and a talk with your best friend could do to the human psyche.

Or perhaps he was eager with the amount of time that had passed, because every passing second was a second closer to seeing his family. Though, he still had some time before they were fully awake. Then again, if Lyall had Alistair's number... maybe he could ask him to text him to see if he was awake.

No, he didn't want to add one more task to Lyall's endless to-do list. It was a tiny bit concerning that he was the opposite definition of relaxed, but it was just who Lyall was, and Alan still loved him for it. He honestly wasn't really sure what the serious conversations were really about, but Lyall seemed stressed out of his mind, and Alan wanted to be there for him. Even if he was stubborn.

But again. That was just who he was. Endearing, wasn't it?

"Good morning, everyone," Alan exclaimed to the group as he quickly trotted down the stairs, hand on railing as he smiled out over the railing.

One, two, three... four. Four human blobs. That was right, Shane was here too.

"Alan!" Shane's voice said brightly, as one of the blurry figures held their arm up in a wave.

At the base of the stairwell, Lyall silently slipped around Alan and faded out of focus in the general direction of the kitchen. Alan kept a mental tab on him for now-- especially since it was very unusual for Lyall to not greet guests-- but for now, Alan brightened towards Shane, hurriedly making his way towards him.

"Shane," he warmly greeted with his arms out, wrapping his arms around his chest to giving him a quick embrace. Shane hugged him back, squeezing him gently.

"It's good to see you. Are you okay?" Alan asked worriedly in a soft voice, pulling away.

"I'm okay," Shane said softly. "Just been worried. I'm just glad you're back and safe."

"Me too. I'm glad you're okay as well." Alan smiled softly, slightly squinting at him. "Lyall said you found my glasses?"

"I did," Shane said, more brightly, as he reached for his chest pocket, carefully taking out Alan's glasses and passing them to him.

"Thank you," he said gratefully, picking them up to place back on his face.

Finally. The relief of sight had returned.

Alan first took in Shane, who smiled at him, dimples flashing in his cheeks as he looked at him with happiness and relief. He seemed a little tense, and there was some worry in his eyes... Still, he seemed mostly glad.

It was nice to see him again. Though, everyone else...

He tured towards the living room, now able to recognize everyone. He could clearly see Viktor and Kaya with great clarity now, which warmed his heart. Kaya gave him a shy smile and a wave, though he couldn't help but notice how weary her expression was. And Cyrin was no different, leaning on the counter and absently staring off into the distance.

And the cabin was... well, it had seen cleaner and neater days.

Alan offered Kaya a weak wave back, gently smiling. It seemed that everyone was quite... tense.

"Have you met Kaya and Vik yet, Shane?" Alan asked, gesturing and walking towards them to keep the group together.

"Yeah," Shane said with a faint smile, nodding. "We talked while you were upstairs. It's nice to meet them."

"Yeah," Vik agreed brightly, "we were just chilling. I offered to make something to eat but then had to rescind immediately. I am not a good cook."

"Are you still hungry after our breakfast?" Alan asked.

Vik shrugged with a laugh. "That was just a bagel, man."

Right. Alan was getting his facts mixed up. That was his second breakfast.

"Fair point," he said as he glanced over towards Lyall and Cyrin, who were sharing a private conversation in the kitchen. Alan smiled back at the group. "Are you hungry as well? Kaya, Shane?"

Shane shrugged with a faint smile. "If food is being made, I'll eat."

Lightly patting Cyrin's arm, Lyall quickly downed what remained in his mug and set it in the sink. "I've got breakfast," he said simply, holding up a slice of sandwich bread as he headed out of the kitchen.

Kaya mustered a small smile as she watched him rush out to the living room. "I can make something real quick," she offered, drumming her hands on the counter before standing.

"Nonsense. You're the guest. I can't have you cook for everyone-- at least, not by yourself," Alan said with a stern smile.

Her own smile warmed as she quickly relented, "Yeah, okay. You're hereby drafted as sous chef."

Alan grinned. "I accept this draft," he said as he walked towards the kitchen, beckoning for her to follow. "Shane, if you don't mind, could you be our barista this morning? I think everyone could use a coffee made with love."

"That's what I'm good at," Shane said, following behind as his smile brightened.

"Excellent. I knew I can count on you."

Alan paused in his steps to herd Kaya along as she followed. He gently smiled, stepping aside and nodding at her to help herself into the kitchen. With an awkward smile, she side-shuffled past and started gathering ingredients for what looked like a batter.

"And Vik," he called thoughtfully, seeing the little man's head perk up at the call of his name. "Can you do me a favor? It's very important."

"I got you!" Vik said eagerly. "What's up?"

"Can you lovingly harass your brother for me?" Alan said innocently.

From the front door, Lyall cast Alan a flat grin as he tugged on his shoes.

Okay. Lyall was leaving, though Alan didn't know why. He knew for certain now that something was wrong.

Viktor just smiled wider. "To what degree?" he asked, steepling his hands under his chin. "Lovingly toward an end for his own sake, or purely for the funnies?"

Alan maintained his smile, flicking his eyes between Vik and Lyall. "Do you have a preference, Lyall?"

"No harassment," Lyall quickly answered, tugging on a green sweater. "Please and thank you." He pointed at Vik. "Eat something healthy. Like fruit."

"Your fruit's bad, though!" Viktor shot back, gesturing to the fly-ridden bowl on the counter.

Lyall waved him off. "Bah! I don't know. Make do. Eat a carrot." He shrugged as he swung the door open. "I will return."

"You're not even going to eat?" Kaya asked, setting the bag of flour down with a slight pout.

Lyall paused, expression melting with a mix of fondness and an apology. "I will return with haste, my love," he amended with a gentle smile. "I promise." Then shut the door behind himself.

Kaya deflated a bit. "See you," she sighed, turning her attention back to her project.

There was a lot happening. Alan took a mental tab of it all:

• Lyall was not himself. He caught a feeling that something was wrong while they were upstairs, but seeing him like this confirmed that he was hiding his inner feelings. He was running away, too overwhelmed with stress. It was so unlike him to leave his friends, his brother, his fiance with hardly even an explanation.
• There was clearly tension between Kaya and Lyall. It made Alan's heart ache, especially since he had heard Lyall express his love for her many times. She was seeing him in such a negative light right now, and he wished the circumstances were more optimistic since their time together was so limited.
• Cyrin was so absent and tense, though Alan didn't know why, nor have the time to find out. Even Shane seemed a little tense, though Alan wasn't aware of any reasons why outside of perhaps not reaching closure from how he parted ways with him. He still needed to have a conversation with him, but now was not the time.

He wanted to talk to them all separately. Shane, to apologize for his behavior yesterday morning. Cyrin, to provide comfort and warm conversation. Kaya, to insist that Lyall was the man of her dreams. Vik, to give him a summer worth remembering for years to come. And most of all, Lyall, to find out what the hell he was thinking.

Alan will come back to everyone. Soon. And his family as well. But he had to prioritize.

"I'm really sorry, Kaya. I don't know what's gotten into Lyall. This is very unlike him," Alan said apologetically, brushing his hand against her shoulder as he passed her. "Thank you for making breakfast. That is very thoughtful of you."

Kaya cast him a deeply appreciative smile. "I'm happy to help," she said quietly with a shrug.

Alan gave her an understanding smile, patting her shoulder one past time before moving to Shane, brushing his hand against his back as he slid past him. "Can you save me a coffee? Along with some of your time later? I've been wanting to talk to you," he said softly.

Shane turned with a gentle smile to him as he reset the grinder. "Of course," he said just as softly. "I've been wanting that too."

Alan nodded at him, giving him an appreciative smile and hoping that he could see the apology in his eyes. Instead of dwelling on the conversation, he moved towards Cyrin now, who was still leaning against the counter, now hunched over a book. Their eyes were engaged in a ping-pong match back and forth over the page as they read it quickly.

"Cyrin," Alan said softly next to him, placing his hand over his. "Are you doing alright?"

Cyrin looked up in confusion, not seeming to realize right away. "I'm fine," he said, a bit unconvincingly.

"Are you sure?" Alan pressed.

"I'll be fine," Cyrin amended.

Alan hesitantly nodded, pulling away and leaving it at that. Rummaging through the fridge, he pulled out his drawer where he kept his own fruits and vegetables, fishing out two green apples. He gave them two quick glasses, and when satisfied, closed the drawer and the fridge.

"Vik," Alan called with a grin, tasking hasty steps towards him. "Catch!"

He underhand tossed one of the apples towards him. Brows raised, Vik just managed to catch it.

"Nice catch!" Alan said with a smile. "Now, you can tell your brother that you ate a fresh fruit."

"Uh, thank you!" the youngest Ashlund said with a confused grin.

With the other apple in hand, Alan bent down to slip on his shoes, pulling the edge over his ankle.

"I'm really sorry for parting ways so soon. Please save breakfast for me; I want nothing more than to sit and enjoy a meal with you," he said as he stood back up, brushing his hand against his chest as he gave equal attention on everyone. "I'm going to go after Lyall and slap some sense sense into him. For now, hang tight and relax. I'll take care of this. Okay?"

Shane was the first to nod, flashing him another soft smile. "Okay. See you then."

Vik's bright grin turned somewhat rueful. "Good luck, mate!"

Kaya mustered another smile, less sure now. "Do you like whipped cream on your crepes?" she asked.

"I normally do. But perhaps leave mine without them so they won't get soggy. I appreciate it, though," Alan said with an appreciative smile.

"Good luck," Cyrin said, with a little more energy this time.

"Thanks, all. I'll be back soon," Alan said with a small smile, opening the door for his leave.

After giving everyone a proper goodbye and affirming that his absence would not upset them, Alan was quick to dash out the door, quickly scampering down the porch and into the sand. He frantically looked both ways, hastily scanning for Lyall.

Hasty footsteps off to the side, heading away toward the ladies' cabin, slowed. Lyall looked over his shoulder, then looked ahead once more, coming to a complete stop when he saw Alan.

"Lyall!" Alan called sternly, hastily walking, before it turned to a quick jog to catch up to him.

Hands set on his sides, Lyall hung his head with a sigh as he waited. Brows creased together, Alan quickly made it to his side, hands thrown up in the air.

"I know you're upset," he began evenly, meeting his eyes. "And I'm not trying to scold you. But you can't just storm off like that, Lyall. You've really upset everyone in there, and I can't have you walking away without acknowledging that."

"I--" Hand pressed to his forehead, Lyall drew in a long breath as he turned away. "Alan, I'm... sorry, truly. But I don't have time to entertain right now."

Alan placed his hands on both of his shoulders, holding back a frown as he tried to search for an answer in his eyes. "Then talk to me."

Letting his arms drop to his sides, brows furrowed in not understanding, Lyall tilted his head as he stared back intently at Alan. "What about?"

"What is so important that you have to be by yourself?" Alan asked directly. "What are you battling by yourself?"

Quirking up both brows now, Lyall blinked in genuine shock at him. "Alan, I literally just explained the situation at hand."

"Okay. Okay, there's a monster on this island," Alan said steadily, slowly pulling away while keeping his undivided attention on Lyall. "Help me understand why you feel the need to shut everyone out."

"I'm... not?" Lyall huffed an incredulous laugh. "I'm currently on my way to speak with Miss Clanny."

Alan sighed. "Okay." He broadly gestured towards the cabin. "Lead the way. I'm coming with you."

"Ahm." Smiling with complete indignance, Lyall shook his head slightly. "No? You're not."

But Alan ignored him, leading the way towards the cabin instead. Lyall may be stubborn, but Alan could be stubborn-er.

"Alan," Lyall called after him, arms spread in a confused shrug. "I said 'no'!"

"Oh, just shut up and let me do this," Alan said as he cast him a flat look, bouncing up the porch to be the first one at the door.

Not waiting for Lyall's confirmation, Alan knocked firmly a few times against the door, stepping to the side and looking back at Lyall expectantly. Dropping his arms to his sides, Lyall sighed again, louder and with resignation, as he joined him on the porch.

"Bugger," he mumbled, stubbornly tapping on the door himself.

"Real mature," Alan muttered back, narrowing his eyes at him.

The door opened, and Alan lit up when he came face-to-face with Hild.

"And the morning continues to improve," Lyall said plainly, throwing his hands skyward as he turned away.

Hild scowled at the back of his head. "An undue surprise," she agreed.

"Good morning, Hild," Alan cut in brightly with a smile. "I hope we didn't recently wake you. Lyall and I have been up and at 'em, even though we both could use more rest."

Hild's expression softened with open fondness in an instant. "Alvaro," she greeted. "Good morning." Her faint smile turned apologetic. "Had there been a way to contact you, I would've informed you that James and I have delayed our run for 8:30 AM. So, I'm sorry if you arrived at our usual time, only to be left high and dry."

"Not a worry. My body is already used to waking up in the early hours. Will that be the new time for the morning runs?" Alan asked.

"To be determined," Hild answered. Her expression hardened again when she turned her attention back to her brother. "How might I assist you today?"

Alan smiled. "We'd love to stay and chat with you, but--"

"I'm looking for Miss Clanny," Lyall cut in, finally turning back with a very forced smile. Alan tried very hard to not give him a flat look as Lyall clasped his hands together. "Where might I find her?"

"Why," Hild asked flatly.

"I would like to politely ask for her monster hunting expertise--" Lyall began.

"And would also like to chat with her in general," Alan cut in with a smile. "As you know, she has a very warm, kind soul, and she deserves more appreciation. And I'd also like to thank her for something personal."

"After I've consulted her about slightly more dire matters," Lyall added pleasantly.

Alan tilted his head at him with an innocent quirk of a brow. "Is that so?"

"Which," Lyall went ahead, casting Alan a quick indignant look, "evidently you knew about and yet neglected to mention to me."

Leaning an arm on the doorway, Hild shrugged a shoulder. "You'll have to more clearly define 'dire' for me, dear brother. I'm afraid our frames of reference for that are quite different."

Pressing his lips into a thin line, Lyall glanced skyward. "Cannabilistic monster running loose?" he clarified, as if trying to refresh her memory on who last updated the chore chart. "You knew, for an entire evening at least. Cyrin, Kaya, and myself had the luxury of finding out in the dead of night when it broke in."

Hild's even expression faltered at that.

"Alright, let's take a step back here," Alan said placatingly with his hands out in front of him, glancing between the two siblings. He offered a gentle smile, though it felt a little forced considering the... subject. "This sounds like a miscommunication. That's quite all alright; these things happen all the time. But there's no hard feelings. Right?"

Alan turned his head between Hild, then to Lyall.

"Right?" he pressed.

"Wendigos are not a normal occurance," Lyall countered stubbornly.

"No," Hild replied easily. "Unfortunately, lack of communication is." She stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind herself. "I'm sorry that happened to you three," she went on, voice low, "but I sincerely hope the irony of this accusation is not lost on you."

Okay. They were both stubborn. Light humor or breezy smiles were not going to diffuse this tension.

"Hild. Lyall," Alan said solemnly with a sigh, dropping his hands. "I know this is between the two of you, and I have no business getting involved. But can we please, just for now, drop blame and name-calling? I don't think that's helping anyone here."

"Yes," Lyall said, voice suddenly pitched with fake cheeriness, "let's! Clearly, this won't be a fruitful endeavor with my lovely sister here." He turned on his heel. "I'll come back later."

A bit taken back, Alan opened his mouth to speak but instead stared dumbly at him leaving. He quickly shook out of it, brows pinched together with open concern as he sadly turned back to Hild, trying to think of the right words to say. Anything. An apology.

He expected her to be upset. But instead of looking hurt or anything akin to it, Hild simply rolled her eyes with a long-suffering sigh.

It occurred to Alan in that moment that, despite Hild and Lyall talking highly of each other, the true nature of their relationship was one that was...

He didn't know what other word to use besides "broken." But that word alone was enough to break his own heart.

"Miss Clanny is out in the stable," Hild finally said, looking to Alan now with a gentler expression.

"Okay," he said quietly, giving her the barest of nods. "Thank you." He paused, taking a few steps backwards, nearly falling off the first step off the porch. "And sorry."

Hild raised a hand to stop him. "No, don't," she uttered. "I'm sorry you had to witness that."

"I meant I'm sorry for not coming to you sooner," Alan said softly. "You said you'd like to confide in me about Lyall. Your whole family, really. And I didn't follow through. I wished I did sooner. I'm sorry."

Her eyes actually saddened a little bit. "No, Alan," she gently assured him, "do not be sorry for that. There will be time for these things."

"Then I'll make the time. Can I come by tomorrow?" Alan asked.

She sighed quietly through her nose, but nodded. "Whenever you are available," she said simply. "Please, prioritize your family, if anybody."

Alan nodded. "I will. I'll see you soon," he said as he trotted down the few steps, turning around to meet her eyes one last time. "Okay?"

"See you soon," she echoed warmly, before heading back inside.

With that, Alan hurried across the sand locking eyes on Lyall's fast-retreating form. He was headed for Kaz's cabin next.

Alan didn't even bother calling his name, instead running to catch up with him until he was walking along his side, peering up at him with open concern. Lyall's face was tense, mind clearly a storm of thoughts.

"Lyall," Alan called softly, worried gaze fixed on him.

Blinking away the tension-- or simply burying it-- Lyall slowed as he hesitantly glanced sideways at Alan.

"Lyall," he called again, brows creased with his lips pressed together.

"Alan," Lyall said back, stopping again to fully face him.

Alan stood still, searching his eyes for answers, though it was like they were hidden behind lush forest with signs barring entry. And that made him sad.

"I'm worried about you," he said softly, almost a whisper.

"You really don't have to be," Lyall insisted in a sigh. He nodded toward their own cabin. "You should be talking with Shane, if anybody. He's been deeply worried about you."

"I know," Alan said, trying to not let his voice sound as solemn as he felt. "But I'm still worried about you."

Setting his jaw, Lyall nodded slowly as he considered him. "Talk with Shane," he repeated more firmly, before turning away again.

But Alan grabbed his hand, pulling him back. "No," he said firmly. "I want to talk with you."

Brows pinching inward, Lyall then searched Alan's gaze. "Which we can," he said, softening his voice. "After I've put together a team, and set a plan of defense into motion."

Alan wished he could understand. He really did. He couldn't begin to fathom what was going through Lyall's head. He didn't know why he was so bent on this plan, why he was acting this way. It did hurt, but Alan knew that this was who Lyall was. And he meant it when he said they were friends.

If Lyall was this stubborn, he accepted it. Even if it didn't make sense to Alan. Even if he didn't want him involved.

Alan just wished he wasn't so stupid that he couldn't understand.

Lyall slipped out of Alan's grasp. "I'm speaking with Kaz and Hendrik, and hopefully several others," he explained gently. "I truly am sorry for all this, Alan, but I promise I'll be back later. We'll talk then, alright?"

"I'm coming along," Alan said firmly, trying not to let the weariness show. "Please don't fight me on this. Okay?"

And, for just a second, Lyall's composure cracked. Just enough to glimpse something sad and full of fear hidden deep behind everything else.

Alan had never seen fear from Lyall before. Something was scaring him. The monster?

"Go talk to Shane," Lyall quietly repeated one last time, finally turning away again.

Alan quietly took a deep breath, following in Lyall's steps instead.

"Alan," Lyall sighed.

"Lyall," Alan patiently called back.

Lyall hopped up the front steps. "Go. Back."

Alan skipped up with him, shaking his head. "No."

With another quiet sigh, Lyall tapped his knuckles against Hendrik's door.

The door opened quite fast. At least, for an inch. It was deadbolted, and only narrowed blue eyes were seen through the slit of the opened doorway before it closed again. There was a metal-on-metal scratching sound of the deadbolt being removed, and then the door fully opened, revealing Hendrik dressed in khakis and a tucked-in polo shirt with his country's flag embroidered on it.

And after he swung the door open, Alan winced from the sheer volume of the music booming from the speakers. Based on the instruments and beat, it sounded like a patriotic song. Perhaps a national anthem of a country.

"Why, if it isn't Mister Populars visiting my doorstep!" he said with a grin after widely swinging the door open.

Putting on another easy smile in the blink of an eye, Lyall casually saluted the man. "My good sir! Is that offer to a drink still on the table?"

"Ohuhuhuohu!" Hendrik roared, and it was a deep-belly laugh that echoed loudly through the air. "You laddies want to drink with the ole man? I can't say no to that. Come in, boys." He stepped aside and broadly gestured inside.

"Thank you kindly," Lyall said, taking Alan by the hand as he ducked inside. "Is Kaz around to join, perchance?"

"Mm!" Hendrik closed the door, locking it-- many times, actually, since it appeared that five additional locks were installed on the door-- then deadbolting it once more before sauntering to the kitchen. "He's upstairs having a good time with his lady. That's why I'm playing music. Gotta give them privacy. Hah! I'm sure you laddies know a thing or two about that."

Standing in the hallway next to Lyall, Alan simply stared at the man, completely baffled to the point of speechlessness.

"Ah, that's fine," Lyall said breezily, chin tilted up as he fought to be heard over the music. "I'll just catch him another time."

Letting go of Alan's hand, he gestured inward to the kitchen area. Alan was slow to react, staring down at his palm for a second before wiping his hand against his chest and then following after Lyall.

"More for us, right?" Lyall went on amiably.

This felt... strangely ridiculous. Alan felt like if he stayed here for another minute, he'd lose his hearing.

"Mmhmm!" Hendrik hummed loudly, taking out two mugs to fill with water. "What's your poison?"

"I'll put some faith in your discretion," Lyall said. "Pourer's pick!"

"Hah! Strongest drink it is, then."

"Can you turn down the music?" Alan asked.

"What's that, romantic?" Hendrik yelled back, swishing the water in the mugs.

"Can you turn down the music?" Alan yelled back.

"Hmph!" Still holding the mug, Hendrik pointed towards the speakers in front of the TV, water sloshing out of the mug. "Dial's over there. Kaz isn't going to be happy, though."

Alan nodded in thanks, turning to quickly enter the war zone that was the living room, with cups and pizza boxes littered everywhere. He winced as he kneeled down against the speaker, turning the dial that he presumed controlled the volume, sighing in relief when the music was a pleasant background noise. Satisfied, he stood back up to meet them back in the kitchen.

With the faintest flash of regret in his eyes, Lyall lifted his mug with a chipper, "Cheers, my good fellow!" And managed to take a swig without choking.

Hendrik, meanwhile, chugged it all down within seconds, finishing with a satisfied "ah" as he slammed the mug against the counter.

"You like?" Hendrik asked expectantly to Lyall, though it sounded strangely threatening.

"The finest Hendrick there is," Lyall said approvingly. Paused. Then quickly added, "The drink." Nose scrunched, he briefly shook his head. "Company. Best I've had in the collection."

Had this been any other situation, Alan may have laughed. Though for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to do it.

Hendrik let out another deep-bellied guffaw. "You've got spunk, cowboy. Flattering me after you come in holding hands with another man. Your lady know you're here?"

