#woht

It'd taken them the better half of thirty minutes to collect what they'd need for what Miss Rose was referring to, for the moment, as a "field trip"- no parental release forms necessary because, as she'd made abundantly clear, "I am the only adult you need to be worried about". Except for Crawford, who spent the fifteen minutes it took everyone else to get ready standing outside smoking a cigar with an unbothered look on his face. Clara was the first of the three students done, and waited next to Crawford with her messenger bag full of supplies slung over her shoulders. She looked to him, and he lazily glanced at her from the side.

"You know smoking is horrible for your lungs, right?"

"If anything's gonna take me out 'for my livin' does, I'm gonna die a happy man knowin' it was my vice."

Clara's lips pursed into a straight line.

The front door creaked open; Hardy stepped out first, unzipping his backpack to slip the dagger through its army green folds. Isaac was right behind him, arching an eyebrow at the very functioning door that he, quite frankly, was surprised was still on its hinges after last night. He frowned and grabbed Hardy's wrist, twisting it around to look at his watch. Hardy remained unbothered, trapping his bag between his legs as he used his other hand to close the zipper the rest of the way, concealing the dagger safe and sound in a multitude of pockets. Isaac huffed through his nose- 5am. Correction, then; the attack happened *earlier this morning. Adrenaline and the primal need to not get his head torn clean off of his shoulders had kept his sleep-addled brain at bay, but now that it had time to process that the world had settled again, it was urging him to rest.

There was a hand at his shoulder. Isaac jumped, but he saw the streak of purple in raven hair and found the nerves of his brain settling. It was just Miss Rose. She caught his gaze and gave him a small smile, soft, though he could tell she was strung a little higher than usual. She brushed by him and turned only to lock the door behind her. "Is everyone ready to go?"

"Yeah," Isaac watched as Hardy slipped his bag onto his shoulders. "So, how exactly are we planning on finding our friendly neighborhood home invaders?"

Rose smiled, this time more like she usually did, bright and reassuring. "Same way I look for spectral artifacts! I let Magnus lead the way!"

Isaac raised an eyebrow, and god help him, he swore the top half of his face was going to get stuck that way someday. "Magnus?"

Crawford took another puff, rounding his lips so that the smoke took on a circular shape. Miss Rose waved it away and gave him a look- the kind wives give their husbands over shoes left at the front door- and he grimaced, but dropped the cigar and put it out with his heel anyway. "Well, don't keep 'em waitin', Rose." Clara moved closer to Isaac and Hardy, eager to get a look. Isaac glanced at her and Hardy, and the looks of curiosity so plainly painting their crinkled noses and furrowed brows. Must be new to them, too.

Rose rolled her shoulders in a semi-committal, but ultimately nonchalant shrug. "Yeah, yeah. I'm just not looking forward to the lecture I'm gonna get." She reached into her back pocket and procured what appeared to be a compass. Small, silver, sat perfectly in the palm of her hand, like it was sculpted especially for her. Her eyes fluttered shut, and Isaac could tell from the small rim of purple aflame under her eyelashes that she'd connected with her spirit.

"What is it this time, Mari?"

Rose opened her eyes, finding beady black staring into the abyss that was her soul- or, rather… maybe staring into the abyss that was her curious nature. It made her good at artifact hunting, maybe not the best spectral partner, though. "Okay, okay. I deserve that. But it's important this time!"

Magnus turned and flew a few feet away, back of his body (a long eel-like tail covered in fur) brushing vaguely against her nose. He looked a lot like a basset hound, one that a particularly squealing-prone Sherlock Holmes fan had dressed in a deerstalker and matching coat for a cute scrapbook. She remembered meeting him the first time, back when she was still greener to the spectral world.

Before she knew that spirits were typically averse to hugs and scritches, no matter how much they looked like a good boy.

Magnus huffed from his throat, gave her a look that only an elderly butler with far too much experience and Magnus himself could level her with. The expectant kind. The kind that dared her to make her case. "So you're admitting you were using me for fun before?"

She abided. "Well no, that stuff was important too, but this is…"

Magnus sighed, the sign he gave her, every single time, to signal he was acquiesce. "What do you need?"

Right, down to business, then. She sobered and stripped her hand of her black glove, holding it out for Magnus to sniff. "There should be a saliva sample on this glove. Can you track it for me?"

He hovered closer, inching his wet nose toward the glove. He sniffed once, then twice, and nodded. He registered the smell, compared it to the large database of scents and stenches he'd picked up on in his near-infinite lifetime. She watched him in silence, but took the moment to slip her glove back on. If she knew Magnus, which she did, then he'd give her a destination, maybe a word for warning. He took a few moments, then did something she hadn't seen him do before. He paused. "This could lead you into Consortium territory, you know…"

"What?" She would have hid the trepidation in her voice, but Magnus had known her too many years for her to play anything cool ever, not that she ever got it by him before. She had a feeling he was a little more a detective than he'd like to admit. Magnus glanced at her with droopy eyes, big ears flopping as he floated in place, like there was an undercurrent breeze that blew from below. "Why?"

"The scent you're handing me matches somebody long lost to the Consortium, I'm afraid. One Catriona Barrett." Rose glanced down at her hand, squeezed her fist around the glove that still had traces of saliva on it. "Disappeared after the Consortium eliminated her lover, which I'm sure you know was a spirit by the name of Emmerich."

"That doesn't make sense. The dagger is perfectly capable of killing humans, but it's just as capable of killing spirits. What would she want with it?"

"A conundrum not meant for me to solve, I'm afraid." Magnus hummed floated away from her, cracking only an eye open to glance at her. He must have seen her frown, because he sighed and momentarily moved closer to her, moved around her in a circle so that his tail could brush up against her cheek and make her nose wiggle. "We were lucky that the dagger was within Cousinhood territory, but you know I'll be leading you-"

"- All over god's creation. Yeah, I know." She smiled his way, gave him a scratch under his chin either to calm herself down or to annoy Magnus. She had no plans to ponder which it was. He glared at her, unamused as always, as he faded from her sight. "I'm afraid that's a risk we're going to have to take."

The compass hovered in mid-air, faintly radiating with the same purple that surrounded herself and Magnus. As the last of Magnus's spirit world faded from view, the compass itself pulsed, like a heartbeat. She held out her hand and waited for it to fall into her palm, cold detailed silver against the fabric of her glove. The pulsing became faster, a more constant stream of vibration until it was buzzing in her hand, meaning Magnus had decided precisely what direction to go in. She nodded south and said "Let's go."

Clara, Hardy, and Isaac glanced to Crawford, who only tipped his hat as confirmation before following closely behind Rose. Hardy exhaled, shoulders slouching as air deflated him like an old balloon. "This should be fun…"

He trudged after Rose and Crawford, Isaac and Clara close behind.

She walked beside Isaac, but he felt her eyes watching him as though they were on his back. He tensed up. "You know, if we pass your hometown…"

He grimaced. "I wouldn't say a word."

He hurried hurried to catch up with Hardy, ignoring the set of eyes that were now definitely watching his retreating frame.

Sewing, as any 18th century woman would tell you, is the cornerstone of femininity. Women practiced the art often, and with the persistence of anybody who had to live their entire life without video games or sports. Sewing also, as any of these 18th century woman would tell you, is a real pain.

Isabel pricked herself for the third- or fourth- time, tried once more to stitch the two pieces of cloth together, and instead decided she'd had quite enough of whatever purgatory she'd found herself stuck in. Sleeping Beauty only had to get pricked ONCE to fall asleep, she'd say that she more than earned a nap. "This is so-!" She flicked her tired wrist around, trying to find the right word. How to best describe the ludicrousness of her current task without lowballing her grievances or insulting her teacher. Ah, yes. That's the right word. "Stupid! This is so stupid! How is sitting here sewing going to save anyone?"

Dimitri glanced up from his sewing job, cool eyebrow raised. Zarei, too, glanced up from her task, reading a book which, comparatively, was a favorable task to whatever this nonsense was. Zarei herself looked bored, but not surprised. She'd most likely been anticipating Isabel's outburst, as was customary once every class. Not every period, no, every class that Isabel had to be subjected to some of the most boring, menial tasks she'd ever had to do for a grade. Zarei's class. "Isabel," Zarei started, and she could already hear the routine disinterest. "In a life or death situation, you may have to temporarily sew and dress or cauterize a wound." She adjusted her glasses and mumbled, in equal irritation, "they wouldn't let me have fire in the classroom, so this will have to do."

"This is a waste of our time!"

Dimitri, as chill as always, lifted one hand, a motion he seemed to carry out every time she had these routine outbursts, as though she was a wild spirit and needed to be tamed and reined in. "Isabel-"

"No! I'm sick of this! The traitor who released those monsters is still out there and we have no idea who they are or what they want!"

Zarei seemed unperturbed, though she shut her book with one snap and set it off to the side of her desk. "Isabel-"

"What are we sitting here sewing for? We're just wasting time-!"

"Isabel!"

She choked, instinctually stepping back as Zarei's hands slammed upon the instructor's desk. This… this was not part of the routine, but she supposed her outburst had been more emotionally-charged than her others had been. Zarei usually took her complaints in stride, even snarked about setting up a suggestions box for Isabel to leave comments in (that way she could dispose of them easier). This time, though, Zarei looked her dead in the eye, unblinking, unmoving. Isabel looked to her left where Dimitri sat at his desk, found his hand still raised cautiously, though it'd moved some to avoid her flaring aura.

Fine.

She growled to herself, sliding back down into her seat, but unwilling to continue stitching. Instead she glared at the two bits of cloth and used the needle to take small jabs at her desk. Zarei wouldn't say anything, would probably just be happy she wasn't complaining. She'd just have to deal with her restlessly squirming in her seat until class was over in another handful of minutes. God, she hoped Max was having a better time.

The gym was larger than the auditorium their Training 101 class typically monopolized. Once the bell had rung and all the class had been seated, when Spender announced that they'd all be transferring to the gym for the day, Max had almost felt the collective sigh of relief that hung like the usual unease in the atmosphere. He glanced at Collin, who had taken to walking the very thin line between the waking world and the unconscious one with his chin rested in his hand, eyes slowly inching shut before they popped open again after a restless three seconds of shut-eye. Johnny sat at his other side, practically bouncing up and down in his seat. Probably the least claustrophobic the psychopath has felt in weeks.

Spender stood at the bottom of the bleachers, raising his hands in a sad attempt to get his large, voluble class to more of a hushed whisper. Because Spender was a quiet man naturally, and passive normally, his voice was lost in the sea of early-morning chit-chat, the kind that was kept in-check by smaller class periods. Max watched with varying degrees of amusement as Spender circulated through every trick in the book to get a bunch of confused, aggravated, loquacious middle-schoolers to shut their overused traps. He first tried to clear his throat. When that didn't work, he tried to drop his teacher's guidebook on the gym floor- when that was stifled and dulled in the vastness of the gym walls, he resorted to yelling at the top of his lungs. That still didn't work, and Max could see the man struggling to figure out how else to reign in a hundred or so students. His calloused hands were clawing at his face, eyes visibly heavy with exhaustion, even behind his shades. When all hope seemed to be lost, Coach Oop set one heavy hand on Spender's shoulder, gave him a pitying look, and got the attention of every student the way only a gym coach knew how- screaming and just being louder than the normal teacher.

Chatter seemed to fade almost instantly, and Spender shot Coach Oop a grateful look.

He cleared his throat as Oop retreated to his office. "Class, today we are going to begin working the physical aspects of your new abilities, rather than your minds." Max could practically feel Johnny vibrating in the seat next to him. He shot the red-head an eye that he ignored entirely. "Now, I've always been more focused on the intellectual end of training-"

"Couldn't tell!"

Spender picked Max out in the crowd immediately, glared at him, and received nothing but a grin in response. "... So I've asked an old master of mine to stand in for me." An elderly man stepped forward, huge and terrifying for being gray in the face. "This is Master Guerra. Say hello, class."

"Hello, Master Guerra…." Roughly a quarter of the class even bothered, and those that did were unenthusiastic at best and downright resentful at worst, clearly not knowing what was ahead of them. Max swallowed hard; he'd heard stories from Ed about Isabel's grandfather, stories that Isabel had commented "didn't even graze the bottom" of just how tough Master Guerra could be. And that was on his granddaughter… what would he be like with kids he had no attachment to? Max felt his spine shiver preemptively at the possibilities. Collin leaned over, now much more awake than he had been two minutes prior, and whispered.

"Hey, is that Isabel's dad or something?"

Max cupped a hand over one side of his mouth so Collin could hear him better. "Grandpa, actually. And probably the embodiment of abuse of power…"

Master Guerra's eyes roamed the crowd, but there was something about his gaze that felt like he was simultaneously singling out every single child in the bleachers. Max had the crazy theory that it was because he was, in actuality, seeing every one of them, judging them, assessing them, what they could do. He clearly didn't like what he was seeing, because he took a step forward and his eyes were no less calculating. "Spineless, each and every one of you. Hardly spectrals, hardly able at all. If you want to be worth anything, you will do as I say, and you will do it the first time!"

The class, silent before, fell deathly mute.

Spender stepped forward, chuckling with a nervous edge as he set one unsure hand on Guerra's shoulder- er, tried to. He decided against it last moment. "Master, these children still hardly understand the concept of tools, perhaps you should tone it down just a little-?"

"You asked for my help. This is what you receive."

"Ah."

Isaac cringed. The little cabin he'd taken shelter in was just as creepy and run-down as when he'd last seen it. Creepier, in fact, now that he'd bled all over its floors.

Crawford stopped at the front door and puffed on the last bit of his cigar. Rose passed him by and reached for the handle, eyes on the compass in her hand. "Should I do it?"

Rose shook her head. "Don't waste the energy yet, Crawford. We know the story here pretty well already." She pressed the door open with a sickeningly loud creak, a sound that made Isaac shudder. "Catriona left this place in a hurry in the dead of night. If we want Magnus to keep her scent, we've gotta find something that will lead us to where she went next."

The group pushed on. Crawford went first, one arm protectively extended in front of Rose, other hand cocked with one of his guns. Rose glanced around, looking for anything that may emit a trace of Catriona's aura, careful to let Crawford open doors. The place should have been abandoned, but the odds of Consortium pawns and antagonistic spirits were a possibility she was unwilling to overlook. Clara clung to one of Hardy's sleeves. They were switching off who was looking out in which direction, leaving Isaac to keep his eyes straight ahead. More of a challenge than it may seem, with the cabin's darkness spanning well past Rose and Crawford. He tried to keep in pace with them, but his legs were shaking and he wasn't sure if it was because he was three different kinds of dead the last time he was here, or if the draft of the run-down walls was getting to him.

Clara edged closer to Isaac, willing herself to feel calmer with somebody on either side of her. "There's so much blood, everywhere…" Her breath hitched and trembled with every word, hot breath running down his neck. Miss Rose looked back and found his eyes. He frowned and glanced away. They made it to the end of the hallway, what Isaac remembered as the bedroom he'd taken residence of that night. He was right; Rose raised the compass and the light of her aura illuminated the very edge of the bedpost, rotting and covered in, what Isaac assumed was probably, more of his dried-up blood.

Hardy's foot made contact with something at his feet, and he leaned forward to pick it up. "Oh hey, a diary!" He said one second. "Ah!" He said the next.

Clara glanced over Hardy's shoulder to see the page he'd opened up to by chance, and stifled the scream she instinctually reacted with behind her interwoven fingers. The page was yellow with age and slick with dust from infrequent use, though it had clearly been handled somewhat recently, the way fingerprints edged the pages. The page Hardy had opened up to, the one Isaac now glanced over Clara's shoulder to see, was covered in nothing but pen- and a lot of it. Frantic. Some unlegible. Dark and as black as a widow drenched in the blackest of inks. Words scribbled next to sketches of spirits, of auras and eyes that seemed to watch from behind the safety of the page.

Why can't he see them

I'm not crazy

Help

Hardy screamed and accidentally tossed the book a foot in the air, only to start juggling it with unsteady hands the moment it came back down, whimpering the whole time. Isaac snorted and held out his hand so Hardy could pass it to him- and he did, by using one juggling hand to smack the book mid-air in Isaac's general direction. Isaac caught the diary by the spine in his open palm, flipping it back open with relative ease. "This is her's?"

Just as soon as he opened it, a gloved hand snatched it from him. Miss Rose grinned and raised to compass to the diary, humming at the confirming buzz of her tool. "This is the next piece in Catriona's puzzle, kiddies!"

Kid after kid lined up in parallel with the bullseyes across the gymnasium floor, each new frontrunner as confused as the last. Guerra and Spender stood to the side, eyeing individual auras as they hit or missed the targets- and they rarely hit. Guerra was grimacing, looking every bit terrifying as Spender felt. He kept switching from watching the students to watching his master, frequent enough to keep an eye on his reactions, but not frequent enough for Guerra (hopefully) to notice.

Max was third in one of the first lines. All the better, in his opinion, for getting this over with as fast as possible. He aimed at the target a few feet away, concentrated. He'd had so much on his mind lately. Isabel, Spender, Ed…. His eyes narrowed as blue crossed his vague vision- the kid next to him, but it was enough. He took one quick breath and took his shot. Black gas, perfectly rounded, perfectly paced, hit the bullseye head-on, nearly knocking it over in a clash of red and white against a crawling web of black that descended over it.

Spender's eyes widened, a small smile inching across his face. He'd been worried that all of the attention he'd had to put into training these classes had denied his original students somehow of the attention he felt was vital to truly learning to hone their new powers, but if Max's spectral shot was any indication-!

"Don't get so excited." Guerra was watching the children still, but Spender could feel the disappointment in him radiating from his drilled eyes. He pretended not to notice. "Spectral shots are child's play. That your student is capable of such a feat places him on par with Isabel at five years of age."

The next group of students stepped up. Max met Collin's eyes on his way back to the bleachers.

Collin looked panicked, gesturing to the targets, then gesturing back to the hands Max was well aware would be unable to conjure up any aura at all, let alone get a spectral shot off. Max winced and shrugged at him. Can't help ya there, man.

Collin got up to the bat and mimed for dear life, found other kids doing the same thing. Each pointed and breathed and stood there waiting for auras that never built and shots that never burned through the distance. They turned to each other, confused, some agitated, some lackadaisical about the whole thing.

Guerra turned to Spender with a glare in his eye, and all he could do was smile nervously and swallow the fear gnawing at his throat like acid.

Nature walks were run-of-the-mill for Master Hashimoto's dojo. Ed never quite got the importance of them, and when he asked for clarification the answer was always "something-something peace" or "something-something tranquility".

Aka, "Something-something Ed isn't interested."

But alas, they were required. Every student in the dojo would wake up at roughly 5am, clothe themselves, then walk a mile-long hike through the woods before they could all return home to feast upon the breakfast Hashimoto no doubt would have laid out for them when they got back. As beautiful as the scenery was this time of year, Ed was far more interested in getting back so he could settle the uncomfortable tugging and gurgling of his stomach.