Alan uncomfortably shifted his weight to his other foot, slowly turning to Lyall who kept up the grin. Though, his split-second hesitation was enough to indicate that he was also dying inside.

"She's aware I'm out on official business, yes," Lyall answered, as if he hadn't been caught offguard.

"Mm! When you put it that way, sounds like you're swinging," Hendrik said with sudden seriousness, brow raised.

Deflating, Lyall sighed audibly. "I'm... Sir, I came to ask for your expertise on a certain matter."

"Now, hold your horses, cowboy." Hendrik impatiently gestured to the still-full mug on the counter. "Your partner here hasn't taken his drink yet."

"Ah, yes." Lyall winced. "I-- I should've said sooner. He's gone sober. Clean for two months, cold turkey."

Alan stared at Lyall, but slowly nodded. He hardly had time to absorb his new identity before Hendrik's booming voice asked another nosy question.

"That so? Hmph!" Hendrik stared fiercely at Alan, and it took all of his willpower to not wilt under his stern glare. "Weren't you drinking at Ooktoberfest, laddie?"

Alan slowly nodded. "I was."

Hendrik stroked his chin. "Two months, eh? Must've meant you loved the event so much if you decided to partake in the festivities. Too bad your streak got ruined."

"Yeah... it's fine, really," Alan said with a slight shrug and a smile. "It's no big deal. The event was quite fun, though."

"Hah! Bet you did find it fun!" Hendrik bellowed. "Say, did you know that Cinderella doesn't feel sexual attraction? Bet you didn't know that during your night of fun, eh, romantic?"

Alan opened his mouth to speak, but honestly, he had no idea how to respond to this. What the hell was this man even talking about? The sheer randomness of it was so bizarre.

"I'm!" Lyall cut in. "Sorry, but. I would like to re-direct our focus for just a moment." He pointed his mug at Hendrik. "You're a military man with a respectable career under your belt, I presume?"

Hendrik gave him a fierce salute, standing up straight. "Yes, sir. Seven years of duty in the fine nation of Germaknee. You are talking to an experienced veteran honoring his civic duty."

"Splendid!" Lyall set his mug down, then leaned one elbow on the counter between them. "You are just the man I need for the job, then."

"Hm?" Hendrik lowered his hand, fiercely staring at Lyall with a deep frown. "Is there a threat? Are lives in danger? Is extra security needed?" he asked lowly, deeply serious.

"You couldn't be more right, sir," Lyall confirmed solemnly. "A new threat arrived apparently with our visitors. I'm in search of manpower at the moment."

"You've come to the right man," Hendrik said, now quickly rushing out and ushering for them to follow. "Come along, laddies. I'll show you my arsenal."

There was a slight upward twitch of Lyall's brows, indicating he... did not anticipate that for a response. Dreaded what he'd find, even.

"Lyall," Alan whispered, leaning closer to his ear after Hendrik left the kitchen. "We don't actually have to follow him. We can leave."

"You're free to go," Lyall quickly whispered back, pushing off the counter to follow anyhow. Walking backwards, he jabbed a finger Alan's way. "Talk to Shane."

Alan sighed. He really didn't like that he kept using this against him, because he did want to talk to Shane, but not like this. Being with Lyall was far more important, especially since he was acting up.

He didn't bother responding back, instead following after Lyall as the three of them padded up the stairs. Hendrik was quick to usher them, loudly announcing his actions with a terrible acting voice. And it took Alan a few seconds to realize that he was probably doing that for Kazimir's sake since, presumably... he was in the bedroom with... someone. A lady.

Hendrik was strangely secretive about his room, darting his eyes back and forth before opening it for them, hastily ushering them inside before he shut the door and locked it five times again.

Alan blinked, staring at his room. It was... was this a distillery? But also, the walls were lined with weapons like a literal arsenal.

"Drink?" Hendrik offered, holding out a cup under the spout of a giant steel tank.

Lifting both hands in a noncommittal shrug, Lyall said, "Why not."

Alan was a bit apprehensive that Lyall was accepting drinks left and right from some guy's sketchy room. He grimaced, and a second into Hendrik opening the spout, Alan breezily said, "This is a pretty unique room you have here, Hendrik. What drinks are you brewing?"

"Mm!" As predicted, Hendrik set the mug down, ready to delve into this new tangent. Alan bit down a sigh of relief as Hendrik pointed at each tank.

"This one here's vodka. Lots of potatoes to put in this one, and I'm workin' out a deal with Barbie's farm, but don't tell him yet. And this one's here rum. Real sweet sugar canes, imported from your home country, romantic. And this one..."

Honestly, Alan stopped paying attention, despite nodded along and giving indications he was listening, such as saying, "Ah, right," or, "Of course."

Between Hendrik's long spiel, Alan flicked his eyes to Lyall every once in a while, gauging his expression and body language. He seemed half-attuned to the now-one sided conversation as well, hands tucked in his pockets as he scanned the walls. He frowned ever so slightly with confusion at every new nickname Hendrik tossed out there.

Eventually, Lyall had to ask, "You mean James?"

Alan couldn't stop himself from facepalming that Lyall was far too late in asking this question, considering Hendrik had already moved on to the beer tank and his family's close history ties with wheat.

"Who what now?" Hendrik said with a frown.

"Ah, Hendrik," Alan cut in with a feigned smile. "While you're giving us a tour, can you tell us about your weapons? I see you have a large collection. It's quite impressive."

Hendrik's face washed into deep seriousness again as he marched to the only piece of normal furniture in the bedroom-- a wardrobe-- opening it up, only to reveal that it was empty. He unpeeled the wool lining the back of the wardrobe, and soft dings were heard.

Was there... a keypad back there?

Alan's questions were promptly answered when a mechanical whirring sound was heard. The true nature of the wardrobe opened up with a hidden door as the back of it flipped around, revealing a new wall of guns and ammo.

Okay. So Hendrik did not have any normal furniture in his bedroom, then.

"Take a look, laddies," Hendrik said proudly, gesturing at the guns. "The wall guns are props to scare off wolves. These are the real bad boys."

"Aha!" Lyall said with another grin. "A man who knows how to fight quite strategically! I certainly have found the right man for the job."

"Hmph! You certainly have," Hendrik said as he pulled open a drawer, pulling out a gun to stock bullets in it.

"Might I fully debrief you on our new situation then?"

"That's right, I'll need to know to recommend which ammo suits your needs the best. But since you're a cowboy, you must know your guns already, correct?" Hendrik asked sternly, leveling his eyes with him.

Alan held back between them, settling his curious gaze on Lyall. He made a mental note to humorously call him cowboy someday when the time was right.

"Regrettably," Lyall said slowly, "my knowledge is a bit dated. But, also, I was hoping to actually recruit you, not just consult you."

"What do you need? You name it, I got it. AK-47? 48? AB-69? R4-20? R2-D2?"

"Someone," Lyall answered, more pointedly to get his real intent across, "with your vigilance and mastery of war. For the sake of the civilians' safety here." He pressed a hand to his own chest and continued, "I myself am currently spearheading further recruitments, and will need you taking point on defenses against a magical beast."

The gravity of the situation fell over Hendrik some more as he stood up straighter, frown deepening. "Who or what is the threat, comrade?" he asked lowly.

"It's a cannibal-turned-monster," Lyall explained seriously. "Disguised as a human. It's targeting some contestants, but is also wildly unpredictable. It attacked Cyrin just last night, and I want to decrease the likelihood of it catching us unawares a second time."

Anger flashed across Hendrik's eyes. He clenched his jaw, pressing his lips together with hostility. "What does this monster look like, comrade? I will keep lookout and shoot on sight."

At the last three words, Alan was beginning to understand the seriousness of the matters.

Shoot on sight? Were they seriously talking about killing someone?

Lyall lifted both hands to settle the man. "Ah--! Hang on," he said calmly, "I appreciate your readiness! But we're not aiming to kill. This is merely a defensive measure, in case it gets too close again. And, if you must shoot, I must stress that you are to, first and foremost, work toward scaring it off. Warning shots. Because what you might actually end up encountering is one of our fellow contestants being used, rather than the monster itself."

Then he paused, studying Hendrik intently to gauge if he was getting through to the man. Alan wasn't sure what his reading on Hendrik was, but given Hendrik's behavior, he had an inclination to believe that Hendrik was quite trigger-happy.

"Hendrik," Lyall started again, a bit apprehensively, "I-- I'm going to further emphasize: Do not kill. It could be Aaron Keller, rather than the actual beast."

Oh no. What if Hendrik latched on to this name? Especially since Aaron often kept to himself, acting suspicious?

"But it could also be any other contestant," Alan added quickly. "Including Cyrin. And we don't want to hurt them either."

Lyall nodded vigorously, realizing his mistake. "Or that," he said hastily. "Yes."

Hendrik furrowed his brows, glancing between the two of them. "You said there's a cannibal-eating monster. So you're saying it's disguised as Cyrin or twiggy?"

"Could be," Lyall stressed. Then pinched the bridge of his nose. "Let me be clearer: No guns. Guns are off the table, though I am impressed with your collection. What I need is your vigilance, anyhow. I just need your eyes and ears."

"No guns," Hendrik said with a deep frown. "Hell, if you need eyes and ears, why the hell are you coming to me? Talk to cat eyes instead."

Lyall blinked, and in the awkward silence that followed, Alan wracked his head for who 'cat eyes' could be. Perhaps someone with catty eyes... green eyes. Who had green eyes? Lyall, Hild, Shane, Clanny, Tula. And maybe... eyeliner. So...

"...Tula?" Alan asked uncertainly.

"Cat eyes," Hendrik said gruffly with a nod. "She's got eyes and ears magic. Didn't you know?"

"Ah." Lyall pointed at Hendrik with a slight grin. "But the fact that you know just that is only proving my point. I might be inclined to ask for her to assist as well, but I came to you first. So, what do you say, my good man?"

"Hmph." Hendrik gave another gruff nod. "I shall keep stakeout for a monster, comrade. What does this beast look like?"

The tension in Lyall's shoulders melted with relief, just a bit. "I'll give you a full description."



Finally. They answered all of Hendrik's questions, entertained his nosy questions, and confirmed that he would help. And of course, Lyall had to ask Hendrik to repeat, over and over, that Hendrik do not use his guns.

Alan heard the door lock five times behind him as they left, sighing with relief. Tiredly, he looked back at Lyall with a smile, but it quickly faded when he saw how weary and woozy he looked.

"How are you doing?" he asked softly.

One hand on his hip, Lyall leaned an elbow on the porch railing. "I'm. Drunk. Yes. Maybe. A little bit." He rested his head on his arm. "Ughhgh..."

Alan stared at him, slowly processing.

Ah. That explained the... moments Lyall had. In which he fumbled on his words or talked in circles. Hendrik did say he was giving him his strongest liquor. It seemed he delivered.

Alan took a deep breath, linking his arm with his to drag him along. "Alright. Come on, drunkie. You need a break."

Lyall pulled away to scrub both hands over his face. He leaned heavily back on the railing. "Noooo, I... still have so many people to consult..."

Alan raised a brow, standing one step below him on the porch, noting that they were now the same height. "And are you in a good state to consult them?" he gently chided.

Dropping his hands, Lyall looked up at the sky in utter defeat. "No," he mopily conceded.

Alan smiled, a bit endeared despite the circumstances. "What do you say about going back to the cabin to eat breakfast and give your fiance a kiss?"

With a heavy sigh, Lyall eventually nodded. "Yes. I think. I've left her for long enough. How long has it been? That felt like it took all day... And I'm not even halfway through the list."

"I'm not sure. Maybe an hour."

"Oh my god." Lyall flopped over the railing. "An hour. Just an hour. That long?"

"Mayhaps," Alan answered in amusement. "Can you walk okay?"

"...Yes." Lyall steeled himself for it. "I can walk."

Righting himself, he cautiously stepped off the porch and started heading back for their own cabin. Alan closely followed at his side, glad that Lyall wasn't so drunk that he was a total mess. He obviously wanted Lyall to stay in his sober mind, but this event worked in his favor. He needed to rest.

Running his hands over his hair, then letting them rest on the back of his neck, Lyall sighed quietly.

"...I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'm... I don't know. I'm sorry."

"I'd accept your apology, but I don't actually know what you're apologizing for," Alan said with a gentle smile.

Lyall deflated. "For this whole morning. I'm not pacing myself, and. I've been very difficult."

Alan shrugged. "I don't think you need to apologize for being yourself. You've had a bad day. I get it. You don't need to apologize for that."

Lyall didn't say anything more. Just fixed his gaze ahead on their destination as he plodded on.

"I know there are other people you want to talk to," Alan went on. "And I won't stop you. Frankly, I don't think anyone can. So if you're going to go on to do this when you're sober, can you let me know, please? I'd like to come along, if you'll have me."

Huffing out through his nose, Lyall cast him a half-hearted grin. "Feels like I won't be able to stop you, either."

"Well, will you look at that," Alan mused with a grin of his own. "We're two peas in a pod."

"Nooo," Lyall groaned, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, "you can't... say things like that."

Alan huffed, amused by his friend's inebriation. "Why not?"

"Well, it--" Lyall waved his arms in the direction of Kaz's cabin behind them. "It makes people think things. Desist. Immediately."

"Oh, right. You're so right," Alan drew out with a smile, glancing back and loosely pointing at the cabin. "We can't have the trigger-happy drunk man think we're a throuple just because we held hands. That would be horrendous."

"Completely!" Lyall agreed with an emphatic nod.

"Of course. I'm following along now," Alan said as he patted his back to push him along to walk towards their cabin. "No mentions of peas or pods. Got it."

In a shuffle, Lyall yielded to Alan's guidance. "Please and thank you."

Alan briefly gazed up at the sky, wondering what time it was. God, it couldn't have been any later than 9am. And yet, Lyall was already drunk. Considering how he left things with Kaya, this was not a good look.

"Lyall, maybe we should... wait somewhere else," Alan suggested, trying to gauge his reaction despite his unsteady composure. "Somewhere where you can sit and drink water. We can return to the cabin when you're more sober."

Lyall was quick to stop in his tracks at the suggestion. Brows furrowing, he scanned the cabins, then twisted around to look directly at Hild's. He sighed in defeat.

"...She hates me," he mumbled. "And I still have to--" He hid his face in his hands. "A million things. This week was supposed to be about Kaya, and here we are-- Monster hunt. But I have to make it up to her."

Whirling around, he then turned to head for Shane's place. "I have to check on James, determine what happened to him. I don't know if he's alright, I can't remember where he was yesterday."

Okay. This was a lot to unpack. But they didn't have time to unpeel all of it at once. They had to focus on one thing at a time, and right now, right here-- Lyall was in no state to talk to anyone without regretting it in the future.

"Wait," Alan said quickly, nearly sliding in the sand to block his path. He held his hands out in front of him before gesturing inland.

Lyall could easily get distracted, often fixating on the details that didn't have an easy answer before he circled back to the main task at hand here. Alan didn't want to use this to his advantage, but... he was sure Lyall would thank him later.

"You said you wanted to tell Alistair, right? Can we tell him first? And my mom. I haven't told them yet," he said.

"Fantastic thinking," Lyall quickly agreed, then clumsily searched his pockets. "We'll cover more ground if you contact your family. Take my phone. I'll see if James is still around--"

"No, Lyall, I don't want to split up. I don't feel safe travelling by myself," Alan cut in firmly.

Which wasn't really true, but... he would rather Lyall not go alone. And Alan knew that Lyall wouldn't deny statements of not feeling safe. It was quite the opposite, really.

Frowning deeply with concern, Lyall did indeed stop in his tracks at the "confession". "Ah. Well. We don't have to split, then," he relented. "You can... just join me. You can still message your family as we go."

"I know we're right here, but it would really ease my mind if we came back to this," Alan said a little softer. "Can we go back to the mansion first? I haven't even seen them yet. I'd feel better if I can see that they're okay and safe. I've been worrying all day today and yesterday. I'm sorry I'm just telling you this now."

And, just like that, it worked like a charm. Thank goodness.

Eyes quickly softening with incredible sympathy, Lyall nodded. "Right. Of course, you haven't seen them yet. You should--" He glanced at Shane's cabin, but didn't seem quite as focused as a moment before. "I'll take you to them, then, yes."

It was more like Alan was taking him to them, but he nodded along anyways.

"Thank you," he said with an appreciative smile. "This means a lot to me."

"Of course," Lyall answered, scanning the beach again, "anything for..." He spun around until he found the mansion in the distance. "Right, yes." But stumbled when he tried taking his first step, disoriented.

Alan bit back a laugh. He should not be this amused, given how stressed Lyall was. And yet. Here he was. Spinning around, a bit lost. And so Alan took iniaitive, taking the first few steps towards the right back while pulling the hem of Lyall's sweater sleeve with him.

"This way," he called.

Lyall allowed himself to be tugged along without further arguments or comments.

"Lyall, is it true that you wear sweaters because you're always cold due to your magic?" Alan asked out of the blue, feeling the threads of the wool against his fingertips.

Lyall balked indignantly. "Wha-- I-- Yes, but who told you that?"

Alan wrapped his fingers around his upper forearm, not wanting to stretch his sweater, but still wanting to gently pull him along so that he would keep walking at a steady pace. But also because hand holding was not an option, apparently. Managing to keep pace beside him now, Lyall stayed so close that their shoulders frequently brushed as they went.

"It was more like I found out naturally, but through indirect means," Alan answered. "Clanny had your magic in the maze. I was with her after we got separated. Poor Clanny-- she was nearly shivering, and we both empathized with you afterwards since this is your everyday. It sounds dreadful to be freezing all the time... even if it's quite warm and humid outside."

"Ah. I'd wondered who might've received my..." Lyall scrunched his nose with distaste as he lamely finished, "gift. She got it at the worst time of day, too. Which was. Not in the day. Sunlight helps." He held up a hand. "Think of me as... a lizard."

Alan hummed. "You're not very scaly," he mused. "You may have the blood of a lizard, but maybe a different animal better suits you. A desert rabbit, perhaps."

"I accept this comparison," Lyall conceded.

"Because you frequently jump to conclusions," Alan added.

"I decline this comparison," Lyall corrected himself.

"Because you're adorable?" Alan amended.

"I no longer see the value of this comparison," Lyall mumbled.

"In any case, all this to say-- thank you for radiating warmth into our everyday lives, Lyall," Alan said with a smile as he bumped his shoulder against his. "It's quite pleasant, and seeing you shine has become the highlight of my day. Even if you see yourself as a cold-blooded lizard."

Glancing sideways at Alan, Lyall seemed to study him. But, rather than quiet contemplation as he normally would, he said aloud, "You've said my name at least twelve times this whole morning. More, if you count everytime you weren't directly addressing me."

Alan stared at him, slow-blinking.

He had been... counting that? He hadn't realized he was counting.

"Well... yeah," Alan said with a faint laugh, turning back to the winding path in front of them. "Lyall is a good name, and it's yours."

Lyall just tilted his head, further confuzzled. Alan flicked his eyes between him and the path before squinting at him.

"Why do you look so confused?" he said with a smile.

"Because you're quite the enigma sometimes," Lyall answered, looking ahead once more. "And thus you confuse me."

It was strange. Hild had said the same thing to him too, even using the same words. Although Alan didn't think now was the time to bring this up, if ever.

He shrugged, still smiling gently. "If you're wondering anything, you can just ask me. I'd be happy to explain and help out."

"Well, one does not simply ask whatever is on one's mind," Lyall scoffed. "Certain questions are too personal, it would be presumptuous. There's an etiquette to follow." Snapped his fingers, he poked Alan's shoulder. "Many of which, you don't adhere to. That's what baffles me at times. Social or conversational structures?" He made a 'whoosh' sound as he flung his hand out in front of himself. "Blown right through."

Alan couldn't help but laugh at that, shaking his head and smiling up at the sky for a moment before he turned back to Lyall, amused as ever. "You make it sound like I don't know how to have a proper conversation. Of course I follow social norms and respect the boundaries of others." He shrugged. "But I also follow my heart. Often, I find myself saying what feels right, not what sounds right."

Lyall seemed slow to process this time as he nodded. "Alright," he conceded. "What should be done, you do. But you go beyond that too. Do what isn't done as well. Though I can't be so certain, since the cultural norms of my home are considered backwards at times compared to the rest of the world, and different relationships set different paces and precedents. But within the context of a friendship, even one abnormally accelerated as ours is, one typically does not touch here--"

Stopping now, Lyall patted Alan's chest once with an uncoordinated flop of his hand, and then waved both hands in front of his face. "--nor this general region. And especially not the lips, in such a brazenly flirtatious manner."

Okay. So this was... also a lot. Lyall was apparently very chatty when inebriated, which Alan was glad to keep up with, though he really didn't want to take advantage of him in this state, nor want to embarrass him if he recalled this conversation later.

Though, to be frank, Alan also had no idea what he was going on about. He had to stop and think about when he'd have touched Lyall's chest or lips. He was aware he was openly staring at Lyall trying to recall this information, though to be fair, Lyall hardly gave him any time to process since he kept going.

"Less directly related, but now I'm thinking of it," Lyall went on, turning around and picking up the pace once more, "your ability to simply... not only just know things-- The way you seem to literally read my thoughts, in particular, and then proceed to take action in such a disarming and sincere way-- Again, there could be a cultural aspect to this, but I haven't encountered anyone else quite with your level of emotional daring ever."

Alan kept up the pace, watching him with confusion mixed with intrigue as he followed along. "I definitely can't read your thoughts," he confirmed.

"It's something to admire, really," Lyall continued, voice suddenly softer. "The way you don't hold back."

"I appreciate that. I just say what I think the other person ought to hear," Alan said with a smile.

Lyall hummed. "Must be an Alvaro trait."

"Maybe." Alan lightly shrugged. "Though, this trait isn't hereditary. If you want to speak your mind, I welcome it. Say whatever your heart desires, if you're comfortable with it. Life is too short to frequently hold yourself back."

"It's not as simple--" Pausing again, Lyall hid his face again with a thoroughly embarrassed groan. "I'm swearing off alcohol. For the rest of time."

"Maybe next time, don't accept mysterious drinks from people you don't know well," Alan teased, lightly elbowing his arm.

"You don't know who I know," Lyall retorted half-heartedly. "For all you know, we could be, as some say, 'chummy'."

"Well. Are you, then? Chummy with Hendrik?" Alan asked, quirking a brow in amusement.

"Don't ask me these things," Lyall muttered.

Alan huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. A brief lull of silence passed, but before Lyall could fill it with his eloquence of messy thoughts, Alan jumped on the opportunity to go back to something now that he had more time to think about it.

"For what it's worth, Lyall," Alan began steadily, eyeing the familiar gardens of the mansion up ahead, "I'm sorry if I have crossed boundaries with you. I didn't realize this has been bothering you. I can get side-swept into an act if I'm performing, but that isn't worth anyone's discomfort, so I'll keep that in mind for the future."

Brows twitching inward, Lyall seemed to need a moment himself to get back on the same page as Alan, but Alan was patient.

"I hadn't realized it either," Lyall said in thought.

Well. Now Alan didn't really know what to do with that. Maybe he misread the situation.

"So I... haven't bothered you," Alan said uncertaintly, wanting to phrase this as a question, but it came out sounding more like a statement.

But this didn't seem to clear anything up either way. Gaze fixed ahead on some undetermined point, Lyall seemed more confused than ever.

Maybe Alan shouldn't be trying to clear things up while he was in this state. He made a mental note to go back to in later in the future. Maybe.

For now, he was fine with silence, or to listen to Lyall if he wanted to speak some more.

"...Anyways, we don't have to talk if you don't want to. But your voice is music to my ears, so it doesn't bother me if you want to vent or talk about anything," Alan said.

Blinking out of his thoughts, Lyall looked back to Alan. He mustered a small, appreciative smile. "I... Thank you. Alan. You've indulged me quite enough for the morning, though."

Alan looking back, offering a smile. "And I enjoyed every second of it. Even if you're kind of a disaster right now."

Lyall huffed wryly. "If I were a more superstitious person, I'd go so far as to say it's karma."

"Could be. Or it could be dumb luck. Or it could be fate," Alan added.

"Could be," Lyall agreed, brows raised with a nod. "Sometimes it does feel like the Norns are fueled purely by spite." He frowned deeply in contemplation. "Though I can't imagine what I might've done to incur their wrath."

"Maybe it's because you help everyone but yourself," Alan said casually with a small shrug. "Just a thought."

"Preposterous," Lyall said dismissively.

Alan nodded. "I agree. You are very preposterous. In the best of ways, of course."

Lyall shot him a betrayed look. Completely aghast.

Alan grinned. "The mansion is up ahead now. Are you ready to meet my family?"

Lyall's brain was working overtime this morning. He gave Alan another confused look.

"...I met Alistair already?" he said, like it was common knowledge.

Alan stared at him, blinking. "You did?"

"Though I've only really seen your mother in passing," Lyall said, quick to move on. "So, that should-- Ah! No! Wait."

He stopped in his tracks, stance low and arms held out as if to keep himself balanced. "...I can't meet her drunk."

"It's... it's fine," Alan said with a little laugh, walking ahead and beckoning for him to follow. "Keep being you. She won't notice."

There was a long moment where Lyall only stared at him with severe doubt. Then he sprang back into step, almost tripping on one of the stone tiles, and followed Alan without any further hesitations.

The morning went well. Connie thought he handled conversation with James and Shane quite well. After all, they now knew about Remus's visitation and Alexander's deeds.

Now, it was time to take matters into his own hands. Unfortunately, it seemed the peaceful days of isolation were over. It was short-lived, though it was quite peaceful and content while it happened.

"Good morning, Remus," Connie greeted, nodding his head at his young brother.

Remus was dressed in flashier attire than usual today, donning the finest silks for the warm weather. He was impatiently waiting for him at the bottom of the porch, arms crossed as he tapped his foot against the sand.

"Aren't you inviting me in?" he asked tiredly, loosely gesturing to the door.

"You will meet them this evening at 5pm," Connie said. "They have also agreed to your request."

Remus released a big sigh of relief, tension leaving his body. "Thank god. I almost killed Casper with my bare hands. Do you think father would pardon the murder case if I did?"

"Do not joke about murder," Connie said blankly, resuming in his step towards Alexander's cabin. "Come along, now. I have an errand to bring you to before we hike."

Remus groaned, dragging his feet across the sand to follow him. "Brother. You realize you are on a famous luxurious island, correct?" He quickened his pace and grinned, extending his arms out around them. "Why don't you relax? Learn to live a little? Perhaps consume a drink? Dance with a beautiful lady? Take a dip in the warm waters? The world is watching, brother. Now is your time to set an impression before your coronation."

"You may do that in Talia in your own private time, Remus," Connie said firmly. "We have agreed that you come here in exchange for your time. Please respect our agreement. I would like to show you around the island. Outside air could do you some good."

Remus snarled, groaning and dragging his feet across the sand again. "Why of course, your majesty," he spat with irritation. "Anything for you, my lord."

Connie sighed as they passed by the cabins, now nearing Alexander's cabin.

"Please behave," Connie said neutrally. "I am consulting my neighbor about important matters. This is important for you too, Remus. You must learn how to hold difficult conversations with high stakes about stressful subjects."

"What?" Remus blinked, aghast. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"A prince has duties that start as young as adolescence. You may not see it now, but there will come a time when--"

"No, god, please, spare me the lecture," Remus cut in with a groan, pushing his wavy hair back against the breeze. "I meant: what the bloody hell is so crucial that two princes from one of the leading countries of the world have to sit in to discuss matters with a-- what did you say? A fellow neighbor?" He sighed. "Don't you have other things to do? Heavens, this is an ungodly waste of time."

"The man in question has been torturing my house mates using his dream manipulation magic. They are quite rattled and distressed by the reveal, especially having gone weeks with lack of sleep. These nights appear to be quite traumatic for them," Connie said evenly.

Remus paused in his steps, baffled. "Wh-- I beg your pardon?" he sputtered.

"Please let me do the talking. You are welcome to take notes," Connie said instead as they rounded the entrance of the cabin.

He beckoned for Remus to follow as he walked up to the porch, standing upright in front of the door. Glancing over his shoulder, Connie was satisfied to see Remus hanging back, arms crossed, seemingly uncertain. Perhaps he would indeed let him do the talking for once. Good.

With firm knuckles, Connie heavily knocked against the door three times, taking a small step back as he awaited a response.

The door opened to a small man with dreadlocks who appeared to be unimpressed and skeptical upon recognizing Connie.

Jay Mournsky.

"Good morning. Is Alexander inside?" Connie asked, diving straight to the point.

"He's in his room," Jay said, just as direct.

"I would like to talk to him. May we come inside, or do you want to tell him yourself?" Connie asked.

Jay opened the door wide, holding out his arm to the stairs.

Connie nodded as appreciation, gesturing for Remus to follow, who appeared to be apprehensive about stepping in.

"Remus," Connie called after stepping inside. "Come along."

"Yeah. I'm just going to wait on the porch chair," Remus said with thin disgust. "Hurry back, please."

Connie sighed. At least he said please.

"I'll be back," he said with a nod, then looked over at Jay to say, "Thank you."

"Yeah," was all Jay said, and then he closed the door on Remus.

Connie turned to pad up the stairs, hand on the railing as he paused at the base of the stairwell.

"Which one is..." he began, but trailed off as he realized he was talking into an empty living room.

Jay Mournsky was... gone. How peculiar.

At any rate, unless the plaques have been removed, or their doors have also been destroyed, the rooms should be labeled. Connie could find his own way around.

Taking steady steps, Connie went up the stairwell, reading each plaque on the door.

Jay Mournsky. Aaron Keller. Alexander Kingsman. And ahead, another curious stairwell, likely leading to Tula Nazar.

Connie stopped in front of Alexander's door, giving his door three more firm knocks as he patiently waited for a response.

"What do you want?" Alex snapped from behind the door.

"Hello, Alexander. I would like to have a discussion with you," Connie answered.

Dead silence. For quite a long time, even for him. Connie sighed.

"Can you step out, please?" he asked, trying not to sound impatient, but he did not want to be having a conversation with a door.

Again, there was silence. But this time, only for a few seconds before he heard painstakingly reluctant footsteps approach, barely audible.

The door opened, but only just enough for Alex's head and shoulders to be visible. He was still dressed in his pajamas with visible dark circles under his eyes. His hair lacked the gel it usually had. He must have just woken up.

"I have nothing to say to you," Alexander said stiffly.

"I would like to have a discussion," Connie reiterated. "Is this place sufficient?"

Alexander's nose scrunched up with distaste, but he opened the door with a huff.

"Get in," he said.

"Much appreciated," Connie said with a nod, slipping in his room.

He took in his new surroundings. It was not very minimalistic, instead quite littered with gaudy material items.

Alex closed the door behind him and turned to Connie with his arms folded.

"Go on," he said. "Say it."

Connie turned towards him, eyebrows slightly pinched together. He was unsure what Alex wanted him to say.

"Your room is quite full," Connie obliged.

Alex blinked slowly, seemingly offended as he let out a scoff. Evidently Connie said the "wrong" thing, though it was unclear to him what the "right" thing should have been.

"The nightmare," Alex snapped. "I know that's what you're here about. You have opinions. Say them."

Very well.

"Alexander," Connie began firmly. "Your actions have caused significant distress to innocent people. Using your abilities to manipulate dreams in a harmful way is a grave misuse of power. I want you to recognize the impact of your actions and the harm they have caused. I also want to understand what let you to do this. This is not about punishment, but about taking responsibility and rectifying the harm you have caused. I would like us to find a constructive way forward to ensure such actions are not repeated."

Alex stared at Connie for a moment, his hostile expression fading into bewilderment and skepticism as he tilted his head back a bit, tensing.

"So you... what," Alexander said. "Want me to apologize?"

"This is about responsibility, not just remorse," Connie said evenly. "An apology is a start, but it is not enough on its own."

"You say you don't want to punish me, but what else can you add to an apology?" Alexander asked.

"Your actions need to be a part of a sincere effort to make amends and change your behavior. This isn't about expressing apologies; it's about understanding the impact of your actions and taking concrete steps to amend the harm you have caused."

"Right," Alex said with a scoff. "So now I have to... fix that traumatized man's brain for you? Is that it? Sure, I shook things around in there but it was a mess in the first place. I don't know what kind of 'actions' you expect me to take."

"I am opening a dialogue with you to discuss meaningful changes rather than a quick fix," Connie said firmly. "Before we delve into these 'actions,' I would first like to understand why you committed these acts. May we sit?"

Alex's mouth curled down and he squinted, but jutted his chin to the chair by the vanity room. Connie nodded in thanks, making his way to the chair to angle it towards the nearest armchair. Wordlessly, he looked back at Alexander and gestured to the armchair for him to sit across from him.

Alex strolled over with his nose in the air and with a huff, crossing his legs. Following suit, Connie sat on the chair, back straight with his hands against the arms of the chair. With a steady focus, he held Alexander's gaze, realizing that, perhaps, he felt uncomfortable.

"Are you comfortable?" he decided to ask.

"Of course not," Alex said, and he glared down at the floor in what was perhaps his first show of real remorse.

"Can you elaborate why you are uncomfortable?" Connie asked.

"Because you caught me giving James a nightmare," Alex said lowly, still not looking up. "And I told Tula this shit would catch up to us eventually. She was banking on your indifference. Now she says it doesn't matter either way. And maybe it doesn't to her, but it does to me."

Alex's frown deepened.

"I don't want people thinking I'm a bad person," he said quietly. "Not in that kind of way."

"Your discomfort is a sign that you understand that your actions have harmed others," Connie said firmly. "I understand that you are concerned about how others perceive you; however, it is more important to focus on your actions rather than your image."

"Actions affect your image," Alexander argued. "And how people see you -- that's everything. It'd be one thing if I was in this shit with people who liked me, but all I am now is a disposable tool. No one here even likes me. And now it's for sure that no one will like me. When this goes public? Fuckin' hell, there goes my whole social life. God."

Alex let out a deep sigh and rubbed his face, holding the bridge of his nose.

"Yeah, yeah, what I did was wrong. Ugh. I don't need to be told that. You're just here to 'fix me' like everyone else. And then you'll leave like everyone else too."

Connie gave him a nod, now getting a better feel of Alexander's character.

"Your actions do affect your image, Alexander, but they also define your character," he said with a steady voice. "Being seen as a disposable tool or seeking approval should not dictate your actions. This is about doing what is right, not what is popular. I am not here to fix you. Rather, I am here to help you grow. You have the opportunity to define yourself, not just in the eyes of others, but in your own eyes as well."

Alexander stared at Connie for a moment with brows furrowed and slightly widened eyes. But as Connie finished, Alexander let out a groan and held the bridge of his nose again, closing his eyes.

"Fuckin' hell, man," he said.

Connie merely waited patiently for him to continue, allowing Alex to have this moment to collect his thoughts and reflect. It took some time, actually. Alex held his head down for a while, looking deeply distressed as he stared in his lap.

"What is right and wrong?" Alex suddenly asked. "Who determines that?"

Ah, the age old question of morality. Connie was glad to help guide him to this path. He folded his hands over his lap, diving into the topic with focused calm.

"Right and wrong are often seen as constructs shaped by society, but at its core, they are guided by a fundamental understanding of harm and benefit, empathy and indifference. The moral compass is delicately tuned to the individual of the person, founded on external factors beyond their control. Cultural influence, for example, may dictate whether it is acceptable to act in certain ways that may be deemed unacceptable elsewhere.

However, this does not mean that morality is entirely relative. Deep within the cogs of the compass, there exists an intrinsic sense of compassion and fairness that transcends these external boundaries. It is this innate moral intuition that often challenges us, especially in scenarios of gray morality.

Take, for instance, the dilemma of causing harm to a perpetrator who has inflicted immense suffering. On one hand, there is the instinctive urge for retribution, a seemingly just response to injustice. On the other, there is the principle of compassion, which asks us to consider the humanity even in those who have committed unthinkable cruelties.

In such situations, right and wrong are not black and white, but rather shades of gray, demanding a careful balance between justice and empathy. This challenges us to ask difficult questions: Does inflicting harm in return truly rectify the wrongdoing, or does it perpetuate a cycle of violence? Can we adhere to our moral principles of empathy and compassion while addressing acts of profound wrongdoing?

There is no one right determination of right and wrong, and often times, the classification is not that simple. The personal journey of constructing our own moral compass requires us to reflect on our own values, the impact of our actions, and our responsibility towards the greater good. Upon reflection, we must find a path that aligns with our inner moral compass while being mindful of the broader implications of our choices.

The path to morality is never-ending and requires careful reflections and considerations for all circumstances. Only fools believe that they can determine right from wrong without contemplation. True wisdom in morality lies not in absolute certainty, but in the willingness to constantly question and evaluate one's principles in the light of new situations and perspectives."

Finally, Connie finished his spiel. He had not moved a muscle, keeping his attention on Alexander as he talked for approximately two minutes on this profound topic.

Alexander's brows furrowed deeply.

"So I just have to figure it out?" he asked. "All the time? God, that sounds exhausting."

Connie nodded. "Indeed. We are not born with morals. Rather, defining morals is a personal journey of understanding, growth, and reflection on your actions and their impact."

"Is that... what-- like right now?" Alex asked.

"Yes. Can you expand on why you were driven to bestow nightmares to innocent people?"

Alexander let out a deep sigh, slouching forward onto the arm of his chair.

"It... it started with Tula," Alex said. "The first day she came here she came up with this whole 'plan' to mess with other contestants so that we - everyone in our cabin - might have a better chance at winning at the end of the DMV. She told me I could use my magic to mess with people's sleep so no one's on top of their game. She said James was the highest threat. I didn't really care about the who honestly. The... the what just seemed..."

He paused, casting his gaze to the ground in shame.

"... fun," he finished.

Connie realized that perhaps a more guided approach with questions could better steer this conversation to productivity.

"May I ask you a series of questions, Alexander?" he asked.

Alex shot Connie a look.

"You already have been," Alex said flatly.

An affirmative, then.

"Why did you agree to Tula's plan?" Connie asked.

Alexander sighed.

"I... I wanted to be a part of something," Alex said weakly. "At the time, she treated me with respect. But that... didn't last."

Alexander rubbed his forehead.

"Ugh. I don't expect you to understand the allure of drama, I suppose," Alexander sighed. "Being as... forthright and robotic as you are."

"I would like to better understand," Connie said calmly. "How do you think your need for inclusion and respect influenced your decision-making?"

"Doesn't everybody want that?" Alexander asked almost incredulously. "Does nobody else think that way?"

"The desire for inclusion and respect is indeed a common human experience," Connie said. "However, the ways in which we seek these needs can vary greatly. While it is natural to want to belong, it is important to consider the consequences of how we achieve that. Do you think there are healthier, more constructive ways to fulfill these needs without compromising your values or harming others?"

Alexander stared at Connie long and hard.

"You're asking me fucking deep questions, Connie, and I've had but a minute to think in them," he said. "I don't have an answer for that one."

"Perhaps not now. Would you like more time to think?" Connie asked.

Alexander sighed.

"I wasn't expecting you to come over here with a lecture," he groaned. "Yeah, I need time to think. I was expecting threats. Not this."

"Humans are not perfect, Alexander. We all make mistakes, and it is crucial that we learn from them, especially if they inflict harm to others. I am not villainizing you, nor am I angry. I simply want to understand and help you learn from your mistakes. I would like you to grow into a person who uses empathy and compassion in your everyday decisions."

Alexander let out an even longer sigh. He rubbed his forehead.

"Alright," Alex said. "I'll... get back to you."

But the expression Alex made immediately after looked pained, as if he didn't like what he said.

"Just... don't tell anyone about this, okay?" Alex asked.

"I certainly respect your request for privacy in this manner," Connie said with an downward inclination of his head. "However, transparency and accountability are key factors in resolving these situations. I will not publicize our conversation, but there may be a need to disclose details to those affected or involved. This is necessary for a fair and constructive resolution. I understand this is difficult and perhaps even painful for you, but growth often involves facing difficult truths."

Alex cringed back into his seat.

"Just don't tell my mother," he said lowly.

Connie kept his steady stare on him, unreacting. "I will not tell your mother," he affirmed.

Alex let out a sigh of relief.

"Alright," he said, sitting up straighter. "Fine. I will take this into self reflection. I assume you're going to follow-up regardless, so I'll await your undesired return."

"Once I depart from your cabin, I plan to take a relaxing hike around the island with my brother. Would you like to join me, Alexander? Otherwise, if you would like more time by yourself to reflect, I will come by when it is more desirable," Connie said neutrally.

"I will pass on that offer," Alexander said. "Hiking's not really my 'thing.'"

Connie nodded, standing up from the chair. "Thank you for the chat. I will follow-up another time, then."

Alexander stared at Connie expectantly. "Sure," he said.

"Would you like to discuss anything else before I part ways?" Connie asked.

"No," Alexander answered. "You've left me with plenty to discuss with myself."

Connie nodded again, taking this as an invitation to leave the room. He left without another word, exiting the room, but then peered over to the stairwell that led to another story up.

He hoped Remus wouldn't mind waiting some more so he could have another chat.

One day was over. The next began. His body was rested but the rest of him wasn't, and the breakfast salad wasn't mixing well with the coffee. After James motivated himself to stop being a worm, he said goodbye to Shane, brushed his teeth, put in his contacts for once, and slipped on his highlighter shoes.

If he had other running shoes that were dull, he'd have worn them. He didn't feel colorful today. He didn't want to draw attention. He just wanted to be.

Wearing his blandest outfit to date, minus the shoes, he stepped out of the cabin in black shorts and a grey shirt. Was it the shirt he slept in? Yes. Was he going to get it sweaty and change out of it immediately after the run? Yes. Did he care? No.

God, he was so glad there wasn't a snarky man inside his head to make fun of him for this. Was this even laughable? Or was it just sad? No. It was just clothes, and James was tired of thinking on it.

He didn't want to spend any more time outside than necessary, so when he went out to meet Hild, it was on the dot.

And - not that he'd mention it to her - he did have his pager on him. And his watch. They were basically a replacement for what his phone functioned as, now.

It worked.

James was on her porch and didn't even have to knock on the door. She was right on time, as usual, and already waiting for him.

Easing the door shut behind herself, Hild didn't bother concealing a concerned frown as she said, "We don't have to run," instead of her usual formal greeting.

"Do I look that bad?" he asked.

He honestly couldn't tell what his face was doing anymore.

"No," she said frankly, "simply dead."

James sighed, and his shoulders sank. He'd been hoping to get out some of the pent up energy inside him, but, at the same time, stepping out into the open felt like walking right into the vision of a sniper's scope. He looked at his feet.

"I got sleep, actually," he said, hoping it'd be good news for her to hear. "Connie was able to help with that."

Her brows raised slightly at that. "Excellent," she replied, with some hope in her voice. "Is he willing to continually assist in this way, or was it a one-time occurance?"

"He said he's willing to help so long as we're here," James said. "Though the... the time window wasn't that specified. It was just implied, I think."

Nodding, Hild silently beckoned him along as she stepped down from the porch. "That was very kind of him to imply."

James nodded slowly, following alongside her. He thought back again on the conversation last night, and how sincere Connie had been, as well as thoughtful with his words. He'd honestly never expected that level of loyalty from him, and he'd been very pleasantly surprised. He actually felt cared for, but more than anything, he was relieved he has somewhere safe to exist, even if it was only in his sleep.

Hild stopped them in the space between the rows of cabins, brow quirked as she gestured questioningly between the path and his place.

James blinked, looking out at the path in indecision.

Connie was bringing his brother over... right? James already said he'd miss that, and he didn't want to have a personal conversation with Remus around. Or rather, get caught up in any interaction that would distract from it.

"Maybe we can walk instead?" he asked.

It was easier to talk and walk than to run and walk.

"An acceptable alternative," Hild agreed.

Turning with her to the path, they changed course. Hild led them up the hill, away from the jungle and towards the plaza.

After a small pause, James looked down at Hild tentatively.

"I should... tell you more about what happened with Connie," James said quietly. "It was more than him just taking me out of a bad dream. It was a nightmare that someone was giving me."

"As suspected," Hild said, matching his volume. "Did you find the culprit?"

"Yes," James said. "It's... Alexander."

"Ah." Hild sighed quietly. "So, he had been dishonest with me."

James frowned. "I'm sorry."

She shrugged a shoulder. "We haven't become very close yet, so I wouldn't quite count it a significant loss."

"It's... still a betrayal of trust," James said softly.

"It." She sighed out through her nose, conceding, "It is."

James fell quiet for a moment, empathizing with the pain. He knew that they hadn't had more than three weeks to become aquainted, but he knew Hild seemed comfortable enough with Alex that she'd formerly had no ill opinions of him. He wondered if she was as cynical as she vocalized now, or if this had truly blindsided her.

"Do you think you'll try to... talk to him?" James suggested gently.

"I'm not sure what could come of it," she said honestly. "Though I do want to."

"You won't know what will come of it unless you do it," James said.

Hild hummed. "True."

"I don't mean to impose my opinion of what you should do," James said. "But if he's considered you a friend, he might listen to you. I... I don't know if I'm ready to talk to him myself."

She offered a faint smile. "No, I quite value your input. Thank you." She looked ahead again. "I don't know about needing him to 'listen' to me, but I hope it can be salvaged, perhaps. You, however, are under no obligation to approach him. So, you are free to shake that weight from your shoulders, if it is in fact something hanging over you."

James frowned a little deeper, but he couldn't will himself to reply to that.

That was the thing he didn't know about anymore.

Over the years, he'd always been the one to go back and try to make amends. He'd ask questions. Try to understand. He'd make appeals, and he'd try over and over and over again. It felt like he'd failed time and time again to get people's hearts to actually change, and he never knew what he was doing wrong. It always felt like he bore some kind of responsibility for the people who'd wronged him, but he didn't think he could say he felt obligated to give them a second chance. He just... wanted to.