The start of the day was always the hardest. He knew this. And like always, he'd get through it. That didn't mean he felt like trekking up a mountain of flowers today, though.

He sighed and carried onward, barley giving the beautiful red roses he passed a sidelong glance. Well, he almost didn't. The vibrant red caught his eye, and he fell a few steps behind admiring the way the morning dew dripped from the soft petals.

Red was supposed to be the color of aggression, of hunger and anger and danger, but it was also adventure, passion…

Love.

A laugh he knew better than his own crossed his mind's ear, and he almost hated the way he instantly drew the connections to tan skin and red, so much red. Ed shook his head clear and turned away, transitioning into a light jog to catch up to the rest of his peers. This was crazy, he was being crazy. What that girl said meant nothing. What Dimitri said meant nothing, just people being people and misunderstanding his relationship with Isabel. They were like siblings! She was his best friend! He shook his head clear with finality.

He caught up with the rest of the group with ease, not that it was difficult. It seemed like he was the only one eager to get back to food, because his peers had taken a decidedly slower pace. He'd lightly jogged like an old man who'd just watched his small weiner dog steal his slipper, and still, he'd managed to catch up in about thirty seconds. Ed huffed, shoulders slumping in the way that usually got him a fist upside the head from Guerra and a small scolding from Spender.

"Guys, look! He's letting me feed him!"

One of the other students had paused to bend down a few feet in front of him. A quick side-step confirmed that she'd palmed a nut from the ground, and that a small squirrel had taken interest in it. A few other students coo'ed and some bemoaned not having their phone to take a picture. Ed felt himself smiling despite his grouchy mood. The squirrel was, after all, pushing the boundaries of cute. Big beady eyes, tail twitching, head tilting as it tried to communicate with his fellow student in a language it didn't know she didn't understand. Part of his heart, which he found had somewhat frozen over the last few weeks, melted on the spot. She opened up her palm, and the squirrel readily sprinted for it, pausing on her fingers to test the nut and see that it was real. Chestnut brown fur, spots of darker hair that looked black in the early morning sunrise-

-- brown eyes under long lashes, squinting with mirth as he made her laugh, his favorite sound in this world and the next.

Ed froze mid-thought, eyes widening so much he thought they would fall out of the sockets. He'd done it again, the same thing he'd been doing the past- how long had it been? Too long! Too long for this to still be a problem! Ed took several deep breaths, one hand pressed to his chest as he hyper-ventilated, or something close to it. He was just tired, that's all. He was busy a lot of the day training to become a man worthy...of… his mind trailed off again, and Ed felt his hands tearing his hair straight off of his head before he even registered the deep-seeded hand that felt like it was tugging twenty different chords of his heart.

I do not like Isabel! I do not like Isabel! I do not like Isabel!

"Get out of my head!"

There was a silence around him, and he couldn't help but think that it was a little odd, considering all the cute-animal-fawning that'd been happening a few seconds ago. He opened his eyes, which had been screwed shut in his agony, to find his entire class staring at him. Even the squirrel, which had been so content with its nut before, had turned its curious eyes on him as if waiting for an explanation. Ed blinked. "I yearn for the sweet embracing heat of my gaming console."

She’d never liked them, hospitals. They were cold, and they were lonely-- especially at night, in the dark, lights down low over empty reception desks. Catriona bit her thumb. She’d been stalking back and forth for the better part of an hour, waiting on a clock that trembled every painfully slow minute that passed. She breathed in, took one moment, two moments, then breathed out.

“My love, the children will be fine. They were young, that woman recognized that. She would have gone easy--”

“That isn’t the point!” She whipped on him-- shoulders, hands, back-- tensing as her nails dug into the skin of her palms. She never got mad at him, rarely raised her voice an octave, but this was different. She’d made this mistake. She’d messed up, and now her children had paid for it. “We were ahead of schedule, I thought we were ready and we weren’t. Far from it!”

He was right. Their injuries were minor, just some bruises and scratches, wounds they’d get playing in a backyard filled with trees and broken branches. But that didn’t matter, not to her, not right then. Emmerich approached her, raising one hand-- not the way one would in defense of an animal; he raised his hand not to silence her, but to demonstrate understanding. She didn’t have to say anything else, didn’t have to explain. Her cold hands, still shaking, wrapped around her upper arms, and the rest of her body shivered. She wasn’t cold, but he was always so warm. His eyes were thick with emotion, heavy and focused on her-- always, always, always. “They love you, Catriona,” his raised hand fell to her shoulder, squeezed her in one palm. “They followed you with no fear, and they will follow you now.”

“Does it matter?” Her brows furrowed as she shook her head, eyes somewhere behind him, staring at nothing but the melted hallways filled with stars, his world. Her kids were somewhere down that hallway, and her mind was with them. Lost. “Does their loyalty mean anything when I am all they have? What is their love worth when I am a lie?” He squeezed her, stepped closer, and her eyes met his, but she was still so far away. “They know other spectrals exist, now. Before, I was the only option. What is to stop them from joining her?”

“The truth, Catriona, the truth that those monsters are working to enslave and destroy every spirit, and we,” he took her hands in his own, raised them to his chest. “We are the only chance this world has at setting things right.”

Cold-blooded eyes, she could see them in the back of her mind, so different from her own, so different from Emmerich’s. She knew he could see it, and she felt him involuntarily flinch. “I doubt he shares your sentiments, my love. I fear his agenda reads far differently from ours.” He said nothing, and she set her hands at his chest, leaning her head on one of his broad shoulders. He grazed her back with his hand, rubbing her tense muscles under soothing circles. “This dagger… it can free these poor spirits, but it will kill them. Is such a fate worth all of this effort? I fear we are his pawns.”

“Perhaps, but this is all we know. Death is better than the shackle of a human body.”

“I suppose,” she hummed “I just wish it wasn’t a paradox.”

The muted sound of footsteps echoed in the darkness of his world, bouncing off the dying stars and stains of color, and she prepared for her love to melt from her fingers. It used to unsettle her, how quickly he was gone, but he was always there. She closed her eyes, took one deep breath, then two.

“Miss Barrett?”

The doctor was young, going by the small crease between his eyes, no older than thirty, and he approached her with one hand outstretched. There was a carefulness to the way he carried himself, and it carried over to his eyes as he glanced her shoulders-up. She shook his hand and he pulled away slowly, deliberately pulling the board, pen, and paper closer to himself. “Yes, how are the children?”

“They’re fine. Their injuries were all minor, though I would get the little one’s ears checked with her pediatrician. There was some damage, but I doubt it’s anything permanent.”

She knew it, they both had, but she could feel Emmerich sigh in relief within her, in tune to the hand she raised to her heart. “What rooms are they in?”

“Esen and Harlow are in room A14 and A15. Aderyn was transferred to room C16 of the Pediatric Ward, which should be” he pointed behind her, finger jutting to the side “right down that hall and to your left.”

“Thank you.” She took one step in the direction of room A14, and he raised one hand to stop her, not that he could do much if she so happened to push through, but she paused out of kindness. This man had taken care of her children, no matter the minor scrapes. Her eyes strayed from the room a mere tantalizing 5 feet away, glancing the good doctor up and down.

He smiled, and it was forced. “These children were in your care, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Mind telling me what happened?”

“They’re kids; they were playing.” She bit out the words, looking from A14 to the doctor again and again. The doctor nodded and absentmindedly stuck his tongue in his cheek. Catriona, she could hear Emmerich’s warning in the back of her mind. Stay calm, my love. There is nothing to gain from his suspicion.

“Have you notified their parents?”

No. “Yes.”

The doctor hummed, “We’ll be making a call to their guardians, what did you say your relation to these children?”

She breathed in, took one moment, two moments, then breathed out. “That won’t be necessary.”

“I’m sorry?”

His eyes were suddenly wide, full of emotion that was fading-- confusion, disbelief, and she could see the faintest twinkle of horror. His mouth open and closed like a stupid gaping fish, like a fool as his mind reeled. She tilted her chin up, and despite her best efforts, despite the quiet disagreeance echoing hollowly in the back of her mind, her lips twitched, inch by red inch, into a smile. She watched as his open lips gasped, as he coughed and they began dripping red as her nails. Her head tilted, and his brokenly followed suit as she gripped his heart in one clawed hand. “That’s my line, Doctor.” With one twist she pulled away, and he fell to the ground in a heap, spilling red across the pearly white tiled floor of the second wing; she never did like hospitals, and she liked doctors even less.

Max wrinkled his nose, flicking his wrist about the way one shakes a Christmas present from a grandparent who doesn’t particularly know them. The packet of text, stapled in the upper left hand corner, made the obvious wobbling paper noise as it waved to and fro. What was it, exactly? Max glanced to his side. Mister Spender was still busying himself passing out the packets to each row, arms readjusting every step he took up and down the stairs leading to each line of students; the packets were slipping from his arms, visibly too thick in a bunch for him to carry. Mister Spender passed another handful of packets to whoever was at the end of the next column, raising one leg to catch a slew of deviant papers slipping from his forearm.

Johnny was lifting his by the front page, looking positively puzzled in that special way only Johnny Jhonny could-- top teeth bare of his upper lip, eyes squinting precariously as he shook the packet around. Collin flipped through the pages with an almost uninterested skim, and when his eyes met Max’s, he shrugged and set his chin upon his palm. Max turned back to his own, taking a moment to read the front page. Training 101, of which the class syllabus was cheekily titled “Ghosts and Rules”.

Well, Mister Spender is the one who wrote this…

He flicked forward two pages. Training 101: Chapter 1

“These packets will be your guide-- and partially your study material-- from now until the end of the first semester.” Spender returned to the front of the classroom, setting the leftover packets in his desk before shutting the drawer and locking it up, stored safely away for absentee students. Or clumsy ones. Max turned to look at Johnny, who had lost interest in his packet in favor of the small flame he could set at the tips of his fingers, balancing the flame a mere inch or two away from his very paper-- very flammable-- textbook. “The good thing about this curriculum is that there is none set in place, hoo hoo! So I’ve taken it upon myself” Spender framed his face between his pointer fingers and thumbs “to work out the most time-efficient, digestible lesson-plan! Now, let’s get started with the syllabus!”

The classroom rattled with groans, some louder than others-- Max thought for sure he could hear kids in the next room over, who weren’t even in their class, groaning in empathy.

But, Max was good at nothing if not actively tuning out the world around him, so that’s exactly what he did. He probably already knew most of the material anyway, right? He snorted to himself and skipped a few more pages ahead, skimming the material over with the loose concentration of a man on Vicodin. Blah, blah spirits. Blah, blah spectrals--

Mediums. His thumb paused before he turned the next page. He ran his finger over it, eyed the yellow highlight around the text.

Look, you don’t need a tool to be powerful. Let me explain…

Something coiled in his stomach, not quite nostalgia, something worse, something that sat in him and spent its time twisting around. He dug his cheek into his fist. He could still smell the grass in his favorite sweatshirt from sliding down a huge grassy hill, hear Johnny’s maniacal laughter, feel the bruise on his chin in the shape of Suzy’s surprise phone.

But more than any of those things, he remembered rain. He remembered clouds and thunder despite the day’s clear sky.

Isaac’s smile was like a stain in his memory, combing through branches and old trees and stepping over small rivers and spirits. Among “Shut uuup Max”, there were smaller things, things that hit him with a familiarity, like a punch in the shoulder that didn’t even hurt, like shoes on hands and conversations that died too soon. Isaac was the one to explain mediums to him, something he wasn’t even sure crossed the mind of Isabel or Ed or-- heaven forbid-- their actual teacher. Isaac had explained things, tried (and failed) to tease him back, introduced him to Doorman--

"You wanna know what my problem is?" Max took a step back upon seeing Isaac's wide, wild eyes, watching his aura grow and flare each time he blinked. "My problem is you! It's been you this whole freaking time! Wanna know why? Because I was an idiot and I trusted you! I knew you for all of a week and I trusted you! Completely! Like some stupid little kid!” Isaac laughed to himself then, eyes falling from Max's to his hands- his trembling, open hands."It's my fault, okay? I screwed up. I wanted you all to care about me, and if you didn't like me, I thought maybe..."

Max grimaced. He could still see Doorman standing stock still in the unlit mansion. He could still see-- even with no eyes to read or brow to furrow or lips to curl-- he could still see the shadow looming over his tall stature. His hands were still raised, still closing the door to the other side of the barrier, and Doorman was sad.

It had taken forever, maybe a little longer, for either of them to utter so much as a word; when he did ask questions, Doorman had no answers. They both knew why and when and how but the “where”, well, the “where” was still taunting him, like a prize at the end of a stick. Isaac was with the Cousinhood, that’s what Isabel said…

“Hey!” Johnny stood up, one fist raised with a flare in his eyes and a small flame circling his knuckles. “When ‘re we gonna learn ‘bout those things that attacked us?”

The murmurs started, small and unsure, filtering through each row, from mouth to ear as kids turned to each other.

“We’ve been in this class for a few days now.”

“Haven’t really learned anything…”

“I don’t know what to tell my parents--”

“--mine tried calling the school--”

Some kid a few rows in front of Johnny stood up, not as intimidating, nowhere near as big, but he was twice as angry and just as determined. He climbed atop his desk, much to the surprise of the neighboring seats (who scattered to move their notebooks) and readied his lungs to scream: “Yeah! When are we gonna get to the important stuff?”

Spender tensed, eyebrows shooting up behind his sunglasses. “Well, you see--!”

It was all downhill from there. Other kids started clamoring for a word, standing on top of their desks, throwing their packets in the air, shouting about perceived injustices as loudly and as often as their lungs might let them.

Max bulked, watching as the kids around him, the few still seated, grew restless in their obedience. They did not stand on their packets or throw things, but they exchanged glances and cheered when they made out a point they could agree with in all the ruckus. Collin twisted around in his seat in a panic, jaw open as the classroom fell into a chaos even he wasn’t used to. Johnny had grown more vehement amidst the pandemonium and had taken to leaping up and down on the desk.

Spender swallowed hard and raised both hands. “Now, now! Children, please! Let’s all calm down! There are some things I have to teach you before you can understand what those creatures were! If you will all please sit down--!”

“Why do some of us have powers and some of us don’t?”

“Tell us who you work for! The government?”

“Why did those things talk?”

The questions grew more frantic and scattered, and Spender himself reflected that. What he could muster of his voice was stuck in his dry throat,  and the late pale of his skin had somehow dulled another shade, though his cheeks had grown a fiery red. Max sighed and made the move to stand. Well, if anybody was going to be the voice of reason--

“Hey! Idiots! Maybe we should all--!”

-- and Mister Spender hasn’t told us anything about Isaac.

Max shut his mouth, eyed Spender down. He was still distraught, doing his best to calm the mass, to put of the fire that had ignited the classroom, the ember that was burning him the longer it went on. Max plopped back down into his seat and crossed his arms. The chaos of the classroom did little to settle, and every question spawned another ten heads to answer to. The classroom ruptured into a state of madness, more contained but no less civil than a riot. Spender’s voice was quickly fading in the mass of voices, and Max’s eyes followed him from beneath the shadow of his baseball cap.

“Open your textbooks to page 345.”

Isabel and Dimitri pulled their books apart until they hit the right page number, then promptly dropped them upon the table with disinterest. Zarei was busying herself with a marker and the whiteboard, sketching out what appeared to be the human organ system. Isabel’s lip curled downward. “Biology?”

“Spirit biology,” Zarei nipped back, “which you’ll need to know alongside human biology if you’re going to learn first aid.”

Dimitri set his chin in his upturned palm, eyes hazily glancing over the first two pages of Chapter 14. He looked like he was about to fall asleep, and that sentiment Isabel felt directly in her gut-- her bored, eye-rolling gut. “This is Advanced Training, right? What are we learning first aid for?”

“I dunno, Iz...” Dimitri smiled at her in that lazy way he always had, in a way that made her bristle involuntarily, like he’d taken a finger and ran it along her spine. He knew what he was doing, and she’d have been lying if she said it didn’t irritate her. “Doctor Z might--”

“Don’t call me that.”

“--have a point. First aid could save your life on the battlefield, y’know.”

Isabel huffed and slouched in her seat. “I don’t wrap bandages. I wrap heads!”

Zarei set lowered her marker and turned around,  brows furrowed, eyes squinting. “What does that even mean.”

“I’m a fighter!” She sat up and punched the inside of her hand. “There’s no situation I can’t get out of if I just think fast and punch real hard!” That’s right. She didn’t need first aid; she’d been on the other end of a flying fist more times than she could count, from as early as seven years old no less. Sparring with an older kid, hunting down a poltergeist, facing toe-to-toe with a spirit decades older than her? It was all the same. She knew she had to be smarter, be quicker, and that was the key to winning. She wouldn’t need first aid if she knocked the other guy out first.

Zarei hummed and turned back to the board. “I see.”

Dimitri stifled a laugh with a snort into his hand. Isabel grinned to herself.

“So, what would you do in the event that somebody important to you, say… Ed?” Zarei finished the final line of the human liver before she trailed back up the the chest. “What would you do if his quick thinking meant taking a shot to the chest for you?”

Isabel frowned, fist uncurling. For a moment she remembered a library filled with books, and the white fade that it vanished into. Among the white fade there was a familiar, unsettling trace of dry blood that came hand-in-hand with a distress she equated with the picture of a blonde mess hanging limply over her grandfather's arm.

Zarei drew the red marker across bright white and light blue of the board and human outline, draw one last line before she moved onto the next organ. “Would you want to keep fighting without him?”

“No!”

She hadn't realized she'd stood up, much less slammed her hands upon the desk in front of her, but the sound echoed in the otherwise empty classroom. She blinked, taking a moment to gather herself. Dimitri wasn't smiling anymore.

Zarei turned around, revealing the completed heart for the both of them to see. She hardly seemed bothered by the noise, or the attitude. Her half lidded eyes examined Isabel, like there was something to scrutinize that hadn't already been on display. Isabel herself wondered what she might have been seeing. She raised an eyebrow with a restrained sarcasm.

“Then you'll want to know first aid.”

Isabel exhaled out of her nose, then plopped back down into her seat, propping up the book with one grudging hand.

Spender groaned and lounged back as far as his desk chair would allow of him. “Children…” he mumbled. “Children are terrifying in mobs of 200.”

“Will you ever stop being such a child?”

“I'm not being a child! I'm an underpaid, overworked guide to the future of our world and it is in my right to vent.”

Zarei grunted. “Your job is not so complex.”

“Perhaps, but it is strenuous!” He paused, grimaced, and threw his forearm over his covered eyes “...and most certainly demanding.”

“Teaching Isabel to heal and not to maime is no easy task, Richard, though you should know that as well as I.”