And then he was left with disappointment when they squandered it.

Maybe it would be different with Alex. He didn't know. Maybe Alex could change. Maybe Tula could change. Hell, maybe the Trieu's could change. He just didn't know if it was a weight he carried or...

Something else.

He knew he had a bad habit of trying to 'save' people who didn't want 'saving.' He knew he couldn't be everyone's 'hero.' He just hated to see people go down horrible paths.

And he hated how muddy it made everything seem. He hated how now he felt like a pendulum swinging between too much mercy and too much judgement. It took so much grace to balance the two. And here he was stuck in another decision...

"James," Hild softly called.

James shook his head. "Hm?"

She looked him over, studying him. Then cracked a small, wry grin. "Or shall we call you Atlas?"

James weakly let out a huff through his nose.

"No," he said, forcing a small smile. "It's..."

But he couldn't think of anything else to add to that that wasn't depressing.

"There's no obligation to reach out to him," Hild reiterated, "so... I kindly suggest you put the thought to rest."

James swallowed. "I'll think on it," he said quietly.

Her small grin faded as she nodded once in acknowledgement, but she made no audible comment. James could feel her thoughts even though she didn't say them. She was thinking something and it was probably her saying the same thing again but stronger.

"Um," he swallowed. "I did tell Connie about a lot of what's been going on. The wendigo and... he's going to be helping."

"Good," she replied, and fully meant it. "I'll keep my cabin mates up-to-date on this front as well."

James nodded. "Thanks," he said.

"How is Shane faring?" Hild asked.

"Oh," James said. "He's... hanging in there, I think. Upset about Alex, but..."

He couldn't really speak to much else without unveiling private matters.

"I think it's safe to say yesterday was a bad day for both of us," he finished.

She hummed. "I do hope things improve for you two."

"Me too," James said weakly.

Another silence lapsed between them. James felt like he didn't have much to offer as the slowly made their way up the hill toward the plaza. Everything inside of him was buzzing with anticipation, expecting a danger from anywhere to appear. It was hard to turn it off; the part of his brain that was on alert. If he let his guard down, that was always when things would get worse.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he tried not to think of all of the ways it could get worse. But this thoughts still spiralled.

"Viktor expressed an interest in joining our musical endeavors sometime this week," Hild said, tone conversational. "I'm sure you noticed his guitar, stowed in its case, the night prior. He was excited to discover you two share that much in common."

James blinked hard, pulling himself out of his head.

"Oh," he said. "Yes, that sounds like a nice idea. It's been a minute since we've played together. I'm open to playing with him."

Hild offered a faint smile. "He means well," she went on, "and quite admires you. Just as a forewarning, he is quite... He is incredibly exciteable. So he will come on rather strong at times."

"I can deal with exciteable," James said, trying to mirror her smile.

She nodded with a quiet hum, looking ahead again. "What are your younger siblings like?"

James glanced over at her, nodding to himself.

"Ah. Well. Petrus is a bit more reserved, but he loosens up around family. Larrel's definitely the loudest of us, though. She keeps things entertaining," he said.

"And she is the... youngest?" Hild guessed.

"That she is," James said. "I have a feeling she and Vik might get along."

Hild flashed a small yet attentive grin. "What makes you say this?"

"They both seem pretty extroverted and high energy," James said. "They'd probably feed off of each other."

"A self-perpetuating cycle," Hild mused. "In the event they get to meet, we ought to pay close attention, see who manages to tire who out first."

"I don't know Vik well, so I really can't say," James said distantly.

But he could feel his mind drifting.

Hild said something in reply, but James admittedly didn't process it. There was a buzz in his head, slowly growing like a beehive; drowning out the sound of everything around him. Maybe at some point he said more in return, and they exchanged more words. But it was more of nothing. Meaningless small-talk conversation only carried them so far until they eventually stopped talking altogether. Or maybe it was just James who'd stopped talking.

He couldn't remember.

They'd made it to the edge of the plaza, and the fluttering of a bird's wings overhead made James flinch.

Constantine wouldn't strike out in the open, would he? Not with so many cameras around. Not with civilians. He wouldn't risk having his identity publicized - but, then again, he wouldn't come on his own, either. He'd just use Aaron.

God, where was Aaron, even? Was he alright? Surely he'd seen Constantine, too...

Hild's hand gently slipped into James's, and she gave a light tug to indicate a left turn. James stumbled for a step, not realizing how deeply he'd spaced out again until he had to change course. He followed after Hild and steadied himself quickly as they took the path down towards the gardens.

They passed under the somewhat familiar archway, covered in vines and flowers, and the pathway began to curve into a lush, colorful flower garden highly populated with butterflies. A large fountain in the center bubbled amidst pink rose bushes, and Hild led them to a wooden bench that faced it.

"This will have to do," Hild murmured to herself, taking a seat on the bench with her legs crossed.

James hadn't realized that Hild needed a break. He hesitated, looking around for a second before sitting beside her.

He felt like he... missed something.

"When I delivered the pager," Hild said, launching right into whatever it was on her mind, "we... joked about mind reading. You recall this, yes?"

James turned to her with a raised brow.

"Yes," he said, wondering where this was going.

"Well." She folded her hands in her lap. "It quickly stopped being a joke. For lack of a better way to phrase it..." Flicking her eyes up to the sun, she scrunched her nose in thought. Then met his again, expression dead-serious as she quickly finished, "I believe I could sense your subconscious."

James stared at her for a moment, almost wanting to ask if she was joking again. But she very much did not sound or look like she was joking. There was a distinct difference between the two.

So... did that mean...

"Is that from Stravos?" James asked slowly.

"Oh my gods, I hope not," Hild uttered, frowning deeply at the thought. "I'll presume 'no', since it did require in the moment the physical contact."

Huh.

"Is this new?" he asked.

"Yes. Quite." Hild glanced out sideways, as if to ensure no one else was around. "I believe. I'm not entirely sure what it was, actually. Though I undercut it with--" She applied airquotes. "--'humor', I wasn't lying when I answered inconclusive. Perhaps it's wishful thinking more than anything. But, if you don't mind a quick experiment, I'd like to give it legitimate effort this time."

James hesitated.

He wasn't sure if his mind was one that Hild wanted to try traipsing around in. And he admittedly wasn't sure how it'd feel. Would it be like... when Constantine went poking around?

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"If you're not," Hild answered instead, "we don't have to. I just figured I'd ask you, since we already had an established dialogue on the matter."

"Oh, it's -- I mean -- I don't mind," James said. "I just don't know what you'll find."

"And I don't know that it'll actually work." Quirking a brow, Hild tried offering a gentle smile as she shrugged. "We can start small, if this does turn anything up."

James forced a small smile in return.

"Okay," he said. "I suppose it won't hurt to try."

Hild nodded conclusively. Then her confidence quickly waned as she hesitantly reached for his hands. Stopped herself short. Tentatively made to touch his forehead like last time. Then huffed as she withdrew again.

James smiled a little more genuinely. "You can touch my head," he said with a bit of amusement. "If you think it'll help."

"I was hoping I wouldn't have to," she muttered.

James huffed through his nose with a faint laugh.

"Maybe it'll help," James joked. "Since I have such a thick skull."

Hild hummed, seeming to seriously ponder this. "Perhaps that was why it felt so distant," she mused.

"Didn't know my biology would interfere with your magic," James said.

"Many variables," she agreed. "Hence: 'inconclusive'."

Drawing in a breath, she actually braced herself as she stiffly set her hand across his forehead. James couldn't help but be amused by how awkward she was being about it, but he stayed still, watching as her eyes closed and her expression tensed with deep focus.

Hild knew James wasn't being entirely serious when he joked about his skull. And, absurd though it sounded, there was actually some logic behind the thought. Hence, she had to take it very seriously and thus try to break this initial first barrier with as little resistance to the new process as they could manage.

This to say, yes, she felt quite justified in this entirely awkward position. That she put herself in, yes. She was quite aware.

Maybe swapping powers with the mind reader Stravos did unlock something within her own mind. Perhaps this was simply an inevitable milestone on the way to growing into her magic. Either way, as with any new endeavor in life, she had to exert far more intentional thought and energy in order to set anything into motion.

Delving into the mind of another human being was quite a bit like crawling through a thick hedge in an attempt to cut through a maze. Or even dipping down into murky waters, swimming through dark muddiness until she was on the verge of losing all breath entirely, and only then was she able to resurface inside a cave. Quite the mental fight to access an entirely new plane of existence.

Rather than finding a cave, she broke the surface to find herself standing inside what looked like a massive library. Painted onto the ceiling was a quaint farm, with horses bounding through golden fields. The walls, tall and cylindrical, were all lined with deep shelves, filled to the brim with books.

On the floor beneath her shoes, she found an etching of who she presumed to be the Hawke family, since she thought she recognized James in the man within the image. The woman beside him, however, was not Larrel. But there were a few recognizable facial features, such as her eyes. Thus, Hild could reasonably conclude that the smiling child in front of the James doppelganger was James himself, and the infant being held by the woman was Larrel.

Petrus was nowhere to be found in this etching.

So the foundation of James's early life did in fact precede his brother's joining the family.

Different corridors branched out from this point. At the tops of the tall arching doorways, they bore the following signs: Early Childhood, Teenaged Years, Early Adulthood, and Present. Between each doorway was a large pillar, holding up the vaulted ceiling. On each pillar was a word written vertically in what she recognized as Nyean, presumably James's first language. After searching her own memory to translate, she read them as: Love, Loyalty, Justice, and Truth.

Brows quirking, Hild found herself rather impressed with the sheer organization of his subconscious mind. An artful compartmentalizer.

Quickly combing through the timeline she'd put together based on what she'd read about his case, and what he'd told her personally, Hild decided more recent years might be harder to access. She presumed lack of proper time and the right environment to do so, greatly delayed processing. So, what else would a compartmentalizer of this level do? Simply lock it all away, for unpacking at a later point.

Early Childhood, or Teenaged Years?

After hesitating, Hild quietly started down the Early Childhood hall. The corridor was likewise lined with volumes on either side. She did notice that they were dustier than the ones in the center of his mind. The books, she figured, held memories and or contexts for these memories, imagery, et cetera. Thus, she was inclined to ask to page through maybe one or two when she resfuraced from within his head.

She didn't get far before she heard a meow near her feet. Hild looked down, surprised that there might be another living creature here. The cat was large and fluffy, and immediately started rubbing its face up against her legs with a loud purr. It was white with black patterning on its eyes, ears, and back.

Pleasantly surprised, Hild bent down and gently scratched behind its ear.

"You must be an old friend," she said warmly in greeting.

The cat purred louder, twirling its tail around her leg as it leaned into her hand.

"Unless your presence indicates an invitation," Hild murmured, moving her hand to scratch under its chin, "then I'll say it's too presumptuous of me to go any farther than this point."

Shaking its head quickly, the cat wiggled away, letting out a loud meow as it ran away, briefly glancing back at her.

Ah. An invitation, then.

Hild followed after the friendly creature. It led her past several rows of shelves, then darted into a row with a skid across the floor. When she turned the corner, she saw the cat had climbed up a few shelves up and sat itself atop a hefty volume that she would normally assume was a dictionary. With a faint grin, she approached with an outstretched hand, carefully stroking the cat as she tilted her head to read the book's spine.

"'Love Lives On'," she read aloud.

The cat meowed as if to confirm. Hild gently lifted the cat, cradling it in one arm as she delicately opened the book with her free hand.

There was flashes of an unfamiliar life before her eyes. The man-- James's father-- was present for the first few. She heard the laughter of a young one, and her heart swelled with the affection of a child who utterly adored their parent.

A transition she didn't expect-- but understood as it unfolded-- was the phasing out of the father from these moving images, as the infant from the floor etching-- Larrel-- steadily became a more prominent subject. Until she was the whole purpose of the memories, until she was small James's entire world. The new subject of all his affections.

There was a hint of an underlying sadness. Something that made his affections bittersweet to the taste. And it took Hild a moment to realize that a different kind of pang in her chest indicated the absence of something crucial.

James had lost his father.

A kind of pain Hild was familiar with, but at a much later point in her own life.

The flashes of memories stopped abruptly. Everything around her was awash in a blinding white for a split second.

In the next, she was sitting on the bench in the garden again, no longer holding the cat.

Hild blinked herself back to the present.

James was sitting in front of her again, but it appeared he'd pulled away. His eyes were locked onto something behind her, and he appeared tense.

Brows twitching inward, Hild glanced uncertainly over her shoulder.

A woman was approaching on the path - one that Hild could recall greeting James yesterday. She was notably tall and lean, and her long hair looked pitch black against her pale skin. She had sunglasses on and a tank top with linen shorts. Her flip flops smacked lightly against the cobblestone path, announcing her presence.

Quite contrary to James's reaction, the woman smiled and waved.

Ah, yes. The woman from whom James smacked Shane's hand away. When the boat docked.

With the diametrically opposing responses to each other, Hild wasn't entirely sure how to frame the relation.

The woman walked up to their bench and stopped short a few feet, standing closer to Hild.

"Good morning," she greeted, then looked down to Hild. "I don't think we've met. I know you from the show, but you don't know me. My name's Ingrid."

Hild folded her hands together over her lap. "Hild Ashlund," she introduced anyhow. "Salutations, Ingrid."

Ingrid smiled again. "What are you two up to this morning?" she asked.

"Walk," James said in a one-word answer.

"Enlightening," Ingrid said. "Well, it's a nice morning for that."

"Indeed," Hild agreed pleasantly. And left it at that, unsure if she should be welcoming or repelling conversation with this woman.

She was leaning toward the latter option, judging by the way James had clammed up upon Ingrid's arrival.

"Mind if I join you?" Ingrid asked.

"We're rather engaged in a private conversation," Hild answered apologetically.

"Is that what the whole, uh..." Ingrid touched her forehead with her palm. "Thing was about?"

"Yes," Hild answered simply.

Ingrid hummed. "Must've been quite the conversation," she said.

Hild blinked slowly at the woman, unsure of what kind of response she was looking for. Clearly, Hild was trying to politely indicate for her to disengage now.

"Yes," Hild said, then reiterated, "A personal conversation."

"Is that so, James?" Ingrid asked, looking past Hild.

James gave Ingrid a stiff, dead-eyed look as he said: "Yes. Now the polite thing to do would to be on your way."

Bristling, Ingrid raised her brows and lifted up her hands in front of her.

"Okay, okay," she said. "No need to be rude. I'll see myself out. Have a nice conversation."

And as abruptly as she came, she left - fleeing into the garden with long strides. James stared after her until she turned the corner and disappeared behind a hedge of tall bushes. His eyes, however, still locked on the last place she'd been for a few seconds before he hesitated to look back at Hild.

"Sorry about that," James said. "I didn't mean to pull away so soon."

Hild stared curiously at the spot where James was momentarily fixated on as well.

Did he anticipate the woman to return? Listen in from around the corner?

"It's fine," Hild answered. "It was simply jarring."

"How about we walk and talk?" James suggested, getting to his feet. His eyes flicked to the hedge again.

Delayed, Hild followed suit. "An acceptable proposition."

James began to lead them out of the garden, going a different way than they came. Glancing over her shoulder one last time, Hild quietly followed.

"Did it work?" he asked more quietly once they'd made some distance from their former bench.

Hild cast him a curious sideways glance. "Yes," she answered.

"Hm. Thought I felt something," he said.

"I wondered if you would sense a foreign presence within your subconscious," Hild said with a nod. "What did it feel like?"

James tilted his head to the side in thought. "A bit... tickly. Kind of like that feeling some people get when listening to ASMR."

Hild blinked at him. "A... An 'ASMR'?"

James squinted. "It's uh... I'm not actually a fan of most of it, but basically it's like, certain quiet sounds amplified by a microphone. They're called 'ASMR' videos because the sounds can sometimes make people feel what ASMR stands for - the Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response. Which is... the sensation I'm trying to compare it to."

"Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response," Hild echoed contemplatively. "I must research this phenomenon once we've returned to our cabins."

"But that's just what happened on my end," James said. "I'm curious what it was like for you, since you were skeptical that it'd work in the first place."

"It felt essentially like stepping out of reality," she explained, "and into a mildly surrealistic library." She pursed her lips in thought. "Thoroughly organized. Elements of your... core as a human being were even labeled. And you had a cat."

James raised his brows, looking out ahead of them with a small huff.

"A cat?" he asked. "What did it look like?"

"Black and white," she said. "In patterns akin to cattle."

"Was it kind of fat and did it purr really loud?" James asked.

It was Hild's turn to quirk a brow at him, letting out an amused breath. "Large, yes, with the voice box of a jackhammer."

"Sounds like Spur," James said. "He was the barn cat we had when I was a kid. That's... interesting, that he's roaming around my head, I guess."

"Spur was quite friendly," Hild said with a shrug.

"Yeah," James said wistfully. "He always was. He was a good cat."

She grinned faintly. "Well-cared for, too. Quite happy, with a healthy shine to his marvelous coat."

"Wonder who's caring for him in my head," James said with a small smirk, tapping the side of his head.

"Suppose that will remain a mystery," Hild said, grin turning a bit wry, "unless I'm able to take another look around for a caretaker."

James let out a small laugh, but it turned a bit nervous. She was curious why he'd be nervous. The only plausible other presence she could think of lingering in his mind, was just. His own.

"I'm... not sure what you'd find," he said. "But if you need the practice, I wouldn't mind."

Was the mansion bigger than when Lyall last visited? It felt like it just. Kept growing with each visit. The lobby was different too. Maybe. No, it was all the same, and he was only just noticing things, now that doors were actually opened.

Alan was quick to steer them into a dining area. Which reminded Lyall of his earlier foolishness, neglecting to eat something before taking morning shots of the hardest liquors known to man. Which only fed into a new cycle of foolishness, absorbing all of that alcohol at such an accelerated rate and evidently recruiting the wrong kind of man-- a trigger-happy drunk-- for what was purely supposed to be a stakeout in front of--

Gah, he still needed to contact James. Lyall inwardly cursed Hawke's lack of accessibility via personal device. He supposed he could call or text Hild, but. She hated Lyall again. It wasn't that he thought she would forego safety measures for the sake of a friend in need. Lyall just felt less inclined to face her, however indirectly, knowing he no longer had her good graces at the moment.

Anyway. Where was he?

James. Right. He had to make sure the man was still alive. Needed to ensure he wasn't about to face this creature head-on, on his own, with possibly the most extreme case of sleep deprivation in unrecorded history, which was only continuing to pile up no doubt--

"Earth to Lyall," Alan suddenly called up close, waving his hand in front of his face, before replacing it with a shiny red apple. "Eat this."

Blinking, Lyall leaned back so that his friend wasn't so close, and that he could actually look at the fruit. "What... Why?"

"Because," Alan said matter-of-factly with a growing grin as he waved the apple in front of him, "an apple a day keeps the doctor away. Please eat this for my benefit."

Lyall frowned with confusion. Slight hurt, even. "But... I'm a doctor," he mumbled, accepting the apple anyway.

With a fond smile, Alan reached behind and pulled out a granola bar, seemingly having it appear from thin air-- sorcery! "I know. But you're a friend first, doctor second," he said, tapping the end of the granola bar against his chest. "Eat this too."

Taking a bite of the apple, Lyall pocketed the granola bar and scanned the room. "I don't see your family here." He made a beeline back for the main corridor-- misjudging the distance between himself and a chair on the way, but determinedly forged ahead.

"Wait, wait, wait. Lyall!" Alan called behind him, hurrying by his side with a playful smile. "Hold on, you have something in your hair. Just wait a second."

"Nay, locating your family is far more urgent!"

Lyall skidded back out into the lobby, looking all around then up to the upper level for the Alvaros. Ah! Yes. Bedrooms were usually located on upper levels, correct? Per the usual pattern within the hospitality industry.

Lyall took a few steps up the stairs, but Alan zoomed ahead of him, whirling around to face him and block his advances by mirroring his steps.

"Lyall," he called patiently with an amused smile.

With a huff, Lyall tried side-stepping him again, but Alan was quick to copy him, blocking his path.

Lyall tsked, tilting his chin up defiantly. "Alan."

"I have a question for you," Alan said, tilting his chin down as his smile grew.

Lyall moodily bit into his apple, and gestured with it for him to proceed.

"Please," Alan began patiently, "can you tell me why you have a muffin in your hair?"

Lyall blinked, positively baffled. "Bloody hell--?"

Before Lyall could say more, Alan reached behind Lyall's neck, playfully touselled his hair with his fingers, then-- magically, out of thin air-- shoved a big blueberry muffin in front of his face.

"I tried to warn you," he said innocently, still waving it in his face for him to take. "It's quite impressive that you can walk this far and this long with this on top of your head."

Far slower to process than normal, Lyall blinked wide-eyed at it.

What-- Where did-- How did Alan hide that until now? How had Lyall not noticed it until now?

"Alan." Lyall nudged the muffin away from his face to frown disapprovingly. "Are we not here for your family's safety?"

"We are," Alan said with a nod, pulling his hand inwards to turn the muffin at various angles for inspection before turning back to Lyall with a smile. "But consider this the price you pay to cross. Eat carbohydrates, then we both may pass. Simple. What do you say?"

Lyall sighed, letting his shoulders sag. "I say--" Taking the muffin with his free hand, he waved it indignantly at the musician. "--you are the strangest bridge troll I have ever encountered."

Alan hummed, patiently tapping his finger against the railing as he watched him, presumably to confirm that he would eat the food. "Today is a muffin. Tomorrow, a mystery. Who knows how the mind of a bridge troll works?" he said with a light shrug, still smiling.

Trying to level him with his most unamused stare-- the effects of which felt severely undermined with the exacerbated height discrepancy between them-- Lyall took a large bite out of the muffin's top. Then he raised both fruit and muffin in an impatient shrug.

"There!" he said, mouth full. "May we please carry on to more pressing matters, now?"

It was clear that Alan was biting back a laugh, which only served to further irk Lyall. The musician nodded then dipped his head into a swiveling motion to turn around, racing up the stairs without another word. Burdened as he was with food in both hands, Lyall did his best to keep pace.

At the top of the stairs, Alan tapped his chin as he stared up at the signs of the upper wall, standing in front of a fork that divided the rooms west and east. He turned back at Lyall and said, "Families are in the west wing," before leading the way, bounding down the west hall.

Ah, of course. Now Alan was in a hurry, but only after unloading food stuffs onto Lyall. Whose coordination was slightly impaired as is.

As he struggled to follow along, Lyall hurriedly ate what he could of the apple, and tossed the core into a rubbish bin on the way.

"Did Vik tell you which is his room?" Alan asked over his shoulder as he slowed to a stop after passing several identical doors, each with its own room number.

Lyall tried to remember if his brother had at any point. He shook his head. "Just that he was rooming with Alistair."

"Not a worry," Alan said with enthusiasm, backtracking to the first door they stopped at. Turning on his heel, Lyall picked through his muffin as he watched him go.

And then Alan knocked on the door without waiting. He stepped back, waiting for a response.

Wait. Lyall frowned. If Alan was asking, then he didn't know either. So was he just going to knock on every door, causing a grand disturbance until--

The door opened, and out peeked a young woman with bright green eyes and, more notably, a wavy cascade of flamingo pink hair. She shyly opened the door at first, but then brightened up at the sight of the two of them, full opening the door.

"Oh, hello!" she squeaked with a smile. "Sorry, I thought maybe you were room service or, ah..." She let out a soft giggle, pushing hair behind her eat. "I don't really know."

"Ah, sorry to disturb you, miss," Alan said with an apologetic smile and a nod. "We must have knocked on the wrong door."

Lyall tiredly hid his face behind his hand.

"Oh, that's okay!" she said eagerly, smiling back. Her eyes flicked between Alan and Lyall, but did not otherwise comment. "Who are you looking for? Maybe I can help."

"My brother. He's my height, similar face. A charming fellow, usually dressed in all black. Have you seen him?" Alan went on.

The young woman deflated, sighing as she shook her head. "No... sorry. Sorry I'm not a bigger help."

"It's quite alright. We'll find him," Alan said assuredly. "I hope you have a good rest of the morning, miss."

"You as well!" she said with another bright smile, then closed the door.

Once the handle clicked back into place, Lyall turned a half-hearted glare up to Alan, but he was already turning around to move down the hall.

"So this is your grand plan?" Lyall said incredulously, twisting around to watch him bound away with the energy of a herding dog.

But by then, Alan had already knocked on the neighboring door. He stepped back, turning his head to Lyall.

"Hm? What was that?" he said.

Exasperated, Lyall threw his hands heavenward as he marched down the hall to join him. "You know," he whispered sharply, "you could just phone either your brother or mine, rather than turning over literally every stone on this island in your mad search."

Alan scoffed. "Well, I don't have a phone. Why don't you phone them?"

"Because you haven't even given me the chance to suggest!" Lyall countered, giving the muffin a disgruntled waggle.

"There's only five doors," Alan said as he gestured down the hall. "And two of them are who we're looking for. Our chances are good here."

With a huff, Lyall dug through his pockets, then lightly smacked his phone over Alan's chest. "Your pick," he said. "Just contact one of them."

Alan scrunched his nose, peeling the phone out of Lyall's grip so he could wave it in front of him. "Well, I would. But you have an impossibly long passcode here. What's the deal with that, anyways? Are you trying to hide from the CIA?"

Lyall tsked with offense. "Is it not recommended by technological professionals that you craft a secure passcode in order to effectively protect your personal data?"

"What's someone going to get if they hack you?" Alan shot back. "Your skin care and hair regime?"

Lyall shrugged. "Well, that could be invaluable. Doctor-tried and approved methods! Who wouldn't want that? My complexion is st--"

The door finally opened.

"...Alan?" a tousled-hair, squinty Alistair said lowly at the door, staring at them. From the way he presented himself, it appeared he had just woken up.

"Alistair!" Alan said excitedly, the prior argument having left his head.

Aaaand of course his brother would be at the very door where Lyall was trying to make a point. Hanging his head, he let out his longest, most world-weary sigh.

Still holding Lyall's phone, Alan sprung forward and wrapped his arms around Alistair's shoulders, practically throwing himself to him for a hug. Caught off guard, Alistair took a few steps back, nearly losing his footing.

"Oh my god, it's really you! I'm so glad to see you!" Alan said with a laugh as Alistair smiled and patted his brother's back.

"Yeah, yeah. It's good to see you too," Alistair with with a little laugh. "I literally... I just woke up."

"Unsurprising," Alan huffed out, pulling away. "How have you been? I'm glad we've gotten to catch up on the phone, but it's seriously so good to see you in person. I'm so glad you're here."

Alistair smiled, flicking his eyes between him and Lyall, a bit bashful to be put on the spot, especially considering he had just woken up. "Me too. It's great to see you."

"Oh, bro," Alan said as he then pulled away, shuffling back to grandly gesture to Lyall. "You remember Lyall, right?" He paused, looking between the two of them. "You said you met each other before?"

Hesitantly, Alistair looked back at Lyall while scratching the back of his neck. "Yyyyeah... we met."

Chin tilted up, Lyall offered a close-lipped smile as he waved with his muffin-holding hand. "Hullo again, Alistair," he greeted, tone pleasant-- if a bit tired. Not sleeping nearly enough in the past couple days was starting to catch up to him again.

Though. He hated to admit it, but the food Alan forced upon him was helping. Lyall found that he felt more like himself again. Still less coordinated than he'd like, but likewise less in a complete panic.

"Oh, um, Alan," Alistair cut in before Alan could comment further. "Do you have plans for the day?"

"Not particularly. Well, besides spending time with you and mom. That's a given," Alan said with a smile.

"Right," Alistair said, glancing back at his room. "Okay. She's in Room 1, by the way. And I have a lot of your stuff. So just." He huffed out a sheepish laugh, dropping his hand. "Let me wake up and get ready. I'll meet you there? She's been waiting to see you."

Wait, there was something Lyall needed to tell Alistair. What was it...

Alan nodded eagerly, stepping back out into the hall. "Okay, yeah. I'll see you in a bit."

The door closed again before Lyall could think of the urgent thing that he needed to share. Alan turned to Lyall with a clearly elevated mood and a big smile.

"Well, on to Room 1, then," he enthusiastically called, leading the way.

With a slow nod, Lyall trailed behind. Maybe he'll think of it once Alistair joined them again.

"So you had the chance to talk to my brother, but not my mom. Right?" Alan asked over his shoulder.

"Right," Lyall confirmed.

Nibbling a little more on the muffin, he found himself too endeared by how Alan's excitement had increased tenfold in the blink of an eye to stay huffy at him. It had been approximately two months since the musician had the chance to see his beloved family again in person, and he was a man who was deeply affected by who was and wasn't present in his life, whatever the reason.

Alan was quick to lead the way to the end of the hallway where Room 1 was marked. Shooting a smile at Lyall's direction, he gave the door a knock before he stepped back again, waiting.

"You might want to prepare for this encounter," he said with a silly smile.

Lyall managed his first-- second genuine grin for the entire morning in turn. "This is probably the only scenario presented by today that I'm actually prepared for in any way," he answered, looking down as he dusted himself off.

"Hm, is that so?" Alan hummed, watching with amusement. "You're right. This is a big milestone, having you meet my mom."

Now sure that his sweater was in good, presentable order, Lyall quickly ran a hand through his hair, then dug his elbow into Alan's side. "Wanker," he muttered playfully, "introducing a friend to your mum is not that big of a deal."

Alan grinned, but before he could come up with his own cheeky retort, the door opened. The first thing about Natalie that struck him when she appeared, was just how much of Alan he saw in her eyes and smile. Their complexions were quite similar, too. A nice shade of sun kissed. She was a beautiful woman, as Lyall had sincerely offered as compliments, but also quite young, considering the twins' age.

He filed this last small observation away in his mental book of Alvaro family lore.

Natalie's eyes immediately brightened up upon recognizing Alan, and she gasped, hand over her smiling lips.

"Oh, my heavens!" she said after a breathy gasp. "Do my eyes deceive me? Oh, my love, it's really you!"

Alan grinned as she sprung forward with a hug, wrapping one arm around his waist and one arm around his shoulder, hand landing at the back of his head as she brought him in.

"Hi, mom. It's so good to see you," he said with a warm smile, embracing her back as Natalie planted two kisses on both sides of his cheek, then a smooch on his forehead. "And you've... learned Common?" He let out another laugh in disbelief, playfully swatting at her when she cupped his head to hold so she could bestow endless kisses around his face.

"Oh, no, no, no, son," Natalie said with a bright smile, pulling away as she straightened out the collar of Alan's shirt. "I was given a language pill."

A what? That sounded... hazardous.

A pill? Like. A magical drug?

Alan's expression scrunched in confusion, but before he could ask another question, Natalie gasped again, eyes meeting Lyall.

"Oh, my manners! I'm so sorry, darling. You must be Ly-all!" she said warmly, reaching out to embrace him as well.

In the middle of still trying to pick apart every implication of this magical language swapping pill, Lyall was delayed in returning the embrace. He just managed to put on a smile as she then swooped in to plant two pecks of a kiss on both his cheeks before lovingly hugging him again.

"Natalie!" he greeted, huffing a mildly discombobulated laugh as he gave her another quick squeeze. "So wonderful to see you in person!"

"It's so lovely to meet you, love. I am so excited to meet my son's friends," Natalie said excitedly as she pulled away, grinning brightly as she slid her hands down his shoulders. "Oh, thank you so much for taking care of my Alan!"

"I definitely took care of myself," Alan mumbled behind her.

"Debatable," Lyall shot back with a teasing grin.

Though it was like Natalie didn't hear either of them since she kept going.

"It's so important to me that he has someone, especially since he's been hard to reach. You've been a very good friend in making sure he talks to his family," Natalie said sweetly.

"Mom," Alan said with a laugh, rubbing his face.

"Oh, family is so very important, Ly-all," Natalie went on as she cupped Lyall's face before smoothing his hair back. "And you are part of ours!"

Lyall felt himself grin wider, heart positively swelling with how she was in essence just an ocean wave of open affection-- Actually. He was overwhelmed, even, to the point of momentarily not knowing how to properly respond. He tried to think of something nice for a reply. Agree with something she said. Repay the sentiment. A thank you, perhaps. Anything to appear more like a normal, fully functioning, adult human being.

Instead, he had to channel all brain and willpower into not completely melting into a puddle in her hands. Thus. Lyall found himself empty-headed.

And thus, Natalie kept on showering him with more and more affectionate touches and words, and it was almost too much, in the best way possible. Smile softening, Lyall was happy to simply stand there and let her kind words fill the static in his brain.

"Yes! Wouldn't that be wonderful?" Natalie went on as she straightened out the hem of Lyall's sweater. "You seeing our family, us seeing yours. We always want more friends to join! I tell my sons all the time. There will always be more room to love. And more food to eat, too!" He paused, eyes brightening as she brushed off Lyall's shoulders. "Oh! Have you two eaten yet?"

"We did. However, Lyall dropped his muffin," Alan said casually as he pointed down at the muffin that must have fallen out of his hand when Natalie unexpectedly grabbed him in a hug.

"A muffin?" Natalie repeated, looking down at it with a frown. She gasped. "Oh, love, that's no breakfast to feed to your friend! That's from the refreshments downstairs!"

With a smile, Alan innocently held up his hands. "My bad. You're right. I should have fed him a scrumptious meal."

"The best meals are the meals made with love," Natalie affirmed proudly, patting her hand against Alan's back. "Why don't we get you boys proper food? Do you have a kitchen?"

Alan hummed, still smiling as he settled his gaze on Lyall for confirmation. "Well, Ly-all? What do you think? My mom wants to cook for us. I can't say no to that."

Blinking himself from his inexplicable stupor, Lyall quietly repeated the question under his breath until it clicked. "Oh!" He smiled back to Natalie. "Oh, no, please!"

Calling upon all two weeks of intently studying Argent well into the wee hours, Lyall slowly and clumsily made the switch: "You are... visiting us. Guest. We should cook for you."

Except Natalie only smiled back, unreacting with a tilt of her head like she didn't hear his words. Heart sinking a little, Lyall fought the urge to simply deflate. Right. Suspicious language pill.

Instead, it was Alan who reacted. His smile faded as he stared back at him with pleasant surprise, the loss of the smile quickly replaced with a fond grin and twinkle in his eyes.

"You've been learning Argent?" he said with disbelief through a faint laugh.

Lyall mustered a weaker grin. "Well, yes. For..." He gestured between himself and Natalie. But. It was made a moot point.

Suppressing a sigh, he warmly smiled again as he repeated for her in Common: "We're the ones who should be cooking for you. Seeing as, you're our guest."

"Oh!" Natalie said with a small laugh, dismissing the thought with a flick of her wrist. "Nonsense. I love to cook for my sons. And I'd love to cook for you too, Ly-all, since you're family. Ah, of course!" She brightened up, and with a clap of her hands, added, "Let's wake up your brother. He's always sleeping in! Have you met Alistair, Ly-all?"

"Ah, that I have," Lyall said with a nod. With a slight bow, he offered Natalie his arm. "He said he'd meet us here. Why don't we just meet him the middle?"

But apparently, Alan was one step ahead of him, having already exited the conversation while Natalie was talking. He was back in front of Alistair's door, loudly knocking before saying, "Open up, it's the police!" in a low, silly voice into the crack of the door.

Natalie giggled, blowing out a raspberry before gleefully linking her arm with his. "Boys! Such a handful, but I love them so much."

With another grin, Lyall quietly walked with her to join Alan. She went on to fill the silence, drawing out a story about her time on the boat and how she met another fellow mom she was rooming with now, who they had apparently just missed.

Lyall furrowed a brow slightly as he desparately wracked his brain for the thing he needed to tell Alistair. It was so... urgent, how could he simply forget? Something that even caused him worry to such an extent...

Drawing in closer to the room that was now opened, Lyall caught the tail end of the twins' bickering.

"...Yeah, how'd you know?" Alistair's voice came in as they entered the room.

Alan pointed at the messier bed with a smug smile. "It's messy. And you thrash while you sleep."

Alistair scrunched his face and narrowed his eyes at him, half-rolling his eyes as he bent down to pick up a duffel bag. "Wow," was all he said back as he glanced back, acknowleding that Lyall and Natalie had come in.

"Good morning, my love!" Natalie chirped, walking in to cupping her hands around Alistair's face and deliver kisses that Alistair was very quick to swat away. Natalie simply smiled back, unphased. "How did you sleep?"

"Fine, until a certain someone barged in," Alistair said as he gave Alan a flat look.

"In my defense," Alan began innocently, hand on his chest, "you opened the door. I didn't barge in."

Lyall trailed in quietly. He took a seat by the desk off to the side, propping an ankle on his knee as he sat back to watch the Alvaro clan in action.

Alistair sighed, lifting up the beige duffel bag and practically shoving it to Alan, who grunted back and nearly dropped it.

"What's this?" he asked confusedly, staring down at it with both arms.

"All the stuff you left that I thought you might need the rest of the summer," Alistair said, hand in his pockets as he leaned against the wall. "Like your phone and clothes."

"What? Seriously?" Alan said excitedly, now dropping to the floor with the bag.

"Alan!" Natalie scolded, who had invited herself into the room to straighten up the sheets and covers of the bed. "Don't open that here. Wait until we're back to your home."

"Yeah, Alan. You heard mom," Alistair dogpiled on.

Alan groaned then sighed, reluctantly closing the zipper. "Okay, that's fine," he murmured as he stood up with the bag, one strap around his shoulder. "I don't need my phone, anyways."

Alistair gave him a questionably flat look, but then flicked his attention between Alan and Lyall, clearing his throat and asking, "So that's the plan? To go to your cabin?"

"Yup," Alan said, over-enunciating the 'p.' "Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah," Alistair said after a brief hesitation, standing upright. "Sure, let's go."

"Alright!" Alan said with a clap, getting his mother's attention as well, who looked up with a smile. He turned his head over to Lyall, grinning. "Alvaros, let's roll."

Cyrin had to spare a thought to the cameras. He was aware he probably looked at his worst since arriving to the island right now-- drop-dead exhausted and frazzled-- but he had no solutions for that, as sleeping was no longer an option. It no longer mattered how it might appear strange to visit James's cabin after James had done the same just the day before, when neither of them had previously sought each other out, either. Informing James was his first priority. Addressing questions-- if he even had the chance-- would have to happen later.

He stepped up to the cabin's front door and knocked. While they waited, they risked a glance over their shoulder. Cyrin didn't think the wendigo would show up in broad daylight, but... he didn't want to be wrong.

It took a second, but he heard hurried footsteps stomping down creaking steps and make their way to the front door. Without even seeing James, he already knew it was him from the heavy footfalls.

The door opened, and James's brows shot up the moment he saw Cyrin. James's eyes looked a bit bloodshot, and he squinted into the sun.

"Cyrin," James said. "What happened?"

Looking around the porch behind Cyrin, James shook his head with a tsk before they could answer.

"Ah. Nevermind that," he said. "Come in first. Let me get you some coffee. You look like you could use it."

For a moment, Cyrin felt almost overwhelmed with gratitude.

"Thank you," he said sincerely, stepping inside. "I think I could."

James nodded, closing the door behind them.

"Do you like it strong?" James asked, already bee-lining for the kitchen.

It depended on the day, but today was one of the days where they did like it strong. "Yes, please."

James nodded, finding the coffee-maker and taking out the pitcher which already had coffee ready to go. Apparently, coffee had already been made for the morning. James pulled out a mug and started pouring.

Cyrin sat at the counter, where he could still keep an eye on the door. With a glance at it, he decided it was just... best to share what happened. That had been James's first question, anyway.

James came up alongside Cyrin, setting the mug down in front of him.

"Strong as it can get," James said. "Nothing added."

"Thank you," Cyrin said, taking a sip, then another. Still warm, too.

"Take your time," James said, and he turned around to busy himself at the sink, where there were a few dishes waiting to be washed.

Cyrin wasn't sure about that, though. He understood the idea. But waiting until 10AM already felt like he'd taken his time.

He took another sip. Nope. Definitely needed to speak more than he needed to drink.

"It happened," he said. "The wendigo tried to attack me in my sleep last night."

James dropped one of the dishes he'd been washing into the sink with a clatter, and he clumsily failed to catch it when it slipped.

"Sorry," Cyrin said quickly.

James turned off the running water, apparently giving up on the dish. He dried off his hands on the towel beside him on the counter.

"No, its-- I just hadn't thought he'd have been so hasty," James said. "Are you okay?"

Cyrin wouldn't have thought so either. Even the handshake incident hadn't really sparked a fear for his safety in him. It hadn't even been twenty-four hours since they'd even found out there was a threat at all.

"Just... rattled from the fight," he said quietly. "Close call and what not."

James frowned deeply, turning around to face Cyrin with worry in his eyes and creasing his forehead.

"I'm so sorry," James said quietly. "You must be exhausted."

Cyrin leaned his elbow on the counter so they could rest their forehead on their palm.

"Admittedly," he said faintly, "I really am."

Once the adrenaline and the spiral of panic had worn off, they hadn't had the energy left for anything else. And Lyall had recommended he go back to sleep, but Cyrin's heart had fluttered with fear at the thought of that. So exhaustion had been the only way forward.

"Do you need a safe place to rest?" James asked softly. "If you want to take a nap here, I can keep watch for you if you'd like. If anything happens, I'll wake you. I promise."

He paused, eyes flicking down to Cyrin's coffee cup. "Though... if you want to do that, it might be wise to stop consuming caffeine. I don't know if you had plans for today, but I hope you know you're not obligated to go anywhere, no matter what the island overlords say."

Cyrin let out a weak, humorless laugh as they rubbed their face.

"I trust you," he said. "But I think I'm past sleeping today, period."

James nodded. "Fair enough," he said gently. "The invitation to stay here still remains, though, if you ever want to take it. At any time of day."

"Thank you," Cyrin said quietly, before taking another sip of coffee.

This felt... somewhat uncomfortable. The last day and now this one had mostly been a chain of James helping out in some way where Cyrin hadn't been able to return the favor. And now here they were, drinking his coffee.

"Was it... Constantine who came after you?" James asked after a beat. "If it's not too hard to talk about."

Cyrin shook his head as he took another sip-- without specifying which part, since both were a negative.

"It was Aaron," he said, setting his cup down. "But I could tell he... really didn't want to."

James's expression turned pained at that, and he looked to the floor with a mix of sadness and anger. Though, admittedly, James already looked pissed most of the time. So he really just looked... exceptionally pissed at that.

James sighed.

"I wish there was a way to make sure Aaron is okay without putting us all at risk," James said lowly. "Him included."

Cyrin dropped his gaze to the counter with another pang of guilt.

"Me too," they said quietly. "He's being used as a weapon, but also... a human shield, of sorts."

"It's despicable," James muttered darkly.

Cyrin took a deep breath.

He didn't like to admit he'd hurt Aaron in self-defense, and it was made worse by not knowing what had happened to him after the monster had leapt out the window. James had already placed himself on Aaron's side-- the non-monster side of him, at least. And he was risking some wrath now by sharing this-- even though he knew it was best to.

"I had to fight him off," they said quietly. "I didn't want to, but it was that or get infected, and he got hurt. I'm worried for him now, and that this endeavor is going to hurt him more."

James sighed deeply, folding his arms as he leaned back against the sink counter.

"Hopefully the regenerative abilities the wendigo form lends him have helped to at least stave off disaster," James murmured. "Otherwise, I can let Jay know. Aaron wants Jay to stay away, but he's probably the only person on the island that can protect himself from getting infected if needed. He could help him."

Cyrin nodded slowly. "Hopefully," they said quietly.

Could Aaron have died if he couldn't regenerate? He didn't know. Bleeding out from a severed artery was serious.

"Maybe I will let him know regardless," James said quietly. "I'm sure he'd want to know. What kind of wounds was he left with?"

"Two... stab wounds," Cyrin said slowly. "One in the shoulder, one in the upper arm. And possibly fire burns."

James bit his lip, nodding slowly.

"Okay, then," he murmured. "I'll let Jay know. I'll ask him to keep us updated -- at least to know if Aaron's alright."

"Thank you," Cyrin muttered, shoulders slumping.

"I know you didn't want to hurt him," James said after a small pause. "You did what you had to do. I'm sure Aaron understands. You're not the one who started all of this. It's Constantine who's responsible. Remember that."

Cyrin sighed quietly, in a defeated sort of way.

"You were mentioning murder," he said, knowing the jump in subject probably made more sense to his brain than James's.

James's eyes shot up to meet Cyrin's intensely.

"Yes," James said lowly. "I was."

Cyrin nodded, swallowing. Well. Time for even more unpleasant talk.

"I don't approve of murder-- and I won't start now," Cyrin added firmly. "But I... see we're at a lack of other options. And since it may come to that, I'm going to offer you my help."

There was a long, dreadful silence as James glowered through Cyrin's skull.

"We would be at a far greater advantage if we faced him together," James finally agreed. "If that is the case, I suggest we go on the offense. Constantine will likely continue to send Aaron after us unless we confront him ourselves, and I'd like to avoid Aaron getting hurt past this point. The key will be to isolate him and catch him by surprise - so that Aaron is not dragged into it and neither are others. Constantine is cunning. I can't see him agreeing to meeting without a forumlated plan. He'll have to believe he's at the advantage."

James paused.

It was vaguely disturbing, maybe, that James seemed to have formulated this already. Cyrin slowly blinked.

"...Sorry," James said, looking down. "I know you're not eager to take a life."

"I'm not," Cyrin said quietly. "And I believe you aren't either, not in that way. I'm sorry, I understand there's a process to it. This just happens to be something I've long loathed the idea of."

James nodded slowly.

"I'm sorry that this will be your first," James said quietly. "Hopefully, it will also be your last."