Spender sat up glancing purposely away as Zarei came to lean against his desk, cup of coffee to her pursed lips. She was laughing at him, and he supposed that was another facet of their relationshinship he’d have to deal with in their transition from night-job affiliates to day-job coworkers. It’d been a handful of years since they’d last interacted in anything other than passing, and though there certainly was still some semblance of a wall between the two of them, one he doubted would fall to anything other than time, he’d found himself quite enjoying her company. Even so, six classes of fifty students for both of them was overwhelming. He felt his own sanity slipping from his fingertips every other hour of a work-day, and he could tell despite her pretenses that Zarei was feeling strained by the workload same as him. “This is simply too much.” She eyed him from the side, hardly bothering to part from her coffee mug, of which he could now see The Doctor Will Be In Shortly painted in yellow cursive above what was clearly the picture of a doctor in the breakroom with her own, smaller coffee mug. “2500 students divided between twelve classes… we need another hand.”

“In case you’ve already forgotten, Richard, I am a temporary solution. As it is, the Consortium is pressed to find someone qualified enough within Mayview to fill my position. The most optimistic timetable suggests you’ll be handling classes of 200 for at least another year before they’re able to locate a third paranatural specialist.”

Spender deflated. Ah, yes. He’d forgotten. Or, more accurately, he might have hoped. She was right. Once they located a second instructor, Zarei would be relieved of this horribly cramped situation. It would be some time before another spectral would be eligible enough to take on a third of the student population, or until the train was recovered enough to widen their horizons outside of the city. Of course, there was the off chance BL would come up with an alternate strategy and this entire dilemma would sort itself out.

But he carried reasonable doubt the situation would happen to resolve in his favor, as things often did not.

He leaned forward and set his head into his folded arms. “I forgot about that.”

Zarei didn’t respond for a moment, though he heard her take another sip of her coffee. He couldn’t see her, but he felt her weight readjust against his desk as she shifted. “I suppose I could stick around awhile longer. I may as well if I’m stuck here until the train recharges.”

“You’re uneasy, I take it? It’s serious enough their safety is a concern?”

This spectral was young, fresh-faced, cheeks still chunky and full of youth, and the manner in which he shuffled in his suitsie before her was undeniably a sign of inexperience. Still, he cared enough to bring this to her, and one doesn’t barge into the head honcho’s office unless they’ve got a bone to pick. “I haven’t heard from her in days. I tried calling, I tried visiting her apartment. I even tried her favorite--” he choked “--favorite bar? She wasn’t there. A-and I know, I know that Doctor Zarei, her train isn’t-- isn’t charged enough t-to take us out of the city, right?”

BL hummed, crossing her legs in the weightless air, folding her hands in her lap and squeezing them. “I see… If she’s disappeared as you say, there are few explanations, and I’m afraid none of them are very good. Inform the rest of your sector, I’ll do my part outside the barrier.”

There was a relief on his face, also youthful-- naivety both refreshing and heart-wrenching. He had hope she’d be able to save his partner, because she was the boss, she had to have all the answers. But she feared she had only a few for the moment, and none of them meant his partner would return, at least not in the way he was hoping.

Walking home from school had been, er, odd lately. Dimitri took to walking her home after classes let out for the day, and on Fridays they’d stop somewhere and grab a milkshake or chat up some friendly (and lonely) ghosts. Conversation with Dimitri came easy, that’s just the kinda guy he was-- cool, always knew what to say. Where a conversation dwindled with other people, Dimitri always had a second-hand story in the arsenal that was his mind; he was in the journalism club so he heard all kinds of things. That was the explanation he’d give, anyway, not that she believed him. Walking home with Dimitri kept her warm in the chilly air of early winter, but Dimitri only walked with her so far. They’d eventually, after around fifteen minutes of walking, would come to a fork in the road, one of which would lead her home to the dojo, the other that would lead to Dimitri’s house. They would wave goodbye, part ways, and she would be alone for another twenty minutes. That was twenty minutes alone for the first time since kindergarten, to be in-step with nothing but a silence that dulled the world around her, to remember that those stupid minutes used to be loud, and wild, and so full of giggles that the absence of it made her lungs squeeze for a howling laughter that wouldn’t come.

So, in part, it was a blessing that Agent Day approached her as the fork divulged in two separate roads; in other-- bigger, pressing-- part, it was uncomfortable, because there was literally nothing to talk about. Alas, there was nothing to be done. Agent Day had “something of great importance” to discuss with her grandfather, and she’d been so nice as to say “We could walk together, if you’d like?”

To which Isabel had responded with astounding neutralness, with maybe just the smallest hint of wariness and a sprinkle of perplexion.

“Is something on your mind?”

“Huh?” Isabel blinked, unsettled at how deep in thought she’d fallen. Agent Day was looking ahead, small smile on her lips same as any other time they’d had the pleasure of seeing each other. Which was, like, one other time. Honestly, Isabel had never been so inclined to rummage old memories for lessons about polite conversation, because something felt off about this woman and the defaning quiet sure wasn’t helping. Wait… quiet… she hadn’t been thinking aloud, had she? “Oh, uh, I’m just, y’know, thinking.”

“About?”

One of Isabel’s eyes squinted, hands clenching around the straps of her backpack. “Um…” Well, there wasn’t any harm in stating the very small, basic facts, right? Not like she was spilling out her whole life story to a complete stranger. Besides, she didn’t exactly have anybody else to talk about this with. Dimitri was hardly concerned, Ed was off training hard-- not that she was thinking about why he was doing that, per say-- Mister Spender was distant and not one for advice, and Max would sooner share a chewed piece of gum with Johnny Jhonny before he’d ever actually listen to her thoughts on this particular subject. Usually Eightfold was there, a safe friend who, though very tiny, had a lot of wisdom and big ideas. But Eightfold was her safety blanket, and she wasn’t there anymore. These days it felt like nobody really was, not that she’d ever voice that. “Ed said some things to me that made some sense, but I’m not sure I wanna believe him.”

“Why not?”

Isabel shrugged. “It’s personal.”

Day’s smile widened just the smallest margin. “Well don’t you trust him?”

“Of course I do!” Isabel liked to think of herself as somebody who was average on the emotional vulnerability scale, not quite a closed off stone of person (like her grandfather), but notably not a heart-on-sleeve emotional wreck. It was just something about today was trying her patience, and if one more person questioned her trust and loyalty to her friends-- so help her, she’d shave her head and make wigs out of the hair of everyone around her. She clicked her tongue and gave Agent Day a glare that she knew she couldn’t see. “That has nothing to do with it! It’d just… be better if he was wrong.”

Day turned to her then with a small frown, almost as if she’d touched a nerve. Nothing that would upset her, really, so much as cause whatever unnervingly strong empathy was radiating off her big bubbly eyes in waves. Isabel’s top lip coiled, revealing a small patch of white teeth, both a sign of disgust and a show of potential biting ability that she was sure was lost on Agent Day. “Oh no, did he turn you down?”

“W-what?”

The small frown that’d been there before turned to a look of absolute sorrow, tears welling in her eyes like pearly blue waterfalls cascading down reddening cheeks. “I’m so sorry to hear that! I know it must hurt! You poor thing, your best friend too! This must have been tearing you up inside!” Her eyes glowed a pure, heavenly white, and Isabel had the sneaking suspicion she somehow saw the rising horror in her wide, panicked eyes, because she immediately flew into hysterics. Her hands spun in defensive circles, like she was trying to block a very determined bee drawn to her face for some inexplicable reason, and her voice hit a new, frenzied pitch. “I-I’m sure this doesn’t mean he doesn’t still love you! Maybe it’s just not in the way you wanted him to! I’ve been on his side of things times a-plenty! I’m willing to wager you he’s just as torn to bits and pieces as you! Oh, I bet you it would mean the world to him if you two could stay friends!”

Isabel had never known her face to get as hot as it was right then. It was as if somebody had taken a ball of fire, the hottest, bluest part, and lit her skin aflame with it. Every inch of her face felt like it’d boiled under the sun for hours with oil or citrus all over her cheeks. Before she knew what she was even doing, she was mimicking Agent Day’s theatrics, hands waving about in quick, frantic circles. “N-n-no! No! Y-you’ve got it all wrong! That’s not--! That’s not what I’m thinking about! Ed didn’t r-reject me! Where did you even get that from? You’re crazy, lady!”

Agent Day desisited, hands falling into tiny balls at her now unguarded chest. She tilted her head and pursed her lips. “Oh, but you do like him, don’t you?”

“I-I mean--! That’s--! You’re--!” Isabel swallowed hard and braced herself to yell: “That’s not the point!”

“Am I wrong? Is there another?” Somebody kill her now. Heaven help her, she’d never felt more humiliated than she had right then, and in the entirety of her life, with a grandfather as proud as hers, there was plenty room for embarrassment, and somehow she’d surpassed every level she’d ever come to reach before. “That’s so strange! I thought for sure that night I came into town--?”

“That’s really not the point!”

“I’m sorry, dear! I don’t know where my mind was! What was it he said to you, then?”

Oh no, she was not putting any more of her emotions out on a platter for a complete stranger, not when whatever just happened would be the result. She’d been exposed enough for the day. Quite frankly, a quiet walk home to her thoughts probably would have been loads favorable compared to being the first guest on Agent Day’s Love Advice premiere. “I told you! It’s personal! A-and it has n-nothing to do with h-how I f-feel about--!” The dojo came into clear view, and for the first time in literal months, she was physically relieved to be within twenty steps (ten, if she ran, which she was definitely about to) of the front stairs. “Ugh! Let’s just drop it, okay?”

They continued to the front door in total silence, not companionable, but certainly mutual. Isabel opened the front door with one expressive hand, hardly stopping to hear the huge BANG that erupted through the front room. “GRANDPA!” She didn’t even bother to wave to Agent Day, not that Agent Day could actually see it… probably… before she was bolting up the staircase to her bedroom, where she slammed the door shut with so much force, it woke one of the students lounging on the living room couch to the floor with a start.

Agent Day stood at the front door, folding her hands in front of her as she glanced around the dojo. So many amazing smells-- sweat, deodorants, perfumes, foods-- it was all so very warm and comfy. It was a little bit of home away from home. She’d always wanted to visit Mayview, of that she was certain, but she wasn’t invincible to the occasional homesick feeling, and sometimes even a good bowl of chicken noodle soup can’t do home justice. Master Guerra took his time making his way to the front room, and when he appeared, it was with a scowl, one so deep it’d scare any old spectral off.

He was early, he thought, glancing down at his watch-- early by a day. Ed snickered to himself and climbed the steps up the Guerra dojo, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jacket. Isabel was never a fan of surprises, but he had a feeling this would be different-- after all, it’d been a little over two weeks since he’d last seen her, last saw her smile and felt her nearly lift him off his feet. He was growing stronger, gaining muscle and therefore weight, and she wouldn’t be able to do that past the the next season, but for the moment he’d enjoy it. She probably wouldn’t be too proud to be lifted off of her feet, but he’d certainly try to repay the favor.

It was silently that he pressed his palms against the door and inched it open. There were a few grunts, and the sounds of bodies hitting the floor along with the occasional yelp-- telltale signs of a sparring match. He pressed further in, peeking inside with a grin.

Isabel and Dimitri moved back and forth, throwing punches and kicks and dodging each blow all the same as they bent forward and backward in a limbo, in a dance. Isabel winced when Dimitri’s hand came too close to her head, brushing by the tip of her ear as she sidestepped and brought her forearms up to block a surprise blow to her chest. Dimitri seemed less distressed than she was, but Ed could see the bead of sweat rolling down the side of his head. He plopped down on crossed legs by the doorway, setting patient hands in his lap as he watched them duke it out. It’d been a year or so since he’d last seen the Activity Club’s strongest have at it-- a treat he was beginning to realize he’d sorely missed.

Isabel’s sidestep left Dimitri falling forward with the force of his fist, and she took the opportunity to throw her arms around his waist and dig her head into his stomach, sending both of them falling to the ground. She’d been set on cornering him, then, too distracted to notice the way Dimitri tangled their legs on the way down, use the twist of his heel to change their momentum. She squeaked as she landed back-first on the floor, Dimitri pinning her with his hands locking her by the elbows to the floor. She squinted at him from behind the one eye that wasn’t covered in her unruly bangs, and he smirked at her the way Dimitri smirked at everybody, but with a blood-boiling hint of smugness in the glint of his eye. He leaned down, close enough that his nose was hardly an inch from her own, and whispered. “You’ve gotten stronger, Iz, but not strong enough.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

He wasn’t expecting her legs to wrap around his upper body, or for her to use that surprise to flip him over her head. He exhaled, sharply, and grunted as she flipped over on top of him, knee pressing against his stomach, hands curled around his shirt, tugging him up as she leaned down. She gave him her own haughty grin. She didn’t realize her breathing was labored until she spoke, or that Dimitri’s lungs were just as constricted. “Is that strong enough for you?” He took a moment to process how she’d won, or more accurately that he hadn’t, then snorted and smiled, lips, which her eyes-- for some weird reason-- fell to without her explicit permission, parting to say something.

And then there was a whistle.

They turned to look so fast they might have made themselves dizzy, eyes falling to their secret audience, who was then standing and clapping with a smile as wide as his face. “That was so cool, Izzy! Man, where’d you learn that? No way the old man has started teaching you judo.”

Dimitri blinked, and in the next moment he’d been dropped to the floor, suddenly much lighter without the weight of a second person towering over him. “Ed!” He sat up with one hand rubbing his head, eyebrow rising as Isabel rushed into Ed’s arms, wrapping her own around his neck as he took advantage, digging his head into the volume of her hair, of her neck, with a face so bright he’d have thought he was a man home from war. Isabel was no less buoyant than the enduring wife, laughing and swinging herself around and squeezing him closer every time Ed so much as made a move to pull away. Dimitri frowned.

Then he shook his head and smiled, and raised a hand. “Ed! Long time no see, my man.”

The two finally pulled away from their embrace, and Ed waved back with a grin and a flick of his wrist.

Isabel’s eyes met Dimitri’s, wide and-- good lord, glowing. “We were just sparring, since our resident AWOL club member is a little rusty.” She stuck her hands on her hips, and he snorted to the side, gazing at her in his peripheral.

“I must be if I let you pull what you just did…”

Her smile doubled in size, and he could have sworn the shimmer in her eyes diminished to a dull brown, sharp, like a predator, like an animal. Isabel turned and nudged Ed with the bend of her arm, playfully. “What do ya say? Wanna face the winner?”

He and Ed locked eyes, and for a second, just a second, there was a question hanging in the air-- something unspoken, something he wasn’t even sure Ed knew himself to be asking. Dimitri shrugged and leaned forward over his knee, and from there, Ed sprung to life again. “I’m as ready as a lunatic preparing for the apocalypse!”

“What do you mean you haven’t found anything? You’re the police! He’s a missing rich kid! What could possibly be higher on your priority list, woman?”

Suzy, Collin knew, was a fierce girl, and would become all the more tiger-like as the years passed them by, and he thought for sure that, given time… she’d get herself brutally murdered, or locked in a high-security prison. He’d just hoped, prayed, wished on several wishing wells and multitudes of tossed coins in fountains, that he would not be present, nor an accomplice when that day came.

The woman, the small, bony, wide-eyed woman, no younger than fifty, trembled in the presence of Suzy’s wrath, fingers shaking so terribly that she couldn’t even type a word, although Suzy had echoed the command like a mantra: Look up Isaac O’Connor. Has the case been solved? Any traces?

He wasn’t about to tell her they probably wouldn’t share that sensitive information with a couple of middle school kids, and he doubted the poor thing she was terrorizing would. “I-I’m afraid we h-haven’t found anything new, yet--”

“Are you serious right now?” Suzy pointed to the keyboard with one rigid finger, teeth grinding as each word fell from the wall of bone with a hiss. “Look. Again.”

“I-I’m sorry, miss! There’s simply nothing else to be done! Our men a-are working very hard to find your friend! I-I’m sure he’ll--” She squeaked when Suzy’s fist came down upon the desk, shuffling and unsettling stacks of papers, sending white sheets flying and swaying in the dead air of the police station. She wrenched her back against her desk chair until it hit the other side of her circular desk, wincing the more Suzy leaned closer.

“I don’t want excuses, Margaret! I want results!”

Collin sighed and pulled away from the front revolving door where he’d been standing; the red of Suzy’s cheeks meant trouble was brewing, and he didn’t want to be around to hear the tea kettle sound. “Suzy,” he set one hand on her shoulder, pulling her an inch or two off of the front desk, which she was near laying across by that point. “You need to calm down.”

“Calm down?” He winced, unprepared for the level of “shrill” in the height of her tone. “How can I calm down?” She raised one hand, gesturing to the frail woman behind the desk, who’d taken the opportunity to step away-- presumably to get help. “How can I calm down? These nicompoops can’t find one blue-eyed ginger kid, and I’m the one out of line?”

“Yes! Now come” he tugged at her arm “on!”

Her feet skidded against the floor, and though she waved around and pulled back and dug her heels into the floor, he somehow managed to wrench his arms enough to get her out the front door, down the front stoop. She tried to snatch her wrist away as soon her her toes tipped into the final step, and he let her. “What” she huffed, and he wondered, sardonically, if she’d tired even her lungs out with all the screaming she’d just done. He felt a deep, connected sympathy for the poor child she’d presumably have one day, then cringed and swept away the thought of Suzy as a mother immediately. “What did you do that for?”

“You are literally going to get yourself arrested.”

“For what? Complaining?”

“No! For being a public disturbance! In a police station!” He gestured to the still-swinging doors and the mess she’d left on the other side of them. “That’s like going to a train convention before proceeding to mock trains as the inferior public transit system!”

Suzy blinked at him, then glanced to the station doors, then back at him, and crossed her arms. “So?”

“So?” Collin bit down on his lip so hard he was sure it was going to start bleeding, swallowing the complete and utter disbelief and resentment that was starting to swell within him at a more alarming rate-- and higher volume-- than usual.

But blowing up and ranting at her about the poor ethics of the life she led was going to do nothing but get him drowned out like always. He had to be smarter about this-- had to be more like Dimitri about this.

He ran both his hands down his face and sighed into them. “Suzy, look,” he pressed his palms together and placed them at his chest, mildly surprised when she looked at him instead of through him, blue eyes narrowed, but for once, focused. “I miss Isaac, too. I’m worried about him. There are a lot of things that can happen to a missing kid our age out there and few of them are good-- but listen to me. There’s gotta be a better way of going about this.”

Suzy’s nose wriggled and she pouted up at him from when her downturned chin was set, looking like a scolded child as she wrung her fingers through the sleeves of her pink jacket. He would have been more in awe if he wasn’t so worried he’d lose her attention; there was something tamed about Suzy when she was quiet, when she was thinking and not scheming, and the serenity made her something to observe, like the return of the ocean after a tsunami, or the white flag on a battlefield as either army slept through the night. He couldn’t help but think that he should have taken a page out of Dimitri’s book a long time ago. She huffed. “Like what?”

She’d listened to him. She’d really listened! “I’m not sure, but maybe Mister Spender will have some ideas?”

Suzy sprung back to life then, tamer than before, but still fiery and still spoiled. “I don’t wanna ask him for help!”

Collin blinked, hands falling to his sides. Of all the--? “What? Why not?”

Her cheeks bloomed red, and she stomped her foot on the sidewalk for good measure, hands balling into fists. “I just don’t want to, all right!” She passed him by, then, each step as heavy as the irritation radiating off of her, almost like the auras Isaac had once described, and he watched her with a curl in his lip and furrow in his brow.

She must have been six, maybe five, and Catriona wondered how she was already seeing spirits-- how she already felt comfortable enough around them to be playing with them so carelessly, so freely. She could hear the girl’s mother somewhere, in the distance, like a bird chirping completely unaware of the woodsman coming to chop down its tree.

She placed a hand against the tree she took as cover, watching the child from the shadows as the spirit led her to and fro, from one end of the small stone bridge to the other. It was small, small enough to fit into the palm of her tiny hand, and fast, and it flew, in all probability the factor that drew the little girl to chase. It was cute, Catriona supposed, with a bushy tail like a squirrel and paws tinier than the smallest leaf, pure white with a stroke a red along its head to its hind end. Its ears twitched when the girl giggled, beady red eyes blinking back at her because it had no mouth to chirp back.

Catriona was sure it meant no harm.

Meant.

Perhaps it was a misstep, or the culprit was the sleekness of the stone after it’d rained in the early morning.

She slipped. She slipped and stumbled into the running river below, into the heavy crash of wave after wave as her small arms reached helplessly above the raging waters. Her mother drew closer, then. Probably heard the splash.

“Aggie!” Her mother was, understandably, panicked, eyes wide, hands shaking, screaming and reaching a powerless hand out to the wandering, blind fingers of her child. Catriona grimaced, licking her lip and cracking her knuckles.

“Love, I’m going in.”

Though she heard no response, she could feel his approval-- warmth, then something hotter, a passion, a drive.

The little girl, Aggie, floated down the river, out of sight of her mother, who’d only just begun climbing off her knees to chase her down the forestside. She called out to her all the while, heart racing, pounding like the veins in her chest were ready to pop, a hand outstretched in fear, in so much fear. She could only see the tips of her baby’s tallest fingers, overarching the water only enough to draw the attention of the only audience she had. “Aggie! Aggie, hold on! Hold on, baby!”

“It’s okay!” She paused, nearly tripping over her own two feet as a black-gloved hand raised in the air behind the bend of the river and trees, fingers beckoning her closer. “Aggie, right? I caught her, she’s fine!”

Lo and behold, just around the corner, she found a woman with hair the color of an orange sky-- the sunset-- holding a soaking wet Aggie in her oddly-covered arms. But that was her least concern, not when her baby was reaching out to her with tears in her eyes, fingers opening and closing with every inch she reached for her mother’s embrace. With a gasp, with a choked sigh, with a smile, she took her daughter in her arms and swung her around in a circle, holding her close, taking in breaths of her damp hair and laughing to herself as tiny hands clasped at her blouse. She turned to the stranger, her hero, hero daughter’s savior, and took in her odd state of dress with less scrutiny and more curiosity.

Her dress was long and formal and black, as though she’d stepped fresh out of a church, out of a money man’s funeral, though the lengthy slits on either side of her long, slim legs gave that thought pause. The woman smiled and straightened out her dress, shifting the shoulders so the straps of her off-shoulder neckline fell, well, off the shoulder and not on, giving her a smile as she set her hands at her hips. “My, my, little one, your mommy should be more careful with such an adventerous soul like yourself.”

“I’m so sorry!”

The stranger raised both hands defensively, eyes wide and lips curved. “Oh, dear, no, I’m not scolding you! No need to apologize! I was the same way, myself, when I was her age. My mother had quite the handful to deal with.”

She sighed and offered the stranger her hand, surprised when she took it to feel nothing but warmth. How were her hands not wet? Come to think of it, she looked untouched by even the wind, let alone water or the dirt of the forest floor. Odd... “My name is Mari. This is Aggie. I was-- I was so busy watering Mister Carver’s yard, you see, I’m a gardener, that I hardly noticed there was a river nearby and--!”

“You take your daughter to work with you? Well,” the stranger leaned forward and pressed a finger to Aggie’s nose, who giggled. “That seems an odd practice for a woman in this day-and-age. Does your boss know about this?”

“No! But I’ve been trying to find a proper daycare, I really have! It’s just that everyone is full, and babysitters are so expensive in this neighborhood--!”

“Lucky I’ve run into you, then!” The woman reached out of her pocket-- that dress had pockets?-- and held it out for her to take. “You see, I’ve just started my own daycare service, and I’m yet to find any children to, er, look after. Now that you mention it, it must be because they’re all already in established daycare communities.” She clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth and smiled. “My name’s Catriona. I’d say you and I need each other!”

Mari had only just finished typing her home phone number into the stranger’s-- Catriona’s-- contacts before she all but shoved the phone into her hands. “Yes! Please! Thank you so much! Give me a call at 8:30 when I get off and we’ll set our schedules out, okay?”

Mari and Aggie disappeared over the hill from which they’d came, and for a moment, Catriona felt deeply satisfied. She ran one hand over her arm and sighed. “My only regret is that you and I could never bear a child.”

She could feel him, his essence, enclose around her, then, drag her into his realm with all his stars and lights and the empty black sky. There was something so reassuring about his world, something so welcoming, though his space mirrored nothing but the emptiness of the night sky and the land above the clouds. “I know, my love.” He set a hand on her shoulder, and effortlessly, she fell back against his chest, placing one hand over his own. “Though, perhaps now, we could have a family.” She glanced over her shoulder to find him looking back at her. They smiled as she laced their fingers together.

“Max! My boy! You’re just who we’re looking for!”

Max squeaked and jumped three feet in the air, clutching the family album he held squarely against his chest. Dad peeked around the corner of the kitchen, and though Zoey didn’t go to poke her head out, too, he had a feeling she was in the other room, making popcorn; she had to, otherwise it’d be left up to their dad, who had a bad habit of decking each bowl in so much black pepper and salt (and sugar?), it became inedible for anybody but himself. Max had the sneaking suspicion he planned it that way. “What? Why?”

“We’re going to get a round of D&D in! You up for a fight against an ogre? Now mind you this is very different from the ogre from the last game! This one is the king of resentment, the last one was the king of righteous unfounded anger.”

Max sighed. He got enough monster-fighting a month ago, and if he never saw another monster for as long as he lived, until he died and started roaming the world as a ghost (because he would unarguably stick around just to do sick scooter tricks in the afterlife), it would be too soon. Besides, there was something he wanted to do…

“Sorry, dad. Maybe another night.”

His dad might have called after him again, he’d been clingy like that lately, but he stuck to pretending he hadn’t heard him over the slam of his door. He padded, slowly, over to his bed and climbed atop, resting his back against the headboard as he flittered the front pages of their family album open.

I just need to think for a little while.

He stopped on the latest pictures of his mom, pictures around maybe a year, maybe a month, before… He exhaled through his nose and smiled to himself, thumb running over her face as she tried to pick out a slice of cake in the heated window of a Baxborough bakery in the upper city. He always told himself, that if he could do it again, if he could go back and say things he hadn’t said, or take back things he had-- Max grimaced.

And yet, there he was, thinking the same thing again. He hadn’t learned anything the first time around, and now…

He ran his thumb over her picture again, wondering if he’d get it right a third time.

Isaac could only take a gasp of air before he was lurching over the toilet of another state park bathroom, hands clenching the side of the bowl like safety bars on a rollercoaster. His stomach clenched and he was throwing up all over again. His hands were clammy, and his entire body was sweaty, hot, leaving the bandages on his body clinging to him like a second skin.

His stomach wavered, and for a moment he thought his body was calming, that he could finally take a moment to breath.. And then he tasted bile in his throat and his face was once again uncomfortably close to the toilet bowl.

It took another fifteen minutes for the vomiting to stop, and another five for him to clean up. He left the bathroom with his hands in his pockets, feet swaying from side to side, but he could still walk… a little.

Why was he sick? He’d thought he’d taken all of the necessary precautions to keep his wounds uninfected, keep his body healing-- what had he missed? As far as he could tell, the wound in his arm was scabbing over, as was his eye (though it still stung like a fresh wound when he cleaned his face), and he’d cauterized the wound in his abdomen without it opening up on him. That was all he had to do, right? He frowned. The lever had been rusty… had he given himself tetanus? He’d had all of his shots?

He winced as his stomach once again became unsettled, raising one hand to set it against the churning skin. Not good. He was starting to get dizzy. He winced and watched the park move on around him, trying to clear his eyes. He could make out a dog catching a frisbee in the top of his mouth, hear the proud owner egging and cheering him on to bring it back to her “like a good boy”. He could make out a couple-- he thought, were they holding hands? Locking arms? Oh no, the world was starting to spin.

Isaac paused and tried to steady himself, closing his eyes and clutching the fabric of his jacket.

He could hear children laughing, hear people jogging by and the loud music pounding out of their earphones. There were girls giggling, gossiping, and some old woman talking to the birds she was feeding. And then-- police sirens?

Isaac inhaled, sharply, hand twisting into a fist at his stomach, teeth grinding together as his aura grew to tower over him.

Then it was okay. The police cars were only passing by, only chasing down a speeding driver. He was fine. His world was fine. He didn’t notice the woman walking by, didn’t notice her notice him.

He shook his head slowly, to clear it, and took one step forward, then another shaking one, and another, and before he knew it, he was walking to the exit. His aura died down, came to sit right above his shoulders. He didn’t think it’d left him very often in the month he’d been away from Mayview. There was always danger, always something to keep a lookout for. Sometimes it was monsters, surprisingly enough, sometimes it was the spirits he was looking to spend the rest of his time undoing the evil of, and sometimes it was other people.

He took another step forward, and for a moment his vision gave out, blacked out, left him blind and unsure. He squinted and blinked, but he couldn’t move his head freely. When his vision returned, and the world around him came into clearer view, he saw why-- he was face-down on the ground, knees freshly skinned from the brush with the sidewalk, palms of his hands itching and red and stinging. He took a moment to reorient himself, and by the time he did that, he had an audience.

Isaac tried to shoot up, tried to push himself off the ground at the first site of unfamiliar shoes as his feet, but his arms had lost all strength, and he found his mouth full of splintered, cracked concrete in the next moment.

The people around him started whispering, some asking if he was okay, others asking what happened because they hadn’t seen it but they’d noticed the crowd-- crowd, crap.

You’ve got to get up, Isaac. You have to! You’ve come so far, it can’t end like this!

He took a deep breath and pressed his palms to the sidewalk again, willing his arms to work-- work, please, just for a moment-- and still, he fell back to the ground, cheek scraping against the ground. That meant his hoodie had fallen down, which meant--?

“Oh my god! Oh my god, is that that missing boy?”

Isaac grinded his teeth and gathered the strength he didn’t have, using the tops of his feet to push him forward and not his hands to pull him up. Instead, he skidded forward before he could push himself up, and when he was on his legs again, he shoved past the crowd that’d surrounded him, giving every hand that reached to grab him a small shock, incentive to keep away. No bigger than static. He bolted for the woods, pulling the hoodie back over his head and tightening it by the strings.

“Hey, wait!”

A woman’s voice trailed after him, no different than the rest, so he sucked in his grinding stomach and pressed onward.

He didn’t see a woman reach out after him, see her stumbled up to the woods and pause, or her wide eyes as she followed the trail of blood he had no idea he was leaving behind, or see her steel herself and straighten up, hands clenched at her sides.

The next one was a teenager-- younger than the first, maybe fourteen or fifteen. He was alone, on a street corner in the wealthy, artsy area of the town, performing the act of a mime for free, save for the tip jar he’d set clearly to the side. She approached him silently, head tilted, folding her arms over her chest. He’d noticed her, and in an instant he went from pulling an invisible rope to forming an square-- a box-- around himself, went to work pounding against the fake wall soundlessly. His legs slid below him, and he began raising his hands above his head as though the ceiling was-- ah, she nodded-- the box was closing in.

“Do you really feel that box of yours?” He blinked at her, and she shrugged. “Unless, of course, that’s a trade secret?”

He frowned and, rather than forgetting the box he’d “formed” around himself, he pressed open the top and climbed out of it. It was all very impressive to see, especially for a boy so young. He stood up straight, and fixed her with a glare as he crossed his arms over his chest. “A mime isn’t supposed to talk you know?”

She laughed, waving an apologetic hand. “I know, I’m sorry about that. I just, well, I couldn’t help but notice that you’re performing for people who… aren’t really there?”

He sucked in his cheek and glanced away. “So? Somebody could be watching me from their cozy little apartment, right?”

“I have a feeling that isn’t who you’re performing for.”

He sighed and glanced around, like he was looking for art critics to pop out of nowhere and accuse him of ruining the name of the good ol’ mime. When he looked back at her, his lips were in a thin line. “Look, lady, what do you want? I could be ruining my whole career by talking to you in costume!”

“I don’t want anything, dear, I just want to talk!” She offered him her hand. “My name is Catriona. I think I know who you’re performing for. Tell me, have you had any near-death experiences, dear?”

Isabel was all smiles as she waved Ed and Dimitri off in the evening, which was great because an all-smiles-Isabel was Ed’s favorite Isabel. Even as they came to the front of the tunnel leading to the rest of the city, they could still turn around and see her standing on the front porch of the dojo, waving whenever they’d take a moment to glance back. Ed and Dimitri laughed together and gave her another wave; this time, she laughed too and went back inside.

“I’m glad I got to see Izzy again” Ed had a habit of mumbling to himself these days, the habit of a boy often scolded for his volume, he guessed-- he hadn’t expected Dimitri to hear him.

“Ed.”

“Yeah?”

Dimitri came to a halt, and a few steps later so did Ed. Something had changed in the air, subtly, quietly, but Ed had become more familiar with the world around him, more familiar with the way his lungs seemed to grow heavy--or his heart-- in preparation. Why? Well, that was anyone’s guess. Dimitri always had a lot on his mind, was always thinking, always considering. Ed stood still and waited patiently, while Dimitri stood even stiller aside from the motion of sticking his hands in his pockets. His head was down, and still, he was looking up at him. “You and Iz are still friends, right?”

“Wh-- yes! Of course we are! Best friends! Why? Wh-was it not obvious?”

Dimitri shrugged, eyes falling to the side. “No man, it’s just… it seems like you kinda want more?”

Oh no. No. Not this again. Not from him-- not from the Master Observer of their entire dang club! Ed screamed and tossed his head back, hands pulling and tugging at his hair. “Not you too! We’re just friends! I don’t like Izzy! Why does everybody keep saying that?”

“I don’t know, man” Dimitri usually started to grin there, and for a faint moment he did, and it faded into the same thin line with a downward twitch. “ ‘ts just the way you look at her.”

Ed balled his fists at his sides, face heated enough that he hardly felt the cold air of fall, and he was sure that heat reflected on the red of his cheeks. “Well I don’t like Izzy and I wish everyone would stop” he kicked the dirt “implying I did!”

Dimitri sighed. “Whatever man,” he began walking again, moving past Ed, carrying on down the road where they’d separate-- Dimitri would return to one half of Mayview, and he would return to the other. Ed exhaled through his teeth and followed. “I just thought you should know…”

He blinked. “Huh?”

“If you do like her,” Dimitri paused again, but he had no intention of looking back “you’ve got competition.”

It was lucky, especially for somebody as extraordinarily unlucky as him, to find a small quaint home deep inside the forest on the outskirts of the park. Even luckier, it was abandoned-- had been for some time, from the looks of it. Dust littered the bookshelves in the family room that greeted Isaac when he stepped-- stumbled, fell maybe-- through the front door with the broken lock. The wooden floors were darker than they might have been had they been mopped, and he could see dust bunnies peeking out from under the leather brown couch that sat before the cobweb-filled fireplace. He might have thought the cabin was a relic of the olden prairie days, but there was a radio sitting atop the coffee table, and when he’d fumbled his way into the kitchen in search of a bathroom, he’d found a microwave and electric stove. No TV, but he wasn’t going to ponder on that for too long.

Once he’d located the bathroom down the narrow hall that lead to the bedroom, guest room, and office, he’d fallen to his knees and huddled over the toilet, hands clutching at his stomach. He threw up again, or tried to; there was only bile, a reminder that he hadn’t eaten in the last two days. He couldn’t even stomach the toast he’d nabbed off of someone’s finished tray-- and that was before the nausea started. Isaac steadied himself on the toilet seat with one hand while he took slow, deep breaths, and tried to settle the tremble of his shoulders. His abdomen was in pain again, more than it had been since he’d cauterized it. He winced and pulled up the bottom of his jacket, cursing under his breath to find it’d opened up on him again. “Bandages. Gotta find…” He used the hand on the toilet to steady himself to stand, then used the other to lean against the bathroom counter “...bandages.”

He opened the medicine cabinet, and inside only found pill bottle after pill bottle. Hey, maybe there’s something for pain relief? Not exactly what I need right now, but it’s something… The first three bottles he pulled down, one of which was half full, was labeled “melatonin”; the other four or five bottles were labeled “risperidone”, and were completely empty-- not that he would have taken any without knowing exactly what “risperidone” was. He was desperate, not stupid.

With a grunt, he carried himself into the kitchen again, hoping against all hope there was another cabinet in the house that had some form of first aid. If worse came to worst, he could cauterize it again. Isaac flinched; that wasn’t something he wanted to do. He opened up the first cabinet at the edge of the hallway first, then the one next to it, and found only tupperware and canned foods-- which was great, but he needed medical equipment more than he needed food. He opened the next cabinet and exhaled upon seeing a couple of ace bandages sitting in unopened boxes. Those weren’t the right bandages, per say, but they would certainly do. He grabbed both boxes and slid to the floor, going to work unwrapping his eye first.

It took him awhile to bandage himself up, but time had become a stranger to him; he glanced at the clock to find it was 3:14-- school would have let out a few minutes ago, had he still been in Mayview. Isaac raised one hand to the kitchen counter, using it to hoist his heavy body off the murky tile floor. He winced, pressing his other hand to his abdomen, hoping to ease the sharp, burning sting as he got up. His next stop would have to be the bedroom. He needed to rest, just for a little while… Isaac squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head in a futile effort to ward away the dizziness that’d fallen over him, like a weight hanging from either of his ears, dragging him towards the floor. With a breath-- shaking, breath-- he carried himself down the hall, using the hand he’d pulled himself up with to lean against the rest of the way against the kitchen counter, and then the hallway wall when he came to it. He swallowed hard, noting with indifference how sore and dry his throat felt. He’d need to raid the kitchen when he woke up.