A beat. James looked to the floor.

"And one you survive," James added in a murmur.

Cyrin forced their face to blankness as they also dropped their gaze.

By one measure-- one he'd never ruled on either way-- it was a first, and there was nothing in the world he should undertake that for. By another, it wasn't, and whatever consequence that meant for fate or afterlife was already earned by them.

But there wasn't the time to set their soul on the scale right now.

"Hopefully," was all they could say.

There was a small lull of sober silence between them. James seemed to be in deep thought, brows knit together tightly as he stared at the floor.

"These aren't the circumstances I'd have liked to have draw us together," James said quietly.

"Me neither," Cyrin said softly. "You seem like someone deserving of getting to be known in a different, better turn of events. It shouldn't be this way."

James's mouth barely twitched into a pained smile, but quickly turned into a frown.

"It wouldn't be the first time," he said. "...A lot of people have only known me in crisis."

"That doesn't seem very fair to you," Cyrin said. "No one's at their best then. But I understand that, too."

James shook his head.

"I stopped worrying about it being fair or not," James said. "But... well. I guess you get to see this side of me, now. Constantine won't be the first monster I've killed, and probably not the last."

A beat. Cyrin slowly nodded. Right. This was a normal response for a former Moonlight Kingdom soldier.

"Provided we succeed," he added. "It's just easier to say it like we will because the alternative is depressing."

"Best not to consider those," Cyrin said. "We plan like even if the plan doesn't work, the proper outcome will happen anyway, one way or another."

"If we're really going to do this," James said. "You should know that it's easier for me to think of Constantine as the monster he's chosen to become, and not the person he once was. This is a man who gave up his humanity a long, long time ago. He's become something entirely different now."

Cyrin sighed quietly. He knew it was true. He just hated... exercising his judgment like that as if his ruling on a matter was law that justified all harm committed.

"I'll try to keep that in mind," they said. "I can't say it'll come naturally to me."

"I'm not asking you to change your mind on where you stand," James said, a little softer. "I just want you to know where I'm coming from is all."

Cyrin nodded. "I respect it. Thank you for sharing that."

James nodded once, letting out a small sigh.

"Are you open to discussing strategies?" James asked. "Things never go exactly as planned, but it's always better to go in with one than go in blind."

"Yes," Cyrin agreed. "Let's start there."

Just when he'd finished saying it, there was a fierce pounding at the door, of someone demanding to be let in.

Cyrin sat upright, pressing a hand through their coat to the knife that was concealed inside it. The knife was still there, hidden against his chest. He didn't have much time to think about how he shouldn't have done that-- because normal people didn't hide weapons on their person-- because suddenly, there was a sharp, metallic sching sound, and long claws spurted out of James's hands.

Cyrin leapt up from the stool, hand still pressed to their chest as they backed up in surprise.

James stared at the door with wide eyes, then looked at Cyrin.

"Sorry," he said quickly. A bit frazzled, he looked down at his hands, and the claws began to recede somewhere into his arms, under his skin. "I--I'll get the door. It could be-- I don't know."

Hurrying out of the kitchen, James strode to the door, shaking his hands along the way. Cyrin noticed that there was fresh blood on James's knuckles where the claws had been, but the wounds had healed over almost instantly.

James peeked through the window. And he hesitated.

"...it's your brother," James said, sounding a bit confused.

Cyrin pressed their hands to their face, sighing. Fucking fabulous.

"Should I let him in?" James asked tentatively.

"...Might as well," Cyrin said begrudgingly. "If he's here, he's not going away."

James opened the door, holding it partially shut so only his face could be seen.

"Hello," James greeted neutrally. "What brings you to my door?"

"Where's my jacket?" Casper snapped.

Classic. Cyrin took a large sip of coffee.

"Oh, your jacket?" James asked. "I think you left it on the dock, last I recall."

"I did not," Casper said in a sneering tone. "I instructed someone to safeguard it for me, and now the coat's missing. It's designer. They don't just churn those out."

"Oh," James hummed. "Do you remember who that was? Their name, perhaps?"

Casper scoffed. "Why should I?"

Because he's one of the motherfucking Heirs of Aphirah, you bastard, Cyrin thought at him.

"Because then you might know who to ask about your jacket," James said. "Sorry, if you can't remember, I can't help you."

Cyrin could hear the glare in Casper's voice. "Fine. He was wearing some cheap button-up shirt and dress pants. Better?"

...Cheap? Only to Casper.

"Ohhhh," James said. "You must be talking about Constantine. He's actually another visitor staying in the mansion. Sorry you came out of your way just to find that out."

"Excuse you," Casper said coolly. "I can tell the difference between some baby-faced kid who was standing next to you and a geriatric man who was still back on the boat."

"Ah, I see I can't pull the wool over your eyes. Fine, then. Full transparency? I took your jacket. I left it on the dock. It's probably still there."

"No, you didn't," Casper argued. "That jacket is more than you make in a year."

"See, if I'd known that, I might not have left it there," James said with a shrug.

"You--"

"No one wants your damn jacket, Casper," Cyrin said coldly. "Because you're a fool to pay that much for some scraps of cloth that don't look half their value."

He heard a pause from Casper, and he felt satisfied for a brief moment.

"What's he doing here?" Casper demanded.

"I invited him over for coffee," James said plainly. "You know. As people do."

Casper scoffed. "Really? Bet he's poor company."

Cyrin growled into his coffee mug.

"It's been quite nice, actually," James said. "Or was, until you arrived."

"What? What are you talking about that could be worth more than this?" Casper snapped.

"Well now you've really soured the mood with your negative attitude," James said. "If you don't mind, I bid you farewell, now. Good luck with your--"

"I could buy your whole fucking family a thousand times over, and that's how you're talking to me," Casper said disgustedly.

"Oh, threatening my family," James said, unimpressed. "Get in line, Mr...? Whoever you are?"

"You fucking know," Casper seethed.

"Hey, news alert," Cyrin said, leaving the counter to stand behind James. He immediately became the new target of Casper's glare. "I know nothing matters to you outside of your possessions because you live a very sad life, but I almost died today, and we're talking that out. So sorry if we don't have time for you and your complaints."

"Really?" Casper asked. He was now smirking. "Well, I was that close to having a good day. I wish it'd worked."

There was a beat of silence as Cyrin stared at their brother, not believing and yet believing the words that had just come out of his mouth. And then the door flew open as James tossed it to the side, and his fist flew into Casper's face.

There was a crack, and Casper's stunned body hung in the air for a second before his eyes rolled back into his head.

He fell backwards, unconscious on the porch.

James huffed.

"Asshole," he muttered, shaking his hand.

Cyrin blinked, everything catching up to him. Right. James had punched Casper. He had no qualms with that.

"...If you ever need a list of rich jerks to beat up," they said. "I'll have some more for you."

"I'll take the list," James said. And it didn't sound like a joke.

Stepping out the door, James picked Casper up under his arms, dragging him over to the side, and laid him out on the edge of the porch, out of the walkway. Cyrin could've laughed at the sight-- an Oolympik athlete being dragged around like he was one of the easier weights for the weightlifters-- if they weren't still in some shock.

James dropped Casper, standing over him for a second. Then he bent down and checked Casper's pulse.

"Yeah, he's fine," James said dismissively, getting to his feet once more. "He'll wake up with a headache, though."

"It'll be the third worst thing he's experienced in his life, probably," Cyrin said.

James let out a joyless guffaw, glancing over his shoulder at Casper as he walked back inside, closing the door behind him.

"Hopefully it teaches him a lesson to tame his tongue," James muttered.

"It won't," Cyrin said honestly. "Still worth doing."

"Guess I'll just have to do it again," James said with a shrug, waving his hand for Cyrin to follow him back to the kitchen.

Cyrin did follow him back, taking his seat again.

"This is a very odd thing for me to thank you for, I realize," they said. "But... thank you for doing that."

James huffed again.

"No problem," James said simply, finding his spot back at the sink, leaning on the counter once more.

With a deepening frown, James looked off into the distance of the room again, as if he was trying to return to where they just left off. You know, planning a murder.

"You know," James said slowly. "It's... only been two days that you and I have known about this. And though I still think a deadly confrontation with Constantine will be inevitable, I think we should consider our options before jumping to it."

A pause. Cyrin couldn't help but let the tension in their shoulders relax with relief.

"You said Aaron attacked you at your cabin at night," James said. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Cyrin said. "In the whereabouts of three in the morning. I was lucky to be awake."

"Who else was home?" James asked.

"Lyall and his fiancee, Kaya," Cyrin said. "They both knew of it. Alan was missing."

James frowned.

"Are they alright?" James asked.

Cyrin slowly nodded. "Just... also rattled. I needed Lyall's fire to drive him off."

At that, James's eyes widened.

"Shit," he said. "I forgot to tell him too."

"I got around to it," Cyrin assured him. "After he'd seen the monster already, I guess, but... well, he knows now."

James facepalmed, shaking his head. Cyrin felt bad for a moment.

"There's been... a lot going on," he said meekly in his defense.

"No it's--" James said with a sigh. "I just... god, at this point, we might as well let the whole island know. He's already attempted to attack you."

"Lyall might be working on that," Cyrin said. "Or, I presume he is."

James stared at the floor, and it was as if his face looked like a loading sign. It was blank for a few seconds before it was like he finally processed that.

"He's... telling everyone?" James asked.

"Well, I think he's at least intending to tell some people," Cyrin said. "I don't actually know if it's everyone."

"Maybe you could ask him," James suggested slowly.

Cyrin took his phone out-- which he'd kept right next to the knife, maybe not the safest spot for a phone-- and shot off a quick text.

Cyrin wrote:have you got a master plan that, perchance, relates to spreading the news to all that there is a hungry monster among us

"He's been asked," they said, setting down their phone.

James nodded, but said nothing more.

"Anyway," Cyrin said. "You wanted to further consider our options, which i am happy to do."

"If more people are getting involved," James said. "Or are already involved. I'm not sure it's worth talking through when we don't have all of the the variables yet."

"Right," Cyrin murmured. "If we're breaking the news about a monster's presence, the only way to make that more alarming is to say we need to kill it."

James's brows pinched together, and his face looked pained.

"Right," he said.

Cyrin dropped his gaze back to his coffee.

"Are you..." he started, more gently. "Well, it seems silly to ask, 'are you okay', but will you be alright?"

"I don't really know how to answer that question anymore," James answered. "But I'll manage, as well as I can."

Cyrin nodded. "I understand," they said softly.

"What about you?" James asked.

Cyrin took a slow sip of their coffee.

"I'm still processing the change from the island suddenly turning from 'sketchy' to 'horrific', from my perspective," they said. "But I'll also manage."

James hummed.

"Was it a rather sudden leap for you? From one to the other?" James asked.

"There were hints all along," Cyrin said. "Things that felt uncomfortable, or seemed suspicious. I just felt paranoid about it. In hindsight, my worries weren't anywhere nearly as great as they should have been."

"That's not your fault," James said, quieter. "They tried to hide a lot of things."

"They did rather well, for the most part," Cyrin said. "It's making me wonder whether this is the week they couldn't cover it up anymore, or the one they wanted us to learn about it all."

James pressed his lips together, looking out into the living room in deep thought.

"I think they wanted us to," James concluded.

"They don't seem to make many mistakes," Cyrin agreed quietly.

James only nodded at that, and the kitchen filled with silence. Cyrin took another sip of coffee, comfortable with the quiet. The hopelessness James had to be feeling was clear. They didn't blame him. This island seemed to have turned cruel for him far before they started feeling disturbed.

They were distracted from their idle, aimless thoughts by their phone buzzing, and Cyrin picked it up.

Dr. Blazington McSparkles wrote:I have ideas for and intent to spread this news far and wide, yes.

Dr. Blazington McSparkles wrote:Not to worry, I will handle this.

Despite the heavy mood, it was difficult to resist a faint smile. Cyrin wrote back quickly.

Cyrin wrote:thank you most kindly

Cyrin wrote:did you make it back to the cabin?

Dr. Blazington McSparkles wrote:Yes

Dr. Blazington McSparkles wrote:Where have you gone off to?

Cyrin wrote:bird cabin, meeting with james

Cyrin wrote:if you look over, you'll see casper unconscious on the porch. don't worry about it

Dr. Blazington McSparkles wrote:Fabulous. Would it be alright if I joined you two?

Cyrin wrote:sure! just watch the tripping hazard

The walk back to the cabin went by far faster than the walk to the mansion. Due to a variety of contributing factors that included extra company, sobering up enough to manage a full walking pace, and that fact that they were not fighting gravity because. Downhill.

As they went, Lyall walked close with Natalie, their arms linked the whole way. With the rare inability to think of anything to offer conversationally, Lyall was happy to simply listen as she shared about her day so far, the journey to the island, and-- most entertaining of all-- stories of the twins' youth. It was when she started pulling up pictures on her phone and gushing about how cute the two were as little ones, that her sons very conveniently chimed in with new topics of discussion.

Was Lyall going to remember the photo of the two dressed up for Hallooween as fuzzy lion cubs? He hoped to gods he would.

Ah. There was something else he was supposed to remember. Something Alistair needed to know... And Lyall had to remember quick, because he was going to need a very good explanation as to why he kept staring at the poor man.

Alan bounded ahead up the front steps to the cabin to grab the door, widely swinging it open and announcing their arrivals.

"Hello everyone!" he greeted, broadly gesturing inside for the others to come in. "We have returned, but with guests."

With a slight bow at the waist (not too deep, lest he get dizzy), Lyall swept an arm inward for Natalie and Alistair to enter first. Then stepped in himself, shooing Alan away from the door so that he could close it.

The cabin came back to life with their arrival. Kaya quickly set her cup down as she jumped up to her feet, self-consciously fixing her already-perfect hair. A plaid-colored blur dashed from the living room to the kitchen; Shane wasted no time in setting up... something in the microwave. Lyall didn't quite catch what, however. Vik, sitting upside down on the couch, flipped over to his feet and ran to greet Alistair first.

"Okay, okay, settle down, little man," Alistair said with his hands out in front of him.

He was bracing himself as if Vik was going to tackle him. Though, that didn't deter the little man from doing so. Alistair groaned as Vik pounced on him, trying to to pry him off.

"Viktor," Alan called with an amused laugh, then looked back at the others with a warm smile. "Kaya. Shane." He gestured to Alistair then to Natalie, waving excitedly. "This is my brother, Alistair. And my mother, Natalie."

Peeling himself willingly from Alistair's side now, Viktor hopped back over to wave to Natalie with a chipper, "Great to see you again!"

"Hello, Viktor!" Natalie chirped back, welcoming him with a warm hug and a greeting kiss on the cheek. "I met Ly-all, your brother. He's as lovely as you."

Shane turned away from the microwave, which he'd just started, scanning the Alvaros with a faint smile and a shyer look than Lyall had ever seen him with-- which was saying something.

"Hi," he said in an incredibly bashful tone, with a split second of hesitation. "It's so good to meet you both."

"Oh! Yeah, come over here, Shane," Alan called, beckoning with his hand for Shane as he and Alistair slipped out of his shoes and Natalie continued to rain affection on Viktor, but Alan got both of their attention by gently elbowing them. "You know Shane, right? He's basically one of the rulers of a country. Like a prince."

With wordless intrigue and caution, Shane slipped over to join him. "Basically, I guess," he said with a quiet laugh. "Not a ruler by any means, though."

Ducking his head, Lyall silently slipped around the bunch to step away from the door. The Alvaros were fully engaged with meeting Shane, so he felt no need to formally excuse himself.

Viktor slung an arm around his shoulders as he walked with him to join Kaya.

"Brother," the younger Ashlund said in Sweede, worry slipping through his light smile, "I called you twice while you were out."

Reaching around him, Lyall patted a hand to Vik's back. "Sorry," he murmured, "I was... networking. Finding help."

For... Oh gods. That's right. He still hadn't told Alistair about their wendigo issue. That was the whole point of hitting the mansion to begin with!

Well. The opportunity to do so was now gone, since Alistair was--

Oh. Lyall was mildly surprised when their gazes actually met in that same instant, even though Alistair was quick to look away. Despite being right there, he wasn't quite part of the conversation as Alan and Natalie both poured out incredible affection over Shane.

"Lyall?" Kaya called softly.

"Hm?" Delayed, he glanced back.

And was promptly struck through the chest by the heavy spear of Guilt upon seeing the sadness thinly veiled behind her smile.

Lyall had just... left her. With hardly an explanation. And for what? Just to make an utter fool of himself!

Slipping from Vik's loose embrace, Lyall bumped the coffee table as he rushed to meet her in the kitchen. He grabbed both her hands in his, bowing his head as pressed a short kiss to her knuckles.

"My love," he said softly, in earnest, "I am so sorry. I panicked, I haven't been handling any of this nearly half as well as I'd hoped. I shouldn't have run out on you, especially not since our time here is so limited. This week was supposed to be about you, about us. Instead here we are, in the midst of an undue crisis--"

It didn't escape his notice how, the longer he spoke, the more even her strained smile faded.

What was he doing wrong-- No, that answer was simple. Everything.

How could he fix this? He was caught in the middle of an impossible juggling act, feeling everything slip out of his grasp. Even control over himself, his own judgement was compromised--

Dammit. Fuck. That damned drink.

Kaya sighed, small and quiet and so... tired. She slipped her hands from his, opting instead to tuck them under her arms as she shrank away from him.

"We'll talk later," she whispered, turning a resigned look down to her toes.

Lyall felt as though he'd been slapped across the face. She didn't even sound surprised. Only disappointed. Which anyone with even half a brain knew was infinitely worse.

Had she expected him to flame out? Did she assume he'd resorted to drinking away his troubles? That wasn't Lyall. It never had been! He did not resort to such behaviors-- He hadn't meant to, never for that reason.

Did she not know him? Was this slipping from his grasp? What had he missed? He tried combing back through the past years of their relationship, for any earlier warning signs. Any little thing that might've gradually, secretly eroded them overtime.

A sound to his left caught his attention. Someone had turned on the microwave and loudly closing the cabinets in the kitchen. Distracted, Lyall glanced over to see Alan smiling and softly chatting with his mom, pointing at the different cabinets and coffee maker. He must be giving her instructions and a brief tour of the kitchen. He met Lyall's eyes a few time, acknowledging his presence, as well as Kaya's.

Shuffling past, Kaya kept her head low as she quietly excused herself. Lyall wanted to reach out to stop her, but... He had to concede, he really wasn't in a good state to have any real conversation.

So. He helplessly watched as she retreated upstairs, briefly waving everyone a farewell with a hasty apology.

Clenching his hand to stop himself short, Lyall bit back an utterly defeated sigh as he idly bumped his fist to the edge of the counter. Strangely unsure of where to place himself now.

"You okay?" Alan asked softly beside him, a mug of coffee disrupting his field of vision.

Blinking, Lyall slowly and carefully cupped the mug in both hands. Just to let it warm his fingers. "Yeah," he instinctively answered in a murmur, staring down into the coffee. "I'm okay."

Alan leaned against the counter, eyes out towards the living room as he held his own mug in front of him. "Kaya?" he said softly, not specifying further.

Flicking his gaze up and around to their guests-- Alistair and Shane out in the sitting room, and Natatlie roping Vik into chopping vegetables closeby-- Lyall didn't have an answer that was appropriate for this setting.

Silently, he gave his head the barest of shakes.

"For some reason," Alan said quietly with a faint smile, "I don't believe you."

Lyall wanted to grin back, to slip back into the facade of leading a breezy, worry-free life. He couldn't even muster that.

"Talk to her," Alan said more seriously, dropping the smile. "She may have excused herself, but she doesn't want to be alone."

"She--" Lyall set the mug down to lean both hands on the counter. "She doesn't want to right now."

"I take back what I said, then," Alan said gently. "Listen to her. Not talk. Listen."

Listen.

Right. Yes. Lyall could do that.

Could he manage that? Right now?

Yes. He'd have to.

Lyall set the coffee down and finally met Alan's eyes. "Thank you," he whispered. "For everything."

Alan smiled warmly, bumping shoulders with him. "I know you'd do the same for me."



He was glad he had the forethought earlier that morning to clean up the hallway at least. The sight of a new trail of blood no doubt would've alarmed Kaya. And himself, for that matter, since he could not actually remember where it came from. Not the monster attack, he was fairly certain of that much.

Speaking of; the view of Cyrin's window through the hole in the door drew Lyall's attention back to the mess inside, still yet to be addressed. Far too delayed, it occurred to him that Cyrin was missing from their number when he returned with the Alvaros.

Lyall made notes to clean the room later, and check for Cyrin's whereabouts after he talked with Kaya.

Who conveniently stepped out of Lyall's room that very same minute, her bag over one shoulder. She froze in the doorway when their eyes met.

Lyall blinked between the bag and her wide, self-conscious gaze. Then it hit him.

"You're leaving?" he said, voice small.

She stammered. "I-- I mean, I can't actually go anywhere until the end of the week."

He frowned deeply, brows creased and heart aching for her. But had to concede, "The mansion might actually be the most fortified building on the island, so you would be safest there." He turned for the stairwell. "I can walk with you. I'll just need to inform--"

"That's okay," Kaya cut in hastily, waving him back. "I can walk myself."

"But it's not safe--"

"I'll be fine," she insisted, averting her gaze even as she tried to assert herself more firmly.

Lyall stepped closer. "I can't simply let you walk out of here unprotected."

"You can't..." Kaya waved an arm his direction, then let it drop at her side with a sigh. "You shouldn't do much of anything," she tried again, tone softening a bit. "Not while... majorly sleep deprived. And drunk, of all things."

The disappointment in her voice stung.

"It was foolish of me, I know," Lyall said in apology, hands raised placatingly. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."

"Neither do I," Kaya quickly said in retort. Then cut herself off, casting the stairwell a wary look.

Lyall almost looked over his shoulder too.

She had more to say. A thought or two that built pressure to the point of near-bursting. He could tell from the way she bounced anxiously on her heels, biting her lip to keep from spilling within earshot of company.

"We should talk in the room," she eventually said.

Lyall nodded dumbly, then remembered to answer, "Of course."

She shuffled back in. Head bowed, Lyall quietly slipped in after, easing the door shut behind himself.

Dropping her bag by the door, Kaya paced by the book shelf, arms folded tightly as she faced him. "I was hoping to wait until a moment of quiet to bring things up," she started, "but. I'm realizing that, if I wait for a good time to do that, it won't ever come."

Lyall was puzzled by this sort of foreword. "I can always make time for you," he assured her.

"But. You rarely do?" Kaya said, disappointment creeping into her tone again.

"I'll confess," Lyall went on, trying not to sound hurt, "I get busy at times. Overwhelmed, even. There's just always so much happening at any given point."

"And I've tried to be understanding of that," Kaya said emphatically. "I have. But for, like, four years? Almost all the time?"

"I--" Lyall huffed a wry laugh. "I'm... a medical professional. A full schedule is a given."

"Yeah, but." Kaya finally let go of herself to throw her hands up in a mildly frustrated shrug. "If it's not work, then it's your friends-- work friends, and now even these people, who you've only known for three weeks."

Head tilted, he listened in incredulous silence.

"And if not them, then it's your family," Kaya went on, volume growing now that she'd gained momentum. "And if not your family..." She shrugged again. "Then. It's back to work. It's never me. You never have time left for us."

He blinked slowly at her.

Was she serious?

"This hardly feels fair," he eventually replied, unable to mask the way the accusation hurt him. "I spend plenty of time with you. And these past weeks--"

"Just today," she cut in, "you ran out on me--"

He shook his head. This was now objectively unfair.

"I'm trying," he said lowly, "to protect you."

Bafflement hit her face. And it irked him that she didn't seem to understand just how dire their situation was.

"You've been trying to protect you." Kaya swung an arm toward the door. "You keep running from your fears. You keep running from me."

"I'm not--" He let out a sharp, frustrated breath. Pacing idly in place, Lyall scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to wrap his head around the sheer audacity of this accusation. "What?"

"You're never open with me," she said forcefully.

"I've been open with you since day one!"

"And you haven't shown anymore of yourself to me since!"

Lyall opened his mouth to retort.

"No, listen," Kaya said, almost pleading, "for just a minute."

Listen. That was what Alan told him to do.

Lyall nodded, jaw clenched shut in obedience. Stepping closer, Kaya took his hands in hers. Blue gaze turning sad as she gleaned the hurt in his.

"I don't," she said in a murmur, "have your heart. Not really."

That knocked the air right out of his lungs.

What was this? Where was she headed with this? His mind raced through every potential path this could go down.

"There is so much that you hide from me," Kaya went on. "So much that you're too scared or prideful to expose. And I thought I could be patient. Have been for years." Brows furrowed, lips turned into a deep frown, the full depth of her hurt shone through. "And then you break right open for people you've only met three weeks ago?"

He didn't understand.

Did she mean... with Cyrin? At the pool?

Lyall started to speak, then stopped himself this time. Wanting to be sure she had said what she wanted. When she withdrew to cross her arms again, she gave a slight nod.

He quietly folded his hands, fighting through the lingering fog in his mind for the words to explain.

"I... I have left a lot unsaid," he conceded. He hated how slow he had to speak, just to be coherent. "I have. A lot going on. And that's not an excuse, it's just my reality. There is so much that I don't know how to even begin talking about. Because it's..." Shaking his head, he shrugged helplessly. "So much of it isn't normal. Is so... unbearably burdensome. How am I supposed to just talk about it? Unload parts of myself that I can barely hold on my own?"

Kaya shook her head, face crestfallen. She turned her gaze down to her wringing hands, shoulders sagging with a silent, defeated sigh.

He made this worse. How did he make this worse? How could he fix this?

Lyall stood blankly, heart steadily sinking in his chest as he scrambled for a solution. Words of comfort. Anything.

"I can't wait anymore," Kaya whispered, looking back up at him.

Lyall watched in terrified silence as she worked the engagement ring off her finger. Taking his hand, she pressed it into his palm.

"I'm done waiting," she murmured. "I'm done. But I really do hope that you figure things out soon. For your own sake."

Then she stepped away for the door, hastily grabbing her bag, and disappeared down the stairs before he could fully register that she was leaving.

Dumbstruck, Lyall stared down at the still-warm ring in his palm. At the sound of the front door loudly shutting on her way out downstairs, the realization that she was leaving for good, and that he was truly alone in his room hit him like a freight train.

The sudden silence was deafening.

His phone rang off, startling Lyall back to other aspects of his reality. Like the fact that he still had monsters to deal with.

"He's underselling himself," Alan amended with a smile, hand out in front of him as he glanced between his brother and mother. "Shane is quite humble. He doesn't consider himself a ruler, but he's a pretty big deal. He's literally a prince."

"Oh, my word!" Natalie said in awe before Shane could express he wasn't trying to be humble here. "Really? I've never met a royal! Wow!"

"Well, today is your lucky day, mom, because Shane also happens to be my friend," Alan went on matter-of-factly, smiling wide.

That only seemed to make Natalie even more impressed as she gaped in open wonder, brown eyes sparkling in awe at him. "Another one of Alan's friends! Oh, joyous day!"

Natalie suddenly leaned forward with her arms out for an embrace, pulling Shane in for a warm hug. Before he could even react to that, she affectionately kissed both sides of his cheek with a quick peck, then pulled him in even tighter into the hug. Shane, startled, could only hug her back on instinct as his eyes widened a little.

"It's so nice to meet you, love!" she said warmly and sincerely, giving him a gentle squeeze. "And a prince! Wow! Oh, darling." She pulled away, smiling as she met his eyes, hands sliding down his shoulders. "You must carry the weight on your shoulders. Oh, dear... I hope you take the time to relax, too!"

Some quickdraw emotion shot through Shane, and it felt a lot like pain. He didn't know why, exactly. His mom had been warm in every moment, but it had been in a tender way rather than a gushy way. The resemblance really wasn't that strong. Even so, his heart ached in an entirely new way, and between that, his shock, and his awkwardness, it took him too long to think of anything to say.

"Yes, I-- No," he stammered, feeling completely at a loss for words. "I mean, no, it's not too much weight. You know." He shrugged as he quickly put on a smile, only feeling more flustered now that he'd opened his mouth. "It's lovely to, uh, meet you, Natalie."

"Aw, sweetie," Natalie said with a gentle smile, cupping his face. "It's lovely to meet you too. Have you eaten yet?"

Shane felt like he was going to enter cardiac arrest which how overwhelming this felt. At least there was a doctor in the room.

"Crepes," he said sheepishly. "And coffee. And-- oh, uh, I saved you a cup, Alan. It's in the microwave for you."

"Ah! Thank you, Shane. That's really thoughtful of you," Alan said warmly, then looked back at his family. "Do you want coffee too, mom? Alistair?"

"Oh!" Natalie beamed. "It is quite early, isn't it? I can drink a cup!"

"Sure, yeah," Alistair added.

"There's plenty," Shane chimed in, which was thankfully easy to say. "Can I heat it up for you? There's sugar in the cupboard and milk in the fridge."

"Oh, please, you should relax, Shane!" Natalie chimed in. "How about you boys catch up and I get you all a drink? Please, I insist. And I can cook you lunch, too!"

...What did hospitality rules say about insisting on being the host when this wasn't your place? A quick mental flip-through of the handbook Shane kept in his head revealed nothing. He tried not to glance nervously at Alan or Alistair.

"Are you sure?" he eventually settled on saying.

"Positive! You boys sit back and relax!" Natalie said brightly, already peeling away to make her way to the kitchen.

The three of them watched her leave, and Alan huffed out a laugh, smiling back at them.

"Trust me, if I knew how to change her mind on these things, I'd have done it years ago," Alan said.

"Yeah," Alistair idly said as he scratched the back of his neck, slightly frowning. "Nothing you could say there."

Still smiling, Alan lightly brushed his hand against Shane's back to grab his attention. "My mom can be a little much, but she means well. It sounds like she really likes you."

Shane smiled just a touch more, allowing himself to feel heartwarmed. "She seems wonderful. I'm glad she gets to be here."

"Yeah. Me too." Alan lingered his gaze on his mom, but then smiled wider as he then brushed his shoulder up against Alistair. "Have you met my brother, Shane? This is Alistair."

"Hey, it's nice to meet you," Alistair said a bit half-heartedly as he mustered a smile at him.

Shane felt his chest tighten with worry. Was he being fake, or just... awkward?

Alan playfully scoffed, elbowing him. "Bro, way to sound excited about meeting him."

Oh, no. Now it was worse.

Alistair scoffed back, frowning. "You didn't even give me any time to wake up," he said indignantly.

"Sorry, Shane, he's normally not this grumpy," Alan teased with a smile. "Just sometimes."

Alistair sighed, pushing his hand away. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"It's okay," Shane managed, with a faint laugh and tentative smile. "It's nice to meet you too. I'm glad you got to be reunited."

"Yeah... me too," Alistair said.

Alan smiled, but already seemed distracted since he was watching his mom rifle through the cabinets, seemingly a bit lost since she was unfamiliar with the kitchen.

"You said the coffee is in the microwave, yeah?" Alan said, turning back to Shane.

"It is," Shane confirmed. "I wasn't sure what you wanted added to it, but it's ready for you if you wanted anything with it."

Really, this had worried him an unreasonable amount while Alan had been gone and the coffee had cooled. He'd wanted to have it ready to his tastes-- he'd wanted to make it perfect-- but instead, he'd just sat there and regretted not being able to ask before Alan had left. Or regretted that he didn't already know what he wanted. It felt like the gesture hadn't been as caring as it could've been-- as he wanted it to be.

"Thanks, Shane," Alan said with an appreciative smile, and he took this as his cue to exit to the kitchen, leaving Shane alone with Alistair.

Okay, he could do this. He...

Shane risked a glance at Alistair, who was watching Alan converse with their mom in the kitchen. His tired expression was unreadable and blank.

No, maybe he couldn't do this.

"I might help out with the food," he said uncomfortably. "Do you know what you'll do?"

Alistair hesitated, also unable to keep a steady gaze on Shane as he slipped his hands in his pant pockets. "Uh," he stammered, buying time before he went on to ask, "You live with James. Right?"

The scale was tipping towards "awkward" rather than "fake". That was a small reassurance.

"Yeah," Shane said with a nod. "Have you met?"

Alistair shook his head. "Not yet. I've been wanting to talk to him about something. Which cabin is yours?"

"Directly to the left from where you'd step out," Shane said, before pausing. "Is it about something that happened on the show?"

"Just about the hell of this island," Alistair deadpanned.

Shane managed to crack a faint dry smile. "You'll be busy for the rest of your week then."

Alistair sighed. "Yeah. I'll step out right quick." He turned back to Shane, still with the same blank, tired expression. "You good?"

"Good?" Shane echoed. "At this very moment, you mean, or like... in general, on the island?"

"It..." Alistair faltered. "Uh. Yeah. Both?"

It was not very well in either instance, but it probably wasn't best to say that.

"I'm hanging in there right now," Shane said. "Island hell could be a lot less... hellish, though."

Alistair huffed through his nose. "Yeah, no kidding. Sorry you have to go through all this."

Shane smiled thinly. "Sorry you have to witness it in person now."

That was another thing. Alistair had watched the show, right...?

"Better to witness the truth than to stay ignorant. It sucks, but..." Alistair trailed off, not finishing his thought.

Shane nodded in the silence that followed. So he cared about that, then.

"I agree," he said quietly. "You'll probably learn a lot from James, but if there's anything I can fill you in on, I'm happy to help too."

Alistair nodded, idly rubbing his hand along his arm. "I'm getting different info from different people. I don't know why everyone's playing island telephone." He sighed, then added more quietly with a harsher voice, "I don't think it'd hurt to have a group discussion. This shit is deeply concerning."

Shane scanned his face, something dawning on him. He'd talked around?

"You know what's happening?" he asked quietly. "On this island?"

"...I do," Alistair said slowly, seemingly studying his face like he was trying to figure out what Shane knew as well. "But it seems that not everyone's in the know. Right?"

Shane nodded slowly. "Right," he said, in a lower tone. "I am, at least more than partly."

"Who else is on that list?" Alistair asked, matching his tone, glancing back as if to confirm that their conversation was private.

"It's not a set list," Shane said. "There are things on that list that only some know about, I'm willing to bet, and there could easily be people communicating information that I'm not aware they're in the know on. But some people who I know are aware of at least a fraction are James, Eve, Cyrin, Hild, and somewhat Lyall."

Alistair drew his brows together, tensely crossing his arms as he blankly stared over the kitchen. "You haven't told Alan?" he asked thinly.

Shane faltered.

"I don't know if he's heard anything from anyone else," he said weakly. "But I don't see him knowing much, because he doesn't get involved and I think he's... difficult to tell. I mean, if he's unaware, it would be hard to break it to him that..."

Shane waved a hand, glancing around.

"...his friends are being hurt, me included," he said faintly.

"Right... I get that. But..." Alistair was quiet for a moment, his brows drawn together with understanding, but he was unable to retain eye contact with Shane. "If it were the other way around, wouldn't you want to know? Wouldn't you want to know if something were threatening him, and there's a danger?"

"I would," Shane said quietly. "But I don't think he wants to know, or would want to believe it."

Alistair sighed, stressfully rubbing his face before he slowly ran his hands through his hand and then dropped it back to his sides. "I'll tell him," he said more firmly. "He deserves to know. Everyone who lives on this damn island does."

Shane nodded after a moment. "Thank you," he said quietly. "He should know, you're right. I've just been... scared."

"Yeah, well," Alistair said with a tired sigh. "All of this is scary. Doesn't mean people shouldn't know." He paused. "I get it, though." And another pause, before saying more quietly, "I'm sorry that you got hurt. That's so awful."

Shane couldn't spot any signs of fakeness in that. He softened his expression a little.

"Thanks," he said, just as quietly. "I'm hoping it doesn't happen to anyone else."

Alistair was quiet for a moment, watching him with open empathy and worry before he dropped his gaze back on the floor. "I found out about some thing that happened to James. That's why I wanted to talk to him. To apologize. I didn't mean to drag his name through the mud like that. I just..." He sighed again. "I don't even know. It's my second day here."

"I'm sorry it's been a lot in such a short time," Shane said softly. "I know the feeling. What was it you found out?"

Alistair let out another weary sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Do you just... want to come with me? I'm tired of playing island telephone. Plus, I'd really rather not be that guy that shows up on his doorstep like, 'Hey, know me? Me neither, but I have terrible news for you, buddy.'"

"Do you want me to?" Shane asked-- not sure why he was asking. To test how much he meant it, maybe.

But he didn't get an answer from Alistair since both of them caught Alan from the corner of their eyes. He was approaching with two mugs of coffee, with Shane recognizing one of the mugs to be the one he set aside for him.

"Hey, you both," Alan greeted, offering the spare mug to Alistair, who hesitantly took it. "What did I miss?"

Shane glanced at Alistair, silently asking him what he wanted to share. But it seemed that he was giving him the same look, and both of them were too slow to react for Alan to not be suspicious.

"Sharing secrets already?" Alan teased with a slight narrowing of his eyes, taking a sip of the coffee. "Hopefully only good ones."

"Alan," Alistair called a bit solemnly. "Can you give me the house tour?"

"Oh. Uh." Alan laughed faintly. "Sure. Why not?" He paused, glancing back. "Mom's busy teaching Vik how to chop veggies like a pro, so I'll show her another time. Ready?" He gestured towards the stairwell with his head.

"Mmhmm," Alistair hummed, exchanging another quick glance with Shane.

Shane wasn't sure what they expected him to say, though. He... well, he'd already seen the house, so the excuse didn't work great for him. And so he glanced between them uncertainly, silently asking them what they wanted him to do.

"You good?" Alistair asked more firmly.

"Do you want me along?" Shane asked quietly. "It's fine if not."

"That's up to you," Alistair said simply.

Shane wasn't sure how long he froze, or if he was even freezing at all and his brain was just speedrunning the time. He didn't know what either of them really wanted of him, or what he wanted from this.

He hadn't really wanted to break the news to Alan before, and he didn't now. If Alistair could handle it, that meant it was off his hands. Even if it meant waiting anxiously downstairs in the meantime.

"I'll stay down here," he eventually decided, trying to sound confident. "I'll be around when you get back from the tour."





Not long after the twins went upstairs and Vik left to grab more potatoes from Hild's cabin, Shane heard Natalie calling from the kitchen.

"Shane! Shane, darling," she called, waving at him with a lime slice in hand. "Would you like to assist in the kitchen? I'd love an extra pair of hands!"

"Sure," Shane said, putting on a smile as he joined her by the counter. "What can I help with?"

Natalie went on to describe her plan of a cilantro-lime glazed rotisserie chicken for lunch, with sides of roasted potatoes, seasoned rice, and an onion-tomato dip. She was at work on the lime sauce, and Shane volunteered for the chopping of various vegetables, getting out a cutting board and a sharp knife.

"Do you like to cook, Shane?" Natalie asked with a smile as she reduced the heat for the chicken stock.

"I do," Shane said, glancing her way with a quick smile as he peeled away the top, papery layers of the onion. "Just for fun. I'm no chef."

"Oh, but love is what makes food taste so good!" Natalie said sweetly, back to mixing the glaze. "And if you love to cook, then the food is made with love. Thank you for making this meal taste so much better."

Shane felt a little sheepish as he shrugged. "Of course. You're the one kind enough to start it, though. Thank you."

She smiled warmly at him, and for a moment, Shane saw something of Alan in it. "Of course! Kindness only spreads after a person gives it away. Today, it is me. But tomorrow, it could be you."

Shane willed himself not to get too distracted from the sharp object in his hands as he chopped off the ends of the onion. "I hope it could be," he said with a faint smile.

"It could, and it can," Natalie went on with a longing smile, whisking the bowl after throwing various spices in it. "You have a very kind, gentle, sweet soul. I can tell! It's in your aura. I sense many acts of kindness in your lifetime. You're very lucky, and so are the people around you! I'm so glad you're here."

Shane paused in his chopping, looking up with a hesitant smile, feeling almost flustered by the flattery.

"My aura?" he asked timidly.

Natalie nodded eagerly. "The heart of your soul. It radiates so much positivity and warmth."

"I don't think I've heard that before," Shane admitted.

"Really? Then I'm glad to be the first one to tell you, love!" Natalie said enthusiastically.

Shane felt his smile widen a smidge as he dropped his gaze back to the onion, chopping it up swiftly.

"I see where Alan gets his kindness from," he said with a soft laugh.

"Oh?" Natalie beamed, clearly proud and adoring when thinking of her son. "I'm so glad to hear! Alan is always so busy, but I always tell him: don't forget to be kind, to be there for your family, and to love your neighbor. There's always time to do all three of those things, don't you think?"

"There is," Shane agreed. "You're right to tell him that-- he seems to have taken it to heart."

Natalie continued to beam, adding in more spices and chopped cilantro to the mixture. "Are you and Alan good friends?" she asked.

Shane slowed slightly in his chopping. He... Well, didn't she know? Or know at least as much as he did, since that question was an enigma to everyone?

"I think so," he said. "As much as three weeks will allow for two people to be good friends."

"Oh, I hope you two keep in touch, even after the end of the summer!" she exclaimed. "He should be more with people who have an aura like yours."

Shane laughed quietly, sweeping the chopped onion to the side of the cutting board and starting on a tomato. "I hope we will. We plan to, right now."

"I'm so glad to hear that. So, so glad." She smiled warmly again at him, the smile fully reaching her even warmer eyes. "Maybe you can visit us, too. Oh, I would like that very much. We would love to have you."

"You would?" Shane asked, a little more softly.

"Of course, darling! We would have a lovely time together!"

Shane's eyes were stinging a little, and he was about to panic before he realized it was... probably the onions.

Hopefully the onions.

At least eighty percent the onions.

"I think that would be lovely too," he said quietly.

"Every winter, my sister and I throw a big party. It's a very big family reunion," Natalie went on, starry-eyed with wonder and nostalgia. "The whole family comes together, and we invite everyone we love. My boys always invite their girlfriends and their family too, and also any friends who want to come, especially if they're not celebrating the holidays. Oh, my heavens, especially the ones not celebrating with family! It's so important to be with your loved ones, especially during times of celebration, don't you think?"

Shane missed the place he'd been meaning to cut, resulting in a larger tomato slice than he'd wanted. In a hurry, he overcompensated for it by slicing the next part too thin. No distractions. Right. But this conversation was getting to him.

Natalie seemed to love the idea of him coming over, but would Alan invite him? And if he did, would it be as a friend or more?

This next winter was going to be his first without his parents. That wasn't lost on him, either.

"Yeah," he agreed quietly. "Everyone could use someone to share in that with."

"Oh, but enough about me," Natalie said with a chipper voice, waving her hand in front of her to dismiss herself. "Who are the special people in your life, Shane? And do you have big parties too?"

Uncertainly, Shane looked up from the cutting board, his confused gaze flitting to her face.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Because she had to know, right? There was no way she didn't...

And yet, Natalie retained her pleasant smile, briefly meeting his gaze. "How is your family? Oh, you must miss them so much being so far apart from them right now."

Shane felt his expression falling at that, and he wasn't able to muster the effort to regain his composure.

"Oh," he said weakly. "I mean, it's not... it's not really like that. I lost both my parents this winter."

Saying it like this-- to someone who didn't seem to have the faintest idea-- hurt in a brand new way.

At that, Natalie froze in her actions, staring back at him with sudden deep sadness and empathy. Her brows drew together, she placed her hand on her mouth, eyes glistening.

"Oh, my love. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry," she whispered.

Shane couldn't find it in him to keep looking her way, and he dropped his gaze back to the cutting board, putting his full attention into chopping the tomato.

"Yeah," he said faintly, unable to think of anything else to add to that.

He felt Natalie's sad gaze on him, and a short silence passed. And just when he became aware of her moving, she was hugging him again, this time from behind and gentler than before. Shane set down the knife to let himself be held, blinking against his suddenly blurry vision.

"I'm so sorry, my baby," she whispered behind him with a snuffle, head against his back as she rubbed her hand against his chest. "Sweet, sweet baby. You lost your parents so young. No child deserves to lose their parents so young. Oh, my darling..."

Shane's eyes were definitely stinging now, and it didn't seem like entirely the onion's fault now. He took a shaky breath, leaning into the hug slightly and placing his hand on her arm to let her know he appreciated it.

"Thank you," he whispered quietly, barely managing to get those two still insufficient words out.

"Oh, come here, baby," Natalie cooed, sniffling again. "Let me give you a proper hug. Oh, darling. Come here. Let me hold you. I've got you."

Shane turned away from the counter, letting her keep her arms around him as he hugged her back. Natalie seemed to be... already crying. Something about it broke his heart more, and he hugged her more warmly.

"Your mother may have gone to heaven, but that doesn't mean you don't get to receive motherly love. She must be smiling down at us right now, sending her hug to me, so I can give it to you," Natalie said steadily with a few sniffles, rubbing his back as she gave him a gentle squeeze.

Shane closed his eyes against the blurry kitchen, trying to shut it out. He wanted that to be true.

"Thank you for being here," he said quietly, unable to respond to the larger thought, but hoping she heard his gratitude for that too.

"Of course, my darling. Of course," she said softly, pressing her hand against his head to bring him closer. "You deserve all the love, dear. From mother to son."

Shane couldn't help but sniff slightly, his chest feeling tight. He didn't have any more words. He just hoped she had... some idea of what this meant to him.



After being hugged and comforted for a much longer period of time than Shane was used to, the two of them got back to cooking, and they were just about done when he heard the twins' voices again. Shane looked up to see them entering the kitchen, offering them a smile as he washed his hands clean.

"Hi again," he said.

"Hi Shane," Alan said with a smile, skidding around the stairwell. "Sorry about the wait."

"It's fine," Shane promised. "You're right on time for lunch."