Once he’d found his way to the bedroom again, he pressed his entire body weight against the door, following it to the wall as it swung open, nearly stumbling over his own feet. He inhaled, sharply, and placed one hand on the oblong dresser that sat to the side of the bed. “Just a--” he coughed “...little farther.” He paused in mid-slump, closing his eyes and hoping to steady himself for a moment. The hand he carried his weight on was starting to grow sore, and he wondered how long it must have taken him to go from one end of the house to the other. He took another step forward, hand dragging only the way, until the tips of his fingers brushed something wooden, something cold. Isaac opened his eyes and turned his head, slowly because even a normal turn would have set him into another wave of nausea and vertigo. On the dresser sat a picture frame, a photo of a woman no older than Mister Spender, her dull brown eyes the color of the frame she sat upon. She was smiling, but he knew that smile, knew how the small curl of her lip was fake. What caught his attention was her hair, the orange hue, like a brighter chestnut, not quite as vibrant as an orange, but calmer, like his own. Subconsciously, he raised a hand and wiped away the dust that’d gathered over the frame, over her face, then pulled away and carried on towards the bed.

The bed was firmer than he would have liked, but the cushion still was miles and lightyears better than a bus-stop bench or the bend of a highway bridge, and his body relaxed the moment he hit the mattress. He didn’t even realize that he’d sighed, or that his muscles, which had been near constantly constricted, faltered and released. The heaviness of his eyes grew even starker, and Isaac squeezed his fingers through the sheets, as much as they smelled the mildew, and tangled them in the softness of cotton. It’d be nice to sleep in a real bed again, abandoned home or not.

His gaze fell upon the nightstand, eyes drawn to the black notebook that sat halfway open, like it’d been tossed aside in a hurry, in a panic. Maybe a clue? This place looks pretty untouched, so maybe they left in a hurry? Couldn’t pack? Well, if nothing else, it was reading material to fall asleep with.

Isaac took the notebook in one hand, then crawled under the covers, sighing again as his back hit the cushion and his head hit the pillows. He snapped the book open, surprised to find that most of the pages had been torn out-- all of them had been torn out… but one.

My dearest Norman,

I know you’ve been there for me. I know you’ve been trying. I just can’t do this anymore.

You don’t believe me. When I look into your eyes, when you’re holding me, I can tell. I keep telling you that I’m not seeing things, that I can touch them, that these shadows talk to me. And you had me convinced, just like everyone else, that I was crazy, that I needed medication. That I needed help. Mom was wrong, Dad was wrong, and Norman, you were wrong. And I’m tired. I’m tired of taking all of these stupid meds and I’m tired of you walking on eggshells around me, like I’m going to do something stupid! Like I’ll hurt myself! Like I’ll hurt you! Do you know what it’s like? Do you know how it feels to know the man you love is scared of you? To know he wonders if he’ll wake up the next day because he shares a bed with you? I’m not. crazy. And if you don’t believe me, if none of you are going to believe me, then I’ll find someone who does. I’m going home. Don’t bother looking for me-- and if Mom and Dad ask, pass it on.

“In other news, it’s been a little over a month since eighth grader Isaac O’Connor has gone missing--”

The TV blinked, and died, like a flash, and it took Zoey a moment to realize what happened. She pouted and twisted around the couch, leveling Max with her best glare as she eyed the remote in his hand, finger noteably pressed against the big red “power” button.

“Hey! Turn it back on!”

Max scoffed and climbed over the back of the couch to plop down beside her, lidded eyes staring her down. She lunged forward, reaching for the remote, but he was older than her-- and stronger, and a boy-- all he had to do was place his forearm below her chin and raise the remote out of grasp of her short, stumpy hands. “Shouldn’t you be watching something happy? Like a cartoon about ponies or something?”

Zoey huffed, nose scrunching. She fell back against the couch, crossing her arms over her chest. The glare stayed, though. “You don’t understand!”

“What? The basic interests of a gradeschool girl who wears her hair in a side pigtail and owns literal shelves of Baxborough Girl Dolls? Sorry, guess I missed the puberty memo. Oh wait… you’re too young for that still!”

“They found Isaac!”

Max’s sardonic grin fell away near instantly, jaw going slack as he hurriedly pressed the power button in direction of the TV, eyes wide, hands shaking. It couldn’t be. There was no way. Zoey misread something. Misheard something. Got Isaac’s case mixed up with another missing kid with ginger hair and baby blue eyes-- they couldn’t have found him!

“At around 2:30pm today, at Centerfly Park in Michitan City, local citizens spotted what appeared to be a young boy, no older than twelve years old.”

The station cut to a heavyset woman and her lanky boyfriend, who seemed just as aghast as two murder witnesses might be. The woman was shifting from side to side, tongue in cheek, shaking her head; her boyfriend had his hands and eyes on their golden retriever, scruffing the hair behind its perked ears, fingers nervous. “There ‘as something wrong with him, ya know? I wasn’t payin’ too much attention, but Mack and I heard a” she clapped her hands together “flap, and we turn, and there’s this boy on the ground, and there’s this circle around him…” She sucked her cheeks and shook her head. “He got up and ran. Looked freaked out.”

The camera gave a lengthy overview of the park, of the bathrooms, of the people wandering the stoned path lined by streetlights. “Locals say Isaac had a distinct wound over his right eye, and that he’s wearing jeans, a blue shirt, and a white jacket. He ran somewhere in the direction the the Centerfly Park forest, but he has left a trail of blood behind, and police are currently investigating where it leads.”

Spender closed the door to the principal’s office behind him, then sighed. Well, I suppose that went about as well as it possibly could have. He turned and carried himself down the hallway, notebook full of strategies tucked under one of his arms. We’re lucky the principal herself has been witness to shades, otherwise, I’d have been met with more of a challenge… and heaven knows things are complicated enough as it is. Now that they had the greenlight from the head of the school, they’d have to find a way to implement spectral courses into the curriculum. But before they even began doing that, they had to notify the students-- and parents-- that things were about to change; the issue was convincing the children who hadn’t been exhibiting spectral growth, and their parents, not to rat the entire paranatural world out to spectrals. The parents of actual spectrals, like Max’s father, they’d be swayed to keep their lips tight for fear of what might happen to their child if word got out-- nobody wants to envision their lineage being dissected under laboratory lights and scalpels; the parents of children with no spectral abilities, well, needless to say they wouldn’t have the same incentive. Spender raised a hand to readjust his glasses. How in the world would they pull this off?

“It’s simple.” Zarei crossed her legs under the cafe table, raising her teacup to her lips, savoring the earl grey-- its smell, its taste, its color-- in its entirety. Spender laughed under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “We’ll just have to convince the students who aren’t spectrals that they are.”

“We can only keep that ruse up for so long…”

“Even so, it will buy you time.”

Spender took a small bite of his vanilla cheesecake. His appetite had long since diminished, and he had a feeling he’d have little desire to box it come time to head home. It would sit in his fridge for a few days, grow even more unappetising, he’d put off throwing it out because he promised himself he’d eat it later, then eventually, inevitably, throw it out with a heavy heart because what was once a perfect slice of vanilla cheesecake had grown old (green?) and disgusting.

He set his fork down.

“Instead of changing the story for each parent depending on their child’s status as a spectral, give them all the same story, and insert every child into whatever curriculum it is you’re concocting with the school.”

“Don’t you think the other children will notice that they’re not seeing auras like their peers are? Like their friends are?”

Zarei raised an eyebrow at him behind the rim of her teacup. “Convince them that their powers are coming, then.”

Spender laughed, halfheartedly, and settled his chin in the palm of his hand. “So this entire plan revolves around telling a handful of middleschoolers that they’re late bloomers? Children believe that scarcely.”

“Perhaps. But it’s something their parents will buy and reiterate.”

He sighed and lifted his fork, taking small stabs at the cheesecake, toying with the frosting lining the outtermost layer. His whole body had felt heavier lately, or maybe he just felt weaker. “I suppose so…”

Zarei looked up at him again, crooked brows turning to furrow instead. Her lips pursed that way they always did when she was worried-- worried about him. She set her teacup down, resting her pinkie on the table just before the bottom of the cup, deafening the clitter. “Richard.” She exhaled. “It wouldn’t be too much trouble for me to join you at the school-- take on half the workload. I’m quite starved for something to do since my tool is out of commission, anyway. I’m more than capable, at least until we can find somebody better suited than I.”

He was able to muster a smile, a genuine one, and the slightest tinge in his stomach signaled that his appetite had somewhat returned. “That would be a tremendous help. I couldn’t thank you enough.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way.” She smirked, a twinkle in her eye, and she reached out to open her silverware, ready to start on the salad she’d ordered. “Though, I can’t help but sense that there’s something else the matter.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t play coy with me, you know I hate that.” She took a bite of her salad, and he took a bite of his cheesecake, if only to avoid answering long enough to come up with something to say, or at least throw her off the tracks of whatever it was she was prodding him to find. He often thought archeology would have been a nice fit for her, with such a tendency to dig. “There’s something else bothering you. What is it?” He winced, and her eyes drew to his torso. “Is it your chest? Is your wound bothering you again?”

“Er, no… in fact, it’s pretty much cleared up by now.” He gave her an awkward, half-toothy smile, then glanced at the television hanging on the wall behind her head. The rest of the televisions were displaying various sports, or even cartoons for kids less preoccupied with their food and more preoccupied with screaming for the attention of an inattentive parent. How lucky he was that he and Zarei had taken seats by the one TV displaying the local news-- or maybe she’d planned it that way, somehow. At first glance, the channel was covering the weather, after all they were getting into the autumn months, now, and hotter temperatures were dwindling away just as summer was. And then the next segment began, and his heart all but dropped into the lowest, furthest confines of the most acidic parts of his stomach.

Zarei’s nose twitched, and she turned around to look at the TV. “Now what could possibly be so important that you drop off mid-conversation--?”

Her eyes grew wide, and her jaw locked.

The school newspaper, funnily enough, had gotten no easier since the attack, and Suzy still hated the last words she typed up for the last article of the latest paper. She groaned and blew a raspberry, using the mouse to highlight the final paragraph in its entirety before deleting it. The part of her that’d spent hours and hours wording and rewording that paragraph screamed and threw things off the desk and cried over wasted time, but the perfectionist in her wielded a mental whip, and cracked it at the first sign of disobedience.

Suzy stretched her arms over her head and leaned back in her desk chair, watching Collin take bites of his breakfast bar, which was more a mid-afternoon snack than an actual breakfast. The sun was setting, and they should have left a good hour or two ago, but she was nothing if not stubborn, and she meant to finish that last paragraph even if it killed her. Collin looked up, eyes meeting hers, and she opened her mouth to say something, start a conversation--

Then Max came bursting through the clubroom door. “Isaac--!” He gasped then bent in on himself, hands at his knees as he began panting. Suzy leapt from her chair, and Collin all but fell backwards in his on his way up.

“What? Max, what?”

“They-- they found…” he huffed, then ran right up to her, eyes darting between her and the computer. It took her a moment before she realized he was asking for permission, which she granted with a frantic nod and two steps back. Max all but jumped at the keyboard, fingers moving so rapidly, she almost felt bad she’d restricted him to camera-guy in her fantasies. Collin came to stand at his other side, and in moments, Max had the local news station website up on the club computer. Max pulled up a video, then finally said: “They found Isaac!”

The video ran, and ran until it finished, and began again until Suzy reached out to stop it.

“Is there still information coming in?”

Max shook his head “No, they lost him, but at least we know what city he’s in.”

“That’s--!” Collin gestured around the room, eyes wide, panicked. “That’s not any help if he’s flipping dying!”

Max’s wide eyes turned dark, and the finger he raised to point at the video was rigid. Suzy squeaked and moved out of its way. “The video didn’t say he was dying. They said he was injured.”

“He left a trail of blood, Max!” Collin seemed unfazed, and Suzy was almost proud to see him level such a scary face, proud that she’d rubbed off on him, probably. But her attention was, first and foremost, on the article tied to the video. She’d skimmed it over, and then skimmed it over once more, but Collin was right… “People who aren’t dying don’t usually do that.”

Collin’s voice softened at the end, and Max fell silent. Suzy, strangely enough, couldn’t find a word to say, couldn’t look Max’s way for fear of the look on his face, the kind of worry that seeped into the bones and stayed there. Max’s hand fell from the monitor, then sat limply at the side of the desk.

There was a creaking sound, and it jolted Isaac awake.

The room was dark; the sun must have fallen while he was asleep, but realizing this and recognizing this did nothing to steady the vertigo that greeted him the moment he opened his eyes. The entire room spun, and rounded him in a blur. The overpowering smell of mildew was no help, and for a moment he thought he’d throw up right then and there. Sleeping was supposed to help him, let his body recover as he rested, but he felt even worse than he did before he’d snuck under dirtied and mussed covers.

He squinted, then closed his eyes and reopened them to a much clearer room-- to the much clearer vision of a woman standing at the doorway.

Isaac leaped up, grabbing the covers and tossing them off, and the stranger raised her hands in defense, taking a few steps forward into the light of the night sky peering in through the wall-length window of the bedroom. His aura flared, wide and wild, like an uncontained fire over his body. She chuckled, and he could hear she was nervous, but she still held her ground. “Hey, hey, hey! I’m not here to hurt you!”

She was young-- maybe in her mid-twenties, dressed like it too. Who wore a leather jacket with fingerless gloves-- oh right. She took another step closer, and he could see a streak of purple in the black bob that was her hair. Isaac pressed his back to the headboard, raising one hand cautiously to keep her at bay. “That’s fine. I have to leave now, and I need you to not call the police.”

“I can’t do that.”

Isaac sighed, and slid one leg over the side of the bed, readying himself to make a quick escape. He had no idea who this woman was, why she was there, or how she found him in the middle of a forest in an abandoned home… but it was sketchy, and he had more than enough injuries. “Look, you don’t understand!”

“I do. If you just let me explain, I can help you.”

Isaac frowned, and raised his hand higher, but nodded for her to continue. She sighed, and let her raised hands fall just a bit, elbows at waist-length, no longer at her chest. Her smile was calm, and confident, and he found himself interested in what she had to say.

Then there was a creak in the floor, and the stranger hadn’t moved.

Isaac whipped around, lightning cracking at his hand, blue entangling and covering his fingers. He could only make out of the vague shadow of a tall, broad-shouldered man, and then the world around him went dark.

The club, upon a call from Mister Spender, had collected in the clubroom, and were then watching him pace back and forth, chin in his hand. Max had been the first to show, before even Spender had made his way to the clubroom, and met inquiring glances with a grimace and a shrug. He sat huddled on the couch, one leg (which Spender would usually demand be set on the floor) pulled to his chest, other swinging lifelessly over the side of the couch. Isabel sat to his right, then Dimitri, both looking confused, though Dimitri was far deeper in thought.

“None of this makes sense.” Isabel leaned forward, elbow on her knee, cheek in palm. “How did Isaac get outside of the barrier?”

“That doesn’t matter just yet.” Dimitri hummed, eyes narrowed, somewhere far in the distance, passed the wall of the clubroom. “What matters is that they found a trail of his blood.” Isabel sluncked back into the couch, sliding in on herself as she fell silent. “We need to take the train out to him as soon as possible.”

Max shook his head. “We can’t.”

Dimitri blinked, eyebrow arched. “Why not?”

Isabel waved a dismissive hand, eyes shifting to the side. “Some things happened and the train is in a tool right now, recovering.”

“If it’s in a tool, that means it can be used.”

“Not without Doctor Zarei,” Isabel crossed her arms, lips in a thin line. There was a twitch in her, like her entire body couldn’t settle, like her nerves were fried and she couldn’t think straight. Dimitri was already watching her, but Max eyed her from the side. “Besides, we shouldn’t anyway! Isaac made that choice and he’s just gotta deal with it now.”

Spender halted in his pacing, turning on her with wide eyes, and Dimitri’s held no less surprise.

“Isabel…!”

“Don’t you think that’s a little harsh?”

Isabel shrugged, squirming under the unwanted attention.

“Okay, you know what?” Max sat up, and Isabel lurched backward when he prodded his finger in her face, an inch from her nose. His aura began to fester around him, black, so black it might have been growing darker with every bit of him that grew anxious, that grew angry. “Holding onto a grudge is one thing, I get why you’re mad at him-- but actively not helping him when he might be bleeding out somewhere is-- is--!”

Isabel’s aura flashed, hot, bright red against Max’s black, teeth grinding, fists clenching. It took everything in her not to chomp down on the finger he stuck in her face, and so help her if it got any closer she might. She smacked his hand away and leaned closer, close enough that she could throw her head into his if she wanted to, leave a big bruise on his stupid face!

“Isaac is a traitor! He tried to sell us out to the entire world! Just because you got over it doesn’t mean I have! He could have gotten us all kill--!”

“Isabel.”

She froze. Mister Spender rarely spoke like that… spoke like that to her. He was a funny man, a kind man, and when he was mad, his voice was deep, guttural, and every bit as tremble-inducing as her grandfather’s. She bit down on her tongue, hard enough to make it bleed; she turned to look at him.

He was standing stiff, and though she couldn’t see passed his glasses, she could tell, she knew, she could feel the anger flaring there, the power she sometimes forgot he had. She couldn’t so much as twitch, she was paralyzed, staring back at him. He’d never been mad at her before, never like this. She felt a sting behind her eyes, and it was like she was a little kid, some stupid brat getting scolded for not sharing her toys, and she hated it. She hated being scared. Being guilty.

Spender turned away from her and walked to his desk, all at once releasing her from her prison and wringing her heart. She slumped further into her seat, biting down on the inside of her cheek. Max lost interest and turned to watch Spender, but Dimitri continued to stare.

She'd turned the radio on in the background, just to listen to it as she practiced her spec shots. The noise was nice, distracted her from the way her shots hit the mark and echoed in the training area. It wasn't supposed to be so quiet. Everything-- everything-- had been too quiet lately.

She was only hardly aware of her grandfather's shift into the room, only knew because there was no feeling more grating than his eyes scrutinizing her every move. She wanted to blame her irritation on him, blame it all on how he threw off her game, her concentration. She took another shot as the last words of a current Top 10 track faded out, stopping momentarily until the DJ realized he had dead air and fixed it.

"Oh! Aaand there we have it! Gee-Man's Miss You Girl, as requested! Now, Josie, we have any weekend updates?"

"You bet we do!" A woman's voice, though chipper and bubbly, was mature and somehow mellow, not as grating as Isabel had been anticipating. "There are reports of accidents on 45 and Mayview Way, so if you're aiming to get out of the city, South is probably going to be your best bet." Isabel huffed and raised her fingers again, aiming at a target to her right, where her grandfather wasn't standing and seething with complaints and critiques. "Dannis Gibbsy is engaged to Laurel Con-- I mean, we all saw it coming after that season finale, but still." She couldn't quite find the mark, and it seemed the more she concentrated, the less certain her shot felt. She grimaced, tightening her posture and straightening up, telling herself again and again to just take the stupid shot. "And as for missing child Isaac O'Connor, police are yet to find any trace. If you have information please call in at--" Her lip curled. "His picture is up on our website. If you think you've seen Isaac O'Connor, once again, call-"

The shot hit the target by the bullseye, and blew it all up in a pit of red aura, like flame and electricity-- like a surge of power. She might have screamed when she let the shot go, and that might have been the cause of the twitch-- very slight, gone the next moment-- in her grandfather's eye. Isabel wiped away at the sweat along her forehead, and Master Guerra took a step closer. He was laughing, that genuine belly laugh that used to make Isabel giggle because it was such a happy sound; it annoyed her, now. "Very well, Isabel! Job well done! You must be training hard!"

She glanced at him from the side with lidded eyes, not even bothering to turn her head, as her wrist wiped the sweat from the edge of her face. "Yeah," he watched her as she straightened up and turned for the stairs, grabbing the towel she'd brought down and slinging it over her shoulders. She needed a shower, some soup, and a move she could turn on while she lounged around and ate chips for the remainder of the day. "Maybe."

Isabel sighed and ran the fresh towel through her hair, humming as she padded into her room, shutting the door behind her with the heel of her foot. The hot water had been soothing against her sore muscles, and perhaps even more soothing against whatever mood had been boiling in her before. Irritation had become a friend of hers lately, one that visited unannounced and stuck around until she did something, anything, to kick it from her system until the next day; usually this meant training overtime. It was all she could do to stay sane, not blow up on Max or Dimitri or Ed or even Mister Spender. She'd been overly sensitive (for her, anyway), she knew it, she just didn't know why.

Isabel ran the towel over the roots of her hair, lips coming together to smile as she tilted her head back and enjoyed the feel of her nails massaging her scalp. She'd needed that.

Now to just figure out what she wanted to watch…

The familiar ring of her cellphone and the resulting vibration from her nightstand made her head whip around, eyebrow raising, smile forming, as she crossed her room to get to it, leaving her towel to hit the floor (she'd hang it up later). She almost hoped it was a mission, or maybe some kind of investigation job. She could use the fresh air.

Isabel grabbed the phone and snapped it open with one flick of her wrist, bringing it to her ear without looking at the number. "Hello?"

"What's up, my Iz-dog?"

She snorted. "Ed!" She raised a hand to stifle the little bit of surprised laughter, but she was sure he heard it anyway. "Hey! What's up?"

"Waiting around for training to start. Homeschool is not as fun as you'd think it would be. Not a single one of my teachers let me wear pajamas to class, and only one let me go back to bed when I was done with my work," She snorted again, but let the her laughter run free so he could hear it. He probably wanted to, was probably trying to make her laugh "and that was only because I accidentally threw a paper airplane at their eye."

"Ed."

"It wasn't my fault! Once those things are out of your hand, they are out of your hand. I had no idea a paper airplane would become an issue of class safety and not conduct."

She shook her head and plopped down on the side of her bed, leaning back to rest her hand on the other edge of her twin. "Any clue when you're coming to visit?"

"Uh," she could imagine him leaning against the wall of Master Hashimoto's training room, one hand in the pocket of his jeans, head lulling to the side the way it always did when he was tired. She was willing to bet he had less energy than before, now that he was actually putting effort into his training. She wondered if he had time to play video games anymore, now that he didn't have to go to and from Hashimoto's and Guerra's an hour both ways. He always had enough time to call her-- once a day, no less. She was thankful, though she would have preferred seeing him in person. "Not sure! But I'm aiming to visit next weekend!"

"Really?" She shot up, then immediately clamped a hand over her mouth. That was too excited, too happy, too much. Her cheeks burned, but she kept her lips shut like she'd glued them. As much as she trusted Ed, as much as she knew he was a safe place and he would never, ever make fun of her… Isabel sighed and fell back against her comforter, a smile inching across her lips. "That's great! You know, you should bring your console back for the weekend. We never did beat that boss from-"

"Yeah!" He sounded as ecstatic as she felt, and it was a giddiness and a lightness she hadn't been accustomed to in a long time, enough that it unnerved her. "So, what's been up over there?"

She snickered. "Oh, I am so glad you asked…"

Isaac's phone was probably long dead by now. Max knew this.

It didn't stop him from staring at Isaac's contact information, squinting at it, hoping not-quite-consciously that there'd be some hint to go off of, some huge clue he was missing that could lead them right to him. There wasn't. Max shut his phone and let the hand hang leisurely over the side, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for the urge to get up or go to sleep or something to hit him. All that came was unease, the sense that something was horribly, horribly wrong. It'd been that way since Isaac skipped town, but he'd managed to quash the feeling most of the day. It was just when nightfall came, and his dad was off doing whatever and Zoey was off doing something super-whatever, that he was left alone with his thoughts and that unease had a hand in all of them.

How was he eating? How was he drinking? Where did he sleep? Was he hurt?

Max groaned lifted his other forearm over his eyes, like blocking the light of his room would do anything. Those thoughts weren't daylight or nightlight manifestations and he knew it. They were always there, had been for the last month, beating on the back of his mind the way an annoying remix of a good song would stick with him.

And it all stemmed from the sinking feeling he had when he ran up the steps to that abandoned home and found only Doorman there.

I hurt Dimitri, could have hurt all of you, too.

I wanted you to hate me. I thought it was the only way to get you all to see me as something other than the club mascot…

Because I couldn't take the blame like I should have, I stepped way out of line and broke my own oath. Well, now I'm ready.

Max grinded his teeth, hand thrown across her face clenching.

I guess this is goodbye. Thanks for keeping me around while you did.

He rolled over to his side, making the decision to pass out before the unsettled hole is his stomach got any worse.

Meditating had gotten easier, way easier. He could balance without trouble nowadays, and Master Hashimoto rarely had to step in and readjust his limbs so that he was working his core more. He walked with a straight back more often than he slumped, and slept easier, too. The only issue laid with his concentration-- it ran from him and often times he felt like a hunter down on his luck. Some days were better than others, but the last week had been… particularly grueling. He tried to keep his mind on Isabel, on the lessons he'd learned since joining Hashimoto, but his mind would wander, and he'd start to feel agitated, and then--

Ed yelped as something hard and hollow knocked him upside the head, knocking him right off the plank of wood. He landed on his chin, legs up in the air, waving around as he struggled to catch up with reality. Ed winced and pressed the palms of his hands against the floor, pushing himself to sit up on his knees, then raised one hand to the sore spot at the back of his head. So much for being balanced. "Ow! Hey! What was that for?"

Master Hashimoto stood towering over him from behind, looking gruff with the scrunch of his mustache and the unamused, narrowed look of his eyes.

Ed pouted at him, crossing his legs to sit more comfortably. Hashimoto came around to stand in front of him, placing the cane before himself and setting either hand at the tip of its shiny knob.

"You would not have fallen had you not already been unbalanced." Ed exhaled and leaned back against the plank of wood, hands gripping at his calves. Hashimoto tilted his head. "I sense there is something troubling you."

"It's one of the other students." He knew better than to keep things from his master. At best it would delay the inevitable, and he didn't care to go through so many emotional hoops for the second time that year. "She said that I liked Izzy, like, like-liked her. I mean, that's ridiculous! I grew up with her! She's like a sister to me!"

Hashimoto hummed, fingers brushing against his long, flowing beard, which Ed often joked with the other students looked more like a well-groomed dog's tail- a show dog, the kind that got paraded around.

"Well, Ed, if you were confident in that, you wouldn't still be thinking about it."

No. Not him, too. Not even the freaking master!

Ed parted his lips to say something, but whatever was heating the blood under his cheeks was doing a good job of clogging his throat, too, and he dropped his pointed finger and clamped his mouth shut.

"Suzy."

"Hmm?"

"Maybe you should lay off on the tea" Collin said this as he poured her another cup.

Suzy took it in grateful hands, then tilted it up to take the smallest, innocent sip from its rim. It was black breakfast tea, her favorite, and she took it bitter more often than not, no cream or honey or even a small bag of splenda. "It's calming."

"It's caffeinated, just like coffee, and you've downed, like, ten mugs of it."

Suzy grunted and raised one hand to wave him off, which Collin granted with a roll of his eyes, retreating to the desk to set the eighth thermos down, mumbling to himself about the rush of energy he was awaiting with no great excitement. Suzy, on the other hand, was far more preoccupied with the taste, taking a moment each sip to roll the flavor on her tongue before taking another sip and repeating. She had to concentrate on that. Had to.

There was a knock at the door, and they both lifted their heads, momentarily distracted from the nothingness that was their schedule, and looked at it.

"Collin--"

"Already on it."

Suzy sighed and went back to sipping her tea. The journalism club hadn't gotten any visitors, not that she was surprised. Nobody had taken her up on her offers to publish their personal watched-my-life-flash-before-my-eyes story, and Collin had informed her multiple times on multiple occasions that they never would; though she'd been stubborn to admit it, Suzy had come around to admitting that Collin might have been right, and maybe people didn't want to relive that sort of thing for a school newspaper. She doubted it was a story at the door, and even if it was, the school didn't seem to be keeping up with club hours anymore-- not since the monster attack.

She took another sip, though she swallowed without tasting it first.

Collin opened the door and-- surprise, surprise-- Maxwell Puckett stood on the other side, one of Suzy's posters, the ones for Isaac, in hand, and held it up to his face. She blinked. "Hey, Max."

"Hi, Suzy. Quick question." He wriggled the poster around, glancing over her curled form almost sardonically with a twitch in his eye. His posture was stiff, like he was sore and he was trying not to move too much or he'd hiss, and his fingers seemed to have long-since wrinkled the top edges of the poster- a sign he was gripping it tighter than need be. "What good is this doing, exactly?"

Suzy huffed and set the mug down, setting her feet, which had been curled with her in the chair, to the floor as she stood up, patting out her shorts. "Well, it's something."

Collin sighed and let Max in, shutting the door behind him with a narrowed, almost annoyed, look on his face. "Do yourself a favor and don't get her started on that."

"I already told you guys. He's not in Mayview anymore!"

"Well, do you have any better ideas?

"No! But wasting this much paper" Max shook the poster around for emphasis "probably isn't helping anyone!"

Suzy balled her fists, rage coiling in her, heat rushing to her face and her hands and her eyes. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, back, just to defend herself and what she was doing, but Collin slipped a hand over her lips; against her better judgement, she let him silence her. He sighed, and glanced between herself and Max until he was sure he had the attention of both. "Okay, how about we all just agree that these posters aren't really helping," he looked at her, and she leveled him with a glare "but it's all we can do" He looked to Max, who scowled and glanced to the floor, lips thin.

After a moment, Max's eyes met hers, and she saw an uncertainty where before she'd seen irritation, a lack of confidence she didn't think she'd ever seen in Maxwell Puckett before. Though he hid it well, his jaw clenched, and she could feel his aura looming over them, even if she couldn't see it. It was an itch. His eyes drifted downward, to the poster in his hand, then to the floor again, and her eyes did the same. Collin lifted his hand from her mouth, and she mumbled. "How is Dimitri doing?"

Max blinked, eyes wider for a second as though surprised, but a small smile found its way to his face, even if it wasn't as genuine as he might've liked her to believe. "He's doing all right! He's fitting into the club like a glove!"

Suzy nodded and excused herself for a moment to get more hot, bitter tea.

Mayview was as sunny as she remembered it, though she'd always preferred it when the city was cold and overcast in the nigh of winter. Sometimes, when she had a moment to herself, she'd visit, like so. After all, she'd spent a great many years calling it home.

It was the place she hated most.

She brushed a strand of loose hair behind her ear, breathing in the scent of fall, which still smelled as she remembered it for Mayview-- Pumpkin, a few days closer to expiration than one usually preferred, alongside the dull spices and the staleness of the cold air that'd always swept her into dreaming of snow days, though she knew they were months away. It was a feeling she'd known intimately for other reasons as of late, the anticipation of something coming, the drive that'd been motivating her so long.

Then the sight of Mayview from the tallest hill faded, and she found with no sense of distress that the world around her had become clustered with holes in the sky in shades of deep blues and purples and tears in shades of black only she knew existed.

"Catriona."

She hummed, but did not turn her head.

Strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her into a toned chest where she could feel a familiar heartbeat against the hammering of her own. "Something is bothering you, my love."

"Whether they're willing or not" she frowned and nibbled at her bottom lip "I simply can't find it in myself to kill these spirits for the sake of our mission."

He hummed, sound similar to her own in its sweetness but deeper in its rumble. "It is for the greater good, you must remember that. They see the way you and I do." He pressed a kiss to her cheek, and a treacherous smile found her. "Though, I'd find it hard to believe anyone may resist you."

"Emmerich, you flatter me." She twisted in his arms, wrapping her own around his neck and leaning into him. He was tall, taller than many men, though he stood like one, with claws round but sharp on each finger. His skin, though splotched with the same shades as his universe, was soft and felt as human as her own. She ran her hands over his head, one hand using its fingers to weave through the silk that was his cyan hair, wrapped in a horse tail. He smiled at her, and her eyes glossed over his black teeth. "We've already failed our first mission, what is to stop us from failing again?"

"Experience, my love" His hands squeezed her hips, a physical affirmation "and we did not fail. It may take more than one attempt, but it will be done."

She leaned up, and he leaned down, and she pressed her lips to his. There was no caution, no exploration- he was a part of her, and they knew each other better than anyone else.

Isaac winced as he laid down across another bus stop in what should have been another neighborhood. He was moving slowly, but that wasn't a problem when he had no destination. What is a problem is this cut on my arm. That spirit really took a swing at me. He glanced down at it, wincing as he took in the cold sting of blood, dying the material of his shirt a deep red. It'd stopped running a good hour ago, but it still stung like nothing he'd had before, and he'd have a hard time sleeping with it.

What was there to do about it?" He cautiously ran a finger over the wound, and hissed when the stinging multiplied. He'd have to steal bandages from somewhere. But where? A hospital? He couldn't do that! Other people, possibly worse off than him, needed those bandages and needed that ointment, and he couldn't very well walk into the clinic. That came with a mass of questions he wouldn't be able to answer, or even begin to think about answering. Isaac sighed and leaned upwards. He'd just have to figure it out come the morning.

Cheesesteak subs were a gift from God to men, and there were few things Spender was so vehemently convinced of. Day seemed equally as enthralled with her food, and she chomped more than happily into their late lunch-- his treat. It was a shame the meeting wasn't under less dire circumstances. Though each bite of his food was delicious, there was a sour taste to the back of his throat. Of course there would be something wrong, something he'd have to fix, and it would take time to figure out just how to go about doing that-- which wouldn't have been so bad, had he ever been in Time's favor. Day looked up, and he met her with a smile, though he knew she couldn't see it.

"So, Mister Spender, have you found that missing student of yours yet?"

He paused before taking another bite, licking his lips because they suddenly felt dry, and sighed. "No, I'm afraid I haven't."

Day paused in her bite, too, a small frown forming on her face. Her brows furrowed, and she tilted her head. "Oh. I'm so sorry."

"It's fine, it's fine." It wasn't. "Have you made any progress in your research? I know you've finished interviewing the student body recently. Did you find anything worth noting?" Perhaps it was too cut and dry, too to-the-point, but he needed to-- had to-- change the subject.

She blinked, and for a moment he thought he'd been too forward. Day's head tilted, and then she chomped into her sub, chewed, and swallowed hard before fixing him with a smile. "You trust me to be truthful?"

"Well, it's my school. I'll be finding out regardless."

"Yes, I suppose that's true! Hm hm!" She giggled and set her food down, using the napkin she'd set in her lap to wipe excess grease from her hands. "Especially with the magnitude of my findings."

His heart dropped. He'd been expecting something, of course, but he hadn't anticipated… well, something of great consequence. What could she have possibly gotten from a bunch of students scared senseless? "Oh? What did you find?"

"Well, the entire school, including your peers, Mister Spender, is traumatized."

Was that all? He exhaled, expelling all of the tension that'd strung up his neck and shoulders, let himself relax. "Oh, well, while that isn't good, it is what I expected. Trauma or not, we're going to have to come up with a really good excuse to explain why those things attacked our school" he looked to his sub, fingers tapping along the bun on either side "and what they were."

He'd been rummaging through the dumpster for the better half of an hour, cautiously at first, then impatient. Isaac winced as he took the moment to heave another cardboard box out of the way to get to what was below it, pausing to skim over the address on the side.

Saint Joseph's Walk-In-Clinic.

It took him awhile to find the place, and even longer to locate the dumpster-- at the side and not the back-- but he was on no time limit, at least not a fatal one… he didn't think. Isaac took a deep breath and stood a little taller, as much as his bruised knees would let him, and pressed deeper into the mess of used band-aids, vomit-covered tissues, and candy wrappers. Quite frankly, he was surprised he hadn't unintentionally run a needle straight through his skin, yet. He'd been overly aware of every little disgusting piece of used clinic equipment, but that was the one thing he was yet to find- that, and the bandages he was looking for.

The tips of his fingers brushed against something soft and firm, like a sturdy cloth; he gripped and pulled.

It was indeed a bandage, and-- though it was covered in blood upon further inspection-- it would do just fine. Isaac cringed, doing his best not to touch the contents directly as he stuffed it all into his pocket.

Each step he took to approach the front was small, and nervous, and he continually glanced around to be sure nobody had seen him snooping (as they would probably assume the worst of him, even if there apparently wasn't a single needle in there). He peeked around the corner and waited for whoever had just pulled in to cross the threshold of the clinic, then pressed on to his next location-- a private sink.

Well, the next best thing was a water fountain in an otherwise abandoned park. There was a nicer one across the street, he'd noted, so he'd more than likely be left to his own devices. He pressed down on the button with his stomach and used both hands to run the bandages under the cold drinking water, rubbing his thumbs along the blood and watching as red caressed and floated into blue, becoming almost pink on its journey down the metal bowl and into the drain.

There was a lot of it, more than he'd counted on, but he was nothing if not stubborn. Pressing his lips together, Isaac leaned forward and rolled the bandages, squeezing the blood and cleaning them more forcefully, hands becoming rougher to rid them of as much as he could. He couldn't leave a drop behind or risk making his injuries worse. The last thing he wanted was to end up in an emergency room, trying to explain to a room full of cops and doctors just what had happened to him and why he was a handful of cities away from home. He took a breath. Relax, Isaac. We're not there yet. We're a month in and we've done a pretty good job looking after ourselves, right? Right.