They talked some more as Natalie took the bird out of the oven, and Shane was just getting down plates when he saw a blur of motion out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head towards it.

Kaya had swiftly descended the stairs, and was now moving to the door in a hurry, quietly putting on her shoes with an upset expression. Surprised, Shane watched her do so in confusion, but he didn't get a word out before she opened the door and let herself out. The whole thing had taken maybe ten seconds flat.

"...What happened?" Shane asked quietly, to no one in particular.

"...I don't know," Alan answered distantly as he pinched his brows together in worry, gaze fixed towards the stairs.

"Oh, my... she looked so upset," Natalie said with a hushed voice, as worry washed over her own face. "Is she one of your friends?"

"I'm going to check on Lyall," Alan said, already bounding up the stairs. A few steps up, he paused and peeked his head out to belatedly say, "Be right back," before quickly resuming his ascent.

Somehow, Shane doubted that he would be right back. But he didn't say that out loud.

"She's Lyall's fiancée," he said to Natalie. "So, friend of a friend, I guess."

"Oh! Ly-all has a fiancee! That's very exciting. I will have to ask him about his wedding plans. Weddings are such a beautiful ceremony, especially for such a lovely couple," Natalie said with a longing smile, glancing a few times at Alistair as she spoke, but then returned to cutting the roasted chicken.

Alistair leaned against the wall adjacent to the windowsill, watching Kaya leave. "I think she's going back to the mansion," he said.

"She's in a hurry," Shane said quietly.

"Yeah," Alistair affirmed with the same tone, unmoving.

"Do you think she's okay?" Natalie asked with worry in her voice.

Alistair sighed, peeling away from the window to lean his elbows against his counter, idly adjusting his backwards cap. "Don't know. I hope so."

Shane glanced upstairs uncertainly. He hated to be a killjoy, but the answer seemed like no.

Alan sighed in front of the mirror, finally turning off the faucet sink after having stared at it for too long.

This morning was... a lot, for lack of better words. Though, strangely, it felt familiar. Probably because his family was here. And that was nice. Truly. It was nice.

What was up with Lyall, though? Alan wasn't usually one to overly worry about his friends, but his behavior had been all over the place today. It was borderline concerning.

No. It was concerning.

Alan thought, maybe, Lyall was just in over his head that morning. That was fine. Alan understood; he had definitely been there before. Though, after seeing how he parted ways with Kaya, and was so dismissive of anyone talking to him or reaching out afterwards... he couldn't help but feel like something was very, very wrong. Between him and Kaya, but also with Lyall himself. There was something simmering inside of him, and he was so close to self-destructing.

Fortunately, his room was adjacent to his, so Alan knew he would see him again, eventually. Lyall needed time process. Or... maybe he was off, unprocessing, distracting himself. That also seemed like a strong possibility.

At any rate, Alan respected his friend's wish for space, though that didn't stop him from sending Vik out to make sure he ate. Still, Alan only hoped that Lyall could understand that it was important to spend time with the people he loved, too. Though after witnessing the tension between him and Hild this morning... maybe he didn't know that.

There were a lot of maybes and a lot of unknowns, but Alan was patient, nor did he need to know all the answers. He simply wished his friend could learn to chill out.

Alan swept his hair back and idly dried his hands on the handtowel, taking in another deep breath.

Alright. Family time, part two. Minus Cyrin, who disappeared somewhere. Minus Lyall and Vik, who was also... somewhere. And minus Alistair, who was... hm. Somewhere. That left his mom and Shane. Though, Shane may want to take an exit too, considering that, well... this wasn't exactly a group setting anymore.

With an effortless smile, Alan bounded down the stairs, glancing over the stairwell and noticing the two of them working together for dishes now that lunch had finished. A bit endeared that Shane would be helping with dishes despite this not being his cabin nor his family, Alan rounded the corner to approach, swatting his hand away at the plate in the sink.

"I got this. You are hereby banned from doing any chore whatsoever," he said with a smile, running the plate over running water.

Shane smiled at him, stepping back. "Banned? Is that an executive order?"

Grabbing a drying spatula on the dish rack, Alan held it firmly in his hand to tap it on top of Shane's head. "Banned," he repeated with a grin.

Shane ducked with a laugh, eyes bright. "Don't turn around, because I was about to wipe down the counter."

"I suppose I can be none the wiser," Alan said with a soft chuckle, resuming to scrub the dishes. He paused then said over his shoulder, "Though, Shane, it's totally fine to leave if you want. Unless you want to hang out with my mom and I, of course. But you definitely don't need to do that."

Alan glanced over to his mom, who was busy arranging the leftovers in the fridge. She looked over with a smile, but otherwise didn't comment. She must like Shane too, then.

"I don't mind either way," Shane said, glancing at him with a smile, then pausing. "I mean, the two of you probably want to spend time together, and I don't want to get in the way of that. Though I've also been meaning to talk to you. Can we... do that sometime?" There was a faint hopefulness in his voice, as well as what sounded like shyness.

Right. Yes. Alan agreed; he wanted to talk to Shane eventually too, especially because he felt guilty of how he left last time. Shane said he was okay, but Shane had a tendency to say everything was okay, and he didn't always speak his mind. And Alan hated that he pushed him-- in a fairly violent way too, if his memory served him right. So if Shane was holding back reservations, Alan wanted to know so he could make proper amends.

Though, he'd give him proper amends even if he didn't speak his mind. That was on his list of things to do today, ideally. Or maybe tomorrow. It was an action item for sure.

"Of course, Shane," Alan responded with a small smile, then set the clean dish in the dishwasher.

He literally only put a singular plate away, but... this could wait. Shane's talk was more important.

"Mom," he called, turning to her after drying his hand. "We're going to step out for a little bit. Will you be okay by yourself? I can help clean when I'm back."

"Yes, of course!" she said with a smile, shooing the two of them away. "I'll clean in the meantime."

Alan smiled back then turned to Shane, beckoning for him to follow. "Upstairs or outside?" he asked.

"Upstairs, maybe?" Shane suggested. "Thank you, Ms. Alvaro."

"See you soon!" she called with a wave.

"Alright," Alan said with a nod, leading the way. "Let's go upstairs."

On the way up, he pondered on the word 'Miss' that Shane said, indicating that he knew his mom was separated from his dad. Though... maybe that was obvious, considering Alan told him his dad lived in a whole new country. Maybe he ought to be careful with the words he said now.

That was a good guide to live by, anyways. To be careful with the words he said.

Upstairs, Alan caught Shane giving Cyrin's broken door an odd look, but honestly, Alan had no idea what to say about that. He didn't really know what that was about, either. Maybe Alistair was right that it was this 'monster' who came in to wreck their home, but Lyall could have said a unicorn came in and did this, and Alan would believe it just as much.

"After you," he said with a smile and a broad gesture to his room, swinging the door open for him.

Shane offered him a smile, stepping through and waiting for him inside. Alan closed the door behind him, quick to offer the chair for Shane, patting it down for him.

"Sorry that today has been so busy," Alan said as he leaned against the desk next to the seat, hands gripping the edges of it. "I'm glad that we have time to talk, though. I've been meaning to talk to you too."

"It's perfectly okay," Shane promised, taking a seat. "I'm glad you got reunited with your family-- they're lovely, by the way-- and that should take precedent."

"It has been nice to see them again. Very nice, actually-- I'm so glad I got to see them again after two months," Alan said with a smile, then paused. "Did a family member or friend come to visit you as well?"

Shane's smile slipped a little before he recovered it.

"No, not really," he said. "They sent in a stranger for me. It..." He shrugged. "It's fine. I was expecting that, more or less."

"A stranger?" Alan echoed. "That's odd. Are you sure they were sent for you?"

Shane nodded. "They came for me," he said. "I just didn't know them already."

Shane didn't elaborate, so Alan didn't push it. He nodded, offering a small smile.

"Well, my mom seems to like you around, so you're not a stranger to my family," he said.

Shane's smile brightened at that. "I'll have to spend more time with her. She's wonderful," he said with a laugh.

"She is. I'm glad she's here, and I'm glad that you got to meet her. And my brother, too. It's always nice to introduce family members to people you care about."

"It's a nice turn of fate," Shane agreed, his expression softening and turning more tender as he watched Alan for a moment. "Thank you for that."

"Of course," Alan said with a smile, enjoying watching him warm up to his family. He took a moment to breathe before asking, "How have you been holding up?"

"Oh, you know," Shane said, expression turning a little wistful and sad for a moment. "I worried about you. But I'm relieved you're back and safe."

"I'm sorry about how we left things. Are you sure you're okay? Are you hurt anywhere?" Alan asked softly.

"It's almost nothing," Shane promised gently. "Just some bruising. It's nothing now that I know you're alright."

"Bruising," Alan repeated, standing more upright as he scanned Shane up and down, even though he was sure the bruises would be under his clothes instead. "Where? Does it hurt?"

"My back," Shane said, "but-- it really doesn't hurt. It's okay, Alan." He offered him a faint, tender smile.

Brows creased together with worry, Alan gently reached out, hand brushing down his back. "Are you sure?" he asked softly.

"I promise," Shane said softly in kind.

Alan let out a breath of relief, pulling his hand away. "Okay. I believe you."

Shane watched him with a faint, still-tender smile, his soft gaze scanning Alan's face.

"I want to make sure you're okay, too," he said. "I heard about what happened, and... That's so terrifying, Alan. I don't want you to hold yourself in blame for it."

Alan let out a faint laugh, offering a smile of assurance. "I'm fine. Really. I was healed up, and I feel a lot better. You don't have to worry about me, but I appreciate the sentiments."

"You're sure?" Shane asked softly, looking him in the eye with gentleness and concern.

"Positive," Alan affirmed confidently.

Shane nodded, watching him closely a moment longer before his expression settled into relief.

"I believe you too," he said. "I'm glad. There's just one other thing I wanted to see you about, then, though it's..."

Shane suddenly let out a quiet, bashful laugh, tearing his gaze away from Alan and rubbing his face with his hand.

"It's... kind of silly," he admitted.

Quirking a brow, Alan's smile grew in intrigue as he fixed his attention on Shane. "I like silly," he said. "What's on your mind?"

Suddenly, Shane was blushing. At least, it seemed so, from the rosy tint on his cheeks. He looked back up, searching Alan's face with a soft, timid uncertainty.

"I... made you something," he said softly. "It's a poem."

Alan didn't react right away. "A poem?" he repeated, intrigue only growing. "You wrote me a poem?"

Shane's blush deepened at that. Alan smiled wider at that, finding this strangely cute, even though he didn't really know what there was to be embarrassed about.

"I did," he said, his voice still shy and soft. "I won't pretend it's amazing, since it's a first try, and you deserve better, but... I did promise you one. I hope it's at least okay. You don't have to love it, I just--" Shane laughed faintly again, dropping his gaze once more. "It's yours. I wanted you to have it, even if it's nothing incredible."

That was right. It felt like a hazy dream, but they did talk about this. Alan had challenged that Shane write a poem in a more accelrated time frame while the island have him inspiration. He didn't think he'd see it so soon, though.

"You could write a roses is red, violets is blue poem, and I will still love it," Alan said with a warm smile. "Did you... bring it? Can I read it?"

"Yeah," Shane said, nodding quickly as he reached into the chest pocket of his flannel and taking out a sheet of looseleaf paper that was folded into quarters, passing it to Alan. "This is it."

Alan gingerly picked up the paper, flicking his eyes between it and Shane while giving him an appreciative smile. He carefully unfolded each side, immediately met with a full-page of a handwritten note, written in a dark fountain pen that was so polished, it could have passed as a printed font.

Curious, Alan gave it a read.

Tonight, we are not yet in our separate skies,
and I can still count every last gleam of light
in your eyes. I'd be your historian, I'd be your astronomer,
I'd memorize every orbit path that twists into the lines
of your palms and read them back to you.
I'm counting out eternities between the beats
that my heart skips, and I'm convinced it must mean
that we could extend this moment past the universe's last night,
even though theory and time say all stars are beyond saving.
But I think anyone who says no light shines forever
must not have seen you here, illuminated under
all of my bright hopes, your smile a sight
more precious than any rare comet visit. If they had,
they would have known to wish for you.

And then he gave it another read. And then another. And then another.

Alan didn't mean to draw out the silence that followed. But he couldn't stop himself from reading it, eyes darting across the page line-by-line as he slowly let the words of the poem sink in.

He had to remind himself this was a poem. Not a song, not a note. But a poem. From Shane. About... him. This was about him. Shane found inspiration on the island after all. And it was Alan.

Slowly, Alan lowered the paper, knowing he had to say something, especially with Shane right next to him. But it felt like all words had left his brain, and when he opened his mouth to speak, nothing came out.

There were no words. Just the beating of his heart.

Shane seemed to be looking around nervously at anything in the room that wasn't him-- the window, the floorboards, the violin, where the desk met the wall. His hands were folded in his lap, and his expression was one of anxious waiting.

And yet, rendered completely speechless, Alan could only react by studying Shane. His soft, green eyes mixed with hope and uncertainty. The faded smile lines, the wrinkles of where his dimples were when he did truly smile. His brown hair swept back, like a summer field, winded after a long day.

Finally, Shane did look back at him, with the same close attention and a sort of gentle fear, his eyes scanning every part of Alan's face. And Alan was fully captivated, unable to look away.

"I know it's not much," Shane said quietly. "Not enough, even. But I hope you liked it alright anyway. Thank you for reading it."

Finally, that sent Alan out of his speechless stupor.

"Shane," he called with a soft smile and open fondness in his eyes. "I don't just like it-- I love it. You really wrote this." He tore his gaze away from him, eyes landing back on the paper, at the full size of it, written with love. "You wrote this. Of me."

It hardly even seemed real, but it was. He held it in his hands, the words dancing in his head. He didn't have to process this. Not fully, not right now. But he would. He will.

Alan just wanted to be here with Shane right now, prioritizing him.

That faint light of hope in Shane's eyes brightened.

"You... love it?" he said softly, like it sounded too good to be true.

"I love it," Alan said with wide smile. "Thank you, Shane. I don't even know what else to say right now. Just thank you. This means so much to me."

Shane's face slowly split into a wide, radiant smile, with the rosy tint returning to his dimpled cheeks. The tension in his posture visibly dissipated.

"Really?" he breathed, with palpable relief. "I'm so glad. I wasn't sure."

"Really," Alan confirmed, still smiling. "You wrote this with your whole heart. It's quite impressive, Shane. I'm so moved and even more honored to be your muse." He carefully folded the paper along the pre-existing creases. "I'll keep this safe, always. I wouldn't ever want to lose it."

Shane grinned softly, a gleefulness overtaking his expression.

"I'm so glad," he repeated, his eyes shining. "Maybe I'll write some more for you. Would you... like that?"

Alan grinned, letting out a soft laugh as he carefully set the folded poem on the middle of his desk, away from the other papers so it wouldn't get lost in the pile. He'd put it away for safekeeping later, but for now-- Shane.

"Perhaps I'm reading between the lines here, but it sounds like you are bathing in inspiration and are asking me if you should use any of it," Alan playfully teased. "Who am I to stop an artist with their muse?"

Shane laughed, looking at him with bright adoration. "I'll take that as a yes, then. Stay tuned for more of your muse career."

Alan innocently hummed, tapping his foot against Shane's. "You put the muse in musician. Careful for what you wish for, Shane. Inspiration is infectious."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Shane said with a soft laugh. "But it doesn't seem like it is."

"Could be," Alan said with a light shrug. "Could not. It depends on your tolerance, I suppose."

"Tolerance? For art?" Shane asked, smiling playfully with a shake of his head. "As if that's something we can get too much of, rather than something we need an abundance of in our lives."

Alan hummed. "So what I'm hearing is that you need an abundance of serenading. Noted."

Shane grinned wider, watching him for a moment. "You'd do that?"

"I vaguely recall, during a midsummer night, that we made a promise," Alan said with a playful tilt of his head, still grinning. "If you write me a poem, then I'll write you a song. I'm a man of my word, Shane."

Shane's eyes, somehow, shone even brighter. "I'd love that," he said, with real excitement.

"Well then," Alan said brightly. "Stay tuned for more of your muse career."

It was a very relaxing hike around the island. Connie was pleased to take his brother to the highest elevations with the most pristine views of the island, but Remus appeared to be dissatisfied. It was quite unfortunate, since Connie had assumed Remus would have the health and endurance for such a climb, but it appeared his assumptions were incorrect.

"Have you been vigilant about your daily exercises?" Connie asked in the middle of their ascent.

"Have I been vigilant?!" Remus balked, huffing and throwing his hands in the air. "Have you lost your mind, brother? Of course I have been vigilant. You, however, have gone completely mental. Do you do this everyday? Walk a path up to the tippy-top of the mountain? Bloody hell, you may as well be a mental mountain goat."

Connie sighed. Remus was prone to exaggeration, and he often complained when he was unhappy. Nature would do him some good. However, not everyone was receptive to it, which was quite unfortunate, considering it was a steady path to peace.

Still, Connie loved his brother like no other. And as much as Remus complained, he knew he complained out of love. As did Theo, as did mother, as did father. Everyone had different levels of peace. Or in Remus's case, distaste.

"Have you received the documents?" Connie asked halfway through their descent, stopping in the middle of a view point overlooking the ocean. "Or do you not have service yet?"

"Tsk. Do I not have service," Remus mocked, tapping away on his phone. "We are the royal family of Talia, brother, and we are no longer in the bloody clouds. Of course I have service." He sighed and muttered, "Of course, you'd know that, if you weren't a geezer who treated technology like it has bubonic plague."

"Remus, please provide a summary," Connie said patiently.

"I'm reading. Can you wait a minute, please?" Remus barked back.

Connie sat cross-legged, setting his hands on his lap. "I will wait, then."

"Brother," Remus called after a short silence. "Why the sudden scholarly interest in 'wendigos'? I have never seen you this fascinated by a morbid topic."

"I will explain after your summary," Connie simply said, which only made Remus sigh.

Evening was to befall around them, and Connie wanted to respect his house mate's time. He said he would be there at five o'clock, after all, and the time was close. They were finishing their descent right on time.

However, there was something pressing he needed to do first.

Remus was visibly tired, and he stopped in front of Connie's cabin, staring at him walk past it.

"Brother," he called desperately with a groan. "Where are you going?"

"Come along, Remus. Please be camera ready," Connie said with a wave of his hand, eyes on Caspar the cameraman, who appeared to take his post by the shoreline.

Remus balked again, stuttering and groaning before finally giving in, quick to catch up.

"You are headed towards the cameras? You hate the bloody cameras," Remus hissed beside him, giving the cameraman a wave and a fake smile.

When the cameraman caught sight of them, he awkwardly waved back.

"You are to stay by my side and remain presentable. I will do the talking," Connie said firmly.

"What? What are you going to say?" Remus asked.

"Patience, Remus."

Finally, Connie closed the distance between him and the camera, though he only paid his attention to Caspar, not looking into the camera once. He stood in front of the camera, meeting Caspar's eyes.

"Good evening," Connie greeted. "I would like to deliver a message."

Caspar blinked, confused. "Uhm," he said slowly. "Sure?"

And he dug through his pockets until he found his phone.

"Will this message be sent live? It is imperative that my message is seen by everyone at this given moment," Connie said patiently.

Caspar paused after flipping open his phone, brow furrowing with confusion. "To... everyone?"

"Yes," Connie said simply.

"My brother would like to request that the world hear his divine message," Remus cut in, then tapped the side of the camera. "Does this camera have live streaming capability? If not, perhaps you have access to social media feed you may stream from? That is also quite popular with the rest of the world."

Realization hit the man when he looked to the camera beside them. "Oh! Right, yes." He pocketed his phone and took position behind the camera. "I mean, it's not live right now, but I can fit it into today's batch for airing, yeah."

"If I may request: please enable live streaming at this moment, if possible," Connie said.

There was a short pause as Caspar studied the two. Then glanced off, seeming at war with himself for a moment. He eventually tipped his cap to them and chirped, "Sure thing."

"Thank you. Please tell me when you are ready," Connie said with a nod as he stared into the camera and Remus took a few steps back.

Caspar took about another minute to adjust the lens and twist some small dials on the top of the machine, but Connie remained unmoving, completely patient. Twisting his hat so that it was backwards on his head, Caspar peered through the viewfinder and lifted a hand to silently count them down. Then quietly waved as a cue for Connie to begin.

"Hello, citizens of the world," Connie began steadily with a straight face as Remus stood close behind him, smiling. "This is Prince Constantine and Romulus from the Talia Kingdom. We are currently located on the island of Auslanii where there is grave danger. We regretfully deliver the news that our safety and the safety of the other residents is dangerously compromised. However, please rest assured that the DMV is allocating resources to ensure that everyone is safe and secure on the island. If you have any questions, please forward them to your respective DMV office. Thank you."

Connie then settled his gaze on Caspar, indicating with his stare that he was finished. Delayed, Caspar quietly went, "Oop," as he turned off the camera and stepped out from behind to offer a thumb up in confirmation.

"Thank you. I would also like to send a text message notification to everyone on the island. Is that something you can do?" Connie asked.

"I." Hands set on his sides, Caspar glanced down at the sand in thought. "...No. But my friend Dante probably could."

"Please send a message as soon as possible to every person on this island. How would you like to relay my message to him?" Connie asked.

"It's probably best to just. Call him real quick," Caspar answered, holding up his phone again.

"Indeed. That would be wise," Connie said with a nod. "Please tell me when you are ready."

With a nod, Caspar bounded over to stand closer, a respectable flip phone held up between them.

"Faster if you talk with him directly, too," Caspar murmured as the phone rang.

Holding the phone to his ear, Connie waited as the phone rang once, twice. He spoke as soon as it stopped ringing.

"Hello, Dante," he greeted. "Do you have the ability to send a text message notification to everyone on this island?"

"Hello. Is this Prince Constantine?" Dante asked politely.

"It is," Connie affirmed. "Do you have the capability to send a text message notification to everyone on the island?"

"I do," Dante said. "But this feature is limited to emergency notifications, like the presence of a threat or natural disaster."

"That will do. Can the message be customized?" Connie asked.

"Yes," Dante said. "Is there a threat?"

"Indeed. Are you ready to write the message? Let me know when you're ready," Connie said.

A short pause. "I'm ready."

"Please send the following text to everyone. 'Public Service Announcement: there is a wendigo on the loose pillaging the island. Please stay safe indoors until security has arrived to maintain safety. If you have any questions, please contact Connie Falco or your local DMV representative. Thank you."

A few moments went by, with Dante murmuring keywords along the way: "Wendigo... island... security... questions... representative." A beat. "It's sent."

"Aha!" Remus said victoriously, waving his phone that displayed a new text notification. "Speedy, that one is. The emergency alert system is highly effective."

"Thank you, Dante," Connie said, then shut the phone shut, offering it back to Caspar. "And thank you, Caspar."

With a nod, Caspar said quietly, "Welcome."

At that, Connie nodded his goodbye, turning to walk back towards the cabin. "Come along, Remus," he called. "I must show you your new room."