And it had been just him; King C hadn't been much help since he left, hadn't spoken to him in a while, and when he had he'd tried to get Isaac to turn around- to go home. Why? Well, he hadn't much of a clue. King C hated Spender and hated the club and hated Doorman, so why he would possibly care that his "vessel" wasn't in the same town anymore was beyond him.

It wasn't like he was worried about him.

He pulled away from the faucet, holding the bandages to the side and wringing them as much as he could of the remaining water. Liquid came gushing out, mixed with whatever was left of the blood from before, and seeped into the grass and dirt at his feet. It wasn't until it was only hardly dripping that Isaac sighed and pulled the neck of his hoodie and his shirt down to take his injured arm out of its sleeve. Gross, but it's better than nothing, I guess. With a grunt, he began wrapping it around the abrasion on his upper arm, wincing as the soggy, sloppy bandage stuck to his skin like a freezing sticker and leaked what little water was left, wetting the rest of his limb and some of his torso. "Ugh… yuck." Yeah, that was a little harder to deal with than he'd anticipated, but it wasn't like he had a choice.

He had to keep moving. Isaac fixed his shirt and hoodie, then stuck his hands in his pockets, turning for the exit he'd mapped out on his way in. It'd happened to him before, in his time away from Mayview, that he'd gotten lost in an unfamiliar area-- he'd been out of the city maybe once or twice before, and that had been by plane. If he was going to keep from dying alone in a dense wilderness, it was in his best interest to keep an eye on the entrance. Something snapped behind him, and he blinked; it was also, perhaps, in his best interest to stay aware of his surroundings-- especially if he was being followed.

He glanced over his shoulder, saw nothing, and continued onward.

He was a man, yes, but she wouldn't have placed him any older than 19, 20. He certainly wasn't old enough to have a bottle of whiskey in his hand, or to be falling all over the place, hollering at innocent spirits doing nothing to him. He waved his bottle around, fumbling towards the small, helpless spirits as they floated along, no bigger than the size of his head, round with big beady black eyes and literal button noses. They moved away from him, but he grew closer each time they did. She hummed, and approached him cautiously. Smiling offhandedly to the spirits, she tapped him on the shoulder three times.

"If they wanted to hurt you, they'd have done it by now."

He whipped around to look at her, eyes wide, stumbling over himself because he'd lost a balance she wasn't sure he'd had to begin with. Broad-shouldered, she noted, lots of muscles, must have been an athlete. Football? Wrestling? It didn't matter, she was just curious.

"I-I'm n-not talkin' t' the trees."

"I know. You're talking to the spirits," she tilted her head "which I'm going to assume is the reason you're downing Captain Jack."

He dropped the bottle with a laughable start, eyes wide and mouth ajar. It hit his foot and popped to the dirt he'd made tracks in falling all over himself. He would be fine; she would make him fine. His lips wobbled, trying to get words out, failing, and his legs hobbled, trying to move away-- move forward-- she wasn't sure even he knew. "Wh… you can see-?" He cleared his groggy throat. "You can see 'em?"

"Yes, I can" she gave him her best smile, a familiar one, one she cringed to know she'd once used blindly, like a fool, to get ahead in a world she had yet to understand was full of evil "My name is Catriona, and if you'd like, I could help you with all of that fear you're harboring… if you help me"

She was waiting there at the bottom of the staircase for him, looking bored, umbrella in her backpack, sticking out, much like her. Max wished he could say he was surprised, but he never was. She glanced up at him as he started his trek down the stairs, and he nodded to her.

Zoey probably ignored their parting, but his dad waved and gave them a "hope you have a good day", which honestly never had an effect on anybody's day in the history of ever, but he and Isabel waved back like they always did.

It had been like this since Isaac left. Ed went off to go train, Dimitri was on the other side of town-- and Max seemed to be the only one constantly seething about their missing club mascot and that whole situation-- but anyway Isaac wasn't there, and so that left two, him and her. She was lonely (even though she wouldn't admit it for the life of her or her grandfather or, heck, Mister Spender), and he was in a never-ending state of concern, so they walked together, kept an eye on each other. Max was, after all, sure that Ed would literally slaughter him if he let Isabel go about being sad and mopey. Honestly, Dimitri did a better job at keeping her… distracted… than he did, but he figured the the long walk to school was the hardest hitter for her.

He knew what it was like to be alone in your thoughts for excrutiatingly long periods of time.

"How'd you sleep?"

Isabel laughed nervously and rubbed the back of her neck. "Umm, heh, uh…"

"Up late, then?" Max cocked an eyebrow, watching with some surmountable interest as her cheeks grew rosy.

"Oh, no… no… not really, no. Just talked to Ed for a little while and couldn't get to sleep after."

If he'd learned anything about Isabel, it was that she was an unreliable narrator, and that she absolutely, no question, stayed up all night talking to Ed.

He snorted and stuck his hands in his pockets, eyeing her in his peripheral, grin itching across his face- and if her glare was any indication, she could see it. "Oh I'm sure."

"Max."

"Isabel."

"Max" She grimaced, one hand hovering above her face as she inhaled, then running over it as she exhaled. "I was up for another reason."

"Why are you getting so defensive?" He chuckled and dodged the fist flying at his chest, ducking then sidestepping to get out of punching radius. She'd never hurt him, but he still didn't want to see how close she'd come to leave a bruise. "You were up late talking to your best friend! What's so hard to admit about that?"

"Because I'm telling the truth! He called me right before training started! We only had, like, an hour to talk! I was up late because- because-!"

He looked at her head-on, the best example of his irritating, mocking, maddeningly-sly grin to date on the brink of delivery, when he noticed her eyes had fallen elsewhere, and she didn't seem too preoccupied with him anymore. He dropped the smirk and looked over his shoulder, morbidly curious if one asked. It was rare to knock the fire out of Isabel so squarely, so cleanly, and he had to admit he was almost dreading whatever lied over his shoulder.

He swallowed hard when he saw it-- Isaac's face. He'd forgotten that Suzy's posters were splayed all over the city, that she wasn't planning on letting anybody forget Isaac O'Connor, and all at once he was reminded that he did, indeed, have something to be distracted from, too.

He bit his tongue, then sighed, slowly, softly, low enough to not be heard. "Do you think he's okay?"

"Who cares?"

Max started; he hadn't been expecting quite that response.

He turned back to her, eyes wide, mouth open and not working, to see that she'd long since directed her gaze to the sidewalk ahead of them, or maybe the school in the distance. She was icy, and nonchalant, like she hadn't even known Isaac, like those darkened, narrowed eyes of hers had never even seen him before. "He betrayed us then left on his own to get attention. He made that choice," she shrugged, turning her head away so he couldn't see her face anymore "as far as I'm concerned, he can stay gone."

Right. Of course. They weren't close in the first place. Why should he expect her to worry about him? As it was, he had no idea why he was giving himself gray hairs-- he was even less familiar with the kid. Still…

Max turned to the ground, eyes narrowing, hands clenching dangerously around the straps of his bag.

He'd been right. He was being followed. From the length of his trip from the park to the empty highways alongside dense forests-- he was in a scope he didn't want to be in.

Isaac winced, landing roughly on the soles of his shoes, falling onto his rear so hard he could feel his tailbone nearly break. He covered his mouth before he could react-- no sound. If somebody heard him, they'd find him; if they found him, they'd turn him in-- but before that, they'd get hurt.

After all, Isaac turned his eyes from his torn up jeans and the equally as torn legs beneath them to the monster hovering over him.

Just like the others before, it was bloody, and it had teeth in its eyes the length of one of his arms, with one mouth that spanned nearly half of its lower horizontal length, filled with ectoplasm and disconnected sharp teeth, and skin that was perpetually melting somehow, like its body was made of slime. It moved forward on four claws on either side, each individual one the length of his upper body.

He pulled back with one hand, raising his other to spout off some electricity, something! Anything! But only a small ball of lightning sparked in his hand, dying just as quickly as it lived. He grunted. His powers were dying, and he had some idea why. Glancing down at his stomach between moments where he used his legs to propel his body backwards, he could catch a glimpse of the deep, open wound in his abdomen. It hurt like nothing he'd ever felt before, had his lower body sore and his exposed skin stinging, burning, flaring and dying the more he pressed on.

The monster swung at him, and he only just missed the impact of a claw at his face.

Isaac pressed back some more, and more, until his back was against a tree, and the only place left to go was right or left.

He set one hand, gently, at his open wound and grimaced.

Right or left? If he went right, he'd be running straight into the city, potentially leading the monster into innocent civilian territory. Not only would that lead to the potential deaths and injuries of dozens of people, but he had a feeling whatever organization Spender worked for would have to step in… and if he got caught in that…

Left. There was only open road for miles, and it would take him about fifteen minutes to get to a city, and therefore leave his wounds unattended to for a longer period of time, but he had a chance to lose the monster and get to safety and get to the next town.

Yeah. Left.

He should have made the decision quicker- just a second, just a moment, and he might have gotten out of the way in time.

He went to move just as the monster's claw came down on his head, on his face-- on his eye. He was lucky enough to miss the brunt of it, but it still grazed him, left his eye bleeding, left him worse than before.

"Augh!" He fell forward, but caught himself on one hand, using it to push himself back on his feet again, and he bolted. The monster screamed after him, and he heard its claws digging into the ground, pulling grass apart and making hills and holes behind him as he ran. He choked on the air and pressed one arm to his abdomen, holding it there and keeping as much pressure on it as possible.

He had to get away.

Afternoon patrol had been uneventful, much like usual, and thus Max was quick to go for his backpack upon entering the clubroom with Isabel and Dimitri.

The three of them hadn't spoken much-- er, Max hadn't spoken to the two of them much. He would have been lying if he said he wasn't still harboring some irritation at Isabel for earlier, for brushing Isaac off like that, for being so-- so-- he grimaced and swung his bag over his shoulder with malice, like it'd been the one that'd done him wrong.

"Why don't I walk you home today, Iz?" Iz, not Izzy, like Ed called her. Max had noticed the difference in Dimitri after the first week or so of him joining the club again. He was cool, sometimes unreasonably chill, and that was just another one of his quirks. He was yet to assign a cute short nickname to Max, but Max had the sneaking-- call it crazy-- suspicion that "Max" was too short a name to cut a pet name from. Not that he wanted one.

"Sure!" She smiled at Dimitri as they both came to a stand after bending down to grab their things, and both waved, said their goodbyes, and left before Max could even catch up with reality. His mind was elsewhere, and as it usually had been, it was difficult to pull that rope back from the edge of the very open sea. He felt distant, almost, like his mind was somewhere out there, outside the barrier, and his body was stuck in Mayview. He hadn't been able to get his mind off of it, off of the monsters or off of Isaac or much of anything. It was really too much stress for a twelve-year-old, but there wasn't exactly anybody to pin the blame on. There was nobody for a parent to go yell at, nobody to wag a finger at, because he wasn't stressing over homework, or about an unfair test grade, or even about an exam worth way more than was reasonable for for his grade-- he was thinking about ectoplasm and blood in the halls, and the broken look in Isaac's eyes last time he'd seen him, and the how's and why's and the secrets he was keeping and--!

"Max?"

He snapped back to reality, to Mister Spender standing over him with a warm, awkward smile, and a hand waving in front of his face. He turned pink, and Spender stood up straight, hand dropping to his side. "Why haven't you left yet? Afternoon patrol is over, Max. You're free to go?"

"Oh, uh… yeah" He looked to the floor, one hand at the side of his neck, fingers nestling into the warmth of his hoodie. "I wanted to ask a question."

Spender seemed relieved, the furrows of his brow unfolding and the concern in his smile fading until it was just his regular happy-go-lucky grin. "Of course! I am a fruit tree of knowledge-- both historical and paranatural! I am here for your picking!"

Max cleared his throat. "Well, one, I'm going to need you to never say that to anyone, ever again, that was really weird."

"Oh."

"Two," He glanced away. "Have you forgiven Isaac for what he did?"

Spender didn't move for a moment, and then he sighed.

Max watched him out of the corner of his eye as he slumped over to his desk, hoisting himself up onto it and plopping down with a heavy body, and maybe a heavy heart. Spender was the only one who would talk to him, for real, about Isaac, the only one who would openly discuss efforts to find him, to bring him home, and it was for that reason Max wished desperately he could tell him Isaac wasn't in the city anymore, that he was looking in the wrong place. But he couldn't, not unless he wanted to cause trouble with Doorman and stab Isaac in the back while he was at it. He let himself look at Spender then, and see the man slumped over, elbows on his knees. He raised his head and smiled at Max, and even though he looked defeated, it was some comfort. "I knew Isaac would come around, I never had any doubt. Isaac is…" He ran a hand through his hair, which looked a little more unruly than usual. "Isaac is confused, but he's a good person at heart."

Max nodded silently; he didn't need to voice his agreement for Spender to know he felt the same.

Spender exhaled, and his voice dropped low. "I just hope that he's okay, wherever he is."

"-- and I literally blew up the target!" Isabel ran a finger under her nose, beaming at the impressed, awed look on Dimitri's face. It was a rare sight to see; after all, Dimitri wasn't one to be surprised by much of anything. He always had an ongoing game of chess going on somewhere in the back of his mind, was constantly thinking and predicting and acting a certain way, so the rise of his brows and the smile sneaking up on him was especially gratifying for her to set her eyes on.

"Nice! Man, I used to be able to hold my own against you, but I'm not so sure I could now.."

She laughed and raised one hand, smacking Dimitri in the back harder than normal, but enough that she knew he could take it. He wasn't a wimp, never had been. "Hah, it would be interesting to see how rusty you are. Maybe we should test this theory?"

His smile turned sly. "I still bet you can't pin me."

"I bet you I could."

He snorted, and their arms brushed together. He was leaning into her, and she leaned back, but he just as quickly pulled away. She would have done the same, but he spoke, and his voice was deeper than usual, and slower, though it rang just as cool to the ear. "You're right, we should certainly test this hypothesis… say, after school tomorrow?"

She grinned. It'd been awhile since she'd had company over at the dojo, which had become glaringly apparent to her after Ed packed his bags and hauled them over to Master Hashimoto's. She supposed she'd never really had much of a need for other friends, not with him around, not when she had a practically built-in friend at her hip in school and right next door at home. She wondered, against her better judgement, whether or not Ed felt the same, if he missed her like that… if he'd already made some friends at the new dojo.

With a shake of her head, she straightened up, nose in the air. "I'd say that sounds like a fine time for a duel!"

"Great!" He took a few steps ahead of her "It's a date, then."

And that was where he cheeks decided, spontaneously, to combust and/or become cherries, she didn't care which. She couldn't see his face from the angle she was at, and even so, her heart gave her one heavy, forceful pound- or leap, she wasn't sure. It hadn't done that before. All because of the word "date"? Really? She shrugged it off and took a slow jog to catch up with him.

The sink was full of red, full of blood-- his blood.

Isaac grinded his teeth and pressed his tongue as firmly as he could to the roof of his mouth as he pulled the bandages he'd earlier stolen from the walk-in clinic dumpster from his arm, hissing as he pulled each agonizing inch off of his skin. Every fiber of his being wanted him to huff, to whimper, to slam his head against the wall to ease the pain, but he couldn't. His eye had hurt, but it hadn't been deep; he took care of it by tossing water at it for a good minute, and though it still stung, it wasn't nearly as bad as the gash in his lower stomach.

He let out a gruff, feral grunt as he pulled the last of the bandage from his arm, lifting his shirt up for the first time since he'd cleaned the wound to put some pressure on it.

It hadn't stopped bleeding.

He exhaled and bent over the sink, glaring down at the stained drain with such disbelief in himself and his situation it was hard for him to even fathom that he was bleeding out in a gas station bathroom. Bandaging his wound would not be enough to take care of it-- he had to do something else.

He pulled his head up to look at himself in the mirror, trying not to stare too long at the dark circles under his eyes or the pale, dead blue that used to be bright like his thunder. He eyed the toilet, then turned around to look at more than its reflection.

The handle on the side was old, and rusty, and tilted to the side when it should have been sturdy and straight, jutting out of the side. He had a feeling it wouldn't work if he tried to flush the toilet, looking at the handle the way it was, but it might have been some other use for him. It was, after all, the perfect length. Isaac, are you sure you want to do this? It's unsanitary. It's disgusting. He sighed.

It was the only choice he had.

Well, if he was really going to do this, he needed a few things. Isaac glanced at his hoodie, which he'd discarded to the floor after he cleared it of the blood that'd soaked through his shirt; it wouldn't have done him any good to walk around in a bloody jacket all the time-- his shirt could get as covered as possible, it meant nothing, but the hoodie would catch attention. Careful not to disturb his abdomen any more than need be, he reached down and tugged it back on.

"I'm telling you, I can't handle so many students at once!" Spender gestured around the empty blackness that was his room, BL floating above him the way she always did, legs crossed like she wasn't placing the world on his shoulders-- his world. He didn't usually lose his cool with her, in headquarters, but what she was suggesting was far too much to ask of him, far too much to ask of anyone. "I'd have to hold classes in the auditorium! I-- I can't keep up with all the homework! All the tests!"

BL sighed, setting her chin on the back of her fingers, elbow on her thigh. "I wish I could tell you there was another way, Rick, but…" She looked at him, or he thought she did. "Perhaps Doctor Zarei will be willing to take some of those students off of your hands?"

"With all due respect, that's not the point!" He deflated, but he wasn't out of steam just yet. The entire situation was a mess, a complete and utter garbage dump of a mess, and it was too much for him to clean up on his own. "Couldn't we just get rid of their trauma? I am well aware there are more than a few agents with the ability to" he motioned flatly "make all of this go away."

"Are you suggesting we" she closed in on him fast, her bandaged, expressionless face within centimeters of his own "wipe their memories?"

Perhaps he'd spoken out of turn. He swallowed hard, fingers twitching at his sides as he did his best to not look away, because looking away meant backing down, and at this point he'd come too far. "...Yes."

BL watched him, examining him, and he felt like a small child, fresh and scared of the paranatural world, for the first time in a very long time. Then she pulled back.

"Hmm," her fingers tapped at her chin, and she might have been looking up at the void around them and not down at him "You raise an interesting point! Er, I mean, we can't… we can't do that… but interesting point!"

He sighed in relief, then realized he'd been denied and shook his head "Wait! Why not? If we could truly wipe their minds and reverse the effects on them-!"

"Agent Day needs those minds. Not to mention the ethical and moral concerns we would have…" She waved a hand "Either way, I don't think the Cousinhood weirdos would take too kindly to essentially wiping the slate clean before they had a chance to investigate themselves" She sighed "... though I'm doing my best to fend them off. I'm afraid that's all in Agent Day's hands, now."

"She's already interviewed everyone there is to interview!"

"And what if they just so happen to remember something else?" BL shook her head. "It's best for everyone if we negotiate with your principal and find a way to integrate paranatural lessons into the general curriculum. It'll be fun!" She clasped her hands together, visibly bouncing in the air. "It'll be like we have our very own Spectral Academy! Hoo hoo!"

He ran an exasperated hand through his hair, slicking the already-perfectly-groomed strands back. "And what will we do about their parents? Their families! They could-- as it is they could already be spreading sensitive information to the outside world!"

"As much as I don't like it, we'll have to resort to" Her face split open, revealing teeth and the ever-so-watchful eye sitting between both sets "scare tactics!" Her face bandaged together again, and she continued unpertured. "We'll have to tell them the truth! Tell them what will happen to their children, and to their faithful mentors," she gave him a pointed look "if words gets out about their abilities" Experiments. Interrogations.

An all-out war between spectrals and non-spectrals.

Spender exhaled; he'd lost this fight, but maybe not the war. "There's still the issue of student-to-teacher ratio. Even with Zarei's help, we'd still be drastically outnumbered! It isn't even just the students we're dealing with here-- we'd have my own peers in these classes. Those numbers are just too high!"

"And for the moment you'll have to deal with them, I'm afraid. We'll find agents to help you, I promise. All it will take is some time--"

"I don't have time!" He knew he was yelling, that she was his authoritative figure no matter how long they'd known each other, and he was out of line and disrespectful, but he was truly at his wit's end. "Isaac is still missing, my club and I have searched the entirety of Mayview, and the threat of the monsters returning places Isaac's disappearance in a very, very concerning place! Time is the one thing I don't have!"

BL watched him, silently, motionlessly, for a moment, and usually the realization, the reality of his outburst might have hit him, but all of his body was so wired, so filled with energy and fear that had no place to go, that he didn't care. Her body language slackened, her shoulders fell, and she sighed.

"While I… regret the situation with Isaac O'Connor, and I am deeply worried for him," her nonexistent eyes met his "this situation is more important, and it needs to be your highest priority" He deflated again, limbs going slack, and he was surprised he was still standing on his wobbling knees "I have other agents working to find the monsters. We haven't heard back from them yet, but we will. For the moment, I need you to focus on your day job."

"But--!"

"Richard."

His words died in his throat, and the way she was looking at him, how calm she was, told him that there was no room for dispute, no matter how he felt, no matter what he did or said to convince her to see his way of things.

They both fell silent, and his fists clenched.

He awoke with a start.

His hair was slick with sweat, and his glasses wouldn't stay on, no matter how many times he raised his trembling hands to keep them in place. He shivered; the room seemed colder than it had been when he first laid down. He stared down at his lap, hot hands running along freezing skin, even though it felt equally as warm to the touch.

"Richard." He raised his head. Lucifer peered at him from his reflection in the mirror, wings looking tight. "Are you all right?"

"... Yes."

Lucifer clicked his tongue. "Liar" though he sounded gruel, his face seemed soft, calm, kind.

Spender dug his head into his hands.

There was only one worker on duty. Isaac pulled the hood over his head, over his eye-- over his face. That would make his job easier. All he had to do was hope no family on a road trip wandered into that particular gas station to make a beeline for the restroom; he'd been the only customer in there in the last hour, the mess of blood would definitely get him in a hospital at best, handcuffs as worst.

The employee was playing some crossword, presumably not allowed to use her phone during hours. She looked bored, occasionally fixing her ponytail even when there wasn't a problem with it. She popped the gum in her mouth, then sucked it back in and continued chewing, tilting her head to the side, hoop earrings swaying with the motion. The phone rang, and her brown eyes widened. She all but leaped at the line, picking it up, answering "Yes, this is Gas-Your-Way! How may I help you?" with the best cutesy customer service voice he'd heard in maybe ever. That was good. She was distracted.

Isaac made his way over to the front as she went to answer the phone, nabbing one butane lighter from the rack just below the register before sliding to the back where the probably-wildly-unhealthy gas station foods sat-- coffee, slurpies, candy bars, hot dogs and other meats on a rolling grill, but his eyes fell upon the napkins stacked together by the tops and straws and condiments. He ripped a few away, enough to feel like he was holding an oven mitt, and sped his way back to the bathroom.

He locked the door behind him, walking to the toilet, setting the lid down, and plopping down atop it. It was flimsy as heck, and he was one-hundred percent sure it wouldn't break beneath his weight. He took his hoodie off, then discarded himself of his shirt. Yes, the floor of the bathroom was disgusting and covered in unidentifiable liquids, but at this point he'd already been through worse. With the stack of napkins in one hand, he placed the broken toilet lever, holding onto only one side of it. The other, he snapped open the butane lighter, using his thumb to ignite a small flame. Here we go.

He held the toilet lever over the flame, watching the metal heat.

It took some time, time he couldn't account for (could have been ten minutes, could have been fifteen, or maybe even thirty or an hour), but the metal finally glew red, bright, and so very hot. Isaac inhaled. He had no room for doubts. Without a second though, he pressed the metal to his open wound and held it there.

He screamed. It had been a month and more since he'd last thrown his head back like this, grinded his teeth and fought back a flood of tears like this, and the pain had never been physical. It was excrutiating, hot, heavy, bright, furious pain. It was a million times worse than the wound in his abdomen, a billion times worse than the pain in his eye, and it spread through him like wildfire. It was as though every inch of him was being burned alive by scorching metal, by fire, by blue, deathly pain. He screamed some more, and when he was out of breath those screams died and became whimpers, tiny sounds that had him bending over, shoulders shaking. He would not cry. He would not cry.

There was a knock at the door, and it might have startled him had he not been heaving.

"Sir? I'm sorry, are you okay?"

He tried to open his mouth, but it was dry. The employee paused on the other side of the door, but he could feel her anxiety from there.

"O-okay! I'm gonna go call 911! Please just sit tight, okay? Help will be here soon!" He heard her patting around in her pockets, then a muffled curse as her footsteps, hurried, drifted away.

“...Just Home and Love! it's hard to guess

Which of the two were best to gain; Home without Love is bitterness; Love without Home is often pain. No! each alone will seldom do; Somehow they travel hand and glove: If you win one you must have two, Both Home and Love...”

- Home and Love by Robert William Service

It was a grudge, but it was small, and even in all its feral glory, it was easy to catch. Isabel watched as it flicked its tail in irritation, little claws tapping about the bubble she'd formed around it, running in circles like a hamster in a cage. Part of her wanted to keep it, because it had a tiny face like a squirrel and a bushy round tail like a rabbit with a tummy as round as it was fluffy, but it would be frowned upon and she knew that. Besides, how was she to keep it home? It clearly wanted little to do with her and Dimitri, even as they bent to the forest floor and set the little guy free. It didn't so much as wiggle its nose at them before it was off with two other spirits equally as small and cute, presumably its family.

"There" she stood up and wiped the sweat from her brow. The hike up the grassy hill was more difficult than it would have been had she not been expending so much spectral energy. Dimitri raised a hand and high-fived her, turning on the way back to the clubroom. It was a half an hour walk, but it'd be easier the second time around. "It's nice to have you back!"

"Glad to be back" he grinned that sly way he always did, behind lidded eyes that seemed to be up to no good, which Dimitri certainly was. "Think we mighta spared that poor creature a real but-kicking back there. Had Max not accidentally stepped on its paw-"

"Hey!" They both jumped at the grainy voice in the walkie-talkie she'd nearly forgotten they'd had. "I had an arm full of books and it picked the wrong time to cross the hall!"

"Quite frankly you're lucky it didn't bite you." Dimitri snickered, one finger scratching his top lip.

There was a pause, and then: "Do… can spirits have rabies?"

Isabel tossed her head back and cackled, holding her sides and leaning into Dimitri, whose shoulders were trembling as he stifled his own bout of laughter.

"Good job, children!" Spender's voice was over the walkie talkie then, though Max's disturbed musings carried on in the background, faintly dying out as Spender was taller and the talkie was well above his mouth at that point. "Return to the clubroom so we can call it a day. Stay safe."

Max blinked up at Spender, who set the talkie aside on his desk, looking a little too pleased for his liking. He got it, he guessed, it'd been a month, but it still didn't sit well with him, and he was having a hard time seeing the world continue turning as though nothing had ever happened. Sure, there was a heaviness over the student- and teacher- body, and he felt that in the air and saw it in the wide, dull eyes of his peers, but nobody lost sleep because they felt like he did. "Does that happen often?" Spender hummed, smiling at Max, taking a seat, one hand reaching for a red pen, likely to grade tests. Max sat up from where he'd taken to slouching, propping himself up on the armrest. "How often do we take care of spirits and they don't end up in a tool?"

Spender tilted his head, smile softening in the way any adult's would when they were about to explain something they didn't think a child was ready to hear. "Well, it's more rare than one would hope, but not rare enough to make us the bad guys or anything!"

Silence fell over the room, companionable, at least more than it had been when he first started seeing shades and human-spirit-mad hybrids.

Max cocked an eyebrow. "That sounds like something a bad guy would say."

"I heard it."

Spender's smile flattened, and Max could almost see a level of exhaustion, even behind his glasses, but he turned away to mark off papers before Max could really catch a glimpse of it. He sighed and leaned further into the couch, crossing his arms over his chest and hoping that his hat hid his eyes, because he might have been projecting.

"We should arrange another search party this weekend." Spender's voice was perfectly level, like he'd rehearsed it thousands of times. "I want to be perfectly certain we've covered the entire forest."

Max nodded, then mumbled "Yeah."

He couldn't exactly tell him Isaac wasn't in Mayview anymore. It'd raise too many questions, questions he knew he couldn't-- wouldn't-- answer.

He plopped on the couch, legs splayed across Zoey's lap against her many (many, many, many) complaints, and took the remote in one lazy hand. Even the weight of that was a burden on his arms, which felt like dumbbells for some odd reason, and he guessed it was because he hadn't been sleeping well. He wasn't quite awake all hours of the early morning, but he more often than not awoke periodically, maybe two or three times, a night.

He yawned. All he wanted to do was kick back, watch some TV- if he ever managed to find a channel he felt like watching-- and nap at his sister's expense. She was hitting his calves, but softly, enough to let him know she didn't want his feet on her, just not enough to actually, ya know, hurt him or have much of an effect at all. Then again, she was, like, seven; he doubted she could if she wanted to.

Nature? Boring. Paranormal? Extra boring. Sports? Max squinted. Nah.

He flipped through channel after channel, taking a moment each time to decide whether or not he wanted to kill his brain to the screams of a horror movie or the equally as grating screams of reality TV. He was starting to wonder if he really wanted to watch anything. Max yawned again and stretched, pressing the down button on the remote.

"In other recent news…" Blegh. Local news station. No, definitely not. He raised his hand to cut to a different channel, but a flash of orange caught his attention. "Missing child Isaac O'Connor is yet to be found." Zoey yelped as he swung his legs to the floor, leaning forward, edged to the front of the couch, turning the volume up as high as he could take it. The woman on screen shuffled her papers, chestnut hair bouncing over her shoulders as she turned to her partner. "Now, after forty-eight hours, the likelihood of catching the culprit drops significantly, right?"

Zoey frowned, lips pursing. "They haven't found him yet?

"Yes, Jan, it does, and unfortunately for this kid, it's been a month." The man, tall, dark, soft instead of brooding, set his forearm on the newsdesk. "Now, that's not to say there's no hope. There have been missing kid cases that have lasted years and they turned up."

Max swallowed hard. He shouldn't have been worried so much. It wasn't like Isaac had been kidnapped or something equally as horrific. Max knew he'd left of his own volition. To do what though? Doorman wouldn't tell him, wouldn't say a word, and that scared him like nothing else.

"Now, Mark, in a situation like this, what is the probability that this kid is alive?"

His heart dropped. Zoey leaned forward with him, crossing her legs and adjusting to lay more comfortably on the cushions. "Not likely."

Max punched her in the arm, harder than usual. She yelped and rubbed at the sore spot, nose scrunching up.

"I wonder what happened to that boy…" His dad moved into the room, hulling a large basket of laundry into the living room. He balanced on one leg, shutting the laundry room door behind him. Had his interest not been elsewhere, Max might have been impressed all of the clothes still looked their regular non-shrunken size. He'd been more careful about that lately, about everything. He plopped down on the couch, setting the basket down at his feet, and looked at the screen as he reached for the first piece of unfolded laundry. "Hey, Max, that boy was your friend, wasn't he?"

Was? Wasn't? The past tense did nothing to settle the growing pit of unease sifting through his stomach. His hand tightened around the remote. He couldn't meet his dad's eyes. "Uh, something like that…"

"Hah!" Pinning people was fun, Ed had decided, especially when they were older and weren't expecting him to knock them over like speeding locomotive. The kid below him had three years on him at Hashimoto's dojo, at least, and wasn't looking too pleased about his abdomen being under Ed's knee if the red of his face and the blood vessel threatening to pop at his temple were any indication. Ed gave his best grin as consolation, peeling back at Hashimoto's order.

"Finish. Well done, Ed." It wasn't rare to see the old man smile, but it was certainly contagious. The corners of his mustache-- because you couldn't very well see his upper lip-- would lift, and the crease of his brows, usually furrowed in concern, would have a lightness that matched his amused eyes.

Ed rubbed the back of his neck, tittering to himself. He still wasn't used to receiving praise. The whole be an effective student thing was still shiny and new to him. "Well, it's 'cause I have something to fight for!" His smile dropped. "Also I had, like, a lot of soda before the match, like, so much soda. My bladder is about to combust."

"Aw!" Another student, who'd won the sparring match before his, a small but beefy girl who stood as tall as his waist (counting the volume of her pigtails) took a water bottle from the mini fridge one of the older kids had set at the foot of the staircase. (Hashimoto had been originally against the installation of such a cumbersome-- his words-- appliance, and now accepted it with grudging assent). She readjusted the white towel around her neck with one hand and smiled his way. "That's cute! Who is she?"

"Isabel!" He'd answered before he'd taken the flowers and hearts in her eyes into account, before he realized exactly what he was answering to. "She's my best friend!"

"Yeah," she hummed and let her head fall back to take a few large gulps of her water, then shook her head like a wet sweaty dog and went for the staircase. "That's how my dad fell for my mom, too."

He froze, and if his cheeks hadn't already been flushed from the workout, they would have been as red as Isabel's aura, anyway. He rubbed desperately at either side of his face, trying in vain to wipe away the evidence. "I-I'm not in love with her!"

The other student giggled and carried her weight up the stairs. "Not yet, maybe."

They'd been out on the streets of Mayview, in every district imaginable, he was sure, since school let out, and it would have been longer had the Vice Principal not caught Suzy snooping around near the front entrance during lunch. Collin sighed, moving his arms and the papers in them so that the pile wouldn't hit the ground and go flying in the wind. She'd kill him, and he knew it. "Hey, um, quick question?"

"Yeah?"

"What the flip is this actually accomplishing?" He motioned to the poster she was currently hammering into a telephone pole, trying not to pay attention to the face he knew was plastered to each one. Isaac's face. Under big bold text that read "Missing", like it wasn't already all over the news. Isaac's parents had money- a lot of it, and they were putting it into action. That's why Suzy, in all of her rare good intentions, wasn't really accomplishing anything. Well, one of the reasons. Suzy ignored him, and he took another breath and continued. "Max said he's not even in Mayview anymore. How is this helping anyone?"

She didn't respond again, and he chewed on the inside of his cheek to keep from making another remark. She never made any sense, no matter how hard he tried to unravel the mess that was the bane of his considerably short existence. He didn't even know why he tried anymore, let alone why he took the challenge in the first place. He fixed the pile of missing posters in his arms again, pressing one palm up on the bottom of the stack, but still felt some pieces sliding out of his grip regardless. He went to say something again, but Suzy chose then to finish her handwork and admire it.

"Fall break is coming up, right?"

"Huh? I, uh, I guess--"

"And other people have families outside of Mayview that they may be visiting," She gestured to the missing poster, hanging, though crooked. "Thus, posters."

"Suzy--!"

"There's a chance that somebody could see him. Not everybody watches the local news, Collin!"

He opened his mouth to argue with her, but for once? He sighed. It wasn't worth it. Suzy hadn't been so passionate about something important, something personal, in a long time. Somebody, eventually, might rip it from her, but he would not be the one to tear up her sole force for good. She continued on her way down the sidewalk, seemingly unaware of the setting sun drifting over the horizon and kissing their chance to make curfew goodbye. "Suzy, stop."

She whipped around, arms crossed, cheeks puffed, like a child throwing a tantrum. "Why?"

He fixed the papers in his arms again, but it was less about convenience and more about her attention. He smiled and held them up a little higher. "We should probably print more of these."

He didn't enjoy doing it, in fact it went against his moral code in some aspect, probably, maybe. Isaac reached up from the side of the trashcan, fingers gracing the food tray that the tall, skinny, lanky man beside him was disposing of. His attention was away for the moment, eyes latched to his newborn daughter who was sitting-- er, standing-- a few feet away on the table he'd taken for his wife and child. His wife, as attentive as a mother had to be, might have noticed Isaac slinking around a trash bin, or the hand he reached to the piece of bread sitting atop the otherwise devoured plates of food; she was too busy holding their toddler, keeping her wobbling legs steady in the face of a potential fall from a table top only a few feet off the ground. Both parents laughed, one urging the other to hurry and record it, because their baby was going to be a dancer and they were sure of it. Isaac took the bread in a shaking hand, then bolted down the windowless side of the restaurant before the man could notice his uneaten bread had somehow disappeared.

Sometimes he wondered if Doorman would be mad at him, if the way he'd gone about feeding himself the last month was, in any way, an act of aggression. Probably. Maybe. He tried not to think about it. He took a bite of it as he sat himself under the roof of a bus stop, lounging and spreading his legs out so he was more comfortable. It wasn't like he'd taken it from a plate not-yet finished. The bread would have been tossed anyway. Even so... Isaac exhaled, leaning back, settling his head, watching each passing car in his peripheral.

He didn't know where he was, what time it was-- aside from the stars going on for yards and miles and lightyears over his head-- or the month, week, day. It didn't really matter. There was no timeline for his mission, and no end to it, not a foreseeable one, anyway. He swallowed the first bite. Stale. He looked down at it and shrugged. He wasn't expecting much else. That was the way life on the road worked. He was surprised nobody had caught him yet, tried to drag him back to his home, not that anybody would have known where that was. He didn't try to buy things, and the baths he took were often in fast food joint sinks a little past midnight, so it wasn't like he'd had a lot of interaction with any adult that might have their suspicions about the dirty thirteen-year-old roaming around the country on his own. He wondered how far he was, sometimes, not often, but he never let himself linger on it. Distance, like how long he'd been gone, didn't matter. He wouldn't be coming home